Redfield Farm: A Novel of the Underground Railroad (28 page)

I watched the new addition to the Finley house take shape amid much talk about the suddenness of the marriage proposal.

“Deborah accepted Elias with all speed,” Rebecca observed to me. “Guess it was more than the poor girl dreamed of. Going from nothing to a fine, new house, the wife of one of the respected men of the community. More than she ever expected from life.”

“I hope it turns out that way. For her sake.”

No one could blame Deborah for marrying Elias, even if it was more for convenience on his part than anything else. Their intention to marry was announced at Meeting, with appropriate committees assigned. The union took place in October, just after harvest. Sitting in the Meeting House, watching Elias take a wife, I was at peace with my decision.

Even though I kept my rejection of Elias to myself, Jesse surmised what had happened and couldn’t resist the chance to tease.

“That sure is a fine house Elias is building for his bride,” he gibed. “It’s not every woman gets a chance at a catch like Elias. Sure would look fancy riding to Meeting in a fine buggy at Elias’s side. Yep, I bet there’s many a woman wishes she’d had a chance to land that one!”

“Yes, many. If Deborah had rejected him, there’s always Pru Hartley! Get thee behind me, Jesse!” I chided. “You need a wife yourself, but I doubt anyone would have you, even Pru. Mayhap we could advertise in the Bedford Gazette and see what turns up!”

U
ncle Sammy Grainger died in March.
I was deeply touched by his passing, indebted to him as I was for his help in sending Sam to Josiah. Jesse confided that he’d been the one to start the Underground Railroad in the Quaker settlement. I hadn’t known that, but come to think of it, he was always there on the fringe of things. He’d stepped aside years ago for younger men, but the Railroad work was only part of his legacy. His death brought change to Redfield Farm.

First there was Uncle Sammy’s will. Each of his sister Martha’s children shared equally. It wasn’t a huge sum, but enough in every case to make a difference in a life. I learned I’d received only about a quarter of my share, and was pleasantly surprised with more. Ben spoke of using his share to buy more breeding stock, but Rebecca raised an eyebrow.

“We need a bigger house for these seven and a half children!”

Ben grinned and quietly agreed. Mary and Noah Poole used their legacy to buy some adjoining land they’d wanted. No one knew what happened to Rachel’s money, but we speculated that Jacob Schilling put it to good use in his investments. Betsy and Will built onto their house in New Paris, more space for the shoemaking business and raising two boys. Nathaniel invested his money in railroad stock, and I asked him to do the same with mine, thinking primarily of Sam’s future. Jesse put his share away without a word about his plans.

Ever since he was a little boy, Jesse’d talked about going west. He’d read about it, studied it, even planned for it. Now, given the wherewithal to actually do it, he dallied, unable to make the decision.

“Jesse, do you think you’ll go west now that you can?” I asked him one April evening.

“I don’t know. There’s still so much to be done here.”

I knew he meant the Railroad. “But there are others who can take over for you. I’d hate to lose you. I’d miss you like everything, but this is your one chance.” He sat opposite me on the back porch, whittling at a stick with his pocket knife.

“I know. It’s what I’ve always wanted. Matthew Miller writes that life is fine in Indiana. He’s got a hundred and sixty acres. Planted apple trees. Near a place called Edinburgh.” There was longing in his voice.

“Then do it, Jesse. Don’t stay here and be a martyr for the Railroad. You’ve already given your left arm to the cause.”

I heard myself say the words, but my heart ached at the thought of his leaving. He’d always been
my
Jesse, two years ahead, sensible, level headed, self assured. What would I do without him? Who would I turn to when the world got too much for me? Who would tease me out of the doldrums, make me laugh at myself, take me in hand when I needed it?

Of course I wouldn’t stand in his way. No one, least of all Jesse, would ever know how alone I would be without him. If anyone had a right to follow his dreams, Jesse did. But for me, a future taking care of Nate and Papa was an empty prospect.

He smiled. “You’re right about the arm. Maybe I better go while I still have one good one.” He rose to go inside but stopped at the sound of someone approaching on horseback. The visitor was Constable Ackroyd from Bedford. The April night was damp and cool, so Jesse invited him inside.

“Some folks down in Chaneysville was robbed and beat up pretty bad by a rogue fugitive on Monday night. You need to be careful who you take in, is all.”

Jesse stepped back. “Oh.”

I looked at him questioningly, then remembered my responsibility as a hostess. “Thank you for the warning. Can I get you a cup of coffee? Something to warm you on the ride home?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he replied, taking off his hat. Abby pulled out a chair for him. I poured the coffee and cut a piece of apple pie left over from supper.

“I figure he might try to hook up with the Underground Railroad around here, if he knows of it. Pass the word around the settlement. I shouldn’t be talking to you like this,” the officer told us between bites of pie. “But this one’s a mean one.”

By the time the constable left, I was fidgety. There was something on Jesse’s mind, but I had to wait until everyone else had gone to bed before I asked. Abby was the last, leaving Jesse and me finally alone.

“Jesse, what is it?”

”There’s one in Spring Hope tonight. At Ezra Warner’s. Came up this afternoon alone, asking for a hook-up. Ben was down horse trading with Ezra, and he told me when he stopped on the way home.”

