by Vivi Holt
She soon reached number 826 and paused at the front gate before hurrying across the yard to the back. The sun was setting behind her, giving the house an eerie look. It was a squat white structure with tall windows in the front that looked like wide-open eyes, and she shivered as she passed them. She should be at the Williams’ house now, in the kitchen preparing supper. They’d notice she was missing soon if they hadn’t already. But there was no going back now, at least not without some kind of explanation for her absence.
She took the three steps down to the back door. She’d heard all about the cellar – it was likely where she’d spend the night. Though there was no way of knowing if what she’d heard was true. That thought alarmed her and she took a quick breath. What if it was all a lie? What if Mr. Jacob Burkle didn’t take in escaped slaves and send them on their way north through the Underground Railroad like the rumors claimed?
She shivered, then rapped gently on the door. She had to take her chances – escaping was the only choice left for her. Ever since Gracie was born, the master made it clear he wanted to take her and sell to the highest bidder as soon as she was weaned. She had to leave now or face losing her child.
The door opened just enough for a pair of dark eyes to peek out and look her up and down. A soft voice asked, “Yes?”
Claudine swallowed hard again and drew a quick breath. “I’s Claudine Hopkins from the Williams’ family estate. I wanna catch a train north, an’ heard there was a conductor livin’ here. S’that right?”
The eyes narrowed, then the door swung wider. A large woman with dark skin and eyes and a shock of black hair piled high on her head barred the way. “Claudine, ya say?”
She nodded.
“An’ whatcha got there?” the woman asked, leaning forward to peer into the bundle Claudine held wrapped in a blanket in her arms.
“It’s my daughter Gracie. They’re gwine take her – Master wants to sell her. An’ I won’t have it.” Her cheeks blazed and her eyes flashed as she spoke, and a familiar spark of anger seared through her chest.
The woman nodded curtly. “Well, ya best c’mon in, then. I’m Mrs. Freedman, the housekeeper. How ol’ are ya?”
Claudine stuck out her chin. “I’m fifteen.”
The woman’s eyebrows arched high. “Fifteen, ya say? That’s too young to be bearin’ a chile. You’re only a chile yaself.”
“Well, I bore her, an’ I’m gwine keep her.” Her throat tightened.
“Simmer down, girl. I ain’t gwine take her from ya.” Mrs. Freedman chuckled and lumbered over to the black cast-iron stove in the middle of the room. Apparently they were in the kitchen. “Coffee?”
Claudine nodded and came inside, closing the door behind her. She gazed around the room at the strings of onions and herbs hanging over a worktable laden with pots, pans, bread, cheese and more. It wasn’t as grand a kitchen as the one at the Williams’ estate, but it looked well enough. “Where’s Mr. Burkle?”
Mrs. Freedman studied her a moment. “He’s in the front room readin’. He’ll be havin’ his supper soon – I’ll tell him ‘bout ya then.”
“I thought he were ‘gainst slavery.”
The woman nodded. “Sho ‘nuff is.”
“Then what are ya …?”
Mrs. Freedman put her hands on her hips. “Chile, I ain’t his slave! I work for him – have for years.”
Claudine’s head fell. “Yes, ma’am.”
“No need to ‘yes, ma’am’ me – I ain’t holdin’ no whip. Mr. Burkle’s a good man, an’ he pays me well enough to buy the things I need and a few I don’t.” She chuckled and poured two cups of coffee. “Here ya go.”
“Were ya …?”
“A slave? Sho ‘nuff was. And Mr. Burkle done paid the price and set me free, hallelujah!” She laughed and slapped her thigh, making the coffee slop precariously against the sides of her mug.
Claudine giggled nervously. “Do ya … think he’ll help me?”
“Don’t right know. He might, seein’ as he does it often ‘nough. Now set yaself down, girl, and drink ya coffee. Once ya done, ya can have some soup while I serve Mr. Burkle.”
Claudine settled into a chair and set the coffee on the table beside her. She unwrapped little Gracie and held the child up to study her sweet face. Her cherub lips pursed at the sight of her mother and she gurgled happily. Claudine couldn’t help smiling at her, even through the fear that gripped her gut and strangled her nerves. “I’m doin’ this for you,” she whispered to the child. “It’s you an’ me ‘gainst the world.” She kissed Gracie’s forehead, then nestled her against her swollen bosom to feed.
