Chasing Freedom (20 page)

Thirty-four

F
ALL ENDED, THEN WINTER CAME AND FINALLY SPRING
rolled into summer. For weeks, the candles burned all night. On July
15
,
1786
, daylight welcomed a morning of feverish activity. The horizon brightened as golden rays filtered through the blue-grey sky. It was a honeyed day, one for making the sweetest dreams come true. It was a day for an enormous celebration.

Sarah scurried about the new house—a small, four-room home on the Birchtown Road on the edge of her ten acres. It was about a mile up the road from Papa's new place and a half-mile from the old homestead, where Aunt Amelia now lived. She was proud of the glass windows and thick door, but the delight was the kitchen fireplace that Thomas had built. It was fitted with hooks to hang pots and a recessed wall for baking. Reece made a three-legged kettle for cooking and Aunt Margaret gave her an array of cast-iron skillets.

The day began at six with the bell ringing in the new Methodist Meeting House. The bell would ring every hour until the wedding began. Several customers had secretly made beautiful paper bells and streamers to hang in her home. Food from the neighbours kept arriving. There were tables to set up outside and crates of donated dishes to clean. Savoury aromas drifted throughout the house from pots of chicken stew topped with mounds of fluffy dumplings and from the tangy apple pies. To liven up the festivities, three large tubs of spruce beer were chilling in a cold pool behind the house.

Margaret and Amelia were like tornadoes around Sarah. There was not a minute to relax—no time to think about the most wonderful day of her life. But soon her energy slowed and she lay sideways on her bed, taking a much-needed break. Thoughts of Thomas encouraged a smile. They would spend their first night together not in a small bed with a straw mattress, but in the big feather bed he built for them. Grandmother use to say, “Look at the heart. It rules the deeds.” If that were true, Thomas had a good heart. He was the kind of man who would do anything to help a friend or neighbour. She wondered what her life might be like if they had gone to New York. No, she told herself, they were making good right here in Birchtown. He was a hard working, sweet home man and she was proud of him.

It had taken Thomas such a long time to propose that she had started to wonder if he ever would. The promise ring was one thing, but the actual proposal … well, that took awhile. When it finally came in mid-May, after a long walk down to the Roseway River, it was entirely unexpected. There they were, standing on the wooden bridge, watching the rushing water, chatting about the usual things—their work, ol' man Johnson's house burning down, Reece and Priscilla—when Thomas stretched out his arms and hugged her. As usual, he had his own peculiar way of getting to it. Even his tone did not reveal his intentions when he said, “I came to Nova Scotia, never intending to stay.”

“I, for one, am glad you did,” she said.

“So am I,” he said and turned to stare into the forest. “I believe our ancestors are watching us,” he whispered. “I hear them directing us to join and celebrate all the good things we have found in this place.”

“I feel them as well, all those who endured a life of slavery and have passed on. Their spirits have gathered here tonight on the bridge.”

“They are telling us to move ahead, not to worry about what has been. And they want us to marry.” The twinkle in Thomas's eyes told Sarah that he was taking delight in surprising her. Strangely, after waiting for so long to hear the words, she did not know what to say. She listened as the loons on a nearby lake wailed and the frogs croaked. She watched the steam rise off the water. Still she held back.

Thomas hugged her. “Will you have me?”

Sarah could not resist a little game of one-up. “You said the ancestors have decided for us. Are you sure you have decided?”

“Oh, yes! All of us in our wisdom have decided.” Thomas knelt down on one knee and said, “Sarah Redmond, will you take me, Thomas Cooper, to be your husband?”

“I guess. I think so. Oh, why not?” She giggled and then shrieked, “Yes!”

With the ancestors as witnesses, they pledged their love. She closed her eyes and said, “This is the beginning of our flight. Can you believe it?” She smiled a heartfelt smile and in a creamy voice she said, “I believe that we have a chance.”

The memory of that day came to a hasty end when Amelia's patience cracked Sarah's daydreaming. “Sarah!” she called, her voice worrisome and tired, “Are you getting ready? It will soon be time to go.”

“Don't worry. I am doing fine … I am nearly ready,” Sarah roared, although she had not done a thing yet to get herself ready. She turned over on the bed. Her aunts were chatting and laughing in the next room. She heard Amelia say, “I wish Mama was here. If she could see Sarah now, she would swell with such pride the seams of her dress would split.”

Margaret laughed and said, “I can hear her whispering in my ear, trying to direct our every step. I can hear her telling us to hurry up and stop our jabbering.” They laughed hard this time.

Everything had to be perfect. Sarah basked in her accomplishment of creating most of the attire for the wedding: Margaret wore a floral gown over a matching petticoat with sleeves in rows of frilly lace. Amelia decided upon a plain green petticoat with a beaded bodice trimmed with frills and a small lace ruff around her neck in a matching colour. And Papa, well, he looked just fine in a long, double-breasted black coat, short in the front to reveal a creamy waistcoat and long tails in the back. A new pair of black breeches and a white muslin neck scarf completed his outfit. Sarah had fussed over every detail, to the point where she became exasperated. It had been tiring work and now all of that effort was coming together for everyone but her.

The aunts found Sarah lying on her bed in a slumped heap. They gasped in disbelief and pulled her up with a rough tussle and a good shake.

