Redfield Farm: A Novel of the Underground Railroad (20 page)

Lettie glared at me through dark eyes. “
My
Josiah?” she asked again.

I opened the barn doors and we drove out into the early light. Sam still slept in Lettie’s arms. We traveled in silence for several miles, Lettie looking angry, lost and hurt.

“Josiah came through on the Railroad, like you, only he was ill when he arrived. Gravely ill. So we kept him until he recovered—well into winter. He was with us for about five months.”

“And you? And Josiah?” Lettie faltered.

“Oh, Lettie, I am sorry. It happened only once, and neither of us meant for it to happen. I was so sad and he was so lonely. Please forgive us, Lettie. We didn’t do it to hurt you.”

Lettie looked down at the sleeping child in her lap. She touched his fat cheek with the back of her finger. A tear wended its way down her face. She looked over and saw that I was crying, too.

“How can you give him up?” she asked. “How can you send him off without he Mama?”

“Because his life here would be hell, Lettie. I’m sending him for the same reason you don’t stay here and Josiah didn’t. Sam deserves better.”

Sam stirred in his sleep, reached out a chubby hand and grasped Lettie’s finger. I saw, and felt a pang of jealousy. We rode on in silence, each of us looking at a world blurred by tears.

“Lettie, I can’t take back what I’ve done. I can only try to do what’s best now. Sam will be better off. Josiah won’t be deprived of his son, and you—I am giving you my most prized possession—because I trust you to be a good mother to him.”

Lettie looked down at Sam, who was by that time awake and looking for breakfast. He smiled at her, and she snuggled him until he giggled. I drove on, my jaw set, my will determined, now that the wheels had been set in motion, to see the plan through.

A
little after nine o’clock we rattled down a dusty Bedford street to the livery
. We left the buggy and walked to the stage coach stop, Lettie three steps behind, carrying Sam and the small trunk. This bothered me, but we needed to keep up our pretense.

On the stage ride, amid shaking and jostling toward Altoona, we took advantage of the opportunity to practice our roles, as we shared the coach with two gentlemen and a lady. Altoona seemed even bigger and busier than six months earlier. Sam was a handful by now, very tired of restraint. We arrived at about four o’clock and walked the three blocks from the stage depot to Rachel’s house.

Jacob Schilling was still at work, so Rachel and I had a little time to talk. It was tempting fate bringing Lettie and Sam into his house, but the circumstances called for tempting fate. Let him say one word.

James Buchanan Schilling, three months old, lay asleep in his basket. His cousin, Sam, nine months old, crawled on the floor seeking mischief. Lettie sat quietly in a corner of the kitchen, watching. I’d warned her there might be some unpleasantness with Jacob.

Rachel made tea, nervously chattering about baby James. She knew I was shepherding Lettie to freedom, and clearly wondered why I’d brought Sam along, but I evaded her questions.

“Well, you do look the Southern Lady,” she commented. Rachel didn’t mention it, but I think my clothing gave her pause, even though she, herself, had given up plain dress.

Rachel smiled at Lettie. “I heard how you helped Jesse and stayed with him until Ben and Nate came. Thank you for that.”

Lettie nodded.

A scrape and a rattle outside told us that Jacob had returned from work, and was stowing his tools in the shed out back. I shot a look at Lettie, and Rachel rose and led her upstairs along with Sam and our trunk.

“Jacob is a good man,” she explained to Lettie, “but drink makes him mean sometimes. Best we don’t wave you in front of his face.”

“We got to stay hid?” Lettie asked, looking doubtfully at Sam.

“No. Just try to stay out of his way. He‘ll probably go out after supper, and he leaves early in the morning, so you may not see him at all.”

Jacob took off his shoes and shook the plaster dust out of his shirt on the back porch. Rachel was back before he came in and stepped out to speak to him, I guessed to prepare him for visitors and warn against an outburst. As I watched them talking on the porch, it occurred to me that Rachel looked a little worn. Not the same beautiful girl who had ridden away in the dray wagon two years before.

Jacob entered and nodded to me, sitting at the table with my cup of tea. “Fancy dress for a Quaker lady. For a minute I thought you one of them uppity society belles,” he observed.

“Yes, it does feel strange,” I replied, trying to sound cordial.

“What do you think of
this
guy?” he asked, pointing with pride at his sleeping son. “Ain’t he a fine one?”

“Oh, yes,” I smiled. We talked politely for a while, mostly about Jesse’s accident. The talk was pleasant enough, reminding me that I had once thought well of this man.

The dinner conversation centered on the weather, Altoona’s growth, and baby James. If Jacob was curious about my mission, he didn’t ask. After the meal, he rose abruptly and announced he was going out and would be back late.

“Two or three nights a week. He meets his friends there. They play cards, tell stories, do business. Jacob says that’s how he learns about business deals.”

This was a world I knew not at all. Coming from a place where men drank moderately, if at all, in the company of other Friends, and business was conducted after Meeting, I found Jacob’s behavior strange, if not abhorrent.

I nodded and forced a smile, mindful that I was taking advantage of my brother-in-law’s hospitality. I didn’t believe Rachel’s denial, and could only hope Jacob didn’t abuse her.

