by Marian Wells
Alex read, “‘And if thy brother, an Hebrew man, or an Hebrew woman be sold unto thee, and serve thee six years; then in the seventh year thou shalt let him go free from thee.’” Alex began thinking about the strange request, but now the words demanded attention. “‘And thou shalt remember that thou wast a bondman in the land of Egypt and the Lord thy God redeemed thee: therefore I command thee this thing to day. And it shall be, if he say unto thee, I will not go away from thee; because he loveth thee and thine house, because he is well with thee; Then thou shalt take an awl, and thrust it through his ear unto the door, and he shall be thy servant for ever….’” Alex lowered the book and saw the tears on Caleb’s face. Mystified, Alex asked, “What does it mean?”
“It’s the Lord Jesus. He was willing to be a slave, just like we are, only He wanted to be a slave, because of us. Now read the Psalm again. I want to get the words out so’s I can rightly appreciate the thought.”
Alex lifted the book, but his attention was not on the words before his eyes; instead he clung to the words Caleb was saying. “The Lord Jesus comes. When He understand what the Father wants of Him, He say, ‘Father, I don’t want to be free, I want to do Your will, even if it means going to the cross and dying so all these sinful men, living down here, still can have a chance to make it to heaven.’” He paused and looked imploringly at Alex. “You understand it? See, it’s just like those slaves saying ’poke that awl through my ear, and everybody know I belong to you.’ That’s what Jesus said to the Father; that’s what we’re to be a saying to Jesus: ’Poke the hole in my ear, so I can’t ever run out on you, Lord.’”
Alex closed the book and leaned toward the black face. Tears still rolled down Caleb’s cheeks. When he could trust his voice, Alex said, “That’s a big thing to you, isn’t it.”
Caleb looked astonished for a moment, and then understanding crept across his face. “You say I know about being a slave, and you don’t. Yes, suh, we all know. When you know what freedom isn’t, then somehow it gets to you, more’n otherwise. But I suppose since God knows everything and how everybody feels, then for Him to take up being a slave with no turning back, even to dying—well, that’s something. ’Least ways, we still hope,” he ducked his head, “about freedom.”
Late that night—in the midnight hours—with the night as dark as Caleb’s face, Alex knew the story had wedged itself into his heart. Were those Jewish eyes soberly regarding him across time, wondering if he would join the crowd of slaves?
Other eyes he couldn’t avoid haunted him as well. Garrison’s. The man’s eyes had burned a hole in his arguments, shaming him down under his veneer of righteousness. And Whittier. He had said he treasured the change God had made. How that statement challenged!
****
In the following days, under the light of the blazing sun while the varnish slowly sheathed the boat, Caleb gave a torrent of sermons. The daily words from Psalm forty and Deuteronomy fifteen were not only seared into the man’s mind, but were winged to his tongue, demanding daily utterance. Alex dared not stop the flow of one word. It was important. “De Lord say He forgive me all my sins, my thieving and whoring, my gettin’ my brother into trouble and causing sin. De Lord say it. But until I say, ‘Lord Jesus I believe it,’ then no suh, I can’t believe.
“Know what repentance mean? Jam heard it from a white preacher. I don’t know where he heard it, maybe from the Lord himself. Repentance mean turn around in your tracks and go the right direction and don’t never come back the wrong way again.”
On that final day, working quickly and in silence, they finished spreading varnish. Caleb regarded the empty spot where the name Sally Belle had been. “Alex, suh, what you want us to put there?”
Alex took a deep breath. Wiping his hands he said, “I think I need to make a quick trip into town. Go over those patches between the texas and the pilothouse. When I come back, we’ll be ready to paint on a new name.”
Caleb’s face brightened. “How about getting some pretty gold paint for the name?”
Alex returned in the late afternoon. The boat, still tilted on its skids, revealed Caleb’s heels resting on the texas railing. Tossing his cap, Alex called out, “Matey, all hands on deck!”
Caleb’s face appeared, a grin dividing his face as he said, “You got a haircut and a fancy red cap!”
