Chasing Freedom

by Gloria Ann Wesley

  Lydia nodded slowly and moved her mouth. She wanted to speak, but Amelia pressed her finger gently on her mother’s lips to prevent her. “Hush now, my dear. Fortune told me that you need my forgiveness. There is nothing to forgive. There is no reason for you to feel guilty. There is not a thing you could have done differently.”

  Fortune stood quietly to the side. He witnessed the closure of the long-held secrets, watched how it removed the weight from his mother’s shoulders and left a joyous woman. All that balling up inside had found a way to escape.

  “You did the right thing,” Amelia said calmly. “I do not blame you. Rest now, knowing that the love of a child for her mother lives on in her heart.” She stroked Lydia’s cottony white hair. Their eyes met and held. She said, “I am blessed. I have finally found you and my true family.”

  Lydia tried to speak, but again Amelia shushed her. “Save your strength,” she said. “All that matters is that I am here to comfort you.”

  Amelia cradled the old woman in her arms, rocking her back and forth. “I remained with the Pinkhams though they often sent me to work on other farms. There were many times when I wondered what became of you,” she said. “My master’s missus was a nice woman who liked me and so they kept me on their plantation.”

  “The Lord was good to you,” Lydia said weakly.

  “You are right, Ma’am. The Lord was good. Now, you must not worry any more. We are family.” Amelia leaned over and tenderly kissed her mother’s cheek.

  Lydia leaned forward and whispered, “Ask Sarah to come in. There is a small wooden box under the bed. She knows which one.”

  When Sarah entered the room, she reached under the bed for the box, only to find when she stood up a look of disapproval on Amelia’s face. Sarah glanced quickly at her aunt, wondering what sort of thoughts lay beneath the pleasant surface. With a slight raise of the brows at her aunt, she handed the box to Grandmother.

  The old woman’s jittery hands opened the box and she pulled out a sheet of paper. “Margaret wrote these names … they are all my children’s names.” She unfolded the paper and laid it on the bed. In the box was a tiny wooden ring. She held it up and said, “This was your ring. I got Tally to carve one for each of my girls. This one was carved after you were gone, but I kept it, just in case.” She stopped for a moment to catch her breath, then said, “You have a sister, Margaret Cunningham. You must get to know her.”

  “A sister?” Amelia asked. “Why I had no idea.”

  The old woman’s mouth was dry. She rolled her tongue over her lips. “Margaret Cunningham, Amelia Pinkham, Prince, Fortune and Reece Johnson,” she murmured, “all my children!” She paused a moment before whispering, “I love them all. I am sorry that I had to keep this secret … Lord, I am sorry.” The old woman fell back into the soft feather pillows and closed her eyes.

  Thirty-three

  IT WAS MID-OCTOBER 1786. FORTUNE HELD THE REINS steady as he and Sarah travelled along the Birchtown Road. Their singing was spirited as the words of an old work song tumbled from their mouths. Sarah sat tall, sporting a green Sunday jacket and a flowered gown. Her wide hat flopped in the breeze.

  “Are you sure that you want to do this?” Fortune asked.

  “Yes Papa.”

  “Maybe you should wait awhile. I’m not feeling sure about this.”

  “I cannot give in to fear, Papa. I have to try.”

  “Getting a licence from the Sessions Court is no easy task.” He looked over at Sarah and smiled. “Your courage is as big as the whole outdoors. I admire your strength to keep pushing ahead. You are so much like your mama and grandmother.”

  “I can see that you are worried …”

  “No, not worried, just a little tired of the fight.”

  “Yes, and it’s my turn now. There are times when I feel a hand around my throat, waiting to choke the life from me. I cannot give up. Sometimes I don’t understand why our path is so rocky, Papa.”

  “If I knew the answer to that, Babygirl, I would be the Lord.”

  They laughed and their laughter echoed throughout the Birchtown woods.

  Outside the Sessions Court, the line-up was long with a sea of unfamiliar faces. Fortune waited, head down, waging war with his decision to encourage Sarah to try this test. He wondered if he could bear to see the pain if she lost yet another round. He rubbed his forehead and spit yellow tobacco juice out onto the road.

