Billy Boy

by Jean Mary Flahive

  As they walked beside the river, the gaslights from the nearby row houses cast a dim reflection on its dark surface. A few steps in front of Billy, Elijah came upon an overturned boat, its planks rotting and covered with muck and debris.

  “Mebbe we could hide under here,” Billy said.

  Elijah kicked the rotted wood. A pack of large rats scurried from underneath the bow and scattered across the mud. “Billy, suh, we find us another place to hide,” said Elijah.

  “But Miss Anna said to hide near the river.”

  Elijah shook his head. “Billy, suh, we on our own now. We needin’ to get to Fifth Street and find Mr. Still.”

  “How we gonna find Fifth Street?” Billy asked, alarm in his voice.

  “Elijah don’t know yet.”

  “Then we should hide here. Maybe Miss Anna will come.”

  “We can’t hide here, Billy, suh,” Elijah said. “Missus or no, it real bad here. Elijah go and figger things out like he promise.”

  “You mean like Harry?”

  “Yes, suh. Just like Harry.”

  They moved on, away from the water’s edge, past heaps of rubbish. Slowly they pushed through the woods, emerging finally onto a narrow, cobbled street lined with row houses. Chimneys spewed ash and smoke. Keeping to the shadows, Billy dug his walking stick into the cobbled cracks and limped along behind Elijah. They cautiously crossed a half-dozen intersections, at last finding a tiny alley, free of the debris that lined the small back streets. They scrambled down the narrow passageway, passing under an arch with open iron gates.

  The alley opened into a church courtyard. Elijah glanced around. High walls enclosed it, hiding it from the street. The church was dark. He touched Billy’s shoulder and pointed to the wooden stairs near the church’s back door. “Billy, suh, under those stairs—this be a good place to hide.”

  Billy nodded. His knee still throbbed with pain and he was eager to get off his feet. The ground under the stairs was dry and offered some protection from the chilling air. They huddled next to each other. “By thunder, it’s cold, Elijah.”

  “It be all right, Billy, suh. In the morning, we find Fifth Street where the other nigguhs be.”

  “Miss Johanna said it ain’t right, you callin’ yourself that.”

  “Then colored folks.”

  “You thinkin’ Miss Anna might be there?” Billy asked hopefully.

  “Missus Anna be lookin’ for us, Billy, suh. Don’t you worry none.”

  “We gonna see us the North Star again, you thinkin’?”

  “Billy, suh, you go on and sleep now.”

  When Billy awoke it was still dark, but he knew dawn was not far away. He moved his leg, relieved that the pain in his knee had lessened to a faint, dull ache. He stayed quiet, not yet ready to awaken Elijah.

  If he tried real hard, he could almost see the rooster stirring in the barn at home, waking with the sun. For sure Pa and Jamie would be milking the cows and sending them off to pasture. And Ma in the kitchen, most like. He imagined a plate of buttermilk pancakes dripping with chunks of creamy butter and thick maple syrup.

  Elijah turned and moaned in his sleep. What would happen to them today? What if he never saw Elijah again? Maybe Elijah would come to the farm instead of Canada—maybe even stay. Then Jamie would have another brother. And Jamie could teach Elijah checkers. Thing is, Billy thought, Elijah would whip Jamie good. But, he reminded himself, Elijah would need the black checkers to win. And the black ones were always Jamie’s.

  He might never see Elijah again. He might never see Harry again.

  He remembered the night in Camp King when Harry told him he wished he was as tall as Billy. Harry was the first real friend he had ever had. For a long time, he had wondered why Harry wanted to be his friend. Then Ma told Billy that Harry had had a little sister named Nora, who fell off her horse when she was five, and hit her head hard. After that, Nora never talked again, and was no longer able to do most things by herself. It was Harry who took care of her, did nearly everything for his little sister. Three years later Nora took a fever and died. Ma said Harry learned to have a bigger heart for special folks. Said Harry wanted to be Billy’s friend because he was special in his own way, too.

