The Eulogist

by Ms. Terry Gamble

  “If all goes well, she will not have to.”

  I told him about Mrs. Beasley’s admonition about no repeat of the last time.

  “You know what these people are like,” said Erasmus, conjuring his twenty-year-old self, who shrugged off allegations.

  “Did you not pay your bill?”

  Erasmus picked up the ax, embedded it in a log. Running his callused palms together, he added, “These abolitionists are prickly. I suppose I should have warned them before I arrived with Handsome that day. But it’s not as though they gave out a handbook.”

  “You showed up with Handsome at Mrs. Beasley’s?”

  “At the Rankins’ house, as a matter of fact,” he said. “How was I to know that patrollers were about? Certainly not because of Handsome. He’d cooled his heels here and been long forgotten. No, they were looking for some Joe or Jack that had already been run up to Chillicothe.”

  “No wonder they are less than sanguine about you,” I said, imagining the scenario: Erasmus showing up with a runaway just as the Rankin family was warding off angry slave scouts.

  He looked hurt. “Anyway, I found the man sanctuary in the end.”

  William had come out of the barn with a pail, approaching the cow and the goat for their nightly offerings. A baby goat had just been weaned and was now tagging after the boy, butting at his legs. William laughed and pushed him off.

  “It would be nice if the boy had a friend,” I said, watching the frolic between boy and beast.

  “I need him here,” said Erasmus. He looked at my reticule that contained some of the day’s purchases. “I need you, too,” he added, jerking his head at the chapel. “By tomorrow, that girl’s got to look like Willy.”

  * * *

  “You poor thing,” I said to Nelly as I whitened her face the following morning before the sun rose. “Such are the indignities . . .” My voice trailed off upon seeing her clipped ear.

  “Can I see?” she said. Her face flickered ghostly in the lantern light.

  I told her we had no mirror.

  She rolled her eyes. “In Augusta, I worked as an assistant laundress. And in a fine house, too. Plenty of mirrors in that house.” This explained how she had access to her mistress’s wardrobe.

  William arrived with a set of bibbed trousers and a cotton shirt along with last year’s boots that he had outgrown. Nelly regarded the ensemble with a queasy look. “I thought you was making me look pretty.”

  After she pulled on William’s clothes, I affixed the curls to her hair, imagining Tilly critiquing my technique. Her skull felt small and fragile as a bird’s. On went the hat, completing the effect. I sent William to fetch Erasmus, who joined us, seemingly satisfied with the result. “Sun’s coming up,” he said. “It’s time.”

  “You’ll pack up my clothes?” she said to me anxiously.

  “You can’t take them with you,” I said, and then seeing she might cry and streak the powder, added hastily, “but we’ll send them on once you are settled. You’ll have the best wardrobe in Canada.”

  “Mastuh says niggers freeze they tails off in Canada.”

  “Mastuh says a lot of things, I’m sure.” I kissed her on the cheek, dusting my own with powder. I looked at Erasmus. “Don’t cross Mrs. Beasley, brother.”

  “Keep the boy out of sight,” he said, whistling for the dog. “I’ll be back by midmorning, God willing.”

  He loaded the limping girl into the boat, instructing her how to sit, how to duck her head just so. The mongrel jumped in after them.

  “Let us hope no passengers will hail them,” I said to William as we watched them disappear into the low mist. “It’d be just your father’s luck to catch the first business he’s had in weeks.”

  * * *

  As Erasmus had instructed, I kept William out of view in the chapel while I kneaded dough in the summer kitchen. Although the humidity was oppressive, I stoked logs in the oven after the second rising so that we might have bread. A murder of crows shrieked from the treetops. The little goat, still pining for its mother’s milk, mawed pitifully.

  “Aunt Livvie,” called William from the chapel, “might I come out now?”

  “Stay inside, Willy.”

  “I have to piss.”

  “Oh, all right, then. But step behind the building and out of sight from the river.” I started to add that I wanted to see his cursive practiced on the slate, but before I could call out, I heard the clop of horses on the path. I set down the log that I was about to put in the oven. Two riders came into the clearing. They looked harmless enough—early twenties, maybe. Beardless. One even had kindish eyes.

