William Henry is a Fine Name

by Cathy Gohlke

  “Because mine are fine and sturdy. Because a tight coffin is the last bed of a good man and fine craftsmanship is to be desired, even though the price be dear. Would thee not rather be buried in a tight coffin than a loose one?” We’d never heard Brother Peter speak so much or so long.

  “He’s got a point,” the sheriff replied.

  “Hogwash,” the slurred voice said. “I say we tip the whole kaboodle out and—”

  “Leave him alone, Lester. Go on, Mister. Deliver your coffins. O’Leary’s is just down the street and turn left onto Treemont. Best tell those O’Leary boys we’re watching them.”

  “Godspeed, then,” Brother Peter said, and clucked his reins. We drove on. Brother Peter pulled his wagon to the back of a shop—O’Leary’s, I guessed. Heavy doors swung open, grating on hinges. The wagon backed just inside its opening. Jeremiah and I clutched our saddlebags, not daring to breathe. Brother Peter and someone above us unloaded the coffins. Scrap wood was thrown onto the empty wagon bed, crashing above our faces.

  Somebody raised a ruckus farther up the street, drawing a noisy crowd. In that instant the plank was yanked from our hiding place and Jeremiah and I were hauled out, feet first, and shoved face up into open coffins. The lids slapped shut. Wagon wheels rumbled away. Heavy doors grated again on their hinges, followed by the sound of a heavy bar falling into place.

  HOURS PASSED BEFORE all the voices and footsteps died away. We knew enough to keep quiet, to trust the people hiding us. But the coffin was cold and, after all, it was a coffin. I hoped Jeremiah hadn’t fainted. I tried to turn over, but the space was too tight.

  The clock in the room had long since chimed nine when I heard a door open and a cheerful Irish brogue whisper, “I’m here to let you out. Which coffin are you in? Give a knock.”

  Jeremiah banged louder and was let out first, then it was my turn. Fresh air never smelled so good.

  Our rescuer grinned in the faint lamp glow. “A grave experience, eh?”

  “Not funny,” I said, but returned the grin. Our rescuer’s tumble of red ringlets stood out from her cap, and even in the dim lamplight, her green eyes danced with mischief. She didn’t look much older than me.

  “That’s as close to Old Scratch as I want to come for a long time.” Jeremiah’s color was returning.

  “Well, I’m ever so glad you enjoyed yourselves, gentlemen. Because you may not fancy your next little jaunt. Or, then again, you may!” Her eyes twinkled. “How would you like a train ride?” Our faces lit like Christmas trees aflame until her next words. “As girls?” Our mouths dropped and she laughed so hard she had to slap her hand across her face.

  “You’re not serious! Are you?” I had the worst feeling she was.

  “Very!” She smiled. “But not both of you.”

  “Oh, that’s a relief!” Jeremiah breathed again.

  “Just you.” She pointed to Jeremiah.

  “Me? Why me?”

  “Because you’re the one we’re trying to hide. It makes it easier that you’re—”

  “Light-skinned—I know—but I’m not a girl!”

  “No, I meant that you’re slight. We’ll dress you up so no one will ever know you’re a lad. Mam sent me down to see what size you might be and if we’ve anything to fit. We’ll have to veil you over; you’re not very pretty.” She grinned again. “Now stand to my back. That will tell me the height.” Miserably, Jeremiah stood. “Ah! Not much taller. That’s a good thing. Skinny enough to fit in most anything, I suppose.” Jeremiah didn’t like that. “Let me see your hands.” She inspected Jeremiah’s hands. “You’ll need gloves, for certain. And perhaps some other shoes. I don’t suppose you’ve ever walked in heels?”

  Jeremiah couldn’t decide if she was serious. “No, ma’am.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps a hoop would hide your feet. I think Mam has a mourning dress and veil that will do.” She brushed her hands together as though it was settled. “Let’s get a hot meal on your bones and a pillow under your heads. You can keep in the storeroom. Tis not a grand hotel, but you’ll be safe.” She ushered us along. “Me brother will be by later. He’s out trying to raise the train fare.”

  “I have money,” I blurted out.

  “Have you, now?” She seemed intrigued. “A runaway with money—it’s not the usual! Did you steal it?”

