Redfield Farm: A Novel of the Underground Railroad (11 page)

I leaned against the door, breathing heavily, the poker still in my hand. Then I crossed to the fireplace and shoved the end into the coals. If they came back, I’d be ready.

About a half-hour later Ben returned with Hannah, who relieved me of the midwifing duties. At about two o’clock in the afternoon, a lusty wail could be heard all the way to the trunk in the loft.

The work of bathing and dressing the babies fell to me, as Hannah ministered to her sister’s needs. In a short while all was quiet in the Ben Redfield house. The babies and their mother slept. Hannah gathered her things and looked at Ben.

With Ben and Hannah gone and Rebecca and the babies asleep, my attention returned to Josiah. He’d had nothing to eat since morning. It must have been almost as wild a day for him as it had been for me. I was sure he’d heard everything. I poured some soup in a bowl and climbed to the loft.

“Josiah,” I whispered softly. “Josiah.”

Again the trunk lid opened and he stood, but his cramped limbs would barely hold him. He sat on a bed, his hands shaking as I handed him the bowl. He took it, but set it down immediately. Taking me in his arms, he whispered, “Oh, Ann. Ann. You a marvel of a woman. How can I ever repay you? You saved my life.”

I trembled in his arms. The fear that I stared down earlier did its work now. I collapsed against his chest, crying softly.

“Josiah, I love you.”

He held me, crooning in my ear. “You some woman, Ann Redfield. Some woman, indeed. How’m I gonna pay you back for all this?” A sharp rap at the door.

“That’ll be Jesse.” I climbed down the ladder and crossed to the door. I looked out to assure myself that it was, indeed, Jesse before I slid back the wooden bar.

“Had a busy day, Ann?” he greeted me.

“Somewhat,” I replied.

Jesse stopped by the cradle in which two tiny heads reposed. He smiled and moved away so as not to disturb them and their sleeping mother. He sat down on a bench and pulled me down beside him, talking in subdued tones.

“I have a plan for Josiah, but I need your help.”

I nodded.

“I’ll use Ben’s sleigh when he gets back. You and I will pose as husband and wife. I’m taking you to your dying mother’s bedside in Johnstown.”

“Johnstown! Jesse, that’s a long way.”

“It’s the nearest safe drop off. We’ll hide Josiah in back and cover him with feed sacks and the buffalo robe. Having you along will reduce suspicion about traveling at night.”

“All right. I’ll go home and get us some food. You stay with Rebecca. I think she’ll sleep. Josiah’s upstairs.” I pulled on my boots and tied my bonnet as I spoke.

Jesse opened the door. “We’ll come by for you as soon after dark as it’s safe.”

I stepped out and followed the path through the deep snow, lost in thought about Josiah, the slave catchers, and our despicable neighbors. Amos and Nathaniel were in the kitchen when I arrived.

I put supper on the table, and we ate in silence, waiting for Jesse, who arrived around seven. I joined him in the sleigh with a sidelong glance at the pile in back.

“He’s all right,” Jesse assured me as we moved out into the night. The snow had stopped around three, and others had made tracks ahead of us, so the going was smooth enough. We talked little as we rode, mostly about family. When Betsy was coming home. What Ben and Rebecca would name the babies. How proud Amos was of twin grandsons.

The trip was long and cold. As the sleigh runners cut quietly through the snow-covered world, my thoughts were with the man in back. He must be terrified after two close calls. I was. I spoke when Jesse spoke to me, but my mind was on Josiah.

We arrived at a farmhouse near Geistown, east of Johnstown around midnight. Jesse jumped down and climbed the stairs to the porch. He knocked at the door and waited. I could tell by his movements when the door opened, but no light appeared. Conductors had to be cautious in the middle of the night. Fugitives could be moved any time of year, but snow made tracking them easier, so they usually laid low when it snowed.

Jesse returned and removed the coverings without a word. Josiah appeared, wearing an old coat of Ben’s. He leaned over and touched my shoulder as he let himself down from the sleigh.

“Good bye, Miss Ann. Thank you,” he whispered.

“Good bye, Josiah.”

Jesse escorted him to the house. The door closed, and Jesse returned to the sleigh. He turned the horses around and headed home. That was that.

I
knew I was pregnant by the middle of March.
I knew it before that—by mid-February—but tried not to believe it. Two months of daily bouts of nausea were evidence enough, if I needed more. I can’t describe how I felt when I knew. A sickening fear—isolation, resignation—closed in on me. So alone. I looked desperately for someone to turn to. Someone to help. But there was no one, so I determined to keep my secret as long as I could and carried on as though nothing were amiss.

I took to walking alone along the roads or in the woods, with no particular destination, as though there were some answer out there, if only I could find it. One afternoon, I found myself in the creek bottom near the Hartley place. I didn’t want to pass too close, but once I realized where I was, it was too late. Pru had spied me.

“Whatever
can
you be talking about?” I tried to say it lightly, but Pru was having none of it.

“You know right well what I’m talkin’ about. I saw his black face lookin’ out at me one day in Jan’ry. Don’t think I didn’t!”

“Is that why your brothers came to our house looking for a runaway? Honestly, Pru, you’re mistaken.”

