<< Go Back

Red Sky Over America: Ladies of Oberlin Book 1

By Tamera Lynn Kraft

Order Now!

OCTOBER 1857, OBERLIN, OHIO

America Leighton's hands trembled as she read the letter. It was worse than she thought. She stood frozen in place, staring at the words, hoping somehow they would change.

They didn't.

The grandfather clock chimed, and she glanced up. Five o'clock. She didn't want to be late. Placing the envelope in her book, she tucked it in the pocket of her hooded cloak, pushed open the post office door, and rushed outside. As she passed the historic elm on the edge of College Park, the wind burned her cheeks, just what she needed to get her thoughts off the mail she'd received.

Two riders on horseback galloped toward her, rustling the yellow autumn leaves and stirring up a cloud of dust and brown grass. Dirt clung to their long wool coats buttoned tight against their chins. They wore their wide brim planters hats low on their brows. If their attire wasn't enough, the revolvers holstered around their waists and the shot- guns perched in their gear showed what they were.

Slave catchers.

America drew in a short breath. She diverted her attention and walked on to Ladies Hall a bit faster than usual, but the hope they would leave her alone trampled under horses' hooves as the men rode across the grassy lawn and stopped in front of her.

The older man tipped his hat. "Ma'am, we're deputies from Maysville."

Cold air turned her breath to steam. Remember to act natural. She forced her voice to keep an even tone. "You're a long way from home."

The younger man wrinkled his forehead. "Aren't you Miss Leighton?"

America pressed her tongue across the back of her teeth and nodded. She didn't recognize any of them.

He turned to the other man. "George, this is Colonel Leighton's daughter."

The older man smiled, and his front gold tooth glimmered. "Ma'am, the name's George Mills. This is my partner, Pete Fowler. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I've had the occasion to buy horses from the colonel in the past. He has a good eye for horse flesh."

"So why are you gentlemen clear up here in Northern Ohio?" She didn't need to ask.

"We've been hired to retrieve some property." Mr. Mills adjusted in his saddle. "What about you? You're a long way from Kentucky."

"I attend Oberlin College."

Mr. Mills raised his eyebrow. "I didn't know Oberlin was a ladies' school."

"It's not. I attend classes with men."

He leaned back in his saddle. "Didn't think the colonel would allow his girl to attend one of those schools."

Mr. Fowler cleared his throat. "Maybe you could help us, Miss Leighton, you being a Kentuckian and all. Have you seen any fugitive slaves around these parts? We're looking for an ebony skinned girl about sixteen with a scar across her right cheek, and a copper colored young buck, tall and thin."

Taking a couple of steady breaths to keep her tone even, she gazed straight at them without flinching. "No, can't say as I have." They couldn't have given a better description of Chance and Milly. If only they would ride off.

"Don't fret about it," Mr. Mills said. "We'll find them. Ma'am, if you do see any Negro runaways, you'll let us know? We're staying at the hotel."

Her heart skipped a beat. "I'll do that."

Mr. Fowler tipped his hat, and they rode off.

America leaned against the elm and watched them. Everything inside urged her to dash off to the boarding house where Milly and Chance stayed, but she waited until the men were out of sight. As soon as they disappeared from view, she hoisted her skirts up and ran to warn the couple to hide.

*****

An hour later, she made her way to her dorm room. She hated being delayed. If they arrived at the church meeting late, she'd have to sit in the back where she couldn't get a clear view. Perhaps Brother Woods would preach tonight. Butterflies flut- tered in her stomach.

She stopped to catch her breath before hanging her cloak on one of the hooks behind the door and plopping onto the second of six cots lined against the wall to the left. The narrow dorm room, only half as wide as her bedroom in Kentucky, may not have been as nice as the house where she'd grown up, but it had become her home.

The fire blazing in the wood box stove on the opposite wall was enough to warm the room, but she couldn't shake the chill inside her. She cupped her hands and blew into them.

Lavena Falcon looked up from the pine writing table near the window and nodded her greeting.

"It's cold out there," America said.

In appearance, Lavena was America's opposite in every way. While America had to deal with strawberry blond hair, freckles, and a fair completion that burned in the summer if she didn't carry a parasol, Lavena's Mediterranean complexion and eyes darker than a moonless night gave her an exotic look to go with her extraordinary perspective.

Her roommate headed toward her, barely missing the small cedar chests at the foot of each cot. She grabbed a yellow afghan folded at the foot of the bed and wrapped it around America's shoulders. "Are you all right? You look winded."