  Leighton and Josh had never poked fun at Billy like the others, but they weren’t his friends—not ’til Harry came along. Then with the Awkward Squad and all, he and Leighton took a liking to one another. It seemed to Billy that Leighton’s heart went and got bigger, just like Harry’s. He was glad that he and Leighton had become friends. Besides, the sergeant major had always kept Harry busy with extra chores. The other privates said Harry was finding favor with the sergeant. He guessed Harry was turning out to be a right smart soldier.

  As for Billy—he just couldn’t wait to get home.

  Chapter 20

  Lying on his back, looking up at the plank-board steps above him, Billy rubbed his hands against the cold. Elijah stirred, poked his head out from under the stairs, and peered into the courtyard. The day was dull and gray, the air thick with mist.

  “Billy, suh,” Elijah said after a while. “Elijah been thinkin’. You needin’ to ask where Fifth Street be.”

  Billy grimaced. “I got to find me another storekeeper? Like before? What if he asks me questions?”

  “You don’t tell white folk nuthin’.”

  “Maybe the provost marshal’s gonna be lookin’ for me.”

  “You wear Elijah’s overcoat. That way you don’t look the same. Come outside here.” Crawling out from under the stairs, Elijah pulled off his jacket and handed it to Billy.

  “What if somethin’ bad happens?” Billy asked as he hurriedly unfastened his buttons and slipped into Elijah’s jacket. “Jacket’s awful big.”

  “Billy, suh,” Elijah said, “ain’t nuthin’ gon’ happen. Just go on and do like Elijah say.” He reached for Billy’s sack coat and scrunched his nose when he couldn’t push his arms through the narrow sleeves. Frustrated, he wrapped the wool coat around his shoulders and crossed his arms to hold in warmth.

  “Why ain’t you wearin’ my coat?”

  “Billy, suh, this coat too small for Elijah, so you hurry back before Elijah freeze hisself.”

  “I’m goin’,” Billy said dismally. “Ain’t got no money for bread, neither.”

  Billy brushed dirt and bits of scattered pine needles from his trousers and stretched his stiffened body. Still tender, his knee buckled when he started to walk, so shifting the weight on his leg, he limped under the arch through the alley that led to the main sidewalk. The mist was lifting. The promise of sunlight brightened his spirits as much as the sights and sounds of the awakening city.

  He watched a pair of sprightly mares pulling a streetcar filled with early morning shoppers along the smooth rails. Billy headed down the sidewalk, strolling beneath colorful awnings, gazing in shop windows. He paused in front of a haberdashery with its handsome display of fine men’s clothing, ambled past a printing office and a barbershop, and offered a passing glance at a storefront window filled with yards of winter woolens, plaids in brilliant reds and greens, mufflers soft with rabbit fur. He broke into a wide smile as he came upon a sweet shop and for several moments stared through the window, watching the candy maker stretch and fold ribbons of saltwater taffy over a marble slab. He pressed his face against the storefront window. On the far shelf were jars of licorice strings, horehound and lemon drops, and candied ginger.

  He tapped on the glass.

  The candy maker looked up as he stretched the red-and-white-striped taffy across the slab, frowned, and shook his head. Billy shrugged and turned away from the candy shop. He continued down the slate sidewalk.

  A short distance ahead, two women in long capes hurried from a bake shop and stepped into the street, their straw baskets bulging with rounded loaves of bread. Behind them the elderly storekeeper, a broom tucked under his arm, stopped and tossed a handful of breadcrumbs onto the sidewalk. His woolly side-whiskers bobbed up and down his ruddy
cheeks as he chatted to the gathering sparrows.

  “Mornin’, mister,” Billy said, startling the sparrows as he approached the kindly looking man. Billy stepped quickly aside as the sparrows flapped from the ground like spraying water, disappearing into the eaves.

  “Good day, lad.” The storekeeper gave him an appraising look from head to toe. His easy smile clouded, and he took a step backward. “I suppose you’ll be looking for work?”

  “No, sir.” Billy saw the look of concern on the old man’s face and ran his dirtied fingers awkwardly through his matted hair. “Lookin’ for Fifth Street is all.”

  The old man wrinkled his brow. “Fifth Street, you say?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, lad, you’re nearly there now. This is Third Street.” He raised his arm and pointed. “Down this way, just a couple of blocks, and you’ll be there.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The old man nodded his head and began sweeping the walk in front of his door as Billy hurried away.

