From the alley behind him came a familiar voice. — It's the only way, Mr. Marshall. —
Startled, Norris turned to the broad-shouldered man who stood facing him. — Dr. Sewall? —
— I suggest you get into that carriage, — said Sewall. — If you want to live. —
— They're our friends, — said Rose. She reached for his hand and tugged him toward the carriage. — Please, let's get in before anyone sees you. —
He had no other choice. Whatever awaited him, Rose had willed it so, and he trusted her with his life. She led him to the carriage and tugged him in after her.
Dr. Sewall, who did not climb in, swung their door shut. — Godspeed, Mr. Marshall, — he said through the window. — I hope we'll meet again someday, under less trying circumstances. —
The driver slapped the reins, and the carriage rolled away.
Only as Norris settled back for the ride did he focus on the man sitting in the carriage across from him and Rose. The glow of a street lamp illuminated the man's face, and Norris could only stare in astonishment.
— No, this is not an arrest, — said Constable Lyons.
— Then what is it? — asked Norris.
— It is a favor, to an old friend. —
They rode out of the city, across the West Boston Bridge, and through the village of Cambridge. It was the same route by which Norris had been transported as a prisoner only a few nights earlier, but this was a far different journey, one he traveled not with a sense of doom, but with hope. The entire way, Rose's small hand stayed entwined with his, a silent reassurance that all was according to plan, that he need not fear betrayal. How could he ever have suspected the worst of her? This lone girl, he thought, has stood by me faithfully and unflinchingly, and I do not deserve her.
The town of Cambridge gave way to dark countryside and empty fields. They drove north, toward Somerville and Medford, past villages of dark houses huddled together beneath the winter moon. It was not until the outskirts of Medford that the carriage finally turned into a cobblestoned yard and slowed to a stop.
— You'll rest here for a day, — said Constable Lyons, swinging open the door and stepping out. — Tomorrow, you'll receive directions to the next safe house, in the north. —
Norris climbed from the carriage and stared up at a stone farmhouse. Candlelight glowed in the windows, a flickering welcome to furtive travelers. — What is this place? — he asked.
Constable Lyons did not answer. He led the way to the door and knocked twice, paused, then knocked once more.
After a moment the door opened and an elderly woman wearing a lace night bonnet peered out, holding up a lamp to see her visitors' faces.
— We have a traveler, — said Lyons.
The woman frowned at Norris and Rose. — These two are most unusual fugitives. —
— These are most unusual circumstances. I bring them at the personal request of Dr. Grenville. Both Mr. Garrison and Dr. Sewall have agreed to it, and Mr. Wilson has given his assent as well. —
The old woman finally nodded and moved aside to let the three visitors enter.
Norris stepped into an ancient kitchen, the ceiling blackened from the soot of countless cooking fires. Dominating one wall was an enormous stone hearth where the night's embers still glowed. Overhead hung sheaves of herbs, dried bunches of lavender and hyssop, wormwood and sage. Norris felt Rose tug his hand, and she pointed up at the carved emblem, mounted on the crossbeam. A pelican.
Constable Lyons saw what they were staring at, and he said: — That is an ancient symbol, Mr. Marshall, and one we revere. The pelican represents self-sacrifice for the greater good. It reminds us that as we give, so shall we receive. —
The old woman added, — It's the seal of our sisterhood. The order of the Roses of Sharon. —
Norris turned to look at her. — Who are you? What is this place? —
— We're members of the Rose Cross, Sir. And this is a way station for travelers. Travelers in need of sanctuary. —
Norris thought of the modest town house on Acorn Street, with the pelicans carved into the lintel. He remembered that William Lloyd Garrison had been one of the gentlemen in the house that night. And he remembered, too, the whisperings of nearby shopkeepers, of strangers moving about in the neighborhood after dark, a neighborhood that Constable Lyons had decreed off limits to Night Watch patrols.
— They're abolitionists, — said Rose. — This is a house of hiding. —
— A way station, — said Lyons. — One of many stops the Rosicrucians have established between the south and Canada. —
— You shelter slaves? —
— No man is a slave, — said the old woman. — No man has the right to own another. We're all free. —
— Now you understand, Mr. Marshall, — said Constable Lyons, — why this house and the house on Acorn Street must never be spoken of. Dr. Grenville assured us that you are a supporter of the abolitionist movement. If you are ever captured, you must not say a word about these outposts, for you'll endanger untold lives. People who have suffered miseries enough for ten lifetimes. —
— I swear to you, I'll reveal nothing, — said Norris.
— It's a dangerous business we're in, — said Lyons. — Never more than now. We can't afford to have our network revealed, not when so many would root us out and destroy us if they could. —
— You are all members of the order? Even Dr. Grenville? —
Lyons nodded. — Again, a secret not to be revealed. —
— Why are you helping me? I'm not a fugitive slave. If you believe Mr. Pratt, I'm a monster. —
Lyons gave a snort. — And Pratt is a toad. I would have him tossed out of the Night Watch if I could, but he has maneuvered his way into the public eye. Open up a newspaper these days, and all you'll read are the deeds of
— And this is why you help me? Merely to deny him that triumph? —
— That would hardly be worth the trouble I've gone to. No, we help you because Aldous Grenville is utterly convinced of your innocence. And to let you be hanged would be a grave injustice. — Lyons looked at the old woman. — I leave him here with you now, Mistress Goode. Tomorrow, Mr. Wilson will return with provisions for his journey. There was no time tonight to make such arrangements. In any event, it will be dawn soon, and it's best that Mr. Marshall waits till tomorrow nightfall to start his next leg. — He turned to Rose. — Come, Miss Connolly. Shall we return to Boston? —
Rose looked stricken. — Can I not stay with him? — she asked, her eyes bright with tears.
— A lone traveler moves more quickly and safely. It's important that Mr. Marshall is unencumbered. —
— But we part so suddenly! —
— There is no choice. Once he's safely away, he will send for you. —
— I've only just found him again! Can't I stay with him, just tonight? You said Mr. Wilson will come tomorrow. I'll return to Boston with him then. —
Norris grasped her hand more tightly and said, to Lyons: — I don't know when I'll see her again. Anything could happen. Please, allow us these last few hours together. —
Lyons gave a sigh and nodded. — Mr. Wilson will be here before noon tomorrow. Be ready to leave then. —
They lay in darkness, their bed illuminated only by the moonglow through the window, but it was enough light for Rose to see his face. To know that he was looking at her as well.
— You promise you'll send for me and Meggie? — she said.
— As soon as I've reached a safe place, I'll write to you. The letter will come from another name, but you'll know it's from me. —
— If only I could go with you now. —
— No, I want you to stay safe in Dr. Grenville's house, not suffer on some godforsaken road with me. And what a comfort to know that Meggie's cared for. Truly, you've found the best place possible. —
