by Michael Ross
“Luther! What you doin’ here, boy? Are you clean outta yore mind? Dey catch you….”
“They won’t catch me. I’m with the Union army. They wouldn’t dare. And you won’t tell my secret.”
Recovering from her shock, she embraced him. “My, my, my! You done growed to be a man. What happened to you?”
Luther briefly related all that had happened since he escaped the plantation, leaving out the names of Albinia and those on the Underground Railroad. Sorrowfully, Auntie May told him about Jackson, how he’d been caught, whipped and branded, and sold south. She also told him about the massa.
“He done fled north, to Canada. They was gonna arrest him again. Mrs. Clay, she run de place now, but it’s fallin’ apart. Every time de Union comes, lots o’ darkies run off. Ain’t no patrols hardly to stop’em any more.”
“What about you, auntie? Why don’t you leave?”
“And go where? Raisin’ hemp all I know how to do. I’m too old to run. Got no family to live for—my chillin all sold long ago. Bill, my husband, he been dead twenty years. But you … you made it free! Why you come back?”
“I got some scores to settle,” said Luther grimly.
“Mmm mm. Nothin’ but trouble gonna come of dat.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Wise woman! Someone got to knock sense into yo haid! You get on outta here, go back up north. This old woman sleep better, knowin’ you free.”
“We’ll all be free, some day. That Lincoln gonna see to it.”
“War ain’t no answer. Mebbe I’ll see it, mebbe I won’t. Go on now, let an old woman get some sleep.”
Luther embraced her and went back to the Union camp by Richmond Road. He was careful to stay clear of the big house. His one fear was being reenslaved. So far, it looked like the only one here besides the Clays who might know he was an escaped slave was Auntie May. And Sam. Luther hadn’t forgotten. Sam could be a threat. He’d waited long enough. Something had to be done. It was time for revenge.
✳ ✳ ✳
Hiram walked the grounds of Ashland, looking at the large trees and the parklike atmosphere. It seemed surreal to him that war could touch this place. He prayed he might come back here someday, in time of peace. He knew Albinia had once been friendly with the Clays—Julia talked of Lucy inviting her here. He wondered where Julia was now. He hoped she was safe at home in Cincinnati, but he knew her headstrong nature—it was part of why he loved her. If anyone could tame Mama Kirsten, it would be her.
As he wandered by the windows of the big house in the dark, he heard the sound of a pianoforte. Seized by curiosity, he mounted the back steps and tapped on the window of the dining room. Phoebe opened the door for him, and he entered. Phoebe trembled at the huge white man in a blue uniform.
“No need to be afraid, miss. I … I just heard the music. It made me think of home, of my mama. Who is playing?”
Phoebe, still seeming frightened, kept her eyes down and answered in a voice just above a whisper. “Miss Lucy, she playin’. She often does that, of an evenin’.”
“Might I go in and listen? She plays very well. Some of the other men might like to as well.”
“I … I don’ know, sir. I ask Miss Lucy.”
Turning, she moved away toward the drawing room. Impulsively, Hiram followed her toward the sound of the music.
As he entered the room, Lucy was seated at the pianoforte, with her mother Susan in a rocking chair knitting, her sister Sukie on the floor drawing, and her five-year-old brother engaged in playing with wooden carved horses.
Lucy sensed Phoebe coming in and started to turn in irritation, then started at seeing Hiram. Another door opened, and a man in a Confederate uniform entered, saw Hiram, and stopped, drawing a pistol.
“Not in my house!” Susan commanded. Turning to Hiram, she said coolly, “What is the meaning of this, sir? Why have you invaded my home?”
“I meant no harm,” said Hiram. “I just heard the music. So beautiful. I think of home, and wonder if I might listen. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I had no idea…. Please forgive me. I’ll tell no one.”
Lucy and the other children seemed frozen, tense, waiting what would happen. Susan seemed unperturbed.
“Well, since it seems you are not entirely devoid of manners, and my cousin was just leaving,” Susan motioned at the man in gray to be gone. “I suppose we might entertain a few of you, in Christian charity. Poor homesick boys.”
