Stealing Freedom (23 page)

“One more search before we go over the bridge,” the man in the uniform said.

The hounds yelped and strained at their collars. Two of the small children began to cry. A woman swatted at one of the dogs with an umbrella, and the dog's owner threatened to hit her.

“You have checked our papers. Why are you molesting us with these hounds?” Reverend Freeman's voice boomed above the mayhem.

“If your papers are real, then you have nothing to worry about, now do you, boy?” the uniformed man snapped.

Ann took calm, slow breaths. She blocked the fear out of her mind. If only her own safety had been at stake, she might not have been able to keep the terror at bay, but she must not—
would
not—be the cause of horrible things happening to Reverend Freeman. The bread felt sweaty in her palm.

The dogs moved down the aisle, rowdy and excited, but not yet locked into a scent that said “fugitive.” Ann wished she could tell Reverend Freeman how important it was to stay calm, but there was no time.

The dogs yelped, yanked on their straps, and raced the last few paces to the Reverend's seat, dragging their owners with them. They barked viciously at the Reverend, baring their teeth, their owners barely able to restrain them.

“Call your dogs off,” Reverend Freeman held up his hands to protect his face. “Call them off, I say!”

“I think we have something here,” one of the men said, grinning. With one hand he held his dog back, and with the other he grasped Reverend Freeman's arm. “You're coming with us, boy.” He jerked his chin at Ann. “You, too. Let's go.”

Reverend Freeman yanked his arm out of the man's grasp, and at the same moment, Ann shot her hand inside the breast of the Reverend's suit. She pretended to fumble around, and when she pulled her hand out she revealed the bread and bacon.

“Uncle,” she found herself saying calmly, “why do you always keep your lunch in your coat like that? You're driving those poor dogs crazy.”

She broke the morsel in two and threw one to each of the dogs. Then she quickly found the rest of their bread and bacon and continued throwing bits to the now well-distracted hounds. “Your dogs seem mighty hungry, sir,” she said as amiably as she could muster, tossing the last of the food at the snapping mouths. “They wanted that bacon real bad.”

The dogs sniffed the floor, the seats, and Reverend Freeman's breast pocket; they pulled to get at Ann to sniff her hands. But they were quiet. They no longer cared about leading their masters to a fugitive and her escort. Their only interest was in more food.

The men scratched their heads.

“I told you we wasn't feeding them enough,” one of the men said, and punched his partner in the arm.

“I know, I know.” The other man rubbed his arm, annoyed.

They led the hounds off the car. As they left, Ann heard one of them say, “Stupid nigger—keeping that greasy old bacon right in his coat pocket. They don't know nothing about living like civilized people.”

Ann and the Reverend looked at each other. She smiled shakily. He took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow with trembling hands. The train gave a rumble and a hiss, and slowly began to move. Ann gasped. “We're going!” she cried.

The train picked up speed, and within minutes it left the solid earth. It snaked its way onto the suspension bridge hanging between the States and the free land of Canada. Hundreds of feet below, the emerald-green Niagara River wound through the gorge. Here and there on its surface, flecks of white rapids glistened in the sun. On either side stood tall, steep cliffs. Ann
watched as the far cliff, the one called Canada, came closer and closer.

As the river below disappeared and the train once again rejoined solid earth, Reverend Freeman reached for her. “Thank God!” he cried. He clasped her hands in his. “We are safe in Canada!”

Ann couldn't stay still in her seat. She pushed past Reverend Freeman's knees into the aisle and would have danced a jig there, except that the jostling of the train nearly knocked her over. She leaned almost onto the lap of a very large woman so she could get a good look out of the other side of the train.

“We're in Canada!” she told the woman exuberantly.

“I know it, honey.” The woman clutched her purse and eyed Ann curiously. “Now, you just sit down and look out your own window, you hear?”

Ann grinned at her and happily went back to her seat, though she still wriggled with excitement. “Look!” she cried, pointing. “The trees are different. The sunshine is different.
Everything is
different—even the clouds and the sky!”

The Reverend laughed, but didn't tell her that it was she who had changed, not the sun and trees and clouds.