Mrs. Freedman hurried off, returning shortly to ladle soup into a bowl. She set it in front of Claudine with a smile and a chunk of freshly baked bread smothered in melted butter, then set another bowl and plate of bread on a tray and carried it out. She came back with the tray empty, humming a tune unfamiliar to Claudine.
The girl’s nerves had calmed with each bite of chicken soup. She glanced down at Gracie, asleep in her arms, and wrapped her more tightly in her blanket before setting her on the ground by her feet. Then she shifted in her chair to finish eating the soup and bread. “What kind of man is Mr. Burkle?” she asked, her mouth full.
Mrs. Freedman eyed her disapprovingly. “He’s a good man, like I said. Patient, never an unkind word or nothin’ disagreeable from him. His biggest vice is my chocolate cake.” She chuckled, her stomach quivering.
Claudine gulped another mouthful of soup. It tasted so good, and after the stress of her day it was just what she needed. “What happens next?”
“Ya jus’ full of questions, ain’tcha?” Mrs. Freedman mumbled, dipping herself a bowl of soup and sitting at the table across from Claudine. “How ‘bout ya just focus on one thing at a time? For now, ya stayin’ here. Then we’ll see what happens after that.”
“Did you ask him?”
Mrs. Freedman nodded, a quick bob of her head. “He said ‘fine,’ jus’ like that. Ya can stay, an’ he’ll tell ya what’s next when it comes.”
Claudine grinned and set her spoon in the empty bowl. “Thank ya kindly, Mrs. Freedman.”
Mrs. Freedman smiled as if against her will. “Well, we’ll see. It ain’t an easy path ya chose, girl. But I dare say ya got as good a chance as some of makin’ it. Though less’n most.”
Claudine frowned. “What do ya mean?”
Mrs. Freeman’s gaze fell to her bowl. “A babe in ya arms makes everythin’ harder.”
Claudine’s eyes drifted shut. She’d fed Gracie again and now waited for Mrs. Freedman to return to the kitchen.
The kitchen door creaked open, and the buxom woman pushed her way in with a tray full of dirty dishes.
Claudine yawned. “I’m gettin’ mighty tired, Mrs. Freedman …” Then she gulped and sat up straighter. There was a man behind Mrs. Freedman, a white man!
“Good evening,” the man said with a smile. “My name is Jacob Burkle.”
Claudine let out the breath she was holding, her face warming. “I’m Claudine Hopkins and this here’s Gracie.” She nodded at the baby asleep in her arms.
“So nice to meet you both. Mrs. Freedman tells me you want to catch a train north.”
She nodded. “Yessir.”
“Well, it just so happens we have one leaving the station tomorrow morning. Does that suit?”
Another nod. “Oh yes, sir!”
“Good. We will rise early, so you should get some sleep. I hope you’re ready for a difficult journey, Miss Hopkins. It is a long way from Memphis to Canada.”
“Yessir. I ain’t gotta choice. They wanna take Gracie from me.”
He frowned, his bushy eyebrows drawing low over warm gray eyes. “I see. Well, north it is. Get some sleep, my dear, and I’ll see you again first thing.” He nodded to her, turned on his heel and headed back through the kitchen door.
Mrs. Freedman waved a hand. “Come with me, an’ I’ll show ya to ya bed.”
Claudine stoo
d wearily to her feet and plodded after the woman down a short, dark staircase and into the cellar. Against one wall was some newly laundered bedding, and Claudine slumped onto it with a sigh. She smelled sunshine on the sheets.
Mrs. Freedman stood over her with a slight smile on her round face. “I’ll wake ya first thing.” She left, locking the cellar door behind her and throwing Claudine and Gracie into complete darkness.
Claudine kicked off her shoes and slid beneath a sheet, nestling Gracie to her breast as she did. The covers were warm and she was already falling asleep before she’d even had a chance to say her prayers.
Gracie’s wailing woke Claudine just moments before Mrs. Freedman’s key turned in the lock. The cellar door opened and she stared down at the girl, a lantern held high in one hand. “Time to move.”