  It was nearly an hour before Sarah came out through the doors of the courthouse. Fortune slowly turned to get a glimpse of her face, hoping to get a hint of the verdict. Her expression was almost stony as she climbed into the wagon and slid over on the seat beside him. She reached inside her rag purse. Fortune watched her every move, followed her hand closely.

  “It’s a hallelujah day,” she exclaimed.

  “You got the licence?”

  “I got it. I got the licence.”

  Fortune wrapped his arms around her and they rocked with joy. “You had me for a minute,” he howled. “You are almost as good as your Papa! We’ll have to find a building somewhere. I imagine the cost will be put up higher when they see our faces! But we will find the money.”

  “I have hoarded like a field mouse gathering up bits for a nest … every crown and shilling, every piece of jewellery or thing of value. Thomas has offered his help and, among us, I am sure there will be enough.”

  “You are a wonder, Babygirl. A true wonder.”

  The next morning, Margaret Cunningham pulled her carriage up to the Redmond cabin. Inside, after making herself comfortable, she turned to Sarah. “You have not stopped by in a long while for a visit. I missed you and I have been wondering how everyone is getting along.”

  “We are doing well. It is so different without Grandmother.”

  “Yes it would be. I miss her as much as you do.”

  Margaret caught Prince up in her arms and said, “My, my, he is growing up fast. He is looking more like his daddy every day.” Then she looked at Sarah with concern. “We didn’t have a chance to talk about what happened, Sarah. The whipping, I mean. It was a very cruel punishment. But that’s the people here for you … it’s hard to understand what they think, why they act the way they do, how deep their habits are.”

  “For them, it’s like Ramsey said, we are of no account. We are no more than the rocks in the field.”

  “Not everyone is cruel and heartless, though sometimes that may seem true,” Margaret said, “but many in the settlement are fair-minded. Perhaps disappointment has led to violence and hatred all around. It is time to make peace.”

  “Even if there is peace, the Negroes will still be treated the same way. These folks see no reason to change their ways.”

  “I believe in time they will.”

  “Perhaps. It is true that when they needed more men during the war, they had to change their minds about Negroes. Change comes from a need, Papa says, and the war opened the door a little wider, but why must there be a door?”

  “A door can be taken down, Sarah.”

  “I tried. Didn’t I try to have the law applied fairly?”

  Margaret faced Sarah saying, “But in the end, Sarah, the law that condemned you was the same law that saved you.”

  “Even that required a fight.”

  Margaret searched for the words to console her niece. “Shame is on those who have no respect for justice. When a law is not rooted in fairness, we all become victims.”

  Sarah sighed. “I have decided that there is no gain in dwelling on what I cannot have or what I cannot do. I plan to take one day at a time and do all I can.” With that, Sarah broke into singing one of the songs from the camp meetings:

  I got wings, you got wings,

  All o’ God’s chillun got wings,

  When I get to heaven, I’m goin’ to put on my wings,

  I’m goin’ to fly all
over God’s Heaven!

  When she finished, she looked at Margaret and laughed, “I’m not waiting to get to heaven. I’m going to fly down here, going to fly all over Port Roseway. I will get a shop with a little faith …” She moved to the trunk at the foot of her bed and came back with a piece of paper. She waved it high above her head, “and with this licence.”

  Margaret stared at the paper. “This is beyond words. I cannot believe it.”

  Sarah walked to the window and stood looking out into the yard. The trees around the cabin had been cleared. A path stretched to a barn where she saw her father coming through the doors. When Fortune caught sight of her in the window, he waved his hand, yelling for her to come. She turned to her aunt, saying, “Father needs us. Quick, we must go to the barn. Something has happened.”

  Once inside the barn, the two women heard strange sounds coming from a stall near the back. It was the sweet neighs of Betty, the mare. Beside her a tiny filly nestled in the warmth of her neck in the hay. Fortune faced them beaming like an August moon.

  When the women returned from the barn, Margaret’s voice became playful, saying, “Oh, and by the way, I have a surprise as well. You may as well know about the trunk.”