“This is
mine
, “ she continued, watching out the window, taking it all in. “Here I belong to no one but myself, so this all belongs to me.” She had her face so close to the
window she kept fogging it up, and then had to wipe it with her sleeve.

Reverend Freeman nodded along with the motion of the train. “I suppose it does, Miss Ann Maria. I suppose it does.”

The conductor came through calling, “Next stop, St. Catharine's.”

The Reverend hurriedly opened his suitcase and took out paper, pen, and ink. “I want to write a few lines to our friends in New York to let them know we've arrived safely,” he said. “I'll post them in St. Catharine's.”

Ann imagined the joyful news spreading from the Tappans and Reverend Ray in New York, to the Stills and Dr. H. in Philadelphia, to Jacob Bigelow and her family in Washington City, and even to the Powder Boy, wherever he was. All the risks they'd taken and the work they'd done had been well worth it. She was safe, and free, in Canada.

She remembered her own letters and reached under her shirt to retrieve them. The ink had run a little from being close to her skin, but the addresses were still legible. “Would you post these, too?” She handed them to Reverend Freeman.

When the Reverend stepped off the train in St. Catharine's, Ann watched him with satisfaction. In a few days her family would receive her letter. They would learn that she was well, and feel her love for them through her written words. And in a few days Alfred would receive a letter, too. He would take it to one of the free blacks in Rockville who could read. At last, he would learn that she had not left him so abruptly on purpose, that she cared deeply for him and always would, even though they would not see each other again on this earth.

The afternoon sun sank low as the train rumbled across the flat, snowy landscape. They pulled out their food basket and ate the last of the apples.

The train stopped at many small towns, and Ann dozed between stops. It was dark night and Ann was quite groggy by the time the conductor came through calling, “Chatham! Next stop, Chatham, Canada West.”

Reverend Freeman nudged her. “That's our stop,” he said.

As she stepped off the train, icy air bit her nose and cheeks. She shivered. For once, she was glad to be wearing shoes.

A black man with a mustache and a dark, heavy coat approached them. “Evening,” he said. “Are you in need of a boardinghouse?”

“Yes,” Reverend Freeman answered.

The two men walked and talked and Ann walked behind them, listening. The man was Sherwood Barber, owner of the Villa Mansion, a boardinghouse nearby where colored folks were welcome. His wife, Martha, would be happy to fix them a hot meal.

“Is it possible to go to Dresden tonight?” the Reverend asked. “We have relatives there.”

“I'm afraid not,” said Mr. Barber. “There's no moon, the road is rough, and there's no conveyance can be got tonight. You're welcome to stay with us, though.”

Reverend Freeman accepted the offer.

“Is that your son?” asked Mr. Barber, glancing around behind him at Ann.

“No,” said Reverend Freeman. “Do you know a man by the name of William Bradley living in Dresden? This is a relation of his.”

“I know him well. Is that his brother?”

The Reverend hesitated. “No—not exactly a brother,” he replied.

Mr. Barber gave him a puzzled look, but didn't ask any more questions.

The boardinghouse had a cozy sitting room filled with a lively group of boarders and friends of the Barbers. Mr. Barber began the introductions, but before he could include Ann, she slipped to a seat in a corner near the fire. She was too tired to play her role as Joe Wright, too bone-weary to talk to anyone.

She warmed her hands and feet at the fire. All she really wanted was supper, a place to sleep, and the light of day to return so they could go to Dresden to find Aunt Mimi and Uncle William.

Ann noticed Reverend Freeman talking quietly with Mr. and Mrs. Barber. She turned her face to the fire and hunched toward it. If someone would just offer her a piece of cold corn-bread and a blanket, she could leave this crowded room. She flinched when Martha Barber laid a hand on her shoulder.

“I'm sorry I startled you,” said Mrs. Barber. “But I'd like to show you to your room.”

All right, Ann thought, she would go to sleep without supper. Her stomach grumbled, but a place to lie down sounded just as good as food, so she followed willingly. So did every single one of the women from the company. They took her upstairs to a bedroom and closed the door.

There was a lot of whispering among the ladies, but Mrs. Barber spoke directly to Ann. She was a small woman, with soft brown eyes and skin the color of ripe walnuts.

“We've been told you might like to change your clothes,” she said.