“The cap and the paint are for you. I’ll stencil in the letters and you paint them.”
He headed for the bow with his stock of rules and a square. Caleb came to lean over his shoulder as Alex lifted out the stencils. “What does it say, Alex suh?”
“Golden Awl.”
Caleb backed away, studied the stencil and frowned. “Might be Sally Belle isn’t so bad after all. What’s a golden awl?”
Feeling slightly ridiculous, Alex leaned forward and lifted his hair away from his ear. “What do you think this means?”
Caleb looked at the tiny hoop of gold in the pierced ear, frowned, and then glanced at the stencil. Now his eyebrows slid up. Taking a step away from the boat, he drawled, “Massa, dat a mighty big awl for the job.”
“Might be the Lord thought it would best fit the need,” Alex muttered. “I have something else for you.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Caleb.
As Caleb slowly unfolded the paper, Alex said, “It’s a legal paper, Caleb. It says that Alexander Duncan does hereby release one slave, May 22, 1857, by the name of Caleb, known by registered number 8477l.
“Caleb, you are free, but I need a first mate. So I will offer you a job, paying you the sum of fifty dollars a month plus all living expenses.”
For a minute longer, Caleb stared at the paper. Blinking his eyes, he looked up at Alex. “I’m free?” He paused, took a deep breath and as Alex watched, he stretched tall and proud. “Do I have to take the job?”
“No, but I will miss you. If the pay isn’t enough—”
Caleb grinned, “I’m proud to be your mate, suh!”
Alex stuck out his hand. “Put it there, partner!”
Caleb was shaking his head in a bewildered way as he hesitated before taking Alex’s hand. “Now I’m free and you is the slave. But suh, it’s good to be the slave of the Lord Jesus Christ.”
“Caleb,” Alex said slowly, “I’ll always be grateful to you for helping me understand what it really means to be a bondservant of the Lord Jesus Christ. In my mind it lacked glory until I heard you saying it out in a dozen different ways.” A moment later, he added, “Caleb, you haven’t asked where we’re going with this boat.”
“Suh, where—”
Alex settled down on the railing. “While I was in Boston I met some men who are doing their best to help escaped slaves leave the United States by going into Canada. Caleb, it’s wrong. Legally, if they catch us they’ll have a right to put us in jail. Maybe worse. But since talking to some of these men, I can’t get away from the idea that it needs to be done. And quickly. Every day that passes makes the going more difficult.”
Caleb squinted up at him. “De Lord want you to do this?”
Alex nodded. “Yes. And I know this most certainly. Until last night I wasn’t sure.” He glanced at Caleb with a crooked grin. “Thanks to your sermons, I began to understand. And you said you have to say the words. When I told the Lord I would become a part of the Underground Railroad, it was like a mountain slid off my back.”
Caleb’s eyes were wide and shiny with tears. “De railroad. For a long time I hear about it. Sometimes black people disappear, and someone whispers ‘railroad.’ Now I’m partners in it!” He got to his feet, shaking his head he went to the pilothouse and slowly caressed the new varnish.
Alex wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. Then he stooped and picked up the red cap. “Matey, you can’t learn steamboatin’ without a hat.”
Chapter 13
Lithie was a kitchen slave; she was light of skin and as graceful as a bird. She was also insolent, an unappealing characteristic that forced her to be re
legated to kitchen work, and of the lowliest kind.
Although Crystal had almost no contact with the woman, she was aware of her existence and had felt the battery of hostile looks thrown her way in their infrequent encounters.
In the six weeks since the trip to Twin Oaks, Crystal had nearly forgotten the incident involving the slave Joseph. But she was reminded one day as she entered the kitchen and heard Lithie’s two words. The first was Joseph and the second was a derisive her. But even at that, the words would have been shrugged off had it not been for the reaction seen on the ring of dark faces around the room. The only one with an indifferent look was the one who had caused the startled look to appear on everyone else.
