Saving Grace

by H D Coulter

  Sarah tried hard to keep her face blank, but she felt a wave of cold shock hit through her chest, realising for the first time that the man Bea was describing was the same monster she herself knew, one of the many faces that reappeared time and time again in her nightmares.

  Bea started at the beginning this time, leaving nothing out. There was no point in hiding it anymore.

  Sarah listened in silence. A rope-maker’s daughter...? Pieces of her companion’s puzzle finally slotted into place.

  “What I didn’t tell you, when Hanley attacked me, was that there was someone else with him.” Sarah silently placed her hand on top of Bea’s as she held Grace. Bea lent down her neck and kissed the sleeping baby, her face wet with tears. “It wasn’t enough for him to beat me, and rape me, for the other man then tried to... do the same. I tried to fight him off. I got a couple of blows in. But he kept telling me how he was going to kill me afterwards when suddenly... Hanley stabbed him – twice - in the chest.” Sarah looked at her with pained eyes.

  “There was so much blood, it soaked into my clothes, and he just fell on top of me. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe with his dead weight pressing down on me, and I was in too much shock to fight it. Hanley stood there, smiling at me, and told me he couldn’t let me get away with what I had done to him.” Bea explained how she had been found with the dead body hours later; about the planting of her father’s knife; the inquest; crossing the sands and the sickening weeks of mindless dark in the county prison, waiting for the end.

  “He had every detail planned; the men of the jury only saw one thing, a guilty woman, and they sentenced me to hang.”

  “How? How then are you here now?”

  “I don’t know how they did it, but whilst I was in that cell counting down the hours until that fateful day, Joshua and my Da came up with a plan. There is a law in England, it still holds today, that a person cannot be hung twice; that if the rope shall break, or they survive the execution, then that is deemed an act of God, and they may be set free.” Bea continued on, explaining the reformers’ involvement through her Da, and Sarah suddenly remembered the comment Bea had made in the meeting house to Grace about her granda helping to bring the abolition laws into force. Rebellion was in her blood; she was a fighter, just like Sarah.

  “Joshua told me he had stabbed Hanley in a duel, that we might be free of him for good, and I believed him. We left for Boston not long after our marriage, and then onboard ship I found out I was carrying Grace. It has taken so much strength to build myself up after giving birth to this little one... I don’t know if I can do it again. What does he want from me, Sarah? He believes he owns me... I’m scared.”

  “You’ll never stop runnin’ – but you are stronger than you think, and the runnin’ will turn to walkin’, walkin’ forward someday. You ha’ gone through so much, and sometimes you need to feel the bad, down in your belly, so you can get up, and fight for the good times again - for this little one - she needs you, she needs her Mama.”

  Bea took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “Thank you... for your kind words and listening. You are right, and yet... it’s hard. How shameful all this must seem to you...”

  “We all have history, none of us are clean from sin or from shame. I am here whenever you need to talk – the ghosts from our past have a habit of hauntin’ our dreams and enterin’ back into our lives - but we must cast them out. They hold no power over us unless we let them.” Bea nodded slowly and gazed down at Grace, now sound asleep. “In the meantime, my sister, you need to build up your strength - startin’ with a bath, and some good home cookin’.”

  “Thank you.” Bea looked like she was about to cry again. “You have been a good friend; I hope, one day, I can do as much for you as you do for me...” She smiled.

  “You have, more than you know. Now, I’ll bring the boiling water up for the bath and get it ready for you.”

  “I’ll help.” Bea gave Sarah a reassuringly stern look before she could argue and slid her arms out carefully from under Grace.

  SARAH WAS RIGHT. A bath was exactly what she had needed. The steaming water, infused with a few drops of lavender oil, had eased her muscles and her mind. She dressed herself in a light chemise and her dressing gown, and joined the now wide-awake Grace, along with Sarah and Beth, downstairs in the kitchen. The hot food smelt good; she had made another roast chicken with garlic and herbs, and a side of crushed potatoes and carrots. They all sat around the table, and for a moment it reminded her of her parents’ home. Grace sat proudly in a tall wooden highchair and picked at her dissected morsels, exploring her newly found taste-buds whilst Beth sliced some meat for Bea.

