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known to leave dead slave catchers in their wake. Once when Hester asked why the Road even employed the Wesleyites, her Aunt Katherine explained that the cause accepted all warriors, even those as questionable as the Wesleyites.
    Putting the Wesleyites out of her mind, Hester still found it hard to believe Whittaker harbored a Judas. She knew there were individuals on the Road who would harbor a fugitive at night, then accept a bribe to betray that same fugitive when the sun rose; but not in Whittaker!
    She told him, "I'm afraid the local Vigilance Committee is going to need more than the word of a boasting slave catcher to take your charge seriously."
    "I take it you don't believe me."
    "I believe you may have been betrayed. The injuries you sustained speak for themselves, but it wasn't done by someone from Whittaker."
    "Are you saying that to protect someone, or are you truly that naive?"
    After putting up with his temper and surliness for the past few days, Hester held onto what was left of her patience and said, "I am risking prison sheltering you. How dare you call me naive. Your lack of manners and gratitude could make me turn you in just to get you out of my home. Have a pleasant meal. I'll return in the morning for the tray." She spun on her heel and left.
    Picking up his fork the Black Daniel shook his head at her stubborn refusal to entertain his theory. He wondered if she lived alone. He hadn't seen anyone else on the premises, but that meant little. If her man was a part of the Road, he could be anywhere. He had noticed her hands, however. Indigo. He'd only seen hands stained like hers a few times. He'd be willing to bet she'd been a slave in the Sea Islands of South Carolina where he knew the few existing indigo plantations operated. Working the plants to extract the dye turned the palms and backs of the hands of the slaves permanently indigo.
    Judging by the way she spoke and carried herself, she'd been free some time, though; either that or she'd been educated down south, a scenario he found unlikely due to the deep rich darkness of her skin. Educated slaves had a tendency to be mulatto like himself.
    She was feeding him well, though: hominy, eggs, and fat biscuits rolling in butter had been the morning meal. Plump roast chicken anchored tonight's tray and the honeyed yams accompanying it all but melted in his mouth. He hadn't tasted such well-prepared fare since his last stint in New Orleans, but attempting to chew solid food around his loosened teeth made for very slow going. He forced himself to keep eating, knowing he'd recover much faster if he could manage to get it all down.
    He finished his meal and lay back drained. He cursed his lack of strength. He wanted to question Hester about the area, but all his body craved was slumber. He fought it off as long as he could, then surrendered. A few seconds later, he slid into sleep.
    The local women of the Detroit Ladies Abolition Circle met every third Sunday of the month. The sites of the local meeting usually rotated between the homes of those on the board and tonight would be Hester's turn. The group, founded ten years ago by Hester's aunt, had grown to almost one hundred and fifty members; some women from as far away as Toledo and Amherstburg, Ontario, attended the annual summer convention.
    The rumors of slave catchers in the area resulted in a smaller than usual turnout—only nine of the twenty local women ventured out, but the meeting went well. Reports were given on the upcoming Christmas bazaar to be held in conjunction with the church, the state of the organization's financial needs, and the never-ending search for shelter and clothing for runaways.
    The meeting lasted a little over an hour, and when it was over nobody wanted to stay for dessert and tea. With slave catchers rumored to be in the area, all felt it best not to tarry. A few of the women had risked the wrath of their husbands by attending the circle's meeting and had promised to return