by Michael Ross
Robert chuckled and scratched his head. “All right, if it makes your heart happy. One last drive with my little girl.” He helped her up into the seat and handed her the reins before climbing in on the other side. She released the brake, clucked to the dappled gray horse, slapped the reins, and took off at a smart trot. Her father smiled approvingly. “Looks like you had a good teacher!”
On the way to town they talked and laughed, reminiscing about silly family things from years past. Julia began to realize how much she was going to miss the old farm, her family, even her gossipy church friends. She was going to an unknown place, to live with strangers. She didn’t know how to play this game. She had no training. No one had told her the rules. She was leaving everything familiar behind. Once the ceremony took place, there would be no turning back. Oh, dear God, help! she thought.
They arrived at the train station. She was to meet Hiram. They would take the train to the Ohio River, then one of his family’s steamboats to Cincinnati. Her father helped her out of the buggy, and a slave porter took her trunk when her father reached for it. Robert shrugged and let him. They saw Hiram waiting on the platform and waved. Turning to each other, Julia broke and wept. “Oh, Pa! I don’t know how to leave you.” She clung to him, hugging him as she had not since she was a little girl. He held her until she stopped crying, as he used to. He offered her his worn handkerchief, telling her to keep it. Then they turned and mounted the platform, going to Hiram.
“You take good care of her, Mr. Johannsen. I’m giving you a jewel.”
“Ja, I will, Mr. Crump. I will take very good care of her. We hope you may come to Cincinnati sometime, and see.”
“Well, this old farmer doesn’t travel much. But if I can, I will.”
They shook hands, and Julia watched her father turn and walk away. His shoulders slumped, as if from sadness, and he seemed somehow more frail and diminished than the man she had always admired. She turned to Hiram, smiling determinedly. He took her hand, and they boarded the train. She had never ridden on one, and within minutes, the fields were whizzing by at unbelievable speed. Each clack of the wheels was carrying her farther into the unknown. Farther away from home the train car sped, as the whistle blew mournfully.
✳ ✳ ✳
Luther stretched and yawned. At times, it seemed he was still dreaming. He and his family were in Ripley, Ohio, sleeping in beds like white folk, in the house of one John Parker, a free black. He knew they were not altogether safe here, but free! On free soil! The coffins found their way to Reverend Elijah Green, a free black minister and former slave. He hid them, and switched real corpses in for inspection, then switched again before they crossed the river, driving over in a hearse in broad daylight. The Parkers were kindness itself. Today John was taking him and the women a little further north. There was a community of free blacks where they could find work and a place to live. Though somewhat dangerous due to slave catchers, they could choose to stay or move further north still. Unaccustomed to such choices, Luther did not yet know what to do. All he knew was he, Jemima, Olivia and Clara were free! They had full bellies, and soft beds. No one was cracking whips at them, or forcing them into the fields before dawn. He did not have to stand for hours waiting on Lucy’s whim. True, he and Jemima would have to find jobs, maybe Olivia too. As for Clara—his sister could enjoy being a child. Maybe they could even attend school, learn to read. Mr. Parker said there was a place called Oberlin, up north, where black people could go to school too.
He shook Olivia and Clara gently to wake them. He heard a knock on the door and found Mrs. Parker had brought them tea and a light breakfast. They were still in hiding in the Parker house, but today ... today would be their first steps outside the protection of those who had helped them north. Jemima opened her eyes and smiled. It warmed him to see his mama happy. She rose and dressed quickly. They all gathered around a small table with real chairs.
“Lawd, we thank you for dis day! Dis day of freedom we thought would never come! Thank you Lawd also for dis food. Bless de Parkers, and protect them. Protect all those that helped us, even those we got no idea who they were. And Lawd, wherever she is, bless Miss Albinia! Amen!” prayed Jemima.
“Amen!” said the children. The meal was quickly consumed, and another rapping at the door was heard. Jemima opened it and, to her amazement, the little Parker children, Hortense and Horatio, came in, each carrying a dress and shoes, and a new pair of trousers and shirt for Luther. Self-consciously, the oldest said, “Mama says to give you these things, to celebrate freedom. Just like God gives us gifts when He sets us free.”