  “The trunk, Ma’am?”

  “I have a trunk full of fabric and needles. It has scissors, thimbles and thread. I have been saving it for a long time. It will be a good start and there is more good news! Colonel Aiken’s wife has another trunk filled with goods. She will give it to you, just as long as she can be your first customer.”

  “Oh Lord. Have I died and gone to heaven? A customer.”

  “A family has to pull together, doesn’t it? Lydia wanted this family to be whole.” Margaret’s voice dropped. “Forgive me, Sarah. We kept the secret for so long. From now on, it’s going to be ‘mother.’ No more ‘Lydia’. I spoke with Fortune yesterday. He said you were searching for another place.” She reached into her jacket pocket and handed a large key to Sarah. “This is for a building on Water Street, just a few buildings down from the burnt fish hut.”

  Sarah held the key in her hand and stared at it a long time. Her stomach felt like warm porridge on the coldest winter day. “I am grateful, Ma’am! You are the amazing one.”

  “Mr. Harris has offered it to you at no cost. Fortune told me you saved to purchase a building. Now you can use the money to fix up the place.”

  Sarah pressed the key to her bosom, letting out a long sigh.

  “There is one more bit of news,” Margaret said, reaching for the latch on the door. “They found Boll weevil’s body on Maiden Lane a few days ago. He was badly beaten. The sheriff has questioned a lot of people, but there are no witnesses.”

  “I am glad it is over, Ma’am.”

  “From now on, you call me Aunt Margaret.”

  THOMAS COOPER AND SEVERAL FRIENDS WORKED TIRELESSLY for weeks in the shop on Water Street until the plain tackle shop resembled a place of business. It had long counters for cutting, hooks for hanging, drawers and shelves for goods and a place to iron. A pot-bellied stove stood centre floor to greet and warm the customers. Outside, the sign above the door read, “Sarah’s Tailor Shop.” The Roseway women cackled like hens when they saw the sign go up, clucking about the bold Negro woman daring to return and set up shop after what happened. Many of them did not like the idea of her competing with Martha Lewis. Some said they would cross the street because they feared walking in front of a Negro’s shop. Others just quibbled for the sake of it. Yet others acknowledged that Negroes were people just like themselves, said it was time to work together for the common good. There were women who came to give away their fabric scraps. There were those who came for alterations and others who placed orders for winter clothing. As the work piled up, Sarah was so busy she barely had time for herself or Thomas.

  Mr. Eldridge, an elderly tailor, volunteered to take Sarah under his wing and show her a thing or two about the art of sewing. This is when her real education began. She learned how to measure, the function of different types of needles, the correct stitches for the fabric and the names of the many varieties of fabrics. The most important rule was the need to conserve and extend the life of costly fabrics. Nothing went to waste. Alter, mend and remake.

  Sarah carted all the leftover fabric home. “One of these days, we are going to make a quilt, Sarah, one that tells the story of our journey,” Grandmother had said. The time had come. After many months of late nights and hard work, the quilt came together. The colours dazzled in a warm collage of greens, browns, blues, white and gold. Valued memories lay deep in the varying textures. In the smooth were the things of love, joy and plenty. In the coarse were the things of sorrow and betrayal. With every stitch and every decision, whether it was the colour, the size or the shape of the piece, Sarah heard Grandmother’s voice. This was their legacy—the story of their journey to Nova Scotia. It became the centrepiece on the back wall of the shop, a sentinel keeping watch. The quilt could have sold many times over, but it was not for sale for all the money in Port Roseway.

  Thirty-four

  FALL ENDED, THEN WINTER CAME AND FINALLY SPRING rolled into summer. For weeks, the candles burned all night. On July 15, 1786, daylight welcomed a morning of feverish activity. The horizon brightened as golden rays filtered through the blue-grey sky. It was a honeyed day, one for making the sweetest dreams come true. It was a day for an enormous celebration.

