Redfield Farm: A Novel of the Underground Railroad (18 page)

We were soon on the road home. The heavy load made travel slow, and we arrived barely before dark. We smiled at each other as we climbed down from the wagon, quietly proud of our accomplishment.

Sam was sound asleep in his little bed when we got home. We sat down to supper, shared with Sam’s nurse, as though it were just another day on the farm.

After the meal, Jesse and Nathaniel unloaded the baskets of peaches on the back porch while Amos ambled down the path to Ben’s. He returned with one of Ben’s teams and hitched them to the wagon inside the barn. Two of the fugitive men and two women were loaded into the wagon, concealed under several old, unused bee hives. The imagined presence of bees was enough to put off most interlopers. The slaves lay together in a tight little space behind and beneath the hives.

Nathaniel, who rarely participated in our Railroad operations, rode along with Jesse that night. His sentiments, though strongly opposed to slavery, didn’t usually spur him to action, and no one was ever forced.

After they left, I thanked the black nurse and sent her back to the barn.

“That no hardship, Ma’am. He a joy to care for.”

“Did you do that kind of work where you came from?” I asked, curiously attracted by the woman’s obvious refinement and intelligence.

“No, Ma’am. I was a personal maid to the mistress.”

“Oh,” I replied. “I
thought
you had some kind of house position.”

House servants didn’t run as often as field hands did, because their lives were much easier. In the inevitable hierarchies that people invented, house servants were above field hands. Their access to refinements and discarded luxuries made their lives more comfortable than those of common slaves. As a result, they often developed more loyalty to their masters than to their fellow slaves. I wondered why this woman would run.

“What made you come north?”

“No one want to be owned by another, even if they nice. My mistress nice to me, but she hate my man ‘cause he
her
husband’s son. Master die. Mistress fixin’ to sell my husband, so he run. I go to be with him.”

T
he next morning, Abby and I loaded all but two baskets of peaches back in the wagon
and set off with Sam to distribute them to friends and family. We dropped off peaches at Ben’s house, Elias Finley’s, Uncle Sammy Grainger’s, making our way around to New Paris, where we dropped off the last of them with Betsy, who had just returned from a week in Altoona with Rachel.

Rachel’s baby, a boy, had been born in May and named, to Amos’ distaste, James Buchanan Schilling. Rachel basked in the joy of first motherhood. According to Betsy, all was well there, so I kept my feelings about Jacob Schilling to myself.

“I liked visiting Altoona, but I was just as happy to get back to New Paris,” Betsy asserted. “It’s such a big city, and it’s noisy all the time—houses being built, the trains, the horse traffic. They’re paving the streets as fast as they can, but the building outstrips them. Jacob is speculating in real estate. He’s bought four lots and plans to build houses on them and sell them. Rachel may end up a rich woman.”

I listened with interest but found it difficult to take joy in Jacob Schilling’s accomplishments. No one but Mary and I knew of his insulting behavior, and it was best kept that way, so I tried to look interested in all the Altoona talk, but I still felt an unspeakable resentment against Jacob.

As Abby and I drove home, my mind was on other things. Lettie. Josiah’s wife. The woman I’d wronged. I struggled against a wave of panic, along with other urges I could not acknowledge—even to myself.

I pictured Josiah’s joy at being reunited with Lettie, and tried to be glad for them. They had a fine future together, living and raising a family in freedom in Canada. Envy rose in me, even though I tried to put it down, for my own future promised none of that. I thought about Sam growing up, the only Negro in the settlement, never knowing his father, and my sadness for him deepened. Abby interrupted my thoughts.

At home, we turned the wagon over to Jesse, who was going to transport the rest of the fugitives that night. He spent the afternoon building a false bottom in the wagon so the runaways could lie flat on the real floor, safe under whatever Jesse chose to be hauling. He’d wanted to do this for a long time. The heavy traffic increased the need for more secure measures. So he made the false bottom using wood from an old outbuilding Amos had torn down last winter.

Abby and I started on the peaches, but it wasn’t long before she came up with the idea of bringing Lettie in from the barn to help. She ran upstairs for Nathaniel’s old clothes and scurried out to the barn to help Lettie with the disguise.

Thrilled to be out of the barn, Lettie joined us in putting the peaches by and tending to Sam. Watching her play with Sam, I felt a twinge of jealousy. He took to her right away, even though he was at an age where the only two women that suited him most of the time were Abby and me. Usually he cried and reached out to me when a stranger held him, but now he sat content on Lettie’s lap, touching her face and smiling as though he recognized her from some past life.

“He a beautiful baby,” Lettie said in a quizzical tone. Her eyes studied my face for a clue to the mystery. Clearly I was his natural mother, but . . . I tried to divert attention to other matters.

“Jesse thinks you’ll be moved on tonight,” I observed.

“Mmmm. I can’t believe I be this close to my Josiah,” Lettie returned. “Maybe I be with him this time next week.”

At the mention of Josiah’s name, I turned cold again and became extremely agitated, unable to concentrate on the peaches or even to sit still. Without the name, I might have pretended that this was some other woman. Some other Lettie from Virginia. Now the knowledge intruded on my fragile tranquility.

I felt a need to be alone, so I excused myself and headed to the privy. At least there no one would see me tremble and quake at meeting Josiah’s wife. I sat down on the closed seat, fully clothed, held my head in my hands, and cried. Guilt, shame, anger, fear, jealousy, and need poured out of me. I was confronted with the gravity of what I had done and overwhelmed by a need to somehow make it right.

My conscience pushed me to confess. To tell Lettie all of it. But why? Who could benefit from the telling?
I
would, in an immediate sense—in relief from my guilt. But that was all, and it would be selfish to lay this thing between Lettie and Josiah, especially because of Sam. No! I could not,
would not
tell Lettie. Whatever she thought about Sam, let her think it. With great effort, I pulled myself together and went back to the house.