I understood his chagrin. It was one thing when
he
was in danger. He chose the path. But it was something else entirely when others were at risk. The prospect of anyone getting hurt had always daunted him. I reached for my coat, handing Jesse his. Together we hurried to the barn with a lantern.

Jesse stopped me at the barn door. “I’ll go alone. It’ll be faster on horseback,” he said. “No telling what I might find.”

“I can’t sit here waiting. Saddle Nate’s mare for me. I’ll hike my skirts.”

We rode through the night toward the tiny village of Spring Hope, south of Fishertown. It was only about ten o’clock, but there was no light in the farmhouses we passed. When we reached Ezra Warner’s farm, it, too, was dark. No one answered Jesse’s knock. He pounded on the door hard enough to rattle the windows, but no one answered. He came back down the steps.

“I’m going to look in the barn.”

I climbed down from my horse to follow him. Jesse found a lantern on a peg and lit it. We looked around the barn floor, moving toward the hay mow. Then I noticed feed sacks spread over some barrels and motioned to Jesse to have a look. I held the lantern high, and Jesse yanked the sack off one of the larger barrels. Inside, hands clasped over his head, crouched a black man.

“‘Don’t take me back. Please, Massa,” he pleaded. “Please don’t take me back. I’ll do anything. Please, Massa!”

“Where is the Warner family?” Jesse demanded.

“Gone away. Say to stay here. They be back tomorrow. Send me on then. Please, Massa. Don’t send me back. I’s cold an’ hungry, but I’s free.”

His pleadings sounded sincere, but I puzzled over the whole Warner family being gone.

“Where did you come from?” Jesse asked.

“North Carolina. Halifax County. Been runnin’ two weeks now, tryin’ to find the Railroad. Some folks help me, but they don’t know how to hook up. Mr. Warner say he know a real conductor.”

“Just kept the morning sun on my right and kept walkin’. Kept to the woods mostly. Mr. Warner, he workin’ in the field. I ask him do he know the Railroad. He say yes. Bring me here. Say he got to go to town tonight—something about his wife’s father sick. Say he fix things and be back for me in the morning.”

I nodded. Ezra Warner’s wife was a Baldwin. Aaron Baldwin’s daughter. They lived in Schellsburg, and the old man was on his deathbed. I knew that.

“All right,” I said to the black man. “Stay here. Help will come tomorrow. Don’t move or make a sound until either Ezra or Jesse, here, comes for you.”

We re-covered the barrel and put out the light. Outside, we mounted the horses and turned toward home.

“If he came up through Hyndman, he can’t be the one who did the damage at Chaneysville,” I offered.

“
If
he came up through Hyndman,” Jesse countered.

“I’m inclined to believe him.”

“I don’t know. He
could
be the lost soul he claims to be, in which case he really needs our help.
Or
he could be a wily criminal who knows the geography well enough to take us for a walk in the woods.”

Jesse was thinking out loud. “I’ll get up early and go see Ezra. Between us we can decide if this one’s lying or not. If he’s not, we need to move him on tomorrow night. There’s no room to fool around, what with Cooper Hartley watching our every move.”

The next morning Jesse was gone before sunup and back in time for a late breakfast. He seemed confident, after talking to Ezra, that this was a runaway in need, not a criminal. He’d promised to return that night to move the man on.

Jesse’s confidence was enough for me. Relieved that the Warners were all right and comfortable with Jesse’s plan, I went about my chores with little thought.

What
was
on my mind was the idea of Jesse’s going west. A sister has to expect to lose a brother, some time or other. I was lucky to have kept him this long. That was true, but it didn’t help. My heart was still heavy.

As soon as supper was over, Nate and Jesse went to the barn to hitch up the team. I gathered food and blankets, and tied on my bonnet.

“So there’s somebody there with some sense. Somebody who doesn’t necessarily think the whole world is filled with good people. Or that
all
fugitive slaves are kind and benevolent. Honestly, Ann, just because they’ve been slaves doesn’t make them all saints.”

“Thank you for enlightening me, Abby. Now, if you think Jesse and I aren’t up to the task—in need of your protection—get your bonnet.”

Amos smiled behind his newspaper.

We set out through a night warmer then the last, made our pickup in Spring Hope, and backtracked through Fishertown to Alum Bank, then on over the mountain toward Geistown. After cresting the mountain, Jesse stopped to let the horses catch their wind. There was a rap on the false wagon floor, and Jesse stepped back to lift the trap. As he peered down into the darkness a huge, swift, black fist slammed into his face. Caught unawares, he was thrown over the side of the wagon to the ground.

Abby screamed and jumped down to Jesse’s side, leaving me face to face with the man, now standing in the wagon bed, reaching for my arm.

“Two!” he yelled. “I get two white asses in one night!” With a loud, grating laugh, he grabbed my hands, held my back against him and shoved me down under the false bed. He slammed the trap back in place and jumped down to grab Abby’s arm before she could run. He yanked her back up into the wagon and slammed her down on the floor so hard she lost consciousness. Then he lifted the false floor and dumped her in on top of me. I lay there, too dazed to think. I could hear him panting, smell his sweat. He sat down in the driver’s seat, took the reins and drove the startled horses on down the mountain toward Ogletown.

Under the false bed, I felt feverishly for any means of escape or defense. All I found was one square horseshoe nail. It had to be enough. I lay on my back, Abby still groggy at my side, and waited.