  “You look much better Bea, I’m glad to see you,” said Beth gently, as she placed the chicken on her sister’s plate.

  “Thank you. I am sorry, about... about before.” Bea slid her hand across the table for Beth’s and received a light squeeze. “And I am building my strength up, bit by bit.” She smiled first at Sarah, then at Beth.

  “There is no need to apologise - it will take time, but I’m glad to see you have taken the first steps.”

  She glanced again at the clock on the mantelpiece; it was later than she thought, and Joshua was still not home. Lying in the bathtub, she relished in the love and support he had given her, night after night. And yet, she had forgotten to acknowledge his own pain. If they were going to fight against any plan, their monster might enact, then they would only be stronger together.

  Chapter 26

  June 1819, the South.

  “YOU NEED TO MOVE NOW.” Franklin grabbed at the hessian sack and pulled it off a sleeping Sarah. “They are coming and this time with dogs.” The words startled her awake, for fear that they were already here. “You need to wade into the river. It would take too long to go via the bridge and the dogs can’t track you in water.” He saw the horror in her face as she stared at the river once more. It was happening all over again.

  “I will distract them, and it ain’t too deep. We haven’t had rain for a month. – if you stick with me, they will find us and kill us both. - two miles east you’ll find the blacksmith on the outskirts of a town. If you keep east, they won’t think to look there, hopefully they will head north. – Go - now.”

  Sarah climbed off the wagon, clinging on tight to her cloth bag. “Thank you, Franklin, for your kindness.”

  “God bless you on your journey.” He turned and made his way back toward the wagon.

  Sarah gazed at the river. Freedom or die trying. She held her bag above her head and climbed down to the bank. The current was strong. She clamped her lips shut, sealing in the involuntary sound of shock as the cold water splashed against her legs. The wind carried the sound of the horses and dogs getting closer. She ain’t going back there, and if they found her, they would lynch her for all to see. A second time runner that failed again hanging from the tree would be a good inducement against anyone else trying the same act. No, there was nothing else to it. She needed to keep running. Her feet touched the bottom of the riverbed as the waves lapped around her chest. It was hard to keep her feet planted to the bottom as it tried to carry her downstream. As she approached the centre, the dirty water surged into her mouth, making her cough. Her legs kicked out against the rocks below, creating enough momentum to propel her forward and gain footing again. She scrambled up the far riverbank; the water causing the dry mud to become sticky and cling to her shoes and hands. Bent over, the last of the river water spurted out of her lungs as the night air shocked her chest, causing her to cough continuously. Her sodden clothes clung to her shivering body. She needed to keep moving. She looked back across the river. But Franklin had already gone, disappeared into the night. The sounds of dogs barking had got louder. Quickly, she held her cloth bag against her chest and ran into the hedgerow, pushing through until she reached the fields of wheat. Branches, thorns, stinging weeds scratched and scraped against her skin. She crouched down low and listened. She waited until the sound of horses,
men shouting, and dogs barking came and went. She kept low, shuffling through the tall stems. For the first time in her life, she was glad God had made her small. She reached the nearby woods and paused for a moment, grabbing a handful of nuts. The North star stayed by her left shoulder as she headed east.

  Sarah came to a small clearing in the woods with a single large tree in the centre with low swinging branches, but as she got closer, not all of them were branches. Black men and women swung in the light breeze, highlighted by the moonlight. The bodies hung like strange fruit on a tree. A stark reminder of what she was running from. They had been there for days, some weeks. As she got closer, the smell was overwhelming and the sight unbearable. Animals and birds had clearly been picking at the fruit. Her brothers and sisters from a distance family punished for nothing more than the colour of their skin.

