Redfield Farm: A Novel of the Underground Railroad (29 page)

After about a mile, the wagon jolted as the horses veered off the road to a stop. The man stepped into the wagon bed and lifted the trap, leering at us, helpless and barely conscious under the floor. Staring at the menacing silhouette above me, I felt for Abby, found her hand and squeezed it. The nail tucked into the waist of my apron was all that stood between us and savage rape.

Our tormenter slammed back the trap and crawled down into the wagon bed, opening his pants. Panting and moaning grotesquely, he looked from one of us to the other, trying to decide which to do first. I struggled to stand up; it was enough to make me his choice. He grabbed my arms and pinned them beneath me, wrestled me to the false floor and lay on top of me, slapping and punching my face with his free hand. I struggled, but his strength was too much for me. As I lay helpless under his weight he reached down and pulled up my skirts, wrestling himself between my legs. Suddenly, Abby jumped on his back, grabbing at his face from behind. He rolled over on her, releasing his grip on me, and I reached for the nail. I raked it over his face, digging and tearing at the flesh, trying to rip it into his eyes. He grabbed my wrist with an iron grip, but Abby reached around again from behind and grabbed one of his nostrils, holding and tearing as though possessed. He thrashed at the two of us, knocking us heavily against the sides of the wagon, but still we fought him. The horses, spooked by the terrible noise, circled and ran headlong back up the track the way they had come.

We got to our feet, one of us on either side, fighting fiercely. With a wild swipe of his arm, he knocked me out of the wagon. I landed with a thump on my back in the track, seeing stars. Then as the demon lurched to the driver’s seat to stop the terrified horses, Abby jumped out, too.

She ran back toward me, her white apron a blur in the darkness. I stumbled, limping, toward her. We crouched behind a boulder, clinging to each other, trembling. Our hands searched frantically on the ground for anything we could use as a weapon. The fugitive stopped the horses, jumped down and walked back along the track looking for us. We held our breath, watching him.

He lurched past within a few feet of us. “God damn white bitches,” he mumbled as he staggered along in the darkness. Suddenly Abby sprang out behind him and smashed a rock into his skull. I heard the sickening thud. The man grunted and fell forward, blood soaking the back of his head.

“Let’s go,” Abby cried, grabbing me by the arm. We ran blindly up the track and climbed into the wagon. Abby took the reins, and I looked back for the first time. I saw nothing in the blackness, heard nothing but the creaking of the harness and the squeaking wagon springs. We moved slowly through the night, back up to the summit. There lay Jesse, sprawled on the side of the track, looking like death itself. We strained to lift him into the wagon and slapped the reins against the horses’ rumps. Neither of us spoke until we reached home well after midnight.

In the barn, we unhitched the horses and inspected ourselves by lantern light. The damage was ugly but not life threatening. Jesse, on the other hand, was seriously hurt. He lay in the bottom of the wagon, still unconscious.

Abby ran into the house to get Nathaniel, who appeared in his underwear, groggy from sleep. “What’s this?” he asked.

“Jesse’s hurt bad, Nate. Help us get him inside,” I implored.

We carried Jesse into the kitchen and laid him on Amos’ bed, a sad replay of that other night a few years ago. Amos, roused by all the activity, questioned us.

“What happened? What’s wrong with Jesse?”

I pumped water and built up the fire in the stove as we told the tale to Papa and Nate. Abby and I inspected our injuries by lamplight. We looked a fright, but not as bad as Jesse, who lay lifeless on Papa’s bed.

Nate was pale with fear for him. “I’ll go for the doctor at first light.”

The two men retired to the attic rooms while Abby and I bathed. We shed our filthy clothes and washed our aching bodies, trying to remove all evidence of our attacker. When we’d washed every inch of ourselves, even our hair, we put on clean nightgowns and went up the parlor stairs to my room. There, lying in the dark, we held onto each other and cried. I cried because my faith in the goodness of man had been shaken to its roots. Abby cried for Jesse.

Morning had long since broken before either Abby or I awakened. Amos had taken care of the chores while Nate rode to Schellsburg for the doctor. Jesse, though conscious now, still could not move his feet and legs. He said his hands felt numb.

Abby and I each had a black eye and many cuts, bruises, and scrapes. Soreness was setting in with every twist of the back and raise of an arm.

Dr. Telford examined Jesse and found what he thought was the problem. In the fall from the wagon, he’d struck the back of his head, low, near his neck, on a rock. The bruising and swelling put pressure on his spinal cord, causing the paralysis. The doctor hoped it was only temporary, that once the swelling went down, Jesse would be able to walk, but it would take a long time and plenty of bed rest.

Abby rushed to get the ice, returning in a few minutes with a basin half full. She sat beside Jesse, gently turned him on his side, and applied the ice to his aching head.

“You didn’t. I volunteered,” she corrected him. “And it’s a good thing I did, because if there hadn’t been three of us, you and Ann might be dead by now.”

Jesse’s face—contorted by a broken nose and two black eyes—looked at Abby’s cut, bruised, and swollen face with gratitude and shame.

“You’re some woman, Abby Hill,” he said.

From then on, Abby took over nursing Jesse. His recovery was slow, aided by Abby’s constant attention. When he could stand, she took him out on the porch and read to him. When he could walk, she took him first to the barn, then over to Ben’s, hovering over him at meals and between. I saw what was developing, but chose not to speak of it. This was their business, not mine. I waited to be told, certain that I
would
be told.