Hiram returned shortly with a few others, and they listened to Lucy play Bach and Mendelssohn until the moon rose.
✳ ✳ ✳
Julia sat in her cell crying, praying, and despairing. What a mess she’d made of things! She hadn’t helped Hiram at all, and now she would die. In the cell with her were two Negro men, and two boys, about fourteen and sixteen. At dawn, the guards came. She thought it early for breakfast, and it filled her with foreboding. She lay down as best she could, feigning illness.
The guards ignored her and commanded the two boys to follow them. Seeing that no one cared about her, Julia moved to the door, to see what would happen.
The boys were marched roughly up steps to a platform. In horror, Julia watched as they were handcuffed behind their backs. Ropes slid over their necks. The younger boy began sobbing loudly, pleading and begging. His brother told him to be quiet, to show these rebels how a Union man could die. In a loud voice, a lieutenant read the charges—espionage and spying against the Confederate States of America. Julia heard the command given and turned away heartsick. This was what awaited her?
After that, each day, she pretended fever and illness, too weak to stand. The guards reported her condition, and Bragg delayed her execution three times. She wracked her brain for a method of escape—they were in Kentucky. If she could get out, she might find help, people she knew—maybe her aunt and uncle near Nicholasville. No method suggested itself, however. She was not strong enough to overcome two guards, let alone the whole camp. She had nothing but promises with which to bribe anyone. Who would believe her and risk death? How much longer could she hold out?
✳ ✳ ✳
Will rode hard all night. After attacking a Union wagon train and burning tons of supplies, the Raiders rode north again. Will knew this territory, as they galloped hard up the Tates Creek Pike, heading for troops near Lexington. After the Confederates evacuated Lexington two weeks before, Morgan obtained permission for some lightning raids north, to disrupt Union supply lines.
“Will, you know this country better than I, and Morgan is off to the east. Pick some of the other Lexington men you know and ride point. Our intelligence is that there are Union troops camped at the Clay mansion, Ashland. You’ve been there, I believe. We will come from the south and west, Breckenridge and Gano from the north and east,” Duke said, filling him in on the plans. “We want total surprise.”
They got close to Ashland and formed up, resting the horses for half an hour or so. It was completely dark, though dawn would come soon. At about five o’clock, Will heard the signal, and drawing his pistols, charged with the rest into the midst of the sleeping Federals.
✳ ✳ ✳
Luther heard gunfire, shouting, and horses. He grabbed his pistol, hastily loaded his rifle, and made sure his knife was in his belt. What could be happening? He stayed low, crawling outside the tent to the familiar ash tree. There were soldiers everywhere—it was too dark to see uniforms. Some of the men came out of their tents in their long johns, attempted to return fire, and were shot immediately. Luther took aim at the men on horses, firing repeatedly. Suddenly one broke off, riding straight for him saber raised. He rolled, and coming up on one knee, fired the revolver at the rider. The man pitched backward in the saddle and fell. Luther started to turn away, and the man jumped to his feet, rushing Luther and grabbing him from behind around the neck. He tried, but even his blacksmith’s hands could not pry the man’s grip loose. He was losing air, and consciousness. He jabbed backward quickly with an elbow
, as hard as he could, knocking the wind out of the man. The grip loosened, and Luther twisted free, throwing the man to the ground and stabbing him through the throat. In the pale dawn, the surprised eyes looked up at Luther, and Luther recognized him. It was Jameson.
✳ ✳ ✳
Will had no time to think, just fire, wheel, twist, and fire again. He was aware of some horses going around without a rider. Anytime there was a flash of steel from the ground, or movement, he fired. It seemed like some of the Confederates were firing at him. Exhausting his revolvers, he began using the bayonet on the end of his carbine like a spear. As the battle went on, the light improved, so he thought it worth riding away from the fight long enough to reload the revolvers. Then he charged back, seeking targets. To his surprise, a tall black man picked up a revolver and aimed at him. Without time to consider why, Will pulled his horse hard to the right, leaning at the same time. The shot went wild, and Will righted himself, urging Shadow down on top of the man. As the black man raised the pistol again, Will fired, catching the man full in the chest. His arm fell and moved no more.
