Where Grace Abides by BJ Hoff Page B

“Most things usually look better from a distance.”
    â€œMaybe so, but I wouldn’t mind an adventure now and again.”
    â€œThat’s your young blood,” Gant teased. “Even an adventurous life loses some of its luster after a time.”
    They lingered at the kitchen table for a long time, Gideon plying them with questions about one thing or another and Asa clearly enjoying the boy’s company. More than once, Gant sensed that the youth wanted to hear about their work with the runaway slaves, but he stopped just short of a direct question.
    Gant was fairly certain the boy already knew more about their involvement with the Railroad than he let on, but he also figured that the less he actually did know, the safer it was for him. Thus, neither he nor Asa volunteered any information.
    It was well after dark when Asa got up and started to wash the dishes. Gant pushed back from the table as well. “You cooked,” he told the other. “I’ll do the dishes.”
    Asa waved him off only to have Gideon stand and go to the sink. “I’ll help,” he said.
    Gant couldn’t resist needling him a bit. “An Amish fellow doing dishes? Now there’s a surprise.”
    Gideon turned around with a grin. “Have to admit the first few times I cleaned up my own plates it felt mighty strange. I’m used to it now, but Mamm would probably faint if she could see me.”
    â€œAmish men don’t do dishes?” Asa said.
    â€œWoman’s work,” Gideon said, still grinning. “Men work outside the house. Women inside.” He paused. “ And outside sometimes—in their gardens, taking care of the animals—that kind of thing.”
    â€œSo, your mamma probably would never expect to see you with your hands in dishwater?” said Asa.
    Gideon started to reply, but a knock at the back door stopped him.
    From his place behind the stove, Mac shot to his feet and barked.
    Gant quieted him with a single command. When Asa cast a questioning look in his direction, Gant lifted a hand to indicate he would get the door.
    It was late enough that he wasn’t inclined to simply open up without knowing who might be there. “Who is it?”
    At first his question met nothing but silence, so he asked the second time. “Who’s there?”
    A reply finally came. “A friend of friends.” Then a pause. “Captain Gant?”
    Gant glanced at Gideon, not comfortable with the boy being privy to this, but there was nothing for it but to open the door.
    The fellow standing just outside was a small, aging black man clad in dusty clothes that hung loosely on his nearly emaciated frame. He clutched a knit cap close to his chest, his eyes betraying a numbing fear that Gant had seen all too many times before.
    â€œYou the captain, suh?”
    Gant nodded. “And you are?”
    â€œWilliam Bond is my name.” He hesitated, then went on. “Folks in Marietta told us to come here to you.”
    The man’s voice trembled. In truth his entire body appeared to be shaking.
    Gant looked past him. Even in the cover of darkness, he was overwhelmed by the sight that met his eyes.
    â€œHow many are you?” he asked.
    Bond lowered his gaze. “Thirteen of us, suh. Only three full-grown men. Mostly women and children. A few young boys not quite grown.”
    He lifted his face then, and Gant saw clearly that he was expecting rejection.
    â€œCan you help us, Captain? I know we’s a lot of folks, but the women and the children, they is plain wore out. We need a place to rest and some directions on where to go next.”
    Thirteen! Did he dare to crowd that many into his barn along with the others already out there?
    Children could be noisy. He’d be risking detection for certain. But what choice did he have? If the others were in as poor shape as the man standing at his door, they’d not get much farther before they