I went to the stairway and called Lettie down for supper. She came, carrying Sam, a squirming armful. While Lettie ate, I fed Sam and played with him. The three of us made short work of cleaning up the kitchen and retired to the parlor. The talk was good for me. It kept my mind occupied.

“Ann,” Rachel began, “your hair is too plain for your dress. You need a more stylish hair arrangement.”

“Oh, yes!” Lettie agreed. “Miss Rachel, you got a curling iron? I could make Miss Ann look like a real fine Southern lady for the rest of our trip!”

The curling iron was brought out, stuck down a lamp chimney, and Lettie worked her magic. I wasn’t comfortable with such ‘making up’, but submitted because it improved my disguise.

“Oh, Ann, you look beautiful,” Rachel exclaimed, showing me the looking glass. I held it up and was pleased, in spite of myself with what I saw, my dark hair swept away from my face in long curls.

Lettie bathed Sam, dressed him for bed, and carried him upstairs. Rachel and I talked for a while on the front porch in the warm August evening. Rachel thought I was taking Sam along as part of the charade, and I let her go on thinking it for the moment.

“I know you want to repay Lettie for helping Jesse, but this escorting her all the way to Erie seems like more than necessary,” Rachel observed.

“Maybe,” I replied, “but I’m too far into it to turn back now.”

“Well, you needn’t put Sam through all this. You could leave him here and pick him up on your way back.”

I hesitated. I could still change my mind. Leave him here and come back for him. Sitting in the dark, I struggled with the urge to accept her offer. But the thought of people like Jacob stopped me. No.

“Sam isn’t coming back,” I said softly. “He’s going with Lettie to Canada.”

“Ann! Oh, Ann! How can you do this? How can you hand your baby over to a stranger?” Rachel’s voice broke as she spoke.

“Lettie is taking him to his father. She’s Josiah’s wife.” I had held up as long as I could; now the tears came. I let go and cried as though I would never stop. Indeed, I would not. Ever. Rachel understood and did the only thing she could. She cried with me.

We retired at ten o’clock, and this night I slept, exhausted from travel, grief, and lack of sleep. Jacob Schilling’s comings and goings didn’t wake me, and in the morning it was Sam’s baby talk that roused both Lettie and me from sleep.

The train to Pittsburgh left at ten o’clock, and our little party was on the platform, tickets in hand, waiting, when the iron monster steamed into town. It was still a marvel—the noise and speed of travel. One hundred miles in only four hours seemed impossible!

The stylish Southern lady with her long curls and fancy dress boarded the train, speaking softly to her colored maid with the fat, smiling baby. Anyone seeing us would think us real. It was the first train ride for all of us. I’d never imagined any of this—the dress, the hair, the train, the long distance from Bedford County. Sadly, there was no joy in it.

I listened to the rhythm of the wheels, each turn bringing separation closer. I tried not to think about it, but Sam’s antics made the trip even more poignant. He crawled from one lap to the other, smeared the train windows with baby handprints, pounded his wooden rattle against the back of the seat, and shouted joyfully at the other passengers. By the time we reached Pittsburgh, everyone in the car knew his name: Sa-um.

In Pittsburgh, we caught a ride to a small hotel, where we rested against the most difficult part of the journey—a hundred and twenty-five miles by coach on rough roads through strange country, every step bringing the parting closer.

Thinking back, I don’t know how I got through those long days. Sam was beside himself. Bored and needing action, he resisted us with vigor I hadn’t seen before. We stayed the last night at a small hotel in Meadville. The owner was reluctant to accommodate a black woman and child, but my acting the offended Southern lady wore him down. Besides, there was no other lodging in town, so he showed us to a tiny attic room and admonished us to stay out of sight and keep the baby quiet.

Three days of travel had worn us out. Sam had to be wondering what had become of his cozy little bed and all the familiar folk. I wished we could get out and walk about, but we settled for opening windows on two sides of the attic and letting a gentle breeze refresh the room.

The parting lay before us like a chasm. We still hadn’t talked much about it. Talking led to tears, and we could ill afford to draw attention to ourselves. But this night was our last chance to get it all said.

Lettie rose to her full height. “Ann, you decided with a clear mind. It best for Sam. We both know that. You can, because you not sending him to strangers. You sending him to Josiah. To he daddy.” We sat down on the bed beside the sleeping baby, clung to each other, and wept.

In the morning we set out again, arriving in Erie at about three o’clock. I rented a room in a small hotel near the lake and went to find the ticket office for the ferry. The boat would leave at eight the next morning and would arrive five hours later at Port Stanley, Ontario, just after 1 p.m. I purchased a one-way ticket and made my reluctant way back to the hotel, looking in the shop windows to distract myself.

A gold watch with an engraved case in the window of a jewelry store caught my eye. Such an adornment was not for plain people, but I’d been masquerading as a Southern belle for so long, I was beginning to think like one. I opened my reticule and counted the coins. There was ample to get me home, thanks to Uncle Sammy’s generosity. Once there, what need had I for money? I entered the shop and, in my best Southern drawl, asked to see the watch.

It was beautiful to look at and heavy in my hand. The merchant counted its features on his fingers, extolling its accuracy and long guarantee.