  “It’s my mother’s,” I confessed. “I took it.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing. Hand it over.” I must have shown my thinking. “I’m not trying to lift your money, by Jim. A train ticket costs a pretty penny.”

  “How much?” After losing Stargazer I aimed to be more careful.

  She colored. “I don’t know. If you’ve enough for two, buy it yourself.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “No. It would be grand to buy it yourself—in the morning, before the train leaves. Then it puts none of us in the light.”

  “I’d meant to leave something for Brother Peter, for all he did for us. Will we see him again?”

  “Who?”

  “Brother Peter—the Quaker man that drove us here.”

  “Brother Peter!” She laughed. “That’s not his name! He’d never tell his real name! You’ve got a lot to learn!”

  That was not news to me.

  “Come on to the storeroom, then. Hot food and a proper sleep will mend you.” She lit a candle, placed it on a low shelf, and handed us a cloth-covered bucket, still warm. “You’ll stay here tomorrow. There’ll be no workers in on the Lord’s Day. But you must keep quiet, and don’t strike a light, in case it’s seen. I’ll bring you food when I can. Use the chamber pot in the corner. I’ll be back before dawn on Monday with your costume. We’ll have to get you changed quickly then, and out before the workers come. Not all of them know that some of our customers still breathe.” Not a trace of a smile passed her lips.

  She was barely out the door when she turned. “I almost forgot! Off with your clothes! Mam said we’d need to wash and press them after all the time you’ve lived in them. You can’t be traveling on the train looking like runaways—or smelling like them, either. I’ll bring you wash water in the morning, though what you need is a proper bath! You’re both a wee bit too fragrant.”

  She closed the door. Shamefaced, we undressed, wrapped ourselves in quilts she passed through the door, and handed our clothes out to her. If ever I’d had a swelled head, the women of this world cured it.

  Alone at last, Jeremiah and I tore into the lamb stew and soda bread, not speaking to each other until the last bit had been licked from our fingers.

  “I never knew what it was to be so hungry,” I said.

  Jeremiah stared at me. “You’re lucky.”

  I felt ashamed, then angry. It wasn’t my fault that I’d been born free or into a family that could afford enough to eat.

  Exhausted as I was, I had trouble falling asleep. I heard Jeremiah’s regular breathing long before I drifted off. I’m not sure where remembering left off and dreaming began, but it started with Stargazer, roaming the meadows of Ashland. My mind drifted to Rev. Goforth, and our talk about the Good Samaritan helping someone straight through until the need was met. I woke to the sounds of buggies in the street, but the dream stayed with me. I knew it meant that I must see Jeremiah’s need through to the end, but I didn’t know where that would lead us. When we got to Laurelea, maybe Pa or Mr. Heath could help, if Pa was there.

  We spent the day wrapped in quilts in the storeroom. It was dark, but at least it was a change from the rattling wagon, and we could stand, and stretch, and walk a few paces back and forth. Best of all, it wasn’t a coffin! The girl, good to her word, passed us a lunch through the door late in the morning, but hurried away again, afraid she’d be seen. Monday morning came before we knew it.

  “Up and out, you lazy loggerheads!” The Irish cheer was too much before daybreak. “It’s nearly five! Here’s a bucket, for washing, and your clean clothes.” She tossed me my bundle, then triumphantly shook out great folds o
f black fabric. “And here’s your gown, my Lady!”

  “Oh,” was all Jeremiah could say. It was a monstrous thing, with stockings, black gloves, a black lace-trimmed shawl, and a heavy, veiled bonnet to match.

  “Don’t look so glum, my lass. You’ll be lovely!” She enjoyed Jeremiah’s misery too much. “Look sharp, now! There’s no time to dally! I’ll be just outside the door while you’re changing. Call if you need anything! I’ll help you with the hoop when you’re ready—unless you’ve experience in such things.”

  The door closed on her laughter, and Jeremiah carefully avoided my eyes. We dressed in silence. I rolled up our bedding. Jeremiah rolled up his pant legs, and fumbled with the buttons of the dress. “Do you reckon you could give me a hand with these?” he asked.