“I ... I don’ know what to say! Thank you, girls, and thank your mother! Glory be, we gone to hebbin!” said Jemima. The girls squealed over their new dresses, and Luther changed at once, rolling up his ragged traveling clothes he had worn for many weeks. Then he turned to his sisters.
“Hush, now! We got to get goin’. Won’t do to keep Mr. Parker waitin’.”
They gathered their few possessions and went out to the wagon in the carriage house. Slave catchers sometimes watched the house, so they would have to be smuggled out under bales of hay. The wagon had high sides, and a compartment in the bottom where they could squeeze in. Then the compartment closed, and several layers of hay bales were placed on top. It was cold, and the hay was scratchy, but they would soon be free! John warned them not to sign or make a mark on anything someone gave them, without getting him or another trusted person to read it. Some Negroes found themselves enslaved as indentured servants in the North, he said, by crafty people taking advantage of their illiteracy. He made the trip to the community once a week or so. They could always get a message to him. They bumped along the road in the suffocating confines of the compartment, but each clop of a hoof, each turn of a wheel seemed to sing “Freedom!” to Luther’s ears. Just when he thought he was going to freeze solid, the wagon stopped. He heard Mr. Parker get down, then low voices, and the sound of the wagon tailgate lowering. Then there were steps above them as the hay was unloaded. Weeks of traveling in fear left him nervous and uneasy. What if slave catchers stopped us? he thought. Luther tensed and gripped the knife he still had.
Finally, someone lifted the last bale of hay out of the wagon, and the compartment opened. To Luther’s relief, the smiling face of Mr. Parker greeted him, surrounded by a group of ten to fifteen other black smiling faces.
“Welcome to freedom!” one of them said. “I’m Ned Smith, the blacksmith for this town.” He extended his hand, which Luther shook. “I hear you know a thing or two about horses. How about comin’ to work for me? Not much, just room and board, plus two bits a week. Plenty of room for your family until you get your own place. What do you say?”
Luther could hardly believe his ears. “I say bless you! And thank you!”
Jemima burst out, “Lawd a mercy! We thank you from de bottom of our heart! I think we done found de promised lan’!”
They followed Ned to their accommodations at the back of the stable, really just a couple of empty stalls. There were straw ticks for beds, a rude table, and stumps for stools. He showed them the privy, and told them to come to the cabin next door for supper at sunset. Luther noticed the rest of the men disappeared. When they came to supper, Luther saw that Ned had a wife and three children.
“This is my wife, Katy. My children are Ruth, Mark, and Ben. And there,” he said indicating a tall older boy,” is Sam. He’ll be working with you. He comes from the Nawth, up New York way.”
Luther immediately noticed a hostile glare from Sam, who looked to be about nineteen, a lean muscled mulatto. He also noticed Ruth, about his age, slim, pretty, and shyly smiling at him. Mark looked to be about ten, and little Ben about eight. Their meal was simple and quickly concluded. Ned suggested they retire early, to be ready for work in the morning. As Luther lay in the stall, breathing the air of freedom, he wondered where their road would take them.
✳ ✳ ✳
Julia felt tired and excited all at once. She ex
perienced so many new things. First, she rode on the train. Then she had her own hotel room in Maysville. She never stayed in a hotel in her life. Now some shopping, and then boarding an actual steamboat to Cincinnati. Everywhere there were new sights, unfamiliar places, and people. Hiram never seemed to falter. He was at home in this world. On the street they met people who knew him, treated him with deference and respect. She began to see him through new eyes yet again. She felt the wonder of a child who emerges from a cabin to her first snow, with everything utterly changed. She watched as Hiram shepherded their steamer trunks on board the ship. The captain deferentially bowed, and a crewman showed each to their staterooms, the best on the ship. She felt constantly as though she were in a play where she did not know the lines. Servants popped up everywhere, asking her wants and opinions. It made her head spin. She tried her best to mask her feelings of excitement and inadequacy. Going from country farm girl to wife of a wealthy steamboat owner in such a short time, she struggled to absorb it all.