  “Young man! Fifth Street’s the other way!”

  “Yes, sir,” Billy said, waving his arm. He kept on walking. A burst of pain shot through his knee; he slowed his pace and, favoring his leg again, limped slowly down the sidewalk. He stopped suddenly in front of a storefront window that had been shuttered earlier. He let out a low gasp, awestruck by the handsomely carved three-masted schooner, its miniature sails fully extended as if it was running with the wind. He studied the schooner’s intricate detail, wishing he could remember everything about it so he could whittle one for Jamie. Reluctantly he moved on, his mind flooding with ballasts and riggings, tall masts, and full sails, all the way back to the narrow alleyway that led to the shelter of the church, and Elijah.

  Elijah’s lips curled into a smile. “Billy, suh, you been gone a long time. You didn’t get in no trouble?” he asked as Billy crawled underneath the staircase.

  “Naw.” Billy slipped off the jacket, handed it to Elijah, and lay down on the hard ground.

  “You find where Fifth Street be?”

  “Yeah. We’re right close.”

  “Real good, Billy, suh.” Elijah blew warm air onto his hands and pushed them into the pockets of his jacket. “Now, we just stay under these stairs ’til it be dark.”

  As the moon rolled over the spires of the courtyard church, the pair left their hiding place.

  “Moon all misty-lookin’, Billy, suh.”

  “It’s them yellow rings around it. Pa says rings mean it’s gonna snow.”

  “I heard of snow, but I never seen any. How your Pa know that?”

  “Seen it lots of times afore.” Billy cupped his hands, blowing hot breath over his fingers. “Wish we had us some food. I’m starved.”

  “We find Fifth Street now. Mr. Still, he take care of us.”

  They moved quietly down the near-vacant street, Billy motioning the way silently to Elijah.

  They walked several blocks, finally turning right on a treelined street, past elegant two-story brick colonials and ornate verandahs, clusters of trailing ivy spilling over wrought-iron fences. Oil lamps glowed in the pane windows, and chimney smoke billowed dusty gray.

  It was ear-tingling cold. Flakes of snow fell silently from the darkness. Elijah shivered and raised his collar as the snow trickled down his neck. He stopped for a moment under a gaslight, staring in wonderment at the specks of white powder shimmering beneath his feet.

  “You thinkin’ this might be Fifth Street?” Billy scrunched his nose, and brushed the white wetness away from his face.

  “No, suh. Nigguh folk don’t live in these fancy houses.”

  “Ain’t supposed to be sayin’ that.”

  “Coloreds.”

  “We lost, you thinkin’?”

  “Just keep walkin’, Billy, suh. Elijah find the colored folks.”

  As the long rows of stately homes faded into a business district, Elijah stared at an endless stretch of storefronts, dark and uninviting, snow falling undisturbed on the cobbled street. Discouraged, he guided Billy around the next corner, only to discover another street of imposing homes. Where were the huts for colored folk?

  Elijah led Billy down several blocks, turning at last into a darkened district far away from the fancy houses of the white folks’ neighborhood. At the next corner he stopped suddenly.

  A hauntingly familiar song wafted through the snowy darkness. Hold your light, brother Robert, hold your light on Canaan’s shore…

  Was he dreaming? Elijah grabbed Billy’s arm. “Billy, suh, you hear music?”

  “Yeah, sounds like a hym—hymninal.”

  “Elijah know this song! Elijah sing it when he dyin’ by the creek.”

  Elijah ran into the middle of the street. He spun around and ran to the sidewalk on the opposite side, making slushy footprints in the new snow. He followed the strains of music, now stumbling, his eyes blinded by the wetness splashing his face.

  Then he saw it. A church. The music was coming from inside the church. He heard the rush of footsteps behind him, and turned an excited face to Billy.

  “Billy, suh, the Lord, he go and lead us here,” he said pointing to the church doors.

  The church vibrated with the mantra of the sweet melody. Rows of colored people swayed to the music, their hands clasped across the pews. Elijah stood in the vestibule and gazed in disbelief. Billy stomped the snow from his boots and brushed the flakes from his coat.