  “Pardon us, ma’am, but we seem to have taken a wrong turn.”

  I pushed back my hair with my sleeve so as not to smudge my face with ashes.

  “You must have seen our banner,” I said.

  “Enduring Hope?” said the one with the nice eyes. He turned to his companion, whose dark hair hung down behind his ears. “Now what can that mean?”

  “There’s no riddle here,” said I. “We are but a sanctuary, and my brother is a preacher.”

  They sat on their horses, neither making a move to dismount, the one eyeing me, the lank-haired one glancing over the property, taking in the cow, the goats, the cabin, and the chapel. “And where is your brother now?”

  “Seeking passengers to ferry off the boats.”

  “Off the boats? Or from the other shore?”

  I glanced at my fire that was sorely in need of fuel. I had no weapon nearby and was unsure whether I required one, but we were off the beaten path and far from other neighbors.

  “I could do with some praying,” said the fairer one, dismounting. “As for my brother”—he jerked his head—“he is a reprobate.”

  “Then by all means pray,” said I in as pleasant a voice as I could muster. “Our chapel sits here for the wayfarer and is ecumenically inclined.”

  At that, the darker one smiled, and not so nicely. “That’s a mighty big word, ma’am.”

  “I am a schoolteacher,” I said, imagining Silas saying, Fine language for an atheist, Miss Givens. I watched the back of the fair-haired one as he made for the chapel, and could only hope that William had heard the chatter and was hiding in the woods. “It merely means that all are welcome. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to bake these loaves.”

  “Hot day for baking,” said Dark Hair. “I sure could do with a drink.”

  “There is a well by the spring.”

  “Would you mind fetching it?”

  He clearly wanted me away from the house, no doubt so he could see if there was anything worth taking.

  “I seen your brother time to time on the river,” said he. “Him and the boy.”

  “Well, then you know our business.”

  There was an awkward pause. His fairer brother reemerged from the chapel, but made no mention of having discovered William. Silently, I thanked God for the boy’s full bladder.

  “I’ll get your water, then. But you haven’t told me your names.”

  The nicer-looking one pulled off his hat and gave a rather silly bow. “Me . . . I’m Abner. And this here’s Pate.”

  I introduced myself as Miss Givens, picked up a pail, and headed down the path. The artesian spring was away from the house and obscured by rocks and trees. I made a low whistle as soon as I was out of sight and immediately got a whistle back. Willy’s eyes met mine from behind a large oak. I motioned at the outcropping of rock where they’d hidden Handsome in a cave. Stealthily, Willy moved that way as I banged on the pail, raising a racket. When I returned, both strangers were nowhere to be seen. I was unsurprised when they walked out of the cabin.

  I said, “You are beyond your bounds, sirs.”

  Pate crossed his arms and leaned up against the door. Abner ran his fingers through his hair. His lashes, I noticed, were colorless. “Our apologies, ma’am, but we haven’t been completely honest.”

  “Really?” I said, flatly.

  “Thi
ng is, we’re on the lookout.”

  “Has there been a crime?”

  “We’ve been losing inventory.” He said it the way James might speak of a lost batch of candles. “And we’re trying to plug up the holes.”

  “Speak plainly,” I said, trying to keep my hand from shaking and spilling the water.

  “Runaways, ma’am. Runaways taking advantage of kind people such as yourself.”

  “We harbor no runaways here. Why don’t you check in the barn?” I said, filling the cup from the pail and setting it on the porch rail.

  “Already have,” said Pate, grabbing the cup and swigging.

  “Well then. If you don’t mind.” I picked up a log, regretful that I could not wield it as a club.

  “Those are some mighty pretty dresses you got in there, ma’am,” said Abner, his lashes blinking like nervous albino caterpillars. “Seems like a sweet bit of finery for living in the middle of nowhere.”

  I forced a smile. “I have many friends . . .” I said, emphasizing the word, “. . . in both Ripley and Cincinnati, where society demands that I look my best.”

