by Cathy Gohlke
We knelt on either side of Miz Laura’s bed. Ma made room for us, but she looked at William Henry and me, then gave me a look I don’t like to remember. I wondered if Aunt Sassy’d told her where we’d been. Miz Laura opened her eyes, looked at us, and smiled. She whispered, “By the smell of you both you did your job well.”
We smiled back. Miz Laura was a great lady. She opened her palms and we each placed a hand in hers. In the light I saw the difference between our skin colors. Miz Laura’s was white, not much darker than the sheet beneath them. Mine was the color of sand at the bottom of the run. William Henry’s was the sleek black color of a raven’s wing, almost blue. I was surprised I noticed that now. I expected Miz Laura to speak to me first and was surprised again when she didn’t.
“William Henry, I am more proud of you than ever you will know. Mr. Heath has books for you that you are to read and own, with my blessing. You are fulfilling your destiny, and I love you for it.” William Henry buried his face in the sheet and Miz Laura placed her hand on his head. In that moment I didn’t feel equal to William Henry in Miz Laura’s eyes, and I could not understand it.
Then she reached for me. “Robert, my dear Robert. I know you are searching for your purpose. I know you will find it. Go, with my blessing, and—” But she couldn’t finish, for a spasm of pain racked her body and Aunt Sassy pushed me away to support her back as she arched it upward. Mr. Heath and Pa ran in then, tired, dirty, and so afraid they would miss her. They nearly did. Mr. Heath fell to his knees beside his wife. Her last look, her last smile forced through a struggle with pain, was for him. Her blue eyes closed, and she was gone.
Pa reached for Ma. We all kneeled to pray. Aunt Sassy’s spiritual began softly and rose near to a keening.
“Swing low, sweet chariot, comin’ for to carry me home.
Swing low, sweet chariot, comin’ for to carry me home.
I looked over Jordan, and what did I see, comin’ for to carry me home?
A band of angels, watchin’ out for me, comin’ for to carry me home.”
Pa and Joseph and William Henry and I left then. Ma and Aunt Sassy stayed to wash and lay out the body. Mr. Heath, broken, and looking older than I knew he could grow, remained on his knees by Miz Laura’s bed. Ma said he prayed there all night, and that the candles burned till dawn.
MA AND AUNT SASSY laid Miz Laura out real nice in the front parlor. Joseph Henry had already made the casket weeks before: solid mahogany, polished to a fine sheen and fitted with brass hinges. It was a thing to behold and I realized that they’d all known a long while that Miz Laura wouldn’t last. That morning, as soon as word got around Laurelea, the workers poured through the back door, knelt for prayers and goodbyes around the casket, then spilled onto the front porch and lawn. Thirty dark heads bowed, thirty pairs of hands clasped in prayer, and thirty voices rose and fell in sweet spirituals, singing Miz Laura over Jordan. It was somber, but not sad. Miz Laura was free from pain and had died in her own bed, among her own people. We all knew she’d have a mansion in God’s house.
By late afternoon, word had reached neighboring farms and the houses of other church members. People started coming from as far away as Chesapeake City, from below North East, and even some from Wilmington, Delaware, to pay their respects. Some stayed in the parlor and dining room all night and held a sort of wake, waiting for the morning burial. Aunt Sassy and Ma and the ladies of Laurelea fed everybody. It was good to be together. The lines between color were not so clearly drawn in the Heaths’ parlor. I noticed it more now than I ever had before, and for the first time, appreciated it.
One person I never expected to see at Miz Laura’s burial the next morning was Jake Tulley. He came by just as Pa and William Henry and I finished digging the grave and were going to wash up. William Henry took one look at him and marched away. Jake pulled me aside when Pa walked ahead, and he whispered in my ear, “Can’t you get your darkies to do that dirty work?”
I swiped at the sweat streaking my brow. “Digging Miz Laura’s grave is a privilege; it’s not dirty work.”
“You won’t talk so high and mighty to me when I turn you and your pa in to Sheriff Biggs and watch you dance off the end of a rope.”
