Freedom's Path

By Linda Carroll-Bradd

Working as a maid in the Deerbourne Inn gives freedom-fighter Sidonie Demers the perfect cover for helping escaping slaves travel farther along the Underground Railroad. The patterns in her quilts serve as messages directing them to the safest route. The cause is a personal one for octoroon Sidonie whose mother and grandmother escaped bondage years earlier.

Army Corporal Colin Crawford arrives in Willow Springs, in disguise as a salesman, to ferret out abolitionist activity. Raised in a state that forbids slavery, he's conflicted about upholding the Fugitive Slave Act but believes in laws and fulfilling his duty.

The attraction between Colin and Sidonie is evident and irresistible, but what will happen when their true identities are revealed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Dec 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781509224012

Linda Carroll-Bradd

After years spent in the administrative support field, Linda decided to exercise another part of her brain and write a novel. She loved reading romance and figured that's what she'd write. Easier said than done. After years of workshops and RWA chapter meetings, she finally saw her manuscripts place in contests. Twelve years after her first writing class, she sold a confession story. From that point on, she couldn't be stopped and is always pleased when her sweet contemporary and historical stories find homes. With interests as widespread as baking, crocheting, watching dog agility matches, and reading thrillers by Swedish authors, Linda is the mother to 4 adult children and grandmother to 2 granddaughters. She currently lives in the southern California mountains with her husband of almost 34 years and their two spoiled dogs.

Book preview

Gold

He cupped his hands in front of his body and flexed his fingers toward his chest. Again, but from a different angle.

Eyes flashing, she dropped her shoulders and stepped forward, hands held at waist height.

This time, Colin grabbed her right hand and shoved his bent left thigh in her path.

Grimacing, she twisted and dropped onto his leg. Omph.

The intimate position was highly improper. But he kept his focus where it belonged—on teaching the maneuver, instead of the warmth of her body spreading through his trousers to his skin. Now, you try the same tactic against me. He braced a hand on her elbow and helped her to her feet.

Before she straightened, she spun, grabbed his hand away from her elbow, and pushed against his thumb.

Pain shot down his wrist and tingled to his elbow. Wincing, he dropped to his knees. All right, that’s good.

Gosh, the move really works. She stepped back with bouncing steps and a wide grin. Then she stopped and frowned. You weren’t faking, were you?

Shaking his head, he stood. No, ma’am. Did he dare make the next suggestion? Now that he’d touched her hands, he wanted to get closer. The thoughts were confusing, but she’d been on his mind since he left the fort almost a hundred miles ago. Ready for a repeat of the situation like what I saw happening tonight?

Praise for Linda Carroll-Bradd

"LONE STAR ANGEL is a short but very satisfying historical fiction read. The author packs plenty of detail providing an in-depth story with more than a few twists that kept me quite interested! My first impression was that Carni would be someone I wouldn’t like, but the background the author provided for this character really changed my mind, and she actually became my favorite character!"

~ReadersFavorite.com

~*~

"DREAMS OF GOLD—This is a spirited story peopled with believable characters driven by understandable motives. I particularly liked the fact that Ciara is what would have been known as a progressive woman of her time. A lot of verbal sparring and two people who must learn to come together on their own terms. Enjoyable!"

~Laura H.

Freedom’s Path

by

Linda Carroll-Bradd

Deerbourne Inn

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Freedom’s Path

COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Linda Carroll-Bradd

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Diana Carlile

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First American Rose Edition, 2018

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2401-2

Deerbourne Inn

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To those who risk so others can enjoy freedom

Chapter One

October 1855

In a high-backed pew, Sidonie Demers sat with her head bowed, barely aware of the other parishioners shuffling along the aisle of the Universalist Church. The last notes from There is More Love Somewhere clung to her ears. Remaining still with her eyes closed, she hoped the spiritual’s lyrics would seep through her skin and wrap around her heart.

Coupled with the powerful words Reverend Norwyn quoted from Henry David Thoreau’s Slavery in Massachusetts speech given last year on the Fourth of July, she believed her conviction was verified. The heartfelt work she performed placed her on the path of justice and freedom. Who could not be moved by Thoreau’s probing question: Will mankind never learn that policy is not morality—that it never secures any moral right, but considers merely what is expedient?

The previous year’s Anthony Burns verdict fired Thoreau’s outrage. The injustice of sending back to Virginia the escaped slave who’d been living in free Boston incited him to speak out against the Fugitive Slave Act. The news reached Sutton, Quebec, where Sidonie’s anti-slavery parents, Nuru and Pascal, used Thoreau’s fervent words to evangelize others into helping runaway slaves get situated in their new lives.

Ensuing discussions around the supper table planted seeds of rebellion against the unjust actions in their children’s souls. Only a few months later, both Sidonie and her older brother, Philippe, relocated to Willow Springs, Vermont, to become station agents on the Underground Railroad. Some days, she didn’t feel up to the formidable task that demanded the utmost secrecy. Rather, she wished for the ability to curl up in her attic bed and not worry about being discovered. Then, she’d hear children’s laughter or workers going about their daily tasks. She’d remember grand-mère Mirembe’s stories about the endless work she endured on the Chappell plantation. The horrors were enough to be reminded of those who needed Sidonie’s help to guide them farther along the freedom road.

Footsteps approached at an irregular rhythm, accompanied by a shushing sound. Sidonie stood and shook out her skirts then smoothed a hand along the tucks in her shirtwaist. When she turned, she spotted Missus Norwyn gathering and stacking hymnals. I didn’t realize how long I’d been sitting in reflection. I hope I didn’t delay you.

Not at all. The petite blonde looked up and shook her head. The reverend and I allow all parishioners the time they deem necessary in personal communion.

Thoughts about secret, and unlawful, assignments didn’t truly count as communion. Guilt stabbed her conscience, and she hurried along her pew toward the side wall, grabbing several leatherbound books. The least I can do is help.

Miss Demers, you already do so much by sewing clothes for the… Missus Norwyn stiffened, glancing over her shoulder, then turned back, and winked. "For the poor box."

Sidonie fought back a smile. Some of the items she sewed were used for that overt and public purpose. Most garments were kept hidden in the Inn’s basement to be distributed to the escaping slaves who she aided. Will you have more fabric by Wednesday’s sewing circle? Raised by two generations of strong women who believed idle hands were the devil’s workshop, Sidonie never felt right about relaxing each evening without stitchery of some type to occupy her hands.

Nodding, the reverend’s wife smiled, her green eyes flashing. As long as we’re not called upon to tend an emergency.

Of course. Around the classically pretty woman, she always felt like the ugly duckling in the Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale. Sidonie resisted the urge to check if her bonnet hid her wavy, dark hair. I’ll be present. Mistress Deerbourne approves of my charity work. She walked her stack of hymnals along the buffed plank floors to the back cloakroom and set them on an empty bookshelf. As long as I’m already finished with cleaning after the midday meal.

Run along and enjoy your afternoon. Missus Norwyn set her stack on a shelf and leaned a hand on the top one as she turned. I know I’m always glad when Monday morning comes. Usually after speaking with Harold today, parishioners leave him to his day of rest. Then Harold has the freedom to take the long hikes in the woods he so loves.

Penelope? a man’s voice called out. Are you ready to go? Shuffling footsteps approached.

Yes, dear. She stepped from the cloakroom, patting the back of her braided bun.

The sandy-haired reverend stopped in mid-stride and adjusted wire-rimmed spectacles higher on his nose. "We must collect the children right away. Mister and Missus