  Freedom. Once she was past the tree, she sent out a silent prayer and kept moving.

  Franklin had said it was only a few miles until the Blacksmith, but it felt longer. She gazed up at the stars, but a scattering of cloud made it difficult to see. She kept walking straight through fields and woodlands. Her mind second guessing if she was going the right way. Sarah’s exhausted body ached and her feet felt raw against the worn leather. She investigated her cloth bag; a piece of cheese was all that was left. After two bites, she placed it back in the bag, just in case, and kept moving. Large fencing sprang up, which signalled another plantation. She followed it around the edges, keeping in the tree line, ready to hide at the first sight of anyone, white or black. The clouds were getting thicker, blocking out the moonlight, making each step more difficult than the last to see. Tripping over the overgrown tree roots. Her failing body longed for sleep once more, but she couldn’t risk it. She had to make it to the blacksmith by dawn. The trees gave way to fields laden with cotton and guessed she was on the outskirts of the plantation now. In the distance, men’s voices got louder. They sounded like they were discussing, arguing about something, but they didn’t sound like they were on a hunt. Sarah kept low, scurrying through the rows. The cotton was shorter than the wheat had been and made it harder to hide. Maybe that’s why the masters liked it so much. The cotton soon gave way to a grass meadow. With the last fragments of strength, she ran until her legs collapsed. She veered right a little, aiming for another patch of woodlands. The scent in the air changed to an herbal flower smell. The heat was rising, which meant dawn was coming. She cursed herself for not knowing where she was going, for wandering in the dark with no clear path in front of her. How foolish she had been, thinking that she could run and be free. All she knew, she could have been walking in circles this whole time. There was nothing to it but to keep moving forward and hope fate was on her side.

  Light on the horizon broke through the trees and highlighted a cluster of large wooden and brick buildings, with smoke billowing out of one of them. She approached with caution, keeping in the tree line. The place was quiet, except for a few men moving in and out of the buildings. Was this the place she had been looking for, if she were wrong, it would seal her fate. She jumped from one tree to another, attempting to get a better angle. A sharp banging noise came from the brick building that produced the smoke. At her first plantation, there had been a makeshift blacksmith run by a slave. It was cheaper to get them to repair the horseshoes and fences than to ask a white man and his price. This building seemed similar to that one, enough to take a chance, and if she didn’t act fast, the sun would take away her ability to hide.

  She took a quick glance around her. When there was no sign of anybody about, she ran to the building. She tried to stay as flat as possible against the wall, hugging it as she shuffled around the edges to the opening. A smell of burning wood and coal became stronger as the banging noise grew louder. This had to be the spot. The other wooden buildings were barns or stables, housing a few horses or carts to fix. The front of the brick building had two wooden stable doors facing into a makeshift courtyard. She peered into the space; nobody was about the courtyard. She shuffled along the front and stared through the open gap between the panelled doors. A man had his back towards the door, poking a bar of metal into the large pit of fire before pulling it out and whacking it with a mental hammer. She steadied herself for a moment and before she could change her mind, took a step into the building. The noise masked her footsteps. The man unaware of his new audience. She took another step forward and waited until he finished monitoring the door at all times.

  “Excuse me sir, my name...”

  He jumped at the sound of her voice and swung round with the metal bar and hammer still in his hands. “Child, you gave me a fright.” He starred at her, the whole of her. She couldn’t tell if he was white or black. It covered him in that much dirt and soot. “Sarah, is it? I expected you hours ago – where is Franklin?”

  “Yes, it is sir, - Mr Franklin had to leave me by the river. I made the rest of the way by myself.”

  “That must have been hard, but you’re here now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No more sir, my name is Jeb – follow me – I’ll hide you until dark and then take you to the next station. I don’t get many doing this journey alone, family?”

  “Only me, the rest are gone.” He gave her a look as if he understood.