Claudine kissed Gracie on the forehead and sat up with a grunt, then let the baby feed while she gathered her thoughts. She hadn’t brought anything with her – she couldn’t, or Mrs. Williams would’ve been suspicious. As far as her mistress knew, she’d gone outside to pick flowers for the dining room. So she’d simply laid down her armful of flowers, lifted Gracie and her blanket from the grass and wandered slowly out of the garden. When no one stopped her, she picked up the pace, scurrying through the streets of Memphis.
She still couldn’t quite believe she’d done it. She was taking the Underground Railroad north to Canada. A stab of nerves made her gut roil, and she rose and followed Mrs. Freedman up the cellar stairs into the kitchen. A bowl of steaming oatmeal waited for her on the table, and she ate it all while sipping a cup of hot black coffee.
There was a soft whistle at the back door and Mrs. Freedman opened it quickly. A boy with dusty blond hair stood there, his cap in his hands. Mrs. Freedman nodded to the boy, who looked about sixteen, and left the room, returning with Mr. Burkle. The three of them spoke in hushed tones, each glancing occasionally at Claudine or along the boy’s arm as he pointed out the door and to the north.
Claudine noticed that Gracie had finished suckling, wrapped the baby more tightly and held her against her shoulder, patting her back gently while she waited.
“Come now,” beckoned Mr. Burkle. “It is time for you to leave us. This is Joe Frank. He will take you to the next station.”
Claudine swallowed hard and followed the boy into the pre-dawn darkness. She turned to wave goodbye and saw the door shutting gently behind her. “Goodbye and thank you,” she whispered.
“God go with ya, girl,” was Mrs. Freedman’s hushed reply. Then silence, apart from the early morning birdcalls that rang out across the sleeping city.
“C’mon,” said Joe.
She hurried after him, her heart pounding. He was only a little older than her – how could he lead her to safety? Wouldn’t someone stop them? They went up alleys and down back roads until they reached the Mississippi River, running sluggish and black past them in the waning moonlight. She felt a chill up her spine at the sight of it, so wide and dark. Joe led her along its banks, and she swallowed hard and forced her eyes to focus on the track in front of her. Should she and Gracie fall into that swirling blackness, it would be the end of them.
A loud crack in the distance made her jump. “What was that?” she hissed.
Joe stopped in front of her, staring north along the river. “Dunno.” He started up again and she followed him. They were leaving the city behind now, and she could see the first glow of the sun’s rays in the east as they followed the rise and fall of the riverbank.
Claudine heard something again – a shout, perhaps? Then she saw a boat appear around a bend in the river ahead. “Look,” she whispered.
Joe spotted the boat as well. He dropped quickly to the ground, waving at her to do the same. They both scuttled sideways until they were hidden behind a bush, then Claudine peered out from behind it. The boat, a paddle-wheeler, was headed their way. She’d seen vessels like it before – the Mississippi was a busy river and she’d spent most of her life in Memphis, so riverboats were a common sight. But there was something different about this one …
Then she saw another rounding the bend, and another. Soon the river was jammed with them, all chugging south toward Memphis. They pulled up alongside each other in a line spanning the river. She look back at the city, now waking, and saw another fleet headed north to meet the first group. She tugged on Joe’s shirtsleeve. “Look!”
His eyes widened. “Holy Moses …” Then he looked north again and gasped. “Lookit the flags!”
She did, and realized what was happening. The boats from the north were flying Union flags, the Stars and Stripes. The ones joining them had the Confederate Stars and Bars hoisted. “There gwine be a batt–”
There was a loud boom, and Claudine hit the ground with a soft cry. Booms and bangs followed, resounding one after the other, and smoke drifted from two of the Confederate boats’ decks. She and Joe watched in terrified silence as the crews shot at each other, closing the gap between them, black smoke chugging from the towering chimneys.
Then one of the Union boats rammed into the side of a Confederate boat, its stern ripping a gaping hole in the other’s hull. Claudine gasped and covered her mouth. Gracie began to fuss, and she held the girl to her chest, patting her back absently while she watched a Confederate boat ram the first Union boat, wood splintering and cracking as its hull was torn in two. Shots rang out all around them.
When a bullet whistled nearby, landing with a thud in the bank beside them, Joe leaped into action. “We gotta get out of here,” he whispered, and tugged at Claudine’s shawl, prompting her to move. Together they scrambled up the bank and ran through a field, still hearing the splitting of wood and the gunfire on the water behind them.