Crystal’s words came automatically as she studied the faces. “I’m looking for Auntie T. She’s mending the dress I want to wear today.”
“I would think you could be more considerate of the poor old woman,” came Lithie’s retort. The other slaves shrank away from her, turning aside their dismayed faces. She continued, “You’ll get more work out of an old horse if you don’t ride it so hard.”
For a moment Crystal dropped her head, feeling nearly as if she were the grubby kitchen maid. She studied the tall, slender woman, noted the graceful tilt of her head, the almond eyes, then said, “It’s a pity you aren’t an actress; you have such airs.”
There was a nervous titter of laughter from the others. Lithie lifted her head even higher as she said, “Yes, ’tis a pity, and a pity you are such a mouse with the possibility of being anything you desire.”
Taking a step forward, Crystal asked, “Can you read and write?”
“Of course not. That ruins good kitchen maids.”
The door flew open and Tammera panted into the room. “Missy, your mama is looking for you.” Straightening her cap she addressed the group. “And it’s a whipping for the likes of all of you if you don’t lower your voices and get this kitchen cleaned before dinner.”
Breathing heavily, Tammera followed Crystal. “What lies is that Lithie feeding you?”
“Lies?” Crystal turned to meet Tammera’s worried frown, “It wasn’t a lie at all. Auntie T, why is she such an uncomfortable person to be around?”
“Because she’s never come to task with accepting.”
“You mean accepting life the way it is? She’s a slave. I recall she was very angry when we went east to Boston.”
Tammera’s hand stretched toward Crystal. “Did she—say something?”
Crystal frowned over the intensity of the question. Slowly she said, “Auntie T, she was very proper. It is only her attitude, not so much what she says. Please, I feel sorry for her; don’t tell Mama she is quarrelsome today.”
The door clicked behind Crystal and she turned. “Oh, Maman!”
“What is the problem?”
Hastily Tammera said, “Ma’am, ’tis nothing. Lithie is upset today. I think it might be she needs a change of work.” For a moment, Crystal watched her mother and Auntie T study each other.
Mama looked at Crystal. “My headache is very painful today. I believe I will visit the doctor instead of keeping our appointment.”
Crystal sighed and watched her mother close the bedroom door. “Never mind the dress, Auntie T, I won’t need it.”
Tammera shook her head slowly. “Your father left lessons on his desk. Might be nice to work in there.”
Crystal nodded without enthusiasm. She had turned toward the stairs when she remembered the conversation she had overheard in the kitchen. “Auntie T, is there another slave named Joseph?”
Tammera shook her head. “Where did you get that idea?”
“Lithie said ‘Joseph and her’ just as I walked into the kitchen. I wondered, because at Uncle Pierre’s—” Tammera leaned forward with a frown starting between her eyebrows.
Crystal hesitated. “It’s not important.” She went back down the stairs to the library.
Tammera watched Crystal walk down the stairs. She pushed at the frown starting just under her mob-cap and murmured, “The dear Lord protect you from finding out the truth about Joseph, cause sure enough, it will kill you.”
Conscious that Tammera was watching from the head of the stairs, Crystal stopped to wave her fingers at her before entering the library.
Just as she walked into the room, Lithie turned from the desk at the far end of the library. “Oh,” she gasped, dropping her hands from her face. “Just you. I came to dust. I’ll just slip out the garden door and do my work later.”
“Cassie does the dusting tomorrow,” Crystal said. “Why—”
Lithie had disappeared through the open door.
With a shrug, Crystal went to the desk for her books. But at the desk she stopped short, murmuring, “That’s Father’s family record book. I can’t imagine him being so careless!”
As she went to close the book and place it in the desk drawer, she stopped. “A Cabet family history,” she murmured. “I wish it wasn’t so precious that I can’t be allowed to read it.” Her hand drifted lightly over the dark red leather cover. Then with a sigh of regret, she lifted the heavy leaves together and closed the book. As she moved the cumbersome volume, a slender piece of heavy paper slipped out of the book.