  Jeb took her into one of the nearby barns. “It ain’t much, but it comfortable.” It looked like he was taking her to a dead end, at the back of the barn, until he pulled two hay bales away from the back wall and revealed a small door cut into the wooden panels. He pushed it open and climbed through first, Sarah followed in behind.

  It was about six-foot-wide and spread the width of the barn. It could house ten or more slaves. But today she was alone. There was hay and a few scattered blankets on the ground with another cloth parcel.

  “I have put some bread, meat, and fruit in there for you and a jug of water. Rest, eat, and I will collect you once it is time. No one else knows you are here except me. Do not make a sound. If you need the toilet, there is a clean bucket in the corner.”

  “Thank you – Jeb.”

  “Push the door shut behind me and lock it with the clasp, I’ll place the bales back on my side.”

  Sarah nodded. There was no escape.

  FOR THE REST OF THE day she kept quiet, listening to the daily activities of the forge whilst nibbling at the food left behind. She wasn’t hungry, but then again, when would she have the chance to eat once she left here. Only God knew the next step in her journey. Sarah laid down on a blanket. It had a musty, sooty smell. Weirdly, it reminded her of Hercules standing next to the fire pits. She used that one like a pillow and grabbed another as a blanket. Taking a deep breath, she breathed him in, imagining his arms wrapped around her whilst she held their child. For the first time in a while, they were with her, travelling alongside of her to freedom. She closed her eyes, every inch of her becoming heavy with exhaustion, filling her dreams with fragments of her old life.

  A light tapping at the door woke her.

  “Sarah – its Jeb, we need to go.”

  She grabbed the last of the food and placed it into her cloth bag, brushed the straw from her dress, and undid the clasp at the door. A dragging sound on the other side meant she could push the door open on her side. What if it was all a trick? She had to trust him. What else could she do.

  Dusk was descending, ridding them of the last of the light and casting them in twilight. Jeb stood there, watching Sarah climb out of the hole. She noticed he was a little cleaner than this morning, dressed in more respectable clothes, and yet his skin was dark. Not as dark as hers, but not white either.

  “I have a cart outside, follow me.”

  Sarah nodded and did as he commanded.

  There were two horses attached to an open-air wooden cart, full of pieces of metal; how was she meant to hide amongst all that without a blanket in sight? Jeb strode up to the side of the cart and let down a side panel. There were two bottoms to the cart, one holding the metal in place and
another smaller, cramped space designed for her to climb in between. There was barely enough space for her tiny body. What if she had been a big man, how was he meant to fit in there?

  “It will be tight, but it’s safe – hurray, climb in.”

  Again, she said nothing, but moved forward. She handed him her cloth bag filled with her only processions and awkwardly slid her body into the gap. The pitch-black space was hot, and she barely had enough room in front of her face. He handed back the cloth bag, laying it beside her before closing the side panel.

  “Wait, where are you taking me?”

  His hands held on to the side. “To the coast, there are too many checkpoints north now.”

  “A boat, I can’t get into a boat.”

  He lifted the panel once more. “We don’t have time now, we need to go.” he paused, leaving a gap. “If you want freedom, this is the path in front of you. – you have come this far alone; you are stronger than you think.”

  Darkness.

  Chapter 27

  Beacon Hill, March 1833

  BEA GLIDED THE KNIFE across the skin of the carrot, peeling off the dirt and the first layer. Sarah, next to her, mirrored her actions with the potatoes before dicing them into large chunks.

  “It is such a dismal day out there; some of my Gran’s stew is just what we need. I still can’t believe you could get decent beef at the butchers.” Bea threw in the diced carrots into the pot bubbling away on the stove.

  “You can get it if you have the money to pay for it.” Sarah gave Bea a knowing look before scoping her potatoes off the chopping block into the pot.

  “Even when we had money, sometimes the butchers in Ulverston still didn’t have it. Or maybe it was me? Do you think they would have rabbit? Then, it would be my Gran’s stew.”