Page 72 of Because I Could Not Stop for Death

“I have to think of the safety of these men, women, and children. That boy brought to light that there is someone in your local network who is betraying us.”

“Let me find out who the traitor is, and we can return to normal,” Mr.Johnson pleaded.

I glanced at Emily, and she sat riveted watching the argument between the two men.

“No. I can’t risk any more lives while I wait for you to sort this out. The cost is too great. It is beyond great. It is death itself. There are other towns that are ready and willing to help. Northampton among others.”

“But—” Mr.Johnson started to argue again.

“No. If you can clean up the mess in Amherst we will try again there, but going forward, no conductors will be taking anyone through Amherst.” The finality in the man’s voice was palpable.

“Yes, sir,” Mr.Johnson said grudgingly.

“Good, Johnson. I know you came to Washington hoping for a different result, but this is the way that it has to be. Saving lives is our focus, and above that, abolishing the stain on the world that is slavery.” The man put on his hat. “The decisions have been made. Go back to Amherst and do what you can as an observer of the movement if not a true participant.” He strode away.

Beside me, Emily tried to shift her position, but in doing so she caught the heel of her shoe on the last hoop of her skirt. She flopped over like a fish on a line and landed with an “Omph.”

I scooted over and helped her up. There was dirt all over the back of her dress. I didn’t know how we would get it out of the delicate fabric. I prayed the dress wasn’t ruined. It was the only ball gown that she owned.

Just as I got her to her feet, Mr.Johnson loomed over us. “What are you two doing here?”

Emily dusted off her hands and didn’t appear to be the least bit concerned over her tumble. “We were about to ask you the same thing, Mr.Johnson. It seems quite late for a nighttime meeting with a mysterious man by the Washington Monument.”

“You need to go back to your hotel and forget about everything that you have seen here tonight.”

“That’s very unlikely to happen,” Emily retorted. “Who was that man with you? You appeared to be in deep conversation.”

Mr.Johnson scowled at her. “I can’t answer that question.”

“Are you double-crossing him? Everyone in Amherst knows that you are the one who hands runaways over to slave catchers.”

Mr.Johnson glared at her. “I do no such thing.”

Emily folded her arms and looked up to him. “Well, from the conversation that I just heard it sounded like he caught you doing it and put a stop to it,” Emily baited.

Mr.Johnson clenched his fists at his sides. “You heard nothing of the kind.”

I found myself taking two small steps back away from him.

Emily, however, held her ground. “Isn’t that true?”

“No, it’s not true. In fact, it could not be further from the truth. I’m a conductor on the railroad. I’m saving runaways, not harming them.”

Emily and I stared at him.

He looked at me. “I hired your brother to work for me. He had heard about the railroad and had interest in helping. I was also in need of a stable boy, so the timing was perfect. He was hired to care for the horses, but more important, he was hired to be a spy for the railroad. For months, we had been plagued with slave catchers, all of whom seemed to know what we were up to. I run a very tight operation. The only people that could have known were from my circle. I hired Henry to find out who the person was.”

My heart beat faster in my chest. Could what he said be true, that he was on Henry’s side, not against it?

“What proof do you have?” Emily asked defiantly.

I had the proof, I realized. The proof was in Henry’s diary, but I didn’t have it in my hands. A sinking feeling fell over me.

The diary was back in the maid’s dressing room at the hotel. I had left my satchel with my dress. I kicked myself. How could I lose it again after finding it? I had been so preoccupied by the idea of going into the dining room and facing the Dickinson sisters and Matthew that I just left it on the peg with my dress. Surely, someone would have stolen it by now. I felt ill. That diary might have all the answers that I was looking for, the proof that Mr.Johnson’s story was true or not.

“The stories about me were planted with a purpose,” Mr.Johnson said. “And under my direction. They were meant to trick the enemy, and they worked for a time.”

“How can we believe anything you say?” I asked. “My brother is still dead. I can’t ask him to verify the story.”

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