by Michael Ross
“Nevah got dis cold in Kentucky, even when ol’ Jameson didn’ give us wood, or let us chop it,” said Jemima, limping to the stove.
Olivia threw on her extra petticoats and woolen stockings, products of their hard work here at the German woolen mill.
“But we ain’t got to worry ‘bout Jameson no more,” exulted Olivia. “I don’ mind shivering some. I don’ mind hard work. Here, what we get, we keep. We can feed ourselves.”
Jemima coughed heavily. Luther came over to her.
“You all right, Mama? You ain’t nevah seemed de same, since….”
“As all right as I’ll ever be widout li’l Clara. Freedom has a mighty high price.”
Luther paused and put an arm around her shoulders. “I know, Mama. And you paid, too. But not forever. Someone gonna make them pay!”
“Now you hush about that. Ain’t nuthin we can do, or should do. De Lawd gonna take care of them. It ain’t bad here. Mr. German, he say he give us a raise soon, ‘cause we hard workers.”
Luther replied angrily, “No, Mama! Sometimes, you got to help the Lord. We been learnin’ a lot in school. Dat Ben Franklin, he say God helps them that help themselves. Well, I’m gonna help God and the Yankees. I’m goin’ back. Already they got six states seceded, dropped out of the United States. Pretty soon, gonna be more, maybe even Kentucky. An dat Lincoln, he gonna help the slaves get free—that’s what everyone says. I’m gonna show them I can fire a gun just as good as any white man.”
Olivia tugged on his arm, but he shook himself free. “Luther, you can’t leave us. What if you get killed, like Clara? We’re all alone here.”
Luther smiled, but it wasn’t a kind smile. “No white man gonna kill me. You all stay here. You got jobs. You got a better place to live than a slave cabin. I’m gonna find the ones that hurt Clara. I’ll find Jameson too, and make dem pay.”
Jemima spoke sharply, “You leave Jameson alone. Don’t go huntin’ that rattlesnake!” She grabbed him and made him look at her. “Besides—you can’t hurt him. Don’t you know yet, Son? He’s your pa. You don’t want his blood on your hands. Nuthin’ he done to me be worth it.”
✳ ✳ ✳
Hiram and Julia stood before his father’s grave. He had recently returned from Pittsburgh. The reading of the will occurred the day before.
“What will you do now?” asked Julia.
“I will do what I must. Mama is furious that Papa did not leave the control of the company to her but me instead. I will stay long enough to assure everything runs smoothly. But I will honor my pledge to the militia and fight for this country.”
“But how will the company survive?”
Hiram smiled bleakly. “I don’t know.”
Julia said, “What if you change the registry of the ships? Make them Swedish. I’ve been reading the newspapers and listening to your managers. I don’t think either side would attack a Swedish vessel.”
Hiram brightened. “That is a brilliant idea. Maybe….”
“What?”
Hiram took her in his arms and lifted her off her feet, smiling. “Maybe Papa was very smart. Maybe he knew—you could run the company for me while I’m gone.”
“Me? But I don’t know anything about it.”
“You just gave me better advice than all the clerks and accountants. I will teach you. In a few months when I leave, you will know how to keep things running.”
“But what if something happens to you? And what about your mother?”
“She will be angry, of course. But she would be anyway. Try to be kind to her. And she knows many people, both here and in Sweden, that can help. Don’t despise her counsel—but don’t let her take over.”
He set her down. Julia looked up at him. “Do you really think it is wise? Do you think I can do it?”
Hiram kissed her and then said, “Yes. Ohio Zephyr Steamship will be in good hands. It will ease my mind to know that you are looking after things. My boat captains will help you. Mama is wonderful, but she is spoiled. Papa never told her anything was too expensive, too outlandish. You come from a poor background. You know how it is to save, to scrimp. And you would grow bored just going to parties and gossiping.”
“Oh, Hiram! I will surely try my best. I wish you didn’t have to go. But we’ll have time yet, won’t we? And we can write.” She hesitated, then spoke. “Hiram? If I’m to be in charge, I want to make one change immediately. We no longer transport slaves to market. For anyone.”