“You have to hurry, Sarah,” Amelia said. “There is no time to waste.”

“I cannot do this.” Sarah sobbed. “I'm just not ready for marriage.”

Margaret and Amelia gulped in dismay. Amelia spoke harshly, saying, “What do you mean, you are not ready? After all the gushing about being in love and all the planning and hard work. You must be joking.” She squeezed Sarah's face hard into a pucker. “What are you saying?”

Sarah slumped back on the bed, falling into a fit of sobbing, searching for assurances that everything was going to be perfect. Margaret gritted her teeth. “I do not want to tell you how to think, Sarah, but there is no time for memories or regrets or fretting and jitters. You made a decision and now it is time to honour it. Get up off that bed, Girlie!” Her voice was so demanding that it sent chills along Sarah's arms.

“Margaret's right,” said Amelia. “Pull yourself together. It is not the end of the world, you know. It is the beginning.”

Sarah realized there would be no gentle nudging and no sympathy, not this morning. The two aunts stuffed her into her wedding outfit: Grandmother's necklace, a sleeveless, red, brocade gown over a petticoat with a frame to widen the skirt, a handmade silver hair clip, Amelia's white gloves and Margaret's white straw hat with a bow of red ribbon.

Colonel Black insisted that Fortune use his carriage. It shimmered as he proudly held the gelding's leather reins. “I feel like a big brown puffball in this suit,” he chuckled. Sarah was perched beside her father among a multitude of streamers and wildflowers. The horse and buggy led the way down the Birchtown Road to the church. Enos's cart dawdled behind carrying Margaret and Amelia with Prince Junior sitting between them. When they neared the church, Fortune cracked the whip gently, high above the horse's head and prepared for the grand entrance.

The sun beamed down on the folks who came from near and far. The churchyard buzzed with awaiting guests who amused themselves with worn-out stories and news from around the province. Many had travelled for several days, slept in wagons, crowded in with family and friends, though their weariness did not show.

Reverend Ringwood met the wedding party at the steps. He pulled them aside and outlined the service. In the vestibule, leaning against the wall, was a beautifully decorated broom. The long handle flashed ribbons of assorted colours, tied on by well-wishers. The pews overflowed. The wedding party quickly assembled while many of the guests hummed. Ol' Woman Westcott leapt from her seat and belted out a blissful song of her own composing, with everyone joining in with foot stomping and hand clapping.

Oh chillen, fare ye well, Fare ye well! Oh chillen, fare ye well, I say.

Gonna sweep away de past today, Oh chillen, fare ye well, I say.

Gonna make de Lord smile down on us, Fare ye well, fare ye well, I say.

Sarah held her Papa's arm as he escorted her slowly to the altar. A tear that had been lingering in the corner of her eye let go and trickled down her cheek. Today Reverend Ringwood was performing the first wedding ceremony in the newly constructed meeting house. This wedding would be the first church wedding between two free people in a proper ceremony. Reverend Ringwood directed his discourse to Sarah and Thomas, proudly explaining that today's wedding was “history in the making.”

“Let your love be strong!” he said. “Times are hard, food is often scarce, the weather is often frightful and tensions sometimes rise, but hope springs eternal! Dare to live, love and dream! Let nothing stand in the way of your happiness!”

Priscilla Hayward stepped forward wearing a beautiful gown of Sarah's creation. In her rich soprano voice, she rendered a moving song. The beautiful melody reminded Sarah of her mother's voice hovering above the cotton fields, bringing her needed calm.

The taking of vows followed. All was going well, but the stress of the occasion caught Thomas up. He was bewildered and stood with a faraway look in his eyes. For the second time, Reverend Ringwood had to ask, “Do you take this woman, Sarah Lily Redmond, to be your beloved wife?”

Finally, he blurted, “I do!”

Sarah held his eyes, promising to love and treasure her husband.

Reverend Ringwood said, “You are now …” but before he could finish the line, the overjoyed crowd enclosed the couple. They delivered hugs, kisses and warm expressions of good luck for a happy life.

Thomas held Sarah's hand as he reached for the broom. They followed Reverend Ringwood outside. They walked in silence to a spot beneath a huge birch tree. The crowd, which had been milling about, gathered around Reverend Ringwood as he laid the broom on a bed of wildflowers. The long, colourful ribbons wafted in the warm, summer breeze.

The reverend beheld the smiling couple.

“Let me remind you that the straws of the broom represent your families, the handle represents the Almighty and the ribbons represent the ties that bind you together. Being on the other side of the broom will change your lives. Jumping over will mean leaving the past and all that it encompassed. It means making a deep commitment to your future for a rewarding life together.”

At that very moment, Sarah felt a light warm breeze flutter over her. The grass gently shimmied beneath her feet. Her skin tingled as an image of Grandmother drifted lazily before her eyes. The old woman's spirit was present. She remembered Grandmother's words, “We got to get this family here in Scotia started!” The sun cast scattered rays of dazzling light across the broom.

“Are you ready to take a leap of faith, my children?” Reverend Ringwood's words drifted softly through the balmy air.

Their reply came in unison and with confidence: “We are ready!” Thomas squeezed Sarah's hand and without hesitation they jumped.