✳ ✳ ✳
Luther quickly jumped up, found his pistol, reloaded his rifle, and scanned the field. In the improving light, he recognized a black man—Sam! He was about thirty yards away, taking aim at a mounted soldier. Before Luther could aim, the soldier avoided Sam and ran his horse over him, firing. Luther could have shot the soldier. Instead, he watched as the soldier killed Sam. He did not feel the joy he might have expected. Perhaps later—now there were Confederates everywhere, and he must escape. The battle was not going well for his Union friends. Seeing a riderless horse, Luther grabbed the bridle, quickly stuffing his rifle in the scabbard on the saddle. He swung up and headed north, in the direction of the Paris Pike. His knowledge of the area driving for the Clays might help keep him safe.
✳ ✳ ✳
Will saw a horse escaping north, but there was no time to worry about that. Nearer to the house, a woman and a child poked out of the upstairs window, as though the woman was trying to draw the child back in. Near the rear porch of the house, a large man was using his rifle as a club, moving quickly. He knocked three men over, then flipped it to use the bayonet, when four more gray uniforms surrounded him. Will rode over. “Stop! Unless you want to go to heaven now! Surrender!” Will yelled. His men had their rifles leveled at the giant, who looked Will in the eye. Will, astonished, recognized Hiram.
✳ ✳ ✳
A few days later, Hiram found himself paroled, exchanged for a Confederate prisoner. He found his way back to his regiment, along with the others released. After a few days rest, about October 19th, his company advanced again. Fortunately, he was able to find a horse large enough to carry him. The army had to issue him new weapons, his old ones having been taken by the Confederates. He’d talked to Will, but could furnish him no news of his family. He’d told Will he didn’t know for sure where Julia was, and was concerned for her.
Now the third and fourth Ohio moved southeast, in pursuit of Bragg’s army. The orders were to move quickly, lest Bragg escape.
They marched through the frost and cold. They marched in the rain. The army moved about twenty miles each day, on short rations. Finally, word passed down—the Confederates were just ahead.
✳ ✳ ✳
Pandemonium descended on the Confederate camp. Julia didn’t know what was going on, but something was happening. She dared not appear too lively, lest someone see and report. She could see tents being struck and wagons being loaded. It looked like they were preparing to move out.
Then the guards approached and unlock the cell. An older man, steel gray hair and spectacles, with the jowls of one used to being well fed, was with them. He wore a curious instrument with tubes about his neck.
“Madam, this army is about to move. General Bragg has extended you hospitality long enough. He has sent me to determine whether you are well enough to walk to your execution, though personally I don’t see what difference it makes. I am a doctor, and I am to examine you. I apologize for not being able to observe the niceties, but I am ordered to examine you, with or without your cooperation. These gentlemen here,” he said, gesturing to the guards, “will hold you down if you resist. May I have your cooperation, madam?”
Julia saw no alternative. “Of course,” she snapped stiffly. “If you think it necessary. Anyone can see that I am ill.”
The doctor approached and opened his bag. He felt Julia’s forehead and used his stethoscope to listen to her heart and breathing. Her heart beat rapidly as she was beginning to panic.
After a few minutes, the doctor closed his bag and straightened.
“Madam, I am sorry to report for your sake that you are no more ill than I am. I shall tell General Bragg. Good day to you.”
The doctor left, the soldiers locked the cell. In a few minutes, a soldier came and, through the bars, asked her, “Madam, the general has extended you the courtesy of a last meal, given your gender. Is there anything you would like?”
Stalling, Julia thought wildly. “Have you any duck? I am partial to it. Also, of course, I would appreciate mercy even more than a meal, if the general is inclined to extend it.”
“I’ll see what I can do about the duck—there’s a pond nearby, and many have shotguns. But you may have to do with ham and hardtack. As for mercy, the general has been most generous toward you. Had you been a soldier, he would have killed you months ago.”
In an hour, he returned apologetically with the hard tack and ham. Julia ate a small amount, not really tasting it. She prayed and thought of Hiram, her parents, her sisters, and Will.
At last they came. The soldiers entered her cell and bid her walk ahead of them. She determined not to blubber—it seemed no use. She climbed the stairs of the platform. They tied her hands behind her back. A minister appeared and read the twenty-third Psalm.