I pulled away from him. “Get away from me, Jake. I’ve got no time for you. If you want to pay your respects you’d best go inside. The service’ll start shortly.”
Jake laughed. “Pay my respects?”
My dander was rising. “That’s what this day is about.”
“Not mine. Recognize this?” Jake pulled my gold watch from his pocket and flipped open the case, showing the inscription. “Know where I found it?”
I did not breathe.
“Outside our dog pen, yesterday morning, after our hounds got skunked the night before by some weasel in the henhouse.”
“Give me that.” I reached for my watch.
Jake pulled his arm back and grinned. “I know your pa helped those slaves run t’other night. I know because he took that wagon out you keep locked in the barn. The one with the hidey-hole in the bottom.”
My face must have betrayed me.
Jake smirked. “You and William Henry and your pas ain’t the only ones run around the county at night. I coon hunt and I see many things.” He circled me.
“You think you know so much.” I stalled for time, trying to think what to do.
“You say right. I do know so much. I know enough to make all of you and Mr. Heath swing. One little word to my pa and that is just what will happen. He’d love to see that uppity Joseph Henry dancin’ off the end of a rope. But there is one thing I don’t know that I’d give this gold watch and all that knowing for.” Jake paused, dangling the bait. Still I didn’t breathe. I knew he’d get wherever he was going. “I’ve heard talk about this Underground Railroad. Jed Slocum reckoned you all are in on it. I heard my pa say that he can’t imagine such a thing being real, but if our hounds can’t track those runaways he don’t know where else it could run but underground.”
“That’s stupid.”
Jake spun me around, grabbed my collar, and spit in my face. “Don’t ever call me stupid again. I’ve checked every cave and holler around here, and I’ve not found any underground railroads.” He pushed me away. “I never been on a train, and I mean to ride that one.”
“Give me back my watch. You probably stole it.” I tried to keep the panic from my voice.
Jake laughed. “We both know I didn’t. I believe I’ll just hang on to it—until tomorrow. Because if you don’t show me that railroad underground I’ll have to turn this pretty ticker over to my pa and tell him all about that wagon sitting in Mr. Heath’s barn. I expect Monday morning would be a fine day for a hanging.” Then he pulled a sober face. “You and that coal-faced William Henry made a big mistake the day you messed with Jake Tulley. I just been bidin’ my time, and my time is now!”
“Listen, Jake, you—”
“Robert?” Ma stood by the cemetery gate. “It’s time you washed up. The service starts in twenty minutes. Jake, if you want to come in and pay respects, you’d best come now.”
Jake stood back and pulled a humble face I’d never seen. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll wait here for the burial.”
Ma nodded, eyeing Jake’s dirty clothes. “That’s fine. Robert? Come along.”
“Meet me tomorrow,” Jake said, as I walked away. “Meet me here tomorrow.” I did not dare look back.
It was hard keeping my mind on Preacher Crane’s words as he preached Miz Laura into heaven. I didn’t think she needed his help. But I needed help. I needed to talk to Pa, but he did not have a free moment between helping with the service and the burial, tending Mr. Heath, and helping Ma with all the guests. There was a big feed afterward where the good memories of Miz Laura ran freely as water washing over brook stones.
But I dared not tear my mind or eyes off Jake. Jake helped himself to the loaded table, then mingled with the mourners who carried their plates to the front lawn, enjoying the mild De
cember day. I realized with a start that it was Friday, December 2, the day set for John Brown’s hanging. But nobody mentioned it. There was sadness enough this day.
Once Jake caught my eye. He pulled my watch from his pocket, fingered the case, then grinned and held it to his ear as though listening to the tick.
“What’s ailing you, Robert? Miz Laura wouldn’t want you to pass up a feast like this.” William Henry stood with a heaped plate beside me.
“It’s Jake Tulley.”
“I know. I wanted to run him off, but Pa said Miz Laura wouldn’t have wanted us to do that. He said she always felt sorry for him the way his daddy beats him.”
“I wouldn’t feel too sorry for Jake if I were you,” I whispered. “He knows.”
“Knows what?”
