by Marian Wells
Harriet Tubman was the first speaker. As the trim woman strode purposefully across the platform, the audience rose to their feet. “General Tubman!” With a slight smile on her face, she waited for the noise to subside.
“You’re looking at a woman who is worth forty thousand dollars—dead. I don’t know how much I’m worth alive. But I aim to keep on living as long as the Lord wants me here. You understand I am not a brave person by nature. The Good Lord made me that way in order to do His job. The only thing that keeps me going is the grace He heaps upon me.”
She paced the platform, saying, “We’re all weak people. I carry a gun. Haven’t had to shoot a man with it, but it’s there. I’ve threatened a lot of men. Negro men. I says to them: You signed on to go to the Promised Land, and you’re going! There’s no room for quitters in God’s business. You say you go with God, you go. Life’s risky, but so’s heaven. It’s not for quitters. I’d rather miss out on life than to back out of heaven.” She paused and looked around the room.
“Now I know you come here to listen to me tell brave stories of where I’ve been and what I’m doing. I come here to tell you to pick up your cross and get to moving with it. Life’s a-wastin’, and there’s much to be done.” She leaned over the podium. “You know we’re getting mighty close to having a war over this situation called freedom. If you people get up on your legs and go to work spreading the message that emancipation is the only solution, then these black people can quit sneaking away from home, and the owners will be forced to look at themselves and thank God they aren’t wearing the black man’s shoes. Because, down underneath it all, men are the same, and they want freedom. Black or white, the good Lord made them all for freedom.”
The crowd was on its feet again, and the roar this time was deafening. Olivia looked around. The building was packed, and when they sat down their bench held more people. Alex was forced against her. She watched him from the corner of her eyes, amused at his discomfort as he struggled to find room for his shoulders.
Finally he draped his arm across the back of the bench, muttering, “I would leave, but then someone else would be squeezing you.” She grinned and turned her attention to the next speaker.
This sober speaker reminded the audience of the humble beginnings of the abolitionist movement. “Until 1850 we Northerners were caught in apathy,” he said. “Since that time, my friends, the momentum has started to build. From a stance of indecision—because in the past we have been taught that godly love is always gentle—we move to decisive action. We are moving forward for God and man.
“I want to remind you, my friends, of the distance we have come in our fight for freedom. Do you all know what the Dred Scott decision means?” He paused, and the low rumble of displeasure moved through the house. “And have you considered the implications of the decision?” Again the sound came, and Olivia shivered with the ripple of strange excitement sweeping over the crowd.
The speaker rattled his papers and continued. “If the decision had been handed down while Garrison was being dragged through the streets of Boston, or when Birney’s printing press was tossed into the Ohio, or perhaps when Pennsylvania Hall was set ablaze and Elijah Lovejoy bleeding his life away in the streets of Alton, Illinois—” He paused and looked around the room. “Do you realize what I am saying? I’m pointing to the time when abolitionists were regarded as the scum of the earth because they dared challenge one of America’s institutions—slavery. At the time period I have mentioned, the whole of this land was in a frenzy of hatred for these men and women.
“I say, if the Dred Scott decision had been given then, our whole nation would have toppled to the demands of a few. As weak as we were then, it is surprising a few free states did not give in to the demand. But now my friends, we are growing strong. Public opinion is stirring, shifting. The diligent effort of a few who were willing to stake their all for a God-given cause, is winning.”
When the final speaker sat down, the whisper swept through the hall. “Sing, ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,’—it’s Harriet Tubman’s favorite.” And in the Quaker hall, the crowd stood and linked into a swaying mass, lifting their faces as they sang: “Swing low, sweet chariot…. I looked over Jordan, and what did I see, coming for to carry me home?…Swing low, sweet chariot, Coming for to carry me home.”
****
Amos was right. The moonlight reflected on the snow, turning the night into a shining white world. Still filled with emotion too deep to understand, and while conversation swirled around her, Olivia sat beside Alex and pondered his unreachable distance. The sleigh bells were keeping mellow time as they rode back to the farm, and Olivia’s thoughts drifted from the speeches she had heard to the memory of Alex’s arm warm and close around her shoulders.
