Editor’s Note: This is an ongoing series which runs each Thursday morning titled the Richland Chronicles Volume 3, by author Paul Lintern. It is set in 1831 and tells the story of Richland County through the eyes of young people. This is the third in a three-book trilogy. Volume 1 was Amelia Changes Her Tune, while Volume II was Isaac and Wolf Paw Find Their Home.
Autumn was already at the farm the next morning when Mr. Day and Ermina arrived. Her head had been swirling with stories and excuses and secrets as she concocted a way to leave the Inn early to “help Ermina with a project for her father, something at the farm, something about basket making and twine making and cleaning up the place.”
I can’t let it be a lie, even if it isn’t the truth.
She didn’t pay attention to how close her stories were to lies; she really did not want to think about it.
She did her chores in record time and was gone before Amelia even got up, because she didn’t want to explain why Amelia couldn’t come along. She kissed her mother and said she’d be back for supper and everything is just fine in the barn so Father need not worry.
Hope I didn’t do too well with the chores. Hope I didn’t seem too helpful or they’ll know I’m up to something.
As Ermina and her father arrived on horseback, Autumn was sitting by the cooking fire, which was not a fire. Mrs. Tallman had gone back to the reserve on the upper Sandusky.
She had deliberately not gone into the storage building. She didn’t want to be surprised. She also didn’t want to surprise someone who wouldn’t know why she was there.
Her heart was pounding with excitement and fear and she felt herself shiver even though it was not cold.
Mr. Day jumped off the horse and went into the building, to the wagon. Ermina motioned to Autumn to come with her as they went into the small barn and coaxed first one, then the other horse out of their stalls.
They kept the horses outside until Mr. Day opened the doors to reveal the wagon, loaded with barrels and straw, some baskets of strawberries and two small pigs.
He and Ermina quickly harnessed the pair, led Mr. Day’s riding horse to a stall with water, food and bedding, then climbed on the buckboard and invited Autumn to do the same.
Where is the “special delivery?” Do I even bring it up? Maybe this is it. Maybe we are stopping to pick someone up. Do I ask or just keep quiet?
Because Mr. Day and Ermina were so cheerfully talking about the beautiful sunshine and the cool breeze, and pointing out the flowering bushes and handsome trees, Autumn figured she was not supposed to bring up the subject of runaways. She just joined in with the lighthearted conversation.
They rode a long way north, more than two hours, along the state road out of Mansfield, then turned east on the road that bordered Richland County with the new Huron County. It had been carved out of lands that had belonged to the Indians until after the War of 1812.
When she finally asked where they were going, Mr. Day simply said “Savannah.”
But this is the long way to get there. We can just go up from the Inn past Big Hill through Olivesburgh. It’s a lot shorter.
“Isn’t this the long way?” she asked.
“I am afraid it is, but it is the safer way, given the events of the last couple of days. I suppose we can return by the short route.”
“Father, aren’t you afraid our cargo might ‘spoil’ on such a long ride?”
“Not to worry Ermina. I packed it well, and besides, we’re not far.”
Mr. Day pointed to a farm across the valley before them, and soon they were riding onto land of an older couple, smiling but dropping everything to give attention to their visitors.
“This is Mr. Gurney, Mrs. Gurney. Fine people, good Friends. Hop down girls, and help Mrs. Gurney with her laundry.”
All this way to do laundry?
They hopped down and Mr. Gurney led Mr. Day and the horses into the barn. They shut the door.
“Thee must be hungry, what with the long dusty travel. Let me serve thee some cool sassafras tea and have some biscuits,” Mrs. Gurney said. “Heavens, thou hast not even eaten dinner. We shall repair that.”
She rushed into the house.
“They’re Quakers,” Ermina whispered to Autumn. “Very nice, peaceable like, real helpful in our ‘project.’ Also called friends.”
She winked at Autumn.
“But they also talk like church a lot.”
Thee be right about that!
Autumn was so busy looking at the house and farm and enjoying the food, she did not notice that Mr. Day was back with his wagon, ready to return home. True to his word, he continued east into Savannah proper, then started south on the road to Olivesburgh.
Finally Autumn could not keep silent.
“I thought we were going to take runaways today.” Ermina shushed her with a concerned look.
“Keep your voice down.”
But she saw a smile come to Mr. Day’s face.
“My dear child. That is exactly what we did.”
“But…”
“You were riding over top of them the whole way.”
“They were in the straw?”
“In a compartment under the straw.”
“May I see it?”
“Not out in the open, but another time soon.”
I had no idea. How did they stay so quiet? How did I not notice?
“That’s why Father and Mr. Gurney went into the barn and closed the door,” Ermina said. “Mrs. Gurney was fixing us food, but she also was looking around to be sure no one was following. I saw her looking several times.”
And I just ate the biscuits and chicken. Talk about paying attention!
“You were good at helping me look like a farmer out with his two daughters, delivering feed,” Mr. Day said. “Now I shall deliver you home and continue to the farm, and you will say nothing about this to anyone.”
This is the most exciting thing I have ever done and I didn’t even notice, and now I can’t tell anyone!
They changed the conversation to dances and farm animals and lavender and schoolmates as they moseyed through Olivesburgh, past the Pittenger and Holstein farms, around the Big Hill and up to the Oakland Inn.
“When is our next journey?” Autumn asked as they arrived at the Inn.
“When the Drinking Gourd calls,” Mr. Day said quietly to her, pulling away, then he waved at Jacob and Peggy and the guests gathering for the evening meal.
The Drinking Gourd?