He smiled and saw her earnestness. “All right. If it’s important to you. Consider it done.”
✳ ✳ ✳
Spring was beginning to show. Tree buds and birds ventured out. Luther was still cold at night. He’d been walking for over a week, heading southwest. After crossing the border back into the United States, he only moved at night. He asked directions and questions each morning, and then walked south as the moon rose. He discovered from some farmers that there was an army camp under construction near Cincinnati. He thought of going to find Ruth, but finding her and then leaving again would be too hard on both of them. Instead, he penned a short letter and mailed it. He didn’t know if the slave catchers were still looking for him, but he took no chances. He posted the letter at the end of the day, and then moved quickly so that he was thirty miles away by sunrise, even though he was moving through Ohio. He carried his knife from his old running days. He also carried a Navy six-shot revolver in a holster, with a full belt of ammunition. He did not intend to be captured, by anyone. Buying some food from a farmer on the outskirts of Findlay, he was told that a barber in town, David Adams, might provide him a haircut and a safe place to sleep. If he chose, he might even be able to earn some money shoeing a few horses.
Luther walked into town about twilight and saw a closed sign on Adams barbershop. The storefront had a window with a light in the second story, so he walked to the rear of the building, climbed the stairs, and knocked.
The door opened a crack, and a dark-faced woman looked through. “Who dere, and what you want?”
“I’m Luther. I come south from Canada, or north from Kentucky, take your pick. I’m looking for David Adams and a place to sleep.”
The door opened wider. The woman stepped back, and a black man with a huge smile motioned him inside.
“I’m David Adams. We don’t get too many like you comin’ south! Come in and set a spell, tell us what you need.”
✳ ✳ ✳
Will walked up the long steps to the Morrison building, ready for class. He stopped and read a large sign.
April 13, 1861
Due to the commencement of hostilities, the university is closed.
He was amazed. What did it mean? Someone went racing by, yelling, “It’s war! Finally time to whip the Yankees!”
“What’s going on?”
“Didn’t you hear? Beauregard fired cannons on Ft. Sumter in Carolina. The war has started.”
Why would the university close because of something in Carolina? Kentucky was neutral, wasn’t it? Bewildered, Will took his books back to the livery, got the buggy and his rifle, and drove to Morgan’s house. He knocked at the door. Sid, Morgan’s slave, answered the door.
“Yes, sir? May I help you?”
“I need to see Captain Morgan. Something terrible has happened.”
Sid kept his eyes down and looked serious. “Sir, if you mean the war, Captain Morgan is aware. He is otherwise engaged, at present. His wife is extremely ill. I’m afraid he is not receiving visitors now.”
“But you don’t understand. I must….”
“Good day, sir. You may leave a card for Captain Morgan and he will return your call at his earliest convenience.”
The door closed. Will slumped in dismay and confusion. What was he to do now? The university closed, the war begun. His studies were apparently at an end, and his dreams were crumbling. In a few short months, his life seemed turned upside down. Jenny was with Joe. Pa barely talked to him. Morgan was withdrawn, not giving much attentio
n to the Rifles. Albinia and Julia were gone. South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Louisiana, and Texas all seceded, forming the Confederate States of America. Will got into the buggy and drove slowly back to the farm. The farm was always there. He prayed as he drove, looking for answers.
✳ ✳ ✳
April 1861, Baltimore
Albinia and David had a brief but sweet honeymoon in the previous months, and then they traveled north to Boston. They began following Garrison wherever he spoke. David saw to his security. To her surprise, Garrison occasionally asked Albinia to speak, as a Southern woman who had witnessed the evil of slavery. Uncomfortable at first, she grew increasingly satisfied with speaking to crowds in churches and at rallies. There were always those in the audience who were sarcastic, and even hinted that she was out of place. They would tell her that a woman should be at home. At these times, David would come from the audience to her side and speak to silence the critics. Together they told the stories of escaping slaves, and moved the hearts of the audience both to sympathy and to outrage at the inhumanity of the South’s ‘peculiar institution,’ as Jefferson Davis called it.