When they reached the house, Amos stopped at the front door. Alex said, “Want me to take the rig to the barn?”
“Naw, you’ve been out long enough for a sick fella. Caleb can take care of them.” He climbed down and reached for Sadie. Alex jumped out of the sleigh and silently offered his hand to Olivia. Just as silently she accepted and followed Sadie into the house.
“Let’s get some hot spiced cider,” Sadie said, unwinding her scarf. As Olivia followed her to the kitchen, Sadie added, “There are some fresh donuts, too.”
“Sadie, you go sit in the parlor; Amelia can help me. The cider only needs a little warming.”
“I’ll help you,” Alex spoke behind her. Sadie glanced at him, shrugged, and left the room. Silently Alex went after the mugs and Olivia, just as silent, stacked donuts on the platter.
He carried them into the parlor and returned. Sitting down at the table, he reached for a donut and asked, “What did you think of it all?”
“The speeches? They were overwhelming.” She stirred the cider and lifted out the spice bag. “I’ll ladle the cider here and let you carry it.”
They all talked well into the night about the meeting, but when the fire had died down and, along with it, the excited chatter, Sadie stood up, and Amos said, “Last one to bed put on the backlog, and good night.”
Matthew and Crystal followed them out of the room and soon Amelia left. Olivia began to gather mugs. Alex followed her to the kitchen with the donuts. Still there was silence, heavy and uncomfortable. As she started for the door, Alex touched her arm. Turning she saw his face. Trying to will her pounding heart steady, she backed toward the door, saying, “I—”
He came close. “Olivia, I want very badly to kiss you, but I must say this—”
“Don’t.”
“You know how I feel. I’m not playing games. It’s marriage I intend.”
Her shoulders drooped wearily and she turned away. Thinking of what he had told her about the earring, she said, “It’s an impossible burden.”
“I know. That’s why—”
She looked up at him, blinking her eyes and shaking her head. “Alex, don’t—” She rushed past him, then stopped in the doorway.
He tried to smile. “It’s all right.”
“But I can’t stand for you to look like that.” She reached out to touch his arm.
He held out his arms. “Don’t kiss me,” she whispered.
“I won’t. But let me hold you, then never again, unless—”
Her arms strained to hold him tighter, feeling the warmth and strength of him, knowing it would never happen again.
Chapter 35
The Christmas month slipped away and then two more months were gone. Olivia faced the neglected burden.
“Matthew, I’m writing a letter to Mother and Father, shall I tell them you are married?”
They were in the hallway, standing in the warmth of the early morning sun. Matthew looked at Olivia. “You haven’t written that letter yet?”
“No,” she shrugged. “It’s been one thing after another. I didn’t dare write before you came back.”
“Yes, I suppose you might as well. Tell them we will be planning a trip home, possibly in the near future.”
<
br /> “When you run out of money?”
He chuckled and pinched her cheek. “You’ve helped spend it, too. No matter. I might even look for a job if we’re here much longer.”
They heard a stomping and turned toward the door. Alex looked from Matthew to Olivia. “Well, I thought I was the only one up.”
“And I’ve been tiptoeing around to avoid waking people,” Olivia admitted.
A fully recovered Alex pulled off his jacket. “Been down to the river. It’s finally starting to look like spring. Matt, Caleb and I will be working the Awl over next week. Hopefully we can be out of here the following week.”
“Have someplace in mind?”
“Yes, we’ve been asked to go to the same spot. People are coming up the bayou country, and it looks like the best place is still around Greenville. Amos has more rope and glassware for us to carry down there. He’s also come up with some wooden casks. That’ll be a lighter load for us. If I can’t get cotton in small bales, I’ll just hang on to the casks.”
Matthew nodded. “An easy move to shield. Have you any idea how many people there’ll be?”