“Would you like a hood, ma’am?” said one of the soldiers.
“No, thank you.”
They bid her step up on the box, and then slipped the noose around her neck. Frightened, sick to her stomach, she clenched her teeth and closed her eyes. Nothing happened for a few seconds, which seemed like hours.
A shot rang out, then another, and another. The soldiers on the platform scattered, looking for their guns. Julia was left standing there, a rope around her neck. She dared not move as the bullets whizzed around her. Turning her head, a line of blue uniforms advanced. The Confederates were mounting up, retreating pell-mell as though totally surprised. Cannon shells landed in the camp—a piece of shrapnel caught her in the knee, threatening to make her fall to her death. Ridiculously, she thought about her dress being ruined. The battle raged on, passing her.
Then suddenly he was there. Hiram came running up the stairs, a knife in his hand. First he cut the rope around her neck, then the one around her hands. He pulled the noose off, and she was in his arms.
ON THE RIVER
November 1862
Albinia made the trip to Lancaster so often that she barely had to guide the horse. She took the four-hour drive at a trot, scarcely resting. She began teaching at the mixed race school, working with the little ones to learn to read and sew two days a week. Other times she took new escaped slaves as they ran to freedom or to flee the war. She heard tales of both plantation houses and cabins burned by both sides. Here in Madison, she felt safe. No battles.
Sometimes she took the trip to Lancaster on the excuse of looking in on the slaves she’d helped. Mabel just smiled and packed her a lunch.
Today she enjoyed the early afternoon sunshine and was grateful for little wind, as the temperature hovered about forty degrees, rather agreeable for mid-November. She’d gotten a late start, wanting her new gown to be perfect when Peter saw it. It was a royal blue, with white lace around the scooped neck and at the end of the puffed sleeves. She had a hot brick for her feet in the floorboard, a woolen shawl around her, and extra flannel petticoats. She had bathed, having Franklin heat several tubs
of water, and washed her hair. She even applied lavender water to her skin. Today, she was making the trip for no other reason than to spend time with Peter. In two weeks, it would be her birthday. Peter said he had something special planned. She looked forward with anticipation now. After all, twenty-one wasn’t so old. Peter didn’t seem to mind about her being a widow—in fact, he’d been very sympathetic, understanding when memories made her melancholy.
It was almost sunset when she arrived. She had stayed with his housekeeper a time or two, but tried not to make a habit of being there overnight. She didn’t want any gossip to hurt him with his parishioners. The moon would be full tonight—she’d just go home after their time together.
She pulled up in front of the parsonage, and Peter was there before she could get down, helping her.
“I was getting worried you wouldn’t come, or had an accident,” he said.
Albinia smiled at him warmly. He was always so protective. “No, I just was silly and got started late. I wanted everything to be perfect.”
He set her down and stepped back, whistling. “Well, you certainly did a good job on that! You look absolutely gorgeous. Come, I think dinner is just about ready. Let’s get you warm.”
Albinia started to say that just seeing him made her warm from head to toe, but thought better of it.
They entered the small parsonage, where a fire crackled in the fireplace, and Melinda, the housekeeper, was bustling making the final changes for the meal. She was short, stout, and looked about fifty years old, with black curly hair and chocolate-brown skin. There was a sofa, three benches, and the cast-iron wood-fired stove in the corner, a small dining table set for five with pewter dishes. To her delight, Joe and Katy Jones, children of the slave family she’d helped a few weeks before, were there playing on the floor.
They ran over and hugged her. “Look, Mrs. Horner! See my giraffe?” Katy said, holding up a wooden toy. “He’s eating all the leaves off the trees—that’s why there aren’t any there anymore!”
Peter knelt beside the children and laughed. He clowned when Joe wanted to ride him like a horse. Albinia watched the spectacle, laughing and making appreciative remarks when the children wanted to show her something. She read stories to them, and told them the story of David and Goliath from the Bible, which Peter acted out, making grimacing faces as he mimicked Goliath. Albinia thought to herself, he would make such a good father—then blushed and turned her attention back to the story.