“Oh, dear! How will I ever know where to put the paper?” she whispered.
The heavy script on the vellum caught her attention. A legal document, she thought to herself. She had flattened the single page and was reading it when her father entered the library. But even then the words on the sheet had no meaning until she saw her father’s face.
The color surged to his face as he roared, “Crystal, why have you been into my cabinet? You know I’ve forbidden you to do so!”
“Papa, I haven’t opened the cabinet. The book was on the desk and I needed to move it. The paper—fell out.” Slowly she lifted the paper. She looked at him and realized the obvious must be said. “Papa. This document. It says that Evangeline Cabet is my mother. And is she your daughter?”
That man she called Papa nodded slowly. Now she saw the strain on his face, the defeat. She said, “You talked about regretting some things in your life. Is this one of them?”
“Of course.” He came slowly to the desk and dropped heavily into the chair. “And I regret this. I should never have kept the paper in the house. Joseph, mentioned in the paper, is the slave who escorted you at Pierre’s. He is your father, and Evangeline Cabet, our daughter, is your mother.”
Crystal tried to understand the words, but the only thing she understood was that this man was not her dear papa. For a moment he was a stranger. Not a grandparent, only a stranger confirming the words she had read.
But in the next moment, while each waited for the other to speak, she comprehended the deeper meaning of the paper.
“This is why my skin is darker than yours. I am half slave.” Her voice was growing brittle. “Tell me, why does my father work in the fields, and where is my mother?”
He sighed. Like an old man, he settled deeper in his chair until his chin rested against the stiff whiteness of his collar. “If I were a slave, half-Negro with a white father, and I had an impetuous, lovely young girl throw herself at me, I suppose I would have behaved in the manner in which your father behaved. It is that fact that kept me from having him shot eighteen years ago.”
“I heard what you said to Uncle Pierre about letting him work in the fields until he drops.”
His face contorted painfully. “You will force me to face the ugliness of myself?” He was silent for a moment and then he added, “I’ve tried to protect you from knowing. Now you’ve chosen to disobey me by reading the book.”
“That isn’t so.” Crystal felt her chin go up. With a part of her mind advising her that she was talking back to Papa, there was a moment of astonishment. She took time to wonder if knowing the story had given her courage. She pondered the strangeness of being adrift, separated from the people she claimed as mother and father. For a moment she felt rootless, confused. “The book was spread
out on the desk. I tried only to fold it together and place it in the drawer.”
With a curious light in his eyes, he asked, “You mean you wouldn’t have been tempted to pry?”
Crystal frowned. “I suppose it is more the fact that you simply have said no. It made my curiosity more wrong than the deed. Strange, because I don’t feel that way about the letters in Mama’s chest. I’ve pried at Auntie T to tell me about them.” He was nodding as she talked, and with a slight smile he said, “I must reward her faithfulness.”
“What about my mother? Where is she?”
“She is living in France. We’ve had no communication from her in the past five years. I suppose that she is happy. She married well. But our long ago action has—”
“Made her bitter?” she asked, feeling set apart from it all.
He shook his head. “It is more. How do you reconcile values? I sense she has absolutely no respect for us. I would neither free your father nor allow her to marry him.”
With a touch of his own bitterness showing, he met Crystal’s gaze and added, “Of course, that was what he had planned all along.”
Crystal reached for the doorknob and he added, “Please, don’t mention this to your mother, nor to Auntie T. I will handle the situation with your mother when her health has improved.”
As if sleepwalking, Crystal went to her room. Tammera was there stitching the dress with the torn lace. Going to the window Crystal examined the gardens, the budding orange trees, and the hacks passing down the street.
Auntie T said, “Why you sigh like that? Crystal, since you’ve been back from that ungodly North you don’t read your Bible and pray like you did before. Now I know what the priest say. But your Auntie T say if you stay close to the Lord, you listen to Him and let Him listen to you.”
Pushing the hurt deep inside, Crystal managed to turn with a teasing grin, saying, “I shall tell Mama you don’t listen to the priest.”