As the boat cast off and began its journey on the river, she sat in a chaise lounge looking out the window as the beauty of the river went by. Hiram came in smiling.
“Are you comfortable, Julia? Is there anything you would like? Lunch will be served in an hour. But if you’re hungry before then, I can have the steward bring something.”
“No, no, Hiram. Everything is perfect. I … I’m just in a whirl. I had no idea you lived like this.”
“This? Oh, it is nothing. Just a few comforts. Sometimes, with the stress of running the business, I wish I could just be a simple farmer like your father.”
“And Pa would trade places with you in a moment, if he could. Farming is a hard life.”
Hiram looked unusually serious for a moment. “All life is hard; money doesn’t change that. It is up to us to choose joy and make the most of each situation. Once a person has the basic needs, the rest is just a matter of comfort. I know friends who have plantations and wealth—yet they are miserable.” Brightening, he said, “But you need not worry about it. My only thought is to make you happy. There will be plenty of time after we are married to decide how you want to spend your time.”
“I hadn’t thought ... I’m so used to working on the farm.”
“Mama will help you. She knows important people in Cincinnati, Louisville, and Lexington, all along the river, even in St. Louis. You can be a great help to me in the business by the connections you make with other wives at teas, balls, and charity events.” He took a little silver bell from his pocket and set it on the table next to her. “I have some cargo orders to attend to. A shipment of slaves, I think. If you need anything, just ring the bell. Morris, the steward, will get whatever you need.” He gave her forehead a quick kiss, then left the room.
The hour passed quickly. Julia alternately looked out the window and read a book. She had to admit, getting used to this life of ease wasn’t too difficult. No pigs or chickens to feed, no butter to churn, and she didn’t have to dig in the dirt for the garden. She supposed servants would also do laundry, mending, and cooking.
“Luncheon is served in the dining room,” Morris informed her, and escorted her to her place. Every possible delicacy was present. It would have been delightful, but for Kirsten Johannsen sitting across from her, criticizing her every move. Julia supposed she meant to be helpful. In truth, she had no idea which fork or spoon to use for the different dishes. She had no idea lunch could be such a complicated affair. A woman screaming interrupted their peace and the chamber music. Julia was startled.
“That’s no concern of ours,” Kirsten said. “Just eat your lunch.”
Ignoring her, Julia dropped her fork, pushed back from the table, and rushed through a doorway out onto the upper deck. On the main deck, a crowd of Negroes was gathered, in chains. In the center, tied to a post with her arms above her head, a woman stood naked to the waist. A large man stood a few feet away, cat ‘o nine tails in his hand. As Julia watched, he laid on the vicious whip, provoking another loud scream of pain. Blood pooled at her feet. A few white men in waistcoats looked on, seemingly unconcerned. A small Negro girl rushed out and grabbed the legs of the man with the whip. Julia was too far away to hear, but from her face, it seemed obvious she was begging for mercy for her mother. The man shoved the little girl roughly away, threatening her with the whip. Julia turned away, sickened by the sight. She strode resolutely back into the dining room.
“Where’s Mr. Johannsen?” she demanded.
“My dear,” said Kirsten. “Calm yourself. You mustn’t make a scene. Have a glass of claret, steady your nerves.”
“I want to see Hiram!” Julia insisted. “I want him to make it stop!”
Kirsten quietly wiped her mouth with a white linen napkin. “He’ll do no such thing, even if you find him. I expect it will stop on its own, soon enough. The point is to teach the slaves a lesson and prevent further trouble. I’m sure the owner doesn’t want to damage her so much she can’t be sold. That’s why the other slaves must watch. You, however, have no place in such matters. It is not becoming to a lady to notice. The slaves belong to our customers. We may dislike how they are treated, but it is not our business. You’ll grow used to it, in time, if you take many of these voyages.”