  Between the two of us we got him pretty well put together. Then the red-haired girl waltzed in, set us straight, and redid all the buttons. By the time she’d tied a hoop beneath the dress and Jeremiah pulled on his veiled bonnet and gloves, he really could pass for a woman. But one word or one step, and I knew there was something wrong with the picture. “It’s certain sure you mustn’t open your mouth!” The girl minced no words. “And you mustn’t walk more than absolutely necessary. No one would believe you’re a lady.” She puzzled, chewing on the tip of her little finger. “I’ve got it! You are this boy’s mother. You’ve recently lost your dear husband, God rest his soul, and it’s given you such a turn that you fell down with the apoplexy. You haven’t walked properly since, and you can’t speak at all! Delicious!”

  Jeremiah and I looked at each other, not at all convinced. The girl grew peevish. “Would you rather be sold South? There are slave traders right here in Petersburg, willing and anxious to sell anybody—slave or free—to turn a profit! And you!” She pointed to me. “Would you rather be jailed or tarred and feathered? That’s what they do to people who help runaways, don’t you know?”

  Nothing sobered us faster. “Tell us what to do,” I said.

  She straightened. “You—” she pointed to Jeremiah— “practice walking and looking frail. And you,” she said, pointing again to me, “practice acting as though he’s your widowed mother. You are her protector now. You’re a wee bit down in the mouth yourself, both for having lost your Da, and because your Mam is sick. We’ll tie a mourning band around your sleeve for all to see.”

  Jeremiah and I walked up and down the narrow storeroom. “Wrap your arm around her!” the girl ordered. “And you—stoop a little when you walk. Lean on your son.”

  We practiced and practiced. We must have finally passed muster because the girl stopped ordering us, at least about that. “Come on, then, eat your breakfast, and you’re off to the train station.”

  We washed down the buns with tea. I pulled a gold piece from my pocket. I didn’t want to miss my chance to thank her and her family for all they’d done and given us. “Please take this, and give our thanks to your ma and pa.”

  Her green eyes widened and lit in delight. But she sobered quickly and shook her head. “Keep it. You’ll be needing it.” She looked at Jeremiah. “Or he will.”

  “But the dress, and food, and—”

  “It’s what we do. This is what you do. That’s all there is.” She tied the black mourning band around my sleeve. “Now, don’t be flashing gold pieces ’round or you’re sure to be robbed blind as bats. Something you should know: There’s a new reward bill posted for a runaway male slave, chestnut hair, nearly white, in the telegraph office already, from North Carolina. It says he may be traveling with a white boy. You don’t want to be noticed, so you’ve got to keep your wits about you. Gold tastes good on the tongues of the greedy, and they’ll not be feeling sorry for either of you.”

  Jeremiah and I both colored with the certain fearful knowledge that we were hunted. Images of Jed Slocum and his whip sprang into my head.

  “The train?” Jeremiah reminded her.

  “Get off the train in Washington. Find a boardinghouse on Booth Street, two streets south of the station, marked McPhearson’s. If there’s a light in the front window by the holly tree, go to the side yard. There should be an old quilt hanging on the wash line. If both those signs be there, knock on the back door. Ask for Mrs. McPhearson—Mrs. McPhearson only! Tell her that Miss Ida Shirley sent two boxes on the train and does she want you to fetch them ’round. She’ll take care of you from there.”

  “What if there is no light in the window—where did you say?”

  “Booth Street! The front window by the holly tree! An old quilt hanging in the sideyard! Mrs. McPhearson’s! If the light’s not there, don’t go in. If the quilt is not there, don’t knock. It means that it isn’t safe. Wait until you see the light burning and the quilt hanging—even if you have to meander about the city a day or two. If they never show, something’s gone wrong, and you’re on your own.”

  I looked at Jeremiah but couldn’t see him beneath the veils. I wondered if he was as worried as I was.

  “Good. Then follow me by twenty paces. Walk slowly as though you are really a sick, widowed mother with her son. There’s plenty of time. The train doesn’t leave until half past ten. I’ll dally about the shop windows if I think you’ve lagged too far behind and are likely to be lost. When I pass the station I’ll keep going, not looking back. Don’t let your eyes follow me. Come on, then.”

  “Wait! Thank you. Thank you, ma’am,” Jeremiah said.

  She smiled at him and reached for his hand. “Godspeed to you, young sir. May your life be lovely and long, and as free as the birds of the air.”

  “Thank you—for everything,” I said.

  She smiled at me, too. “Perhaps I’ll see you again.” And she slipped through the door.