She spit on the porch. “Mistook, hell. I know a nigger when I see one. You Redfields better watch out. Folks got their eye on you.”

I moved past the house, fighting the urge to run. “I’m on my way to Alum Bank to pick up the mail. Want me to bring yours?” I asked, knowing full well that the Hartleys never got mail—and couldn’t read it if they did.

“No need. But you might bring me a pound of sugar and some tea while yer about.” She preened in the doorway, feigning gentility.

I felt hateful toward her. Her and her whole low-class, ignorant, evil family. A child eyed me from behind her ragged skirt. More of the same, I thought. I hastened on down the path, careful not to step in anything.

The declaration of intention to marry for Elizabeth Redfield and William McKitrick was read at the Second Monthly Meeting (February) and again at the Third (March). No obstacles to the union were discovered, so the wedding took place in Fourth Month (April).

I did what I could to lose myself in the preparations for Betsy’s wedding. I cleaned, sewed, baked and cooked until I was numb. Will McKitrick had bought a little house in New Paris to accommodate his family and his shoemaking business, so that had to be cleaned and painted, curtains made, furniture moved. Betsy and I worked hard at both houses, and I was grateful, for the work kept my mind off my situation.

Friends arrived from miles around at the Dunning Creek Meeting house, for both the Redfields and the McKittricks were well known and respected. The weather, unseasonably warm for mid-April, delivered a lovely day for the wedding dinner at Redfield Farm. I got up at dawn, worked before the service, worked after the service, welcomed guests, served food, refilled plates, cleaned up after, and fell into bed exhausted at about eleven o’clock, satisfied that I’d given my sister a fine wedding.

I felt let down afterwards, with nothing to distract me. I could no longer ignore my pregnancy, even if it wasn’t yet apparent to others. I didn’t regret loving Josiah, of that I was certain, but how I could do right by this child was a fearful concern. Waves of panic overwhelmed me, and I struggled with an urgency to act. Such an urge is common in times of crisis, but sometimes there’s nothing to be done but accept what is.

Things were quiet along the Railroad for a while after Josiah’s departure, but activity picked up as the weather warmed. Jesse was more open with me about his activities, knowing he would likely need my help again. I welcomed the openness and yearned for a chance to do more.

Ideas for moving fugitives swirled around in my brain, along with fear for Josiah and worry about my own future and that of the tiny life inside me. My resolve strengthened. I could no longer stay on the sidelines. I would do all I could for as long as I could to end this horror. I didn’t fear for my own safety, and my status as a woman could be turned to advantage.

Just a week after Betsy’s wedding I told him, “Jesse, I want to do more than just occasional help with the railroad. I mean not just sometimes; all the time.”

Jesse sat on the back step, petting our old dog, his legs stretched long in front of him. I already knew more than he wanted me to know—more than was good for either of us. He watched me, deep in thought, struggling with his sense of right. Then he relented. “All right. We’ll work together.”

“I’m not the only one around here involved in this,” he told me. “There’s a little network of Friends and Free Negroes. Our passengers mostly come up through Cumberland, Maryland, but some come from the east, too.”

I listened carefully, intent upon remembering all he said.

“I have several routes I can send people on. I try to vary them, just in case. My biggest problem around here is the Hartleys. They’re onto me, but fortunately, they’re not that hard to deceive.”

“I know. Pru always seems like she’s spying on us. She shows up at odd times, sneaks around when she thinks I don’t see her.”

Jesse nodded. “I’ve seen her, too. The boys worry me more, out to make a nickel they don’t care how.”

“Everyone detests them, not just the strong abolitionists. Most people’s sympathies are with the runaways.” My own contempt for the Hartleys knew no bounds.

“Even Old Ackroyd might be more sympathetic than he looks, but he’s bound to enforce the Fugitive Slave Law. The Friends try not to hold it against him.”

Amos and Nathaniel were coming in from the barn, so I moved to change the subject. They were with us, but only on the edge of things. They didn’t want or need to know the details.

The runaways came alone, in pairs, or in small groups, sometimes guided by one who had made it successfully to Canada and returned South to rescue others. Most of the time they were able young people, with the strength to run and hide, sometimes for weeks without relief. But occasionally they were children, even babies, exposed to grave danger by those who loved them and were willing to risk all for freedom. Conductors gave babies paregoric to render them unconscious and, therefore, silent. A few old folks made it, too. Helped along by their children or friends, they gave their last effort for the opportunity to die in freedom. It touched my heart to see them, so afraid, so dependent on the charity of others.

April gave way to May, and the planting began. With it came a long-awaited letter from Rachel. She was married to Jacob Schilling and living in Altoona. Work was plentiful, and they had bought a house not far from the booming railroad shops. Most of the men in town worked on the railroad, but Rachel was glad Jacob didn’t, because the shop workers got so dirty. Jacob came home covered with plaster dust, which he called ‘clean dirt’, and that, to Rachel’s mind, was better than the sooty grit from the trains. She described their brand new house with three bedrooms upstairs and three rooms downstairs (parlor, dining room, kitchen), a big attic, cellar, and porches front and back.