“He knows about the skunk pelts and the wagon with the false bottom. He knows that your pa and my pa and Mr. Heath are all part of the Underground Railroad and that Pa helped those slaves escape last night.”
William Henry held his fork in midair. “He knows about the wagon?”
I nodded, our eyes locked. “Said he coon hunts, and he sees lots of things. He knows I skunked his dogs.”
“He’s guessing.”
I looked beyond William Henry, at Miz Laura’s freshly dug grave on the hillside. “My Grandfather Ashton gave me a gold watch. I kept it in my pocket, but it went missing after we skunked those dogs. Jake has it, said he found it beside the pen yesterday morning.” I could feel William Henry’s eyes on me.
“Nobody’d believe him, except for the wagon. They’d think he stole that watch.” William Henry set down his fork. “We can’t lose that wagon.”
“I don’t think he’s bluffing. He said we made a big mistake the day we messed with him. He says if he tells we’ll all hang. He said to meet him at Miz Laura’s grave tomorrow. I’m supposed to show him the railroad underground.”
“That’s stupid. There ain’t no railroad underground. It’s all routes. Nobody knows all of it, just how to get from one safe house to the next.”
I nodded. William Henry had just given me the fullest explanation I’d ever heard. “I’ve got to talk to Pa.”
“No. Don’t do nothin’ yet. Just let me think a minute.”
I closed my eyes. “This is too big for us, William Henry. We might hang.”
“No. It’s all right. I’ll take care of it.”
I opened my eyes. “What are you scheming?”
William Henry smiled. “We have to be smarter than Jake Tulley, that’s all. That can’t be too hard, now, can it?”
The pit of my stomach tossed and flipped the rest of the day. I ached to talk with Pa, but there was no chance to get him alone. As dusk came on, the last of the neighbors left, and the food and plates were cleared away. I helped Ma and Aunt Sassy set the parlor to rights. Pa and Joseph Henry, who’d been up and limping, were gone. I don’t think Ma noticed until darkness fell. She and I, tired to the bone, walked home by lantern light.
I changed into my nightshirt and lay on my bed, waiting for Pa. But when he came home, Ma met him at the door. “Where have you been, Charles? I’ve been worried sick!”
“Joseph and I had some business to take care of for Isaac, that’s all. I’m sorry I worried you, Caroline.”
“Business! You can’t expect me to believe it was so innocent on this of all days. Was it the same business that carried you off while Miss Laura was dying?”
“Caroline, not now.” Pa sounded tired. They carried their argument into their bedroom.
A tap came at my window. “Meet me on the front porch!” William Henry whispered. I closed the front door softly behind me and stepped out into the darkness. The temperature had fallen and I shivered in my bare feet. I couldn’t see, but William Henry placed something squarish in my hands. “I want you to have it. It’s one that Miz Laura gave me. It’s my favorite, that one about Hiawatha I read this summer, front to back, twice.” I remembered with chagrin that I was supposed to have read it. “It’s the first thing I ever owned in my life, free and clear, and I want you to have it, Robert.” William Henry sounded anxious, earnest, and talked too fast and low, too close for comfort.
“William Henry, I can’t take this. It’s yours. It’s right that it’s yours. I don’t read near as good as you, and Miz Laura knew you loved it. That’s why she left it to you.” I pushed it back into his hands and clutched the sides of my nightshirt. Why did William Henry have to be so forward?
William Henry ignored me and reached for my hands, placing the book squarely in them, locking his fingers around mine. I couldn’t see his eyes in the dark but could feel his ragged breath in my face. “You’ll read it someday, Robert, and understand what it means to me to be free, as free as the animals or the wind. You’ll read it,” and his voice smiled, “someday when you get around to being a genuine scholar.” He let go of my fingers and I felt my face flame in the dark.
“That’s not likely to happen soon,” I said, even though I knew I’d made a lot of progress under Cousin Albert.
He ignored me again. “Remember, if you need help on the railroad and can’t get to your pa or mine, go to the Quakers. They won’t all help, but they’re likely.”
“Why would I need help on the railroad?”