  Sarah scurried about the new house—a small, four-room home on the Birchtown Road on the edge of her ten acres. It was about a mile up the road from Papa’s new place and a half-mile from the old homestead, where Aunt Amelia now lived. She was proud of the glass windows and thick door, but the delight was the kitchen fireplace that Thomas had built. It was fitted with hooks to hang pots and a recessed wall for baking. Reece made a three-legged kettle for cooking and Aunt Margaret gave her an array of cast-iron skillets.

  The day began at six with the bell ringing in the new Methodist Meeting House. The bell would ring every hour until the wedding began. Several customers had secretly made beautiful paper bells and streamers to hang in her home. Food from the neighbours kept arriving. There were tables to set up outside and crates of donated dishes to clean. Savoury aromas drifted throughout the house from pots of chicken stew topped with mounds of fluffy dumplings and from the tangy apple pies. To liven up the festivities, three large tubs of spruce beer were chilling in a cold pool behind the house.

  Margaret and Amelia were like tornadoes around Sarah. There was not a minute to relax—no time to think about the most wonderful day of her life. But soon her energy slowed and she lay sideways on her bed, taking a much-needed break. Thoughts of Thomas encouraged a smile. They would spend their first night together not in a small bed with a straw mattress, but in the big feather bed he built for them. Grandmother use to say, “Look at the heart. It rules the deeds.” If that were true, Thomas had a good heart. He was the kind of man who would do anything to help a friend or neighbour. She wondered what her life might be like if they had gone to New York. No, she told herself, they were making good right here in Birchtown. He was a hard working, sweet home man and she was proud of him.

  It had taken Thomas such a long time to propose that she had started to wonder if he ever would. The promise ring was one thing, but the actual proposal … well, that took awhile. When it finally came in mid-May, after a long walk down to the Roseway River, it was entirely unexpected. There they were, standing on the wooden bridge, watching the rushing water, chatting about the usual things—their work, ol’ man Johnson’s house burning down, Reece and Priscilla—when Thomas stretched out his arms and hugged her. As usual, he had his own peculiar way of getting to it. Even his tone did not reveal his intentions when he said, “I came to Nova Scotia, never intending to stay.”

  “I, for one, am glad you did,” she said.

  “So am I,” he said and turned to stare into the forest. “I believe
our ancestors are watching us,” he whispered. “I hear them directing us to join and celebrate all the good things we have found in this place.”

  “I feel them as well, all those who endured a life of slavery and have passed on. Their spirits have gathered here tonight on the bridge.”

  “They are telling us to move ahead, not to worry about what has been. And they want us to marry.” The twinkle in Thomas’s eyes told Sarah that he was taking delight in surprising her. Strangely, after waiting for so long to hear the words, she did not know what to say. She listened as the loons on a nearby lake wailed and the frogs croaked. She watched the steam rise off the water. Still she held back.

  Thomas hugged her. “Will you have me?”

  Sarah could not resist a little game of one-up. “You said the ancestors have decided for us. Are you sure you have decided?”

  “Oh, yes! All of us in our wisdom have decided.” Thomas knelt down on one knee and said, “Sarah Redmond, will you take me, Thomas Cooper, to be your husband?”

  “I guess. I think so. Oh, why not?” She giggled and then shrieked, “Yes!”

  With the ancestors as witnesses, they pledged their love. She closed her eyes and said, “This is the beginning of our flight. Can you believe it?” She smiled a heartfelt smile and in a creamy voice she said, “I believe that we have a chance.”

  The memory of that day came to a hasty end when Amelia’s patience cracked Sarah’s daydreaming. “Sarah!” she called, her voice worrisome and tired, “Are you getting ready? It will soon be time to go.”

  “Don’t worry. I am doing fine … I am nearly ready,” Sarah roared, although she had not done a thing yet to get herself ready. She turned over on the bed. Her aunts were chatting and laughing in the next room. She heard Amelia say, “I wish Mama was here. If she could see Sarah now, she would swell with such pride the seams of her dress would split.”

  Margaret laughed and said, “I can hear her whispering in my ear, trying to direct our every step. I can hear her telling us to hurry up and stop our jabbering.” They laughed hard this time.