Of course! There was no longer any need of a disguise.

Ann had never imagined having so many handmaids. The women all wanted to help. They gave her water to wash with, and as soon as it touched her skin she felt better. They fastened on her petticoat, buttoned up her dress, and combed her short hair, all the while chattering about what a daring escape she'd made and how pleased they were to have her here. The green dress was beautiful, with a flowing skirt that made Ann feel graceful and feminine.

When the ladies decided Ann was ready, they walked her down the steps like a queen surrounded by her court. “Gentlemen,” Martha Barber said in a loud voice. All heads turned. “I would like you to meet Miss Ann Maria Weems.”

Reverend Freeman must have explained what had been going on upstairs, because the group broke into cheers and applause. Ann half hid her face in joyful embarrassment as she was pulled into the room by exuberant people who wanted to congratulate her on her successful journey. A few of the men even slapped her on the back, seeming to forget that she was actually a girl and not the boy she'd come in looking like. The group quieted and listened intently when Reverend Freeman told the story of their encounter with the dogs. Several other people chimed in with their own stories of escape, from Virginia, Georgia, and Delaware. Some had ridden steamboats; others had traveled much of the way on foot. Two of the people there had stopped at William Still's house on their way north.

“There are about three thousand fugitives right here in Chatham,” said one of the men.

Ann realized that she had entered a community in which people would understand what she'd been through. They would also understand her homesickness, because they felt it, too.

Martha Barber fixed them a late supper of boiled turnips and salt herring. Toward bedtime, Ann excused herself and slipped away from the group into the backyard, in the direction of the privy. Before she got there, she stooped down and cleared away a patch of snow with her hands. Underneath was the frozen ground. She scraped at it with chilled fingers until she'd managed to dig up a small chunk of earth.

“There,” she said. “This is free soil for
me.”

The next day was Sunday, and in order to keep the Sabbath there could be no traveling. Ann was impatient, but thankful for the day of rest after the long, wearying train ride.

Very early Monday morning, they left in a wagon borrowed from Mr. Barber, with Ann in her green dress, cape, bonnet, and mittens. She offered to drive, but Reverend Freeman just laughed and took the reins. They rode through the town of Chatham, with its low-slung, unpainted houses, and out into the countryside.

The land was flat, with roads straighter than any Ann had ever seen. In some places the road was merely a slice through dense forest. In other places the land had been cleared for farming and the wind swept over wide, flat fields. They saw only a few houses and passed just two other wagons. It had warmed up a bit. The melting snow mixed with the mud of the road and made for a treacherous and slippery journey.

It was afternoon when Reverend Freeman spotted two black men on the road ahead, one on horseback and one on
foot. “I'll stop and ask directions,” he said. “We must be very close.”

As they approached the men, Ann, eager to act like a proper young lady after weeks of acting like a boy, discreetly turned her head so that her bonnet hid her face.

“Hello,” called Reverend Freeman. “Can you tell me how far it is to Mr. Bradley's?”

“Not much more than a mile,” said one of the men. “That way, over Little Bear Creek. But I reckon I am the one that you want to find. My name is Bradley.”

Ann swung her head around and saw, atop a dapple-gray horse, her uncle William.

As soon as Uncle William saw her face, he cried, “My Lord! Ann Maria, is that you? My child, is it you? We never expected to see you again!” He jumped down from his horse and Ann scrambled from the wagon. She leaped into his arms.

They held each other and Ann wept. Her journey had finally ended.

“We had given you up,” said Uncle William. He held her away from him and took a long look. “Oh, what will your aunt say? She will die!”

Ann wiped tears from her cheeks. “She'll probably say, ‘I
told
you to say good-bye to your uncle before you ran off with your brothers!’”

Her uncle laughed and clasped her to his chest again. “I was on my way to Malden, but I can't go now. I'll go on ahead of you back to the house, and open the gate and have a good fire to warm you.”

He galloped off, the other man tipped his hat to them, and
Ann and the Reverend started up their horse again. That last mile felt like the longest mile she'd yet traveled. Finally they approached the cleared fields, barns, smokehouse, and one-and-a-half-story frame house of her aunt and uncle's homestead.