  “Looks like you’ve been trying everything on, the way those clothes are tossed in a heap.”

  Pate took another gulp and spat. He looked at his brother. “Where’s the boy?” I must have looked dumbfounded because he sneered. “We know just about everyone goes up and down this river.”

  “Well then,” I said, willing the boy to stay put, “you’ll know the lad generally accompanies his father.”

  “Yep,” said Pate. “No one here but you.”

  “And all those pretty dresses,” said Abner.

  “Not just dresses,” said Pate, reaching into his pocket. “Lookie here.”

  There was no constable to call, no onlooker whom I could beseech. That this man had the brooch of white powder in his hand was outrageous, but no more so than the fact that they had entered our cabin while my brother was away.

  “Are you in the habit of touching women’s property?”

  “We are great respecters of property. Which is more than some on this shore could claim.”

  The fire was burning hotly now. I picked up a stick of kindling and poked it.

  “Don’t let us keep you,” said Abner. “Bake your bread.”

  “The fire’s too hot.”

  “Put it in.”

  I lifted the board and slid the loaves into the opening.

  Pate had opened the brooch. “Now why on earth would you have use of this?”

  He smeared some on his cheek war-paint style.

  “Only women I know who use this stuff are the girls at the cathouse. You catting for the River Preacher?”

  Abner had turned and gone back into the house.

  “I have money,” I called after him. “Are you looking for money?”

  Pate just stared at me. Abner came out of the house with a dress—the burgundy silk one, suitable for balls. He held it up to himself. “Mmm-mmm.”

  Pate said, “It’d look prettier on her.”

  “You can take the money and go,” I said.

  “Oh, we’ll take the money,” said Pate. He was close to me now. He was touching my face. I stood very still as he pressed the powder onto my cheeks, smeared it across my brow.

  “Please,” I said.

  He grabbed the neckline of my dress and tore it from my shoulder. I could smell the alcohol on him. I thought of Eugene Orpheus, his drunken breath. I thought, If only I had a pitcher.

  But these two wouldn’t be as easily dissuaded as Eugene Orpheus, whose wife slept on the other side of the wall. The nearest neighbors were the Utopians who believed the Lord would come again. I wasn’t expecting the Lord. I prayed only for the return of Erasmus.

  There was a terrible ripping sound as the sleeve came off my blouse. Buttons fell to the ground.

  Abner came toward me and shoved the dress into my face. There was no more kindness in his eyes. “You know who’d own a dress this fancy?” he said. “Mrs. LeFevre. You know what else? Her girl has gone missing. Loudmouthed bitch that don’t appreciate its good fortune in working for a lady. Mrs. LeFevre . . . she’s a lady. Not like you . . . some trash along the shore.”

  Pate had yanked down my skirt. I was wearing no petticoat, only bloomers.

  Abner said, “Put this on.”

  Pate said, “It’s too good for the likes of her.”

  “I’d like to see her in it.”

  Abner thrust the dress into my arms. I could not move. He said, “What are you waiting for?” Roughly, he yanked it over my head. I stuck my arm through an enormous sleeve. Abner fussed with a hook at my waist, but the dress was too small. “Hell,” he said. “You know what else I’d like?”

  Pate squinted at the river. “Get her inside.”

  * * *

  After they’d gone, I lay on my bed in the ruined dress, my knees to my chest, the bread burning in the oven.

  “Aunt Livvie?”

  I turned to see William standing in the door.

  “I stayed in the cave like you told me.” The tremble in his voice told me that he had heard.

  “Good boy.” My voice came out raspy, though I had not screamed the entire time.

  He came closer. “What’s that white stuff all over your face?”

  “Get me a cloth, Willy. Your da will be home soon.”

  He stared.

  “Go on, then.”

  It was nearly evening by the time Erasmus got back. I had washed the white powder from my face, rearranged my hair, and put on a pair of Erasmus’s trousers. William and I were sitting by the smoldering remains of the silk dress in a fire pit on the shore. Erasmus beached his skiff and