Nate rode to Bedford to drop a word to the friend of a friend to tell the constable to send somebody over to the summit on the Geistown road to investigate a dead body said to be there. Word came back in a couple of days that there was, indeed, a body. Nothing more was asked or told.

Jesse convalesced through the spring, slowly regaining movement and feeling. I allowed myself to hope that he might shelve his plans to go west at least for a while. But change was in the air.

J
esse put off his departure for the west while he recuperated,
but it was soon apparent that he still intended to go. Abby hovered over him, protective as a she-wolf. I moved aside when I saw the unmistakable look of possession her eyes. Jesse was too foggy-headed to read the female maneuvering that went on about him. All he knew was that Abby looked different. Like a woman. By June, he was ready to tell the world. He was going to Indiana and taking Abby as his wife.

Abby and I attended to the inevitable sewing of linens, a wedding dress for her, and a wedding shirt for him. Time rolled by too quickly, try as I would to put the impending departure out of my mind.

Maybe I could get them to take me with them. No. How silly. Papa needs me. Nate can fend for himself or marry, but I can’t abandon Papa. It’s a childish notion anyway. What would Jesse and Abby want with me?

I awoke on the wedding day almost giddy with excitement until I remembered that it was Abby and Jesse getting married and moving on, not me. The whole family, including the bridal couple, boarded Ben’s carriage for the ride to Meeting. There we met Mary and Noah with their shiny-faced brood, hardly able to contain their good natured silliness long enough to sit still for a wedding. Betsy and Will McKitrick arrived with their two boys, already long and tall. Once they saw their Poole and Redfield cousins, there was no containing them. I loved these family gatherings—they happened too seldom. The only one missing was Rachel, who had given birth in May to her third child, John Tyler Schilling. She wouldn’t have been allowed to come in any case, but Rachel was in my thoughts that day.

Jesse was clearly eager to get to Indiana and the life he had thus far put off. Abby’s beauty, though late in coming, was in full bloom. She was so deeply in love with Jesse, it shone from her eyes. My own feelings aside, I couldn’t help but be glad—for Abby to have found love, and for Jesse, too. But, oh, the emptiness I faced as a result.

They left the next day to take the cars from Altoona to Pittsburgh, then on to the prairie of central Indiana. I thought them well suited for the adventure they faced. No lack of courage between them.

Nate drove them to Altoona in Ben’s best carriage. Amos and I rode along to stay the night with Rachel and Jacob Schilling. It was the first time Amos had seen Rachel in six years, the first time he had met his three Schilling grandchildren, and the first time in all of his sixty-four years that he slept under any roof but his own.

Jacob was still at work when we arrived. Rachel and the children met us on the porch of their home on 10
^th
street. The three blonde-haired, blue-eyed, solemn faced children eyed us shyly at first but soon warmed up to their Uncle Jesse’s pulling nickels from behind their ears and their Uncle Nate’s horsie rides. Little Ellen was especially attractive to me, being less of a reminder of Sam than the boys.

Abby and I helped Rachel with supper, and the family sat down, nine strong. Rachel beamed. “I’m so glad you came! You’ll never know how much I’ve longed to see all of you. I’m glad not to have missed out on
everything
.” Her joy was contagious, and we were soon laughing and talking as of old.

Amos watched them go with a yawn and mumbled something about going to bed with the chickens, if he could only find some chickens, and retired early, giving Rachel and me a chance to talk more freely than we had in years.

“Thank you, Rachel, but no. Someone has to take care of Papa. Nate will marry soon enough, but I can’t leave Papa. Besides, Jacob wouldn’t want me around.”

“No doubt he does, but our personalities would clash, I’m afraid.” I looked directly at her. “How are you doing, Rachel? You look well enough, but I miss my old sister. Where’s she gone?”

“One grows up. Three children and a husband tame the child pretty quick.”

“Is he good to you?” I pressed.

“Yes.” Rachel hesitated. “Most of the time. But I always toe the line. If I anger him, he can be beastly. Not that many men aren’t the same. When you live as close to your neighbors as I do, you know that.”

“Maybe so, but I worry for you. You’re not the carefree girl I grew up with, and my guess is it has more to do with him than the children.”

“The children are my joy. Jacob is my keeper.”

“As I suspected. You know you could leave him and come home to us, especially with Jesse leaving.”

“Oh, no. I could never do that. The children need their father, and Jacob’s a good provider. We want for nothing. I would find life in the old place hard,” she said. Then, apologetically, ”I’ve learned to like my comforts.”

I studied her, hoping my worst fears were groundless. But I knew in my heart that Jacob Schilling and I would clash mightily, given the opportunity. I lay awake long into the night, brooding over the impending loss of Jesse and Abby and over Rachel’s plight.

In the morning, the family gathered for breakfast without the newlyweds. I helped Rachel dress the children, and we set out for the station, Baby John in a fine new wicker perambulator, young James riding on Uncle Nate’s shoulders, and prim little Ellen holding my hand. Jesse and Abby waited on the platform, their joy in one another impossible to mask. A shudder passed through me when I saw them. How could I ever say goodbye?

We engaged in light conversation as the locomotive steamed up and passengers from the east alighted. Jesse saw to the loading of the trunk, then rejoined the family. He took both my hands in his and looked into my eyes. I couldn’t return his gaze without tears, so I looked away.