"I ran into some slave catchers looking for Milly and Chance," America said through chattering teeth. "I ran the whole way to the boarding house to warn them."

Lavena splayed her hand across her chest and sat on the bed across from her. "Are they safe?"

America nodded. "After I left the boarding house, I stopped at Professor Calhoun's office. He'll spread the word to the rest of the escaped slaves to be mindful."

"Thank God." Lavena grabbed a brush off the table next to her and ran it through her thick black hair. "It seems like more slave catchers come up here every year. It's only a matter of time before they capture some."

When America could move without shivering, she pulled her father's letter out of her book and ran her hand across the lettering on the envelope.

Lavena began braiding her hair. She never pinned it up, said men didn't have to fool with their hair, so she wouldn't be bothered with hers. "What are you holding?"

"A letter post from home."

Lavena pointed to the novel and delivered an I-told-you-so grin. "I mean the book. You're finally going to read it? I told you a month ago you should."

America shrugged. "I know, but I don't have time." She wouldn't admit she resisted reading the popular abolitionist novel. From what she'd heard, it portrayed slave owners like her family as scoundrels. "I don't see why it's so all-fired important to read a work of fiction anyway."

"Uncle Tom's Cabin should be required reading for everyone loyal to the cause." Lavena tied the end of her braid with a ribbon. "You'll no doubt be familiar with some of the things in there, you being a slave owner's daughter."

America let out a heavy sigh. Why did everybody have to bring up her father as if he were single-handedly responsible for all the evils of slavery? "It's just the way things are in the South. He's not a wicked man."

Specks of light flashed across Lavena's eyes. "He traffics in human flesh and misery and puts his fellow man in bondage."

"He's still my father." She grabbed a small wooden box containing her belongings, threw the letter inside, and slammed it shut. It's not like he was as bad as some of the slave owners. He treated his slaves almost like kin.

"So, what's it say?" Lavena pointed to the box.

"Same as always. He wants me to come home during winter break." America glanced away hoping Lavena wouldn't notice the apprehension on her face. She wasn't about to let her friend know her father insisted she quit Oberlin College and return to Kentucky for good. With less than a year until graduation, she didn't dare visit him now. Her resolve might falter.

"You're not planning to go there, are you?"

"I should. I haven't been home in three years." America chewed the inside of her cheek. As much as she missed Papa, could she risk ever going home again?

"The man owns human beings." Lavena stood with her hands on her hips, stretching all of her four-foot-eleven-inches until she looked almost as tall as America. "He's against everything we stand for."

She blinked away the warm tears forming behind her eyes. "He may be wrong, but he's still my papa. I want to see him."

"Then why haven't you gone before?"

Her throat closed as she stood, folded her afghan, and held it against her, trying to hold off her conflicting emotions. "He doesn't know I'm an abolitionist."

Lavena gasped. "You never told him."

"You don't know what it's like to oppose Colonel Beauregard Leighton."

"All the more reason to keep your distance."

"Don't worry. I'm not going home." America set the afghan on her bed and smoothed out the covers. No matter how much she wanted to see her family, she didn't have the courage to oppose him now any more than she did when she lived in his home.

"A wise decision." Lavena grabbed her coat off the hook and threw it over her shoulders. "The hour is late. We'd better hurry."

"Where are the others?"

"They went to a lecture. Professor Perkins' wife is speaking about exercise and healthy living. They're meeting us at First Church."

"Betsy too?"

"No, she left early to sit with her gentleman friend. I hope she doesn't drop out of school and marry him before she graduates."

"She'll make it." America wrapped herself in her cloak. "Who's speaking today?"

"A senior theological student," Lavena said. "Brother Woods."

America's voice rose almost imperceptibly. "William Woods?" Brother Woods sat in the front row of her theology class, and they'd spoken a few times, but he rarely looked her way.

"I do believe you have an interest in the man." Lavena raised her chin and narrowed her eyes in full-lecture mode. "If you're not careful, you'll sell yourself in bondage and never make it to graduation day."

Heat flushed her face as she turned toward the door. "We have a class together. He's an inspiring student. Besides, not every lady on this campus considers marriage slavery."

"True." Lavena opened the door and flashed a smirk in America's direction. "Is that what you're going to do? Marry Brother Woods and become a meek little housewife?"

"May I remind you, until I graduate in August, I'm not allowing any gentlemen to call on me?"