Alex sighed, “As many as I can carry. Things are tightening up. For some reason the people are coming out in hordes. Amos says he thinks there’s a rumor circulating. It’s possible the people are afraid their escape will be cut off.”
Olivia started toward the kitchen as Matthew asked, “Are the women coming along? Crystal might object to being left.”
“I suppose that’s up to them. We could use a cook.”
Sadie hurried into the kitchen tying on her apron as she came. “Oh my, I’ve overslept. Olivia, thee missed a good service last night. ’Twas a special prayer meeting, with the most wonderful news.”
“And what was that?”
“The brethren have just come from New York. They are having revival there. It has been going on for sometime. There are indications, Brother Strait told me, that revival is spreading this way. Remember I told thee Garrison has claimed a mighty revival would rescue us from the brink of disaster,” Sadie said as she began working on a breakfast of ham and eggs.
“What did he mean by that?” Olivia continued to line the forks beside the plates.
“Oh, thee most likely haven’t heard. Garrison, back in thirty-one or thereabouts, when he started up his newspaper, talked hard about the North seceding from the Union. Because of slavery. He fears we’ll never all pull together in our natural state.”
The men came into the kitchen. Olivia asked, “What do you mean by natural state?”
Sadie lifted sizzling slices of ham out of the frying pan and poured in the eggs. Flipping them, she said, “The Old Adam. Better ask the menfolk, or I’ll ruin their eggs. I get stirred on the subject.”
Amelia came into the kitchen. She stopped, “Old Adam? Did I miss breakfast?”
Alex chuckled and pulled a chair forward. “No, we haven’t taken up theology for breakfast.” Feeling very ignorant, Olivia slipped into her place. “Biscuits?” Alex questioned.
Olivia got up again. Alex’s eyes warmed her. She brought the biscuits to the table and went back for the coffee.
Pouring coffee, leaning over Alex’s shoulder, she noticed his hair curling on the nape of his neck and felt her throat tighten. Why must it be this way? Just misery. Two months ago I could have teased him over his long hair, and now I’m tongue-tied.
After everyone had finished, and the kitchen was straightened, Olivia sat down and wrote her stilted letter. Still aching, she wrote happy, reassuring words about Pennsylvania, then she inserted a casual remark about Matthew’s marriage. Feeling deceitful, she enthused over Crystal and tried to assure the parents that she was busy, happy, and useful.
As she finished the letter Crystal came into the kitchen. Olivia waved the letter and said, “To the parents. It’s full of nothing except that Matthew is married to a wonderful girl and I am happy, useful, and prospering. Oh yes, I told them where we are staying—just in case they’ll want to replenish their children’s resources.”
“Oh, dear,” Crystal murmured, pouring coffee for herself and searching for a cold biscuit. She glanced at Olivia and sighed.
“We need to talk, don’t we?”
“But not now,” Crystal said hastily. “It won’t change anything, I—” The door opened and Alex came into the room.
“Sleepyhead,” he said to Crystal. “I saw Joseph yesterday. He asked about you, seemed lonesome and very anxious for news of you. I told him you were married.”
“You did?” Her voice was taut, and Alex watched her. Hastily she sipped coffee and said, “Does he seem pleased?”
“Well,” Alex frowned, “I’d say more interested and satisfied.” He started for his room and then paused. “Joseph would be one happy man if you paid him a visit. He works at the blacksmith shop and has a little house right next door. Sadie might even give you some donuts for him.”
Alex picked up his tools and left the house. Crystal and Olivia sat in silence.
Amelia came into the kitchen. She looked at the silent figures, shrugged, and poured herself coffee. “Have you got spring fever, too?” She added, “I always get the desire to roam this time of year. Something in my blood starts saying, ‘Amelia, it’s time to go.’”
“Well, you have your chance,” Olivia said slowly, “Alex is working on the boat. I heard him tell Matthew he wants to be out of here in two weeks.”