After they’d made their way well into the field, Joe stopped and listened. “Now we gotta get back to the riverbank,” he said with a frown.
She nodded, her heart pounding and sweat rolling down her face. She didn’t want to go back to the river, not if they were still fighting there. Though that part of the river was at least a mile behind them now. And Joe knew where they were going – she didn’t.
He turned and led her back toward the Mississippi, and she followed Joe down its banks once again, grabbing for handholds whenever the ground grew too slippery. Finally they found the trail they’d been following earlier and continued north.
Eventually he stopped and bent forward, fussing with something, she couldn’t see what. She watched, her breath coming in gasps. Gracie wasn’t heavy, but carrying her so far had worn Claudine out. Then he flung a piece of canvas aside, revealing a small rowboat with oars inside it. “Here we are.”
Her heart fell. “We crossin’ the river?” she asked, wide-eyed.
He nodded silently and pushed the rowboat down to the river’s edge. “Get in.”
She eyed the boat. It was so small, and the river was so wide, its surface rippling with eddies and currents that made it look as though they would be sucked into its depths. And then there was the naval battle going on nearby … “Are ya sure that thing can …?”
He nodded and grinned. “C’mon, Claudine, ya can do it. Climb in and I promise to get ya safely ‘cross – done it hunnerds of times.”
“Hunnerds?”
“Well, at least fifty, I reckon.”
She laughed softly. “Let’s go.” She clambered into the boat, its sides rocking precariously. Before she knew what was happening, Joe had pushed it roughly into the river and jumped in behind her. She sat on a bench in the middle of the boat and he sat across from her, the oars in his hands.
She crossed most of the way with her eyes shut until Gracie demanded a feed, then opened them only briefly. By the time they reached the other side, she was drenched in sweat. “We’re here,” Joe whispered. Claudine climbed out on wobbly legs, and he pulled the boat up onto the bank. “Toldja we’d make it,” he said with a smile.
“Thank ya,” she replied.
He nodded, then tugged the boat farther up the ban
k and covered it with a dirty canvas sheet waiting there. “We gotta keep moving,” he said. “Welcome to Arkansas.”
Claudine’s eyes widened. She’d made it to the next state. She really was on her way.
Keep reading…
Historical Note & Author’s Remarks
This book is jam packed with historical references. I had such a lot of fun researching and writing it. I find history absolutely fascinating, and so included as much of it into the story as I could. I hope you enjoyed it. Some of the timing has been changed for the events that transpired, along with a few details, but otherwise much of the story is based in truth.
It might seem absurd that Tejanos were forced to be immunized against smallpox in Laredo, but in fact it actually happened in 1899-1900. An outbreak in Mexican immigrant communities caught the attention of authorities. They inspected 2500 migrants crossing the Rio Grande via the Laredo Foot Bridge, ferry or train, in a single week. Most of the people asserted they had a right to pass without inspection, but that was a privilege extended only to the wealthy.
In March the following year, homes were fumigated, people vaccinated, and the sick forcibly removed to the ‘pesthouse’, though they met strong resistance from the poorer barrios in the east.
Moving north to Mason County, the story touches on the issue of cattle rustling. Cattle rustling had long been a problem in Texas. Without fences, bands of outlaws could easily steal cattle whenever they wished. Add to that the fact that spring trail bosses didn’t pay much mind to whose cattle they drove during round up time, meaning many cattle went missing from their owner’s herds.
This happened frequently enough in Mason County so that the ethnic German majority found ranching a grueling pursuit. A combination of cattle rustlers and restless native Americans in the area made ranching difficult. Even the county’s first sheriff, Thomas Milligan, was killed by Indians.
In 1872 when a posse arrested five suspected cattle rustlers and took them back to the Mason County jail, a mob of forty men tried to obtain the keys from the jailer so they could get their hands on the rustlers. Failing that, they broke into the jail with a battering ram. They warned the sheriff and a visiting Texas Ranger to stay out of it, or they’d be shot, then took the outlaws to the edge of town to lynch them. The sheriff and ranger managed to put together a posse to follow the mob, and saved two of the men from hanging, the others died.