William Henry rushed on, as though he hadn’t heard me. “Before we was born Mr. Heath freed all his slaves. Each family got to choose a last name, something they’d never owned before. My daddy chose ‘Henry.’ Do you know why?”
“No. William Henry, it’s cold out here. Let’s—”
“Because Mr. Heath told Pa about a man named Patrick Henry lived last century, back when America fought the War for Independence against England. Patrick Henry wanted freedom. He wanted it so bad that he made a big speech to get his Virginians to fight the British. He said, ‘Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!’ That’s how important freedom was to him, Robert. That’s how important freedom is to me, as important as life. Henry is a proud name. I don’t ever want to be without it.”
“Nobody’s gonna take your name away from you, William Henry. What are you so fired up about? Take your book back and—” But I didn’t finish because Ma’s voice rose from inside the house and now she was crying. “Look, I better get back inside.” William Henry slipped something hard and round and cold into my palm. I knew exactly what it was. “How’d you get this?”
I could hear the smile in William Henry’s voice. “A trade. Jake wants to see the Underground Railroad. I’ll show him.”
“But you said—”
Ma opened the front door. “Robert? Robert, are you out here?”
“I’ll be there in a minute, Ma.”
“What are you doing out here? It’s the middle of the night. Who’s with you?”
“I gotta go,” I whispered, trying to return the book to William Henry. He wouldn’t take it. The smile left his voice.
“Remember, you are my best friend, Robert,” he whispered and squeezed my arms that held his book. “Remember what I said, ‘William Henry is a fine name.’”
“Robert!” Ma called again.
“Coming,” I said to her, then whispered into the night, “William Henry—William Henry?” But he and the moment had gone. There was something more that should have been understood or said, something my mind couldn’t get hold of, but I didn’t know what, and I had no choice but to step back into the lamplight and heed Ma’s scolding.
That night my old dream returned. William Henry and I were hoeing in the field amid the sea of black bodies with no names and no faces. Aunt Sassy hummed and the mosquitoes buzzed too near my ear. The tiny black cloud blew up from the south. This time, when William Henry set down his hoe and reached his arms to me I saw he held a book in one hand and my gold watch in the other. His dark eyes pleaded with me, his mouth opened, but no words came out. “
What? What is it, William Henry? What are you trying to tell me? What do you want from me, William Henry? Tell me!” I screamed.
Then the funnel came on and on, just like always, pulling up everything and everybody but me. This time I grabbed for William Henry and tried to hold him down. His eyes still begged, but the wind and the fire and the storm ripped him away. I was on the ground, weeping. I looked down. Again I wore William Henry’s sleek, black skin and it felt good and cool and right.
When I looked up, there stood Ma, weeping all the louder, six feet above me. I stretched for her, calling, “Ma! Ma!” But she looked on me with hate and shame. This time I knew it was because William Henry’s black skin covered my soul. She raised two fingers to whistle, but I knew it meant the hounds would come and I couldn’t bear it. So I squeezed my eyes tight shut and covered my ears while the shrill whistle blast on her fingers screamed on and on.
Voices, urgent and loud, called me from the next room and brought me up out of my dream. I pulled the sheet from my neck and stumbled, my heart racing, to the doorway. Pa was pulling on his boots as Ma lit the lantern. Still the shrill whistle blast screamed on and on, stopping only for air.
Pa looked up and saw me standing in my nightshirt. “Something’s happened to the train. They must need help to whistle so long. I’m going up to the trestle. Pull on your pants and boots, Son. Follow me. They’ll need all the hands they can get if there’s been a wreck.”
But I couldn’t move. My feet would no more lift from the sanded floorboards than my hands could pull away from the paint-peeled doorposts. I knew in my soul that they wouldn’t need many workers that night. I wondered why I hadn’t seen it coming, or if, in fact, I had. It was not a wreck, and it would not take many hands to lift two young, mangled bodies from the tracks—one white, and one black.
The wind and the fire and the storm had passed, but the nightmare was real. I looked at my hands. In the mingled shadows of midnight and lantern light they were black, the sleek black color of William Henry’s skin.