In April, they found themselves traveling again to Baltimore. There was an abolitionist rally where Garrison was to speak. It was rumored that Frederick Douglass might appear as well, though Douglass and Garrison had split over some issues a few months past. David wanted to be in Baltimore in advance of the rally, since it was not a city friendly to their cause. Many were agitating for Maryland to secede and join the Confederacy.
David was relaxing in the dining car on the train, reading the newspaper. Albinia sat opposite him.
“Do you really expect trouble?” she asked.
“According to all I hear, yes. We must be clear. Maryland must not secede. With the battle at Sumter, and Virginia seceding yesterday, things are looking desperate. Lincoln has called for seventy-five thousand volunteers for the army to end the conflict. Militia from Massachusetts will be marching through Baltimore during the rally, and many in Maryland are not happy about that. We must be ready for anything. In fact, I wonder if it is really wise for you to speak at the church in the current climate.”
She smiled. “Don’t worry. Haven’t we been through enough danger together for you to know that God takes care of me and I can handle myself?”
He put down the newspaper, reached over, and patted her hand. “Yes, I suppose we have, at that. But I still worry for you. This time I can’t be there with you, since Garrison’s rally is at the same time. I’ll detail a carriage to wait for you, and a man from our group to drive as well as protect. Did you know that Baltimore has more free blacks than any other major city? Yet it is very divided, and there are plenty who would like to see trouble. Frederick Douglass comes from Baltimore area, you know. You’ve met him; you know how he is. He ruffles feathers. He doesn’t fit people’s idea of what a former slave should be like.”
“Yes, I know. I often think that Luther could have been like him, given a chance. I wonder where Luther is now.”
“Probably safe in Canada, like many others we’ve helped. However, this war troubles me. I wish the slavery problem could have been resolved without it, without splitting the country.”
“It could have been, if people were willing to give up their comforts, turn to God, and treat others as they would like to be treated themselves. If we each help someone who needs it, then before long we’re all doing better. What people mean when they say the slaves can’t go free is that they personally are not willing to lend a hand and acknowledge black people equal to themselves. I’ve been shocked at the number in the North that think blacks inferior. It comes down to greed and pride.”
“I fear you are right. The cost is likely to be tremendous, in blood and misery. Everyone seems to think the war will be short. Never believe any war will be smooth and easy, or that anyone who embarks on that strange voyage can measure the tides and hurricanes he will encounter. The statesman who yields to war fever must realize that once the signal is given, he is no longer the master of policy but the slave of unforeseeable and uncontrollable events. It is likely that we will lose friends and family on both sides.”
Sadness seized Albinia. “I think of Will and my father. And Joe. It seems unreal to think of them fighting. Julia tells me Hiram is going to fight too. It’s as if everyone has suddenly lost their minds.”
The train soon pulled into Camden Station in Baltimore. David and Albinia collected their luggage, and found a carriage that David had hired. They went to a nearby hotel, dined, and David hurried off to arrange things for the following day. When he returned, it was nearing dark. Albinia was looking out the window as the lamplighter was going down the street, lighting the gas lamps. David let himself into their room and found Albinia seated at a small table, writing. As soon as he closed the door, Albinia was up and in his arms. The oil lamps were low, and the dark four-poster bed, rose petal wallpaper, and thick carpet created a sensually romantic atmosphere. She kissed him, at first shyly, even after these months together, then with growing passion.
As the morning light came through the window, Albinia stretched and yawned. The night had been glorious, but sleep was lacking. David was still peacefully snoring. Just like a man. She rose and put on a dressing gown. She attended to her hair, which had gone in all directions, with the help of the hotel mirror. Once that was done, she dressed carefully for the day and checked her derringer to make sure it was loaded. David seemed to think there might be trouble. It was likely unnecessary worry, but she had leaned after all her Underground Railroad experiences that the unexpected does happen.
David stirred, and she went over and kissed him playfully. He sleepily started to pull her into bed with him, but she resisted, saying, “No time for that. You need to wake up. We have work to do.”