  At the pulpit, a gray-haired preacher stared back at them with a startled expression. Then he stepped away from the pulpit and whispered to a man standing in the front row.

  Elijah was awash with emotion. Was it finally over? Was he free? He bowed his head, whispered into his folded hands, his body shaking uncontrollably. He was only slightly aware of Billy’s arm around his shoulder.

  “Elijah,” Billy whispered. “Preacher and another fella comin’ down the aisle.”

  Slowly, Elijah raised his head and stared into the faces of the preacher and the man walking beside him, a colored man in a wide-lapel suit and bright white shirt. Never had he seen such finery on a colored man.

  The man reached out his hand, asking, “Are you Elijah?”

  Elijah flashed a questioning glance at Billy. He looked nervously around the room. The singing had stopped; everyone was staring at him. He turned to the man in front of him.

  “Yes, suh.”

  “Praise the Lord!”

  The preacher walked over to Elijah. “You are among friends here.” With a slight bow, the preacher clasped Elijah’s hands and said softly, “Thank you, Almighty Father, for delivering these young men safely into our hands.”

  “This be Fifth Street? And you Mistah Still?” Elijah asked, addressing the finely dressed man who stood next to the preacher.

  “No, this is Lombard Street. It’s between Fifth and Sixth streets, but it seems you found me, anyway.” A wide smile flashed across the man’s face. “Yes, I am William Still.”

  “Then you know Miss Anna?” Billy said, scanning the room.

  “Indeed. I’ll send a carriage for Anna at once. We have been looking for you all day. She is most distressed. I heard what happened at the train station. Fortunately, Anna escaped the provost marshal’s attention when he pursued you both.”

  William Still whispered to the preacher, who nodded and pointed to the vestry.

  “You boys must be hungry,” Still said. “I am only a guest at this church. It is their night of prayer and praise, but the preacher has invited you to share in the food that has been prepared. Come, follow me.” He placed an arm on Elijah’s shoulder, nodded his head at Billy, and led them to a small room near the back of the church.

  The room was plain, the worn floorboards pocked with hobnails. Billy glanced at the ceiling, puzzled at the long timbers scarred black. Long woolen capes and coats hung on iron spikes protruding from the walls, and a ring of rusty horseshoes framed the door. But the plain room felt warm and inviting. Billy smelled coffee, and he glance
d at the barrel-shaped woodstove, taking in its warmth and welcome smells. On the long trestle table against the wall, a buffet of smoked ham, boiled chicken, deviled eggs, bread, and pickles lay on the checkered cloth.

  William Still fixed them each a heaping plate.

  “What’s this church?” asked Billy, wiping his mouth on his shirtsleeve.

  Still smiled. “It’s the Mother Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church. This room is part of the original building—a blacksmith’s shop that Richard Allen, the church’s founder, bought in 1787. The church has grown considerably since then, but the members like to preserve the symbols of its early history—such as the horseshoes you see on the wall.”

  Still cut into another loaf of bread and piled thick dark slices onto Elijah’s plate. Then he turned to Billy and sliced more.

  “I’m anxious to hear your story, Elijah. And you will have the chance to tell me more about it tomorrow, when you meet with the Vigilance Committee—the one that Anna spoke to you about.”

  “Why Elijah talkin’ to this vigilance?”

  “What we do is interview—ask questions of—all the runaway slaves that we help. It’s important to keep detailed information about them, because sometimes we are able to find their family members or loved ones they have been separated from for many years. We also like to keep a record of the slave’s experiences, how they were treated, and so on.”

  “You help slave folk find each other?”

  “Sometimes, yes. My older brother Peter was separated from our mother as a child. Eventually, he escaped from his slaveholder in Alabama and found his way to the Society’s door. Our mama had not seen him in forty years,” Still said with great emotion in his voice.

  Billy dropped a piece of bread from his hands. “Maybe you can find Elijah’s pa!”

  “Elijah ain’t gon’ see Pappy again, no suh. He far away now.”

  “It’s hard to know, Elijah.”

  “I’m wantin’ Elijah to live with me,” Billy said with a questioning glance at Still.

  “Why Elijah got to go to Canada, Mistah Still?” Elijah asked.