Jesse came in as we were cleaning up the last of the peaches. “I‘m done. I think I can get these last three in there and move them on tonight.”

I was relieved that Lettie—and hopefully my own emotional turmoil—would soon be gone. As I wiped up the kitchen, Lettie donned her disguise and returned to the barn. It had started to rain, and I took that as a good sign, for it meant less traffic on the roads.

We ate supper in silence, aware that this night held danger for Jesse. He acted light hearted about his missions, but we knew the dangers he faced.

“I could go with you,” Nathaniel offered.

“You’re needed here to help Father with the chores. I’ll be all right,” Jesse replied.

I felt uneasy about this mission, but dismissed it as anxiety over my guilt and shame. After dark I went to the barn to help. The rain continued, likely to keep the law and the slave catchers off the roads.

The rest of the fugitives were safely loaded, lying down in the bottom of the wagon, and the false floor was dropped in, giving them little room to move. My eyes met Lettie’s as Jesse dropped the floor in place. The new wagon floor was cluttered with tools, parts of farm implements, an old crock, and a couple of buckets. Wagon junk.

As Jesse stepped up on the driver’s seat, I handed him an old, oilskin slicker from a peg by the door. He wrapped it around his shoulders and clucked to the horses. With clear reluctance, they stepped out into the heavy rain.

The rain continued all night, the gray dawn not much lighter. I awoke with a start, but, seeing Sam sleeping warm and snug in his little bed, I pushed aside my feelings of dread. I dressed and went downstairs, leaving Abby to tend to Sam when she awoke. I poked up the fire and added a log. Its warmth lightened the room and lifted the dampness.

Abby brought the baby down to the warm kitchen and dressed him. Nathaniel was the last to join us, fully clothed, with a hearty appetite. We breakfasted in silence, except for Sam’s gabbling and pounding the table with a wooden spoon.

The heavy rain continued throughout the morning. Amos and Nathaniel did the chores while Abby and I cleaned up the kitchen and made the beds. The dreariness seemed to penetrate our souls. I warmed the Sad Irons, and Abby swept up the kitchen. The smell of the hot irons on cotton brought welcome warmth against the dampness.

Dinner passed much the same as breakfast—each of us eating silently, lost in private thoughts. Amos and Nathaniel read while I ironed and Abby made a stew for supper. The tension increased as the day wore on with no word from Jesse.

They lapsed into silence again, the drumming of the rain incessant on the roof. Sam pulled himself up to the bench beside the table and slammed the teapot lid down on it, beating out a baby rhythm, our only distraction through the long afternoon. By four o’clock it was almost dark again, and when the men went out for evening chores, the mud in the barnyard was up to their ankles. They came in, mud-stained and bedraggled, for supper.

After the meal, Nathaniel stood up. “Think I’ll just go myself. No need to bother Ben.”

“Take Ben with you. No tellin’ what you’ll find,” Amos ordered.

Nathaniel’s departure did little to take our minds off our fears. We’d been lucky all these years. We hadn’t kept an accurate record, but probably a hundred or more fugitives had passed through our hands without serious mishap. Jesse was definitely in trouble. It remained only to find out what kind and how bad. I heard Ben and Nathaniel ride past, their horses’ hooves sucking mud.

I sat up sewing by lamplight until eleven o’clock. Abby’d taken Sam up early and retired herself. Amos sat on his bed in the corner of the kitchen, staring into the shadows. Outside, the rain still fell on the water soaked ground.

Around two o’clock I was aroused from a shallow slumber by what I thought was a shout. I took up the lamp and hurried to the door. The night was dark and wet, but it had stopped raining.

Outside, a sad and broken procession made its way to the barn. Nathaniel drove the wagon, its side broken in and one wheel wobbling precariously on its hub. Ben rode beside, leading Nate’s horse. Jesse was nowhere in sight. I ran forward to open the barn door and lit two lanterns as they drove the half-shattered wagon in. Then I saw Jesse, lying on his side on the false bottom, his face white, his left shoulder hunched awkwardly toward his neck.

“Jesse!”

“Wait, Ann,” he said weakly. “Let them get me to the house.”

Ben unhitched the horses, inspecting their legs with concern. Nate and I lifted Jesse out of the wagon; he cried out in pain despite our efforts to be gentle. Ben helped Nate carry him into the house and lay him on Amos’ bed. Papa stood bewildered, watching his two sons carry the third, disturbed by his muffled groans.

I did my best to make him comfortable. I knew his injuries were beyond my meager medical knowledge. Jesse needed a doctor. Nate promised to ride for one at sunup. Meanwhile, I treated the obvious cuts and bruises, while my brothers returned to the barn to tend to the horses. Around three o’clock I heard Ben ride past on his way home.

Then the door opened and Nate entered, guiding Lettie before him. “We almost forgot about her in the rush to take care of Jesse and the horses,” he said. “She can tell you what happened.”

Lettie shivered in her torn, muddy dress, a big blue bruise on her cheekbone. I took a basin into the parlor so she could wash, then hurried to find her some clean clothes. About a half hour later, as she sat at the table eating a bowl of oatmeal, she began her tale.

“We goin’ up a big hill. Could feel how steep it was. Then lightnin’ or thunder, something spooked the horses, and they into buckin’ and rearin’. Felt like the whole wagon turn upside down.” She looked at us, wide-eyed between mouthfuls of oatmeal. “Mr. Jesse fall back off the seat. I couldn’t see. I was under the floor. Wagon start slippin’ sideways. Take the horses, Mr. Jesse, us and all off the road and down over the bank.”