"I meant no offense."

"You know my first priority is the mission field." America stormed out of the room leaving her friend to tag behind.

Lavena called after her. "I know your only desire is to finish school and fulfill God's call on your life."

America stopped at the bottom of the narrow stairway and blew out a breath to calm herself.

Lavena rushed to catch up with her. "I spoke out of turn."

"I know you like to tease." Lavena was her dearest friend. She could never stay angry with her for long. "I shouldn't get my dander up."

"It's all right." Lavena gave America a rueful half smile the way she always did when she realized she'd gone too far with her banter.

America tilted her head. How did her friend know she was inter- ested in William Woods? She was certain she never mentioned his name. She opened the door at the bottom of the stairs.

A gust swirled leaves into the air. The wind howled, threatening not to be contained by the closed door. Dark clouds released their pent-up fury, plummeting freezing rain to the ground. Normally snowstorms gave her a cozy feeling inside as they blanketed the hard ground, but this tempest reflected an approaching gale having nothing to do with the weather. It might sweep away any chance of making things right with her family.

*****

America arrived at the crowded church and tried to remove her drenched cloak without getting her skirt any more soaked than it already was. She and Lavena scooted through the throng looking for seats near the back of the vast building. First Church seated fifteen hundred people and was the largest church in the country, but when students and townspeople filled the sanctuary, there weren't enough pews for everyone. Some men in the back stood allowing the women to sit. Lavena was about to refuse, but America pulled on her sleeve, and she accepted the offer.

Brother Woods stepped up to the massive podium on the raised platform. The murmur and rustling of the crowd hushed. His bass voice bellowed with power and authority, much like Father Charles Finney, fiery evangelist and president of Oberlin College.

America leaned in gazing into those eyes of his. They bored into her soul. Her stomach fluttered every time he looked in her direction.

He cast an inspiring presence in his black wool sack suit with a white shirt buttoned at the collar, the one he always wore when he preached. He was shorter than most men, only a couple of inches taller than America, and thin, but with broad shoulders and muscular arms, he always appeared larger than his short frame, but it was more. He carried an anointing and passion few preachers – or men - possessed. He drew everyone's attention, especially hers, by simply walking into a room.

He grabbed hold of the sides of the pulpit. "Could one man end slavery in Egypt and cause Pharaoh to let go of those he held in bondage? Moses did. Why can't we, being many, go to the pharaohs in our nation and demand they let God's people go?"

He delivered his sermon with conviction, but it wasn't as easy as he said. Slavery was wrong. She'd known it from the time she was a little girl and her slave nanny, Aunt Ruth, told her stories about Moses and the children of Israel, but it was the way things were in the South. Confronting her father wouldn't change anything.

The "amens" drew her attention back to Brother Woods.

"Many of these men are not evil. They are deceived. They don't see what they do is a stench in the nostrils of God."

Her face flushed. It was as if Brother Woods knew her father.

"We need to offer them mercy and show them the errors of their ways so they can repent and turn to the Savior for forgiveness."

If only she could convince Papa of the injustice of slavery. She'd tried a couple of times, but it always ended with him reminding her, as a woman, she couldn't possibly understand the financial considerations involved.

"Furthermore," Papa would then say, "I treat my slaves well. They're better off than most free Negros in Kentucky."

Brother Wood's voice rose in volume. "If they will not repent, we must defend these poor men and women caught in the clutches of their masters and rescue them from their bondage."

Her heart sank. How could she share the gospel in foreign lands when she didn't have the courage to stand for what was right in her own home?

"You may say this can't be done, but would you have thought it possible for Moses to confront Pharaoh as he did?"

She let out a heavy sigh. She couldn't risk going home. Her father would never listen to her.

"With God, nothing is impossible."

Lord, is it possible?

"Shall we rise against this great wickedness or will we compromise everything in this Word," he held up his Bible, "to keep peace in a nation enslaving its brothers?"

She knew God was directing her to somehow convince her father to free his slaves, but she couldn't. If she made the journey to Kentucky this winter break, she'd risk everything. Her father wouldn't listen, and he might keep her from returning to Oberlin, but it was more than that. She adored Papa, but she didn't have the courage to resist his strong determination. If she went home, she would compromise her convic- tions and God's call on her life.

As Brother Woods preached, the urgency to go home and change her father's mind grew stronger. She shook her head. No. This time, God was asking too much.

Order Now!

<< Go Back