“Hmm. You would remind me.” He got up. She left the room. He shaved and dressed, and just as he finished, she returned with coffee and breakfast on a tray. They read their Bible passage together while eating, their usual morning routine, and spent time in prayer. Then David looked at his watch.
“I’m lazy this morning. I’m due at the police station in fifteen minutes, to go over security.” He rose and kissed her quickly. “Good bye, my love,” he said. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I will. I’ll come to your rally as soon as I’m through speaking.”
David hurried out the door. Albinia felt a sudden touch of dread, as though he might never return.
✳ ✳ ✳
Albinia finished her speech to mild applause. She left the lectern in the church and found the man David appointed to wait for her. It was approaching noon. The church was near the President Street train station, and as she got into the waiting carriage, she was astonished to see thousands of people in the streets. She wondered what was going on. There were dozens of policemen about the station, as though expecting trouble. Perhaps this accounted for the small attendance at her speech, though she thought it more likely that it was due to no one having any idea who she was. The ladies group had listened politely and made some gestures of concern, but when she asked for volunteers, no one came forward. As she looked out the carriage window, the chaos in the street was becoming louder. Her driver was having difficulty keeping the horse moving and under control. They turned the corner onto Pratt Street, and the situation deteriorated. She shouted to the driver, but he could not hear her above the din. Then she heard someone shout, “There they are! The invaders! The Blue Bellies!” Someone threw a brick or a paving stone. Albinia remembered what David said about Massachusetts militia coming through. More shouting and curses, and the people around her carriage became a mob, intent on stopping the soldiers and wounding each other. Shop windows smashed. Fights broke out. Her driver urged the horse forward, trying to escape, to get to a side street. The air became dense with smoke. She could almost feel the hate, the anger, and the fear of the crowd. Albinia ducked as a brick came through the window of the carriage. She got on t
he floor and fingered her derringer, in case someone should open the carriage door, and prayed. Then shots rang out, and suddenly the carriage plunged ahead, as people scattered to avoid the gunfire. The horse, terrified, broke into a gallop, and the carriage careened crazily over bumps. Albinia wondered if they hit anyone. When they finally stopped, the driver scrambled down and opened her door.
“Get inside, ma’am. Get inside quick. No tellin’ what those crazy folks will do!”
They were in front of her hotel. Down the street in the direction they had come from, the gunshots and fighting continued. There was an ambulance wagon, and people being carried on stretchers to it. Terror pierced her heart—was that David? She started to run.
“Ma’am, you can’t go that way! Ma’am!”
She ignored the driver, and fear gave her strength. She pushed and shoved people aside. She stepped in mud and horse manure. Her dress was ruined. She didn’t care. A heel broke off her shoe as she ran until she caught up with two orderlies carrying a familiar figure on a stretcher. It was David. His chest was bleeding, and his head had an ugly open wound, with part of the skull visible. He’d been beaten terribly. She told them to stop, to let her talk to him.
Her brain and her heart refused to process it. David! He couldn’t be … she wouldn’t let him….
The orderly looked at her sympathetically but said, “Ma’am, we have to move along. Others need our help. We’re going to the morgue. He’s dead.”
✳ ✳ ✳
June 1861, Camp Denison, Ohio
Luther rested, leaning on his shovel for a moment. He was sweating with exertion, and frustrated by his circumstances. After making enough money in Findlay to move forward, he came to Dennison, Ohio, where a new military and training camp was under construction. He found that the Union army would not take him as a soldier, despite the antislavery and equality talk of the North. Instead, he did manual labor digging latrines, breastworks, ditches. The soldiers were not there yet. The muster was set for eight weeks away. It was the Third Ohio cavalry. As he resumed work with his shovel, he looked over at the officer’s tent and nearly dropped the shovel in anger and surprise. Talking to the officer who had sworn him in was none other than his old enemy Sam. It was all Luther could manage not to run over and use the shovel on his head. All the rage he held in after the slave catcher’s torture of his mother threatened to break loose. In the back of his mind, he heard his mother’s voice cautioning him, and instead, he dug harder and faster, channeling the fury into his work. He would wait. His time would come.