  We followed slowly, practicing our disguise all the way. There was no telling who might be watching. When the train station came into view she quickened her step, turned a corner, and was gone. I wanted to catch the last glimpse of red curls escaping her bonnet, or the swish of her skirt, but I remembered her warning and kept my eyes fastened on the street.

  “Two tickets for Washington, please.” I tried to keep my voice confident and steady as I spoke to the stationmaster.

  “Ten dollars,” he said, stamping the tickets. I slid a gold piece beneath the barred window. He looked Jeremiah up and down, tipped his hat, and handed me the ticket. “New around here?” Jeremiah froze.

  “Just visiting. My mother’s been sick. We’re going home now.” My voice squeaked and I feared I’d said too much. The stationmaster raised his eyebrows. We took our seats outside on the platform, around the corner, where the stationmaster couldn’t see us, and tried to breathe. I closed my eyes a moment and tried to imagine Ma sitting beside me. How would I act? What would I do if Pa had died and Ma had been taken with the apoplexy so she couldn’t speak, or if she was frail like Miz Laura had been?

  “Sure your mother wouldn’t prefer to wait in the ladies’ waiting room, Son?” I jumped, opening my eyes to see the stationmaster standing over us.

  “No, sir. Thank you, sir.” I took him by the sleeve and led him aside. “My mother’s suffered the apoplexy and I need to look after her. She can’t speak and has trouble walking by herself. Thank you for asking.”

  He tipped his cap to Jeremiah, who turned his head away. “I’m sorry to hear it. Let me know if you need any help getting her on the train. I’ll tell the conductor to keep an eye out for you. Train’ll be ready to board soon.”

  I swallowed hard. “Thank you, sir. I’m sure we’ll be fine. We just want to get home again. It’s been a hard trip.”

  He nodded, then walked away. I couldn’t read his mind. I looked back at Jeremiah, trying to see him through the station-master’s eyes. Jeremiah wobbled as he leaned forward and fumbled with the folds of his dress. His shoes were tucked well beneath the skirt, and he appeared for all the world like a frail woman.

  I wondered who he reminded me of and I realized it was Grandfather, while he was recovering, soon after Ma and I had a
rrived at Ashland. Jeremiah must have watched his father every chance he got. It pained me to know that Jeremiah had never known the feeling of his father’s arm around his shoulder, or a father’s smile that made him feel he’d done a good job. It pained me more to know that this same man, who could have given Jeremiah everything, and had given him only misery, was my own grandfather.

  “All aboard!” the conductor called. I helped Jeremiah to his feet. I tried to think of him as Miz Laura. That made me sad, and helped make me more natural. We climbed the steps just before the conductor came to lend a hand. I was afraid that if he felt Jeremiah’s hard muscled arm we’d be discovered. We found seats near the front of the car. I sat beside Jeremiah but couldn’t block the seat directly facing us.

  A plump little woman with white hair and a black bonnet sank into the seat facing Jeremiah. She placed a large hatbox on the seat beside her. “Good morning, my dear,” she said to Jeremiah. Jeremiah turned toward her and nodded feebly.

  “My mother’s not well. She’s suffered the apoplexy and can’t talk just yet.” I pushed between them.

  “Oh! That’s such a shame, and so young. Well, that’s all right, dearie, I’m sure you’ll be well in no time.” She patted Jeremiah’s knee. “Your legs feel strong. You’ll mend quickly.”

  “She just needs her rest, ma’am.”

  “Well, of course she does. What does your father say?”

  I looked at Jeremiah. “Father died last month.”

  “Oh, I wondered why the mourning. I’m so sorry, for both of you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “But the Lord works in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform. You never know what strength you have until you’re tested. Remember that, young man.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Tickets! Tickets!” The conductor walked through the car, punching tickets. I handed ours over. “Anything you or your mother need, young fellow, let me know.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The conductor tipped his hat to Jeremiah and to the lady opposite us. The plump little woman rattled on and on about the weather, her arthritis, the cold, the heat, and things I didn’t hear. Jeremiah leaned his head back against the seat and feigned sleep. But I knew he had to be just as keyed up, and wouldn’t likely fall off his guard. “I wonder where your mother found such lovely black lace?” The woman fingered the edging of the shawl Jeremiah had draped around his shoulders.