Julia responded, “If I grow used to such displays of cruelty, then I am poor indeed. If you will excuse me….” She turned and left the room, lunch unfinished.
✳ ✳ ✳
Will found a new job working as a hemp dresser in one of Morgan’s factories. The nighttime hours spent separating the hemp fibers allowed him to work on the farm, keep up his studies, and drill with the Rifles. He advanced his riding skills now that his family had a horse, and spent less time walking. The weeks passed so quickly, he thought of little except the next task. He and Jenny met mostly at church, and he avoided the subject of the Rifles. In early February, he thought of Valentine’s Day approaching. There would be a box social at church on Valentine’s evening to benefit the town orphanage. Will focused on the idea of buying Jenny’s box lunch and having time with her. Her uncle made sure there were no more buggy rides as long as Will was in the Rifles.
Will and Joe didn’t meet much. Albinia seemed to blush when Joe’s name came up. She told her father about Joe as a beau as promised, and she was home at night more often. Will decided she was just being silly about having a beau.
Valentine’s Day came, and Will dressed his best after grooming and washing the Percheron and cleaning out the buggy. He heated bricks for their feet on the drive to town. He was hopeful that Dr. Simpson might relent and let Jenny ride with him. His parents also dressed in their best. Even Lydia shone, decked out in a new dress Albinia had found time to sew. Albinia said she had too much work for such an outing.
“Mrs. Crump, don’t you dare let anyone bid on your box. I saw you pack my favorites in there, and I declare no one else is to have them.”
“Then you just best have the highest bid, Mr. Crump,” teased Sara. “This is for the orphanage, and it goes to the highest bidder. Along with my company for the evening, of course.”
Robert turned to Will, scratching his head. “Will, how’d you hornswoggle me into this, anyhow? I got to pay for my own wife’s dinner and company? Highway robbery!”
Sara just laughed. “It’ll do you good not to take me for granted for a change, Mr. Crump.”
Lydia piped up, “I’ll sit with you, Pa.”
Both parents laughed and Robert scooped her up into the buggy.
Will drove, and his parents continued to banter back and forth on the drive. He had not seen them in such good spirits in a long time.
Once in the church, Will absently greeted a few of the other young people, scanning the crowd for Jenny. He spotted her near the front of the hall, chattering animatedly with some other girls. He recognized some in the group from his old school. They would be sixteen now, and no longer attending school, getting down to the serious business of husband hunting. A few titters broke out as he approache
d. It was widely known that he and Jenny were together, though not officially courting due to her uncle’s disapproval.
Jenny broke off from the group and came over toward him. She wore the same gown as at the Christmas party, which made his chest ache strangely. In public, she was formal. “Mr. Crump! How nice to see you! You’ve been rather scarce, again.”
Will responded in kind. “Yes, I’m sorry. Miss Morton, I wished to speak with you. I ... I wanted you to know I’ll be bidding tonight. I got a new job, and….”
“Yes, I heard,” she interrupted crisply. “With Captain Morgan, I understand. And still drilling with the Rifles.”
“Yes, but I….”
“No need to explain. I think it’s clear what your decision is. Certainly, in recent weeks you’ve allocated more time to the Rifles than to me. My uncle has also been clear,” she said, removing the pin he’d given her and handing it to him. “If you feel you must bid, then you must. After all, it is a good cause. I wish I could say the same of your Rifles. Mr. Lincoln is correct, I believe—a house divided cannot stand. The country will become all slave or all free. I’m just a woman, but I cannot cast my lot with those who support the institution. My uncle has joined the Home Guard as a physician. At any rate, do not bid on my account. You will only waste Mr. Morgan’s money.” She turned and walked back to her group of friends, leaving him crestfallen and surprised.
Will walked to a table where his parents sat. Sara looked at him and excused herself.
“Will, what’s wrong? You look like someone just hit you!”
“I think she did, Ma. Jenny just gave this back.” He opened his hand to show her the pin. “She doesn’t want me to buy her box. She says drilling with the Rifles and working for Captain Morgan makes me stand for slavery, and neither she nor her uncle will have it.”