Amelia straightened the sugar bowl and examined the spoon holder. “That wasn’t what I had in mind. Matter of fact, that boat scares me to death. If we don’t go down, the patrol will get us.”
Crystal asked, “Olivia, are you going?”
Thinking of Alex, Olivia shook her head vigorously. “No, I don’t want to.”
“Then I’ll be the only woman with all those men.”
“You could stay here,” Olivia said, but when she saw the expression on Crystal’s face, she hastily added, “I know that’s terrible. Maybe Matthew will stay here this trip.”
Olivia got to her feet, gathered her letter and pencil. “I need to see if Amos and Sadie will be going to town.”
As she passed through the hallway, she turned into the parlor and went to look out the window. The sky was blue and nearly cloudless. She blinked into the sunlight, moving her shoulders in the warmth. Close to the house the snow had melted, revealing a strip of green.
On impulse, she dropped the letter and reached for Sadie’s shawl hanging behind the door. Stepping outside, gingerly avoiding puddles of water, she made her way down the hill to the wharf. Only the Golden Awl was moored there. Muddy footprints crossed the gangplank and disappeared on the deck.
She followed them. Matthew and Caleb were in the engine room, and Matthew had grease on his hands. Staring at the grease, she murmured, “I can’t believe it!”
Impatiently he shrugged and said, “Go up to the pilothouse and give the bell cord a yank. Something is loose.”
Dutifully she climbed the stairs. Alex turned as she entered the pilothouse. “I saw you coming,” he said. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she stopped to catch her breath. “Matthew sent me to yank on the bell cord.”
“I’ve had it off when I polished the bell. It’s working now.”
“Polished the bell?” she exclaimed, watching him covertly. After the one miserable meeting of their eyes, he had turned away. It was a mistake—one foolish hug, and now we are no longer friends. How long will we need to avoid each other before we can act like friends again? Without being told, she knew and faced the bleak future.
“What?” He was looking at her, waiting for an answer.
“I asked if you are coming with us this trip.”
“No.”
“Look, Olivia, if it’s because of me, I’ll stay out of your way.”
“I just didn’t think it necessary.”
“As you wish.”
She thought for a minute, chewed her lip, and looked at his profile. “You’re incons
istent.”
Caught off guard he turned to her slowly and said, “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me for two months. Why did you say it?”
“Last autumn you refused to take Crystal and me home. Now you’re more than anxious to have me—us along. Why?”
His neck reddened. “It is inconsistent.” Abruptly he faced her and shoved his cap back on his head. “One stolen embrace and it’s all ruined, huh? You’ve been avoiding me since.”
“It was foolish, wasn’t it? The hug.” She studied the hurt in his eyes. Slowly she said, “I find myself lonesome for your company, and regretting that we can’t be friends.”
“It isn’t just the hug, is it?” He hesitated and said hastily, “It’s all the other. The kiss, the whack. I’d give anything to undo it all, but right now I know of no way.”
She nodded and left the pilothouse. As she walked slowly back up the hill she pondered the situation. Why do I feel the kiss and the spanking aren’t the important things? What is?
At the end of the lane she turned away from the house. The wind was sharpening. Tightening the shawl around her arms, she said to herself, “If only there were someone to advise me. If I could only understand why we are miserable.”
And suddenly the whole of it lay before her. She stopped in her tracks and pondered it, then slowly she cut off the road and went to lean on the fence. Sheep grazed in the early grass. The stream coursing down to the river was free of ice, and the clear water chuckled and gurgled as if rejoicing in its freedom.
The peacefulness of the scene reminded her of Sadie sitting contentedly beside the fire carding wool. “Each stroke of the comb, and more of the sticks and burrs are gone. The strands lie smooth and straight. If Alex were saying it,” she mused, “he’d say God is speaking to me, and right now I can’t deny it. Is that it? And is that why I suddenly see it all—because You make me to see it?” She moved restlessly against the fence, even as she felt the wind pricking through the shawl. She listened to the tinkle of bells and the rustling of contented sheep.