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home as soon as it ended. No one wanted to be stopped on the way home tonight.
    But as they moved to adjourn, a deafening blast of knocks pounded against the front door. Everyone froze. The thundering continued. Hester moved quickly to the lace curtains, and she saw that outside were eight mounted men. "It appears we have guests."
    They'd rehearsed for emergency circumstances many times and all knew their roles. They quickly gathered up the ledgers and all other incriminating materials concerning their circle, placed them in the designated strongbox, and shoved it into the hidey-hole built into the fireplace. Others hurriedly retrieved and distributed the sewing always positioned nearby. Hester put on her gloves.
    The pounding continued as Hester looked back. Her friends nodded that they were ready and she opened the door.
    "Bout damn time!"
    Hester did not know the short, black-toothed man glaring angrily at her. Beneath the light cast onto the porch he appeared ghoulish. He wore a long coat stained with dirt that appeared age old. The filth in the coat matched the dirt on his skin and the stench of him in the night's breeze blew strongly.
    She did know the man at his side. "Good evening, Sheriff Lawson."
    "Evening, Miss Hester. Sorry to disturb you. This here is Ezra Shoe."
    "Mr. Shoe."
    Shoe looked her up and down like a buyer would a woman on the block, then smiled a smile so vile, Hester had to force herself to hold his gaze.
    "You got a man, gal?" he asked, showing the blackened teeth and gums once again. "Cos if you don't, me and my friends been riding a long time, we could sure use a little bit of comfort, if you take my meanin'."
    Hester took his meaning and wished him taken straight to hell. She turned to the sheriff and felt salved by his obvious anger. "Hester, this man wants to search your house."
    "Why?"
    "Thinks somebody around here is transporting runaways."
    "Slaves?"
    "Slaves. He's got a writ from some court down south for a man called the Black Daniel."
    Hester hid the sudden rise in her heartbeat. She asked quizzically, "The Black Daniel? And he is?"
    "A slave-stealing bastard is what he is," Shoe interjected, spitting a stream of nastiness on her porch. The dark eyes taunted her ferally. "And I plan on searching every nigger house in this state until I find him."
    The slur slid from his lips easily and without apology. Hester stood in her doorway tight-lipped beneath her outward mask of calm. By law, she could not challenge the writ. She stepped back and let them enter.
    Shoe wanted to bring in the other riders and their baying dogs to help with the search, but the sheriff refused. "They're not tracking mud all over this woman's home."
    Shoe protested, but Lawson, a lifelong friend of Hester's Aunt Katherine, remained firm.
    The women seated around the front parlor were offered a sincere apology from the lawman for the interruption of their evening, but he explained it was his duty. They nodded their understanding and went back to their needles.
    Shoe looked around at the fine furnishings, then whistled appreciatively before asking, "Some white man give you this house, gal?"
    Hester answered calmly, "No. My great uncles built this house."
    The thunderstruck look on his face almost compensated her for having to endure his noxious presence in her home.
    He looked to the sheriff. Lawson's answering nod confirmed her story. Shoe then turned back to Hester and stared as if she possessed three heads.
    She explained, "My great-grandfather received this land as payment for fighting in the War for Independence, Mr. Shoe."
    "Gal, you been drinkin'?! They didn't let no niggers fight in that war." He began to laugh. "You hear that, Sheriff? This gal claims she got relatives fought in the war. I heard being up North sometimes makes their kind go crazy in the head cos of the cold, but this the first time I known it to be true." He guffawed again.
    Lawson had had enough. "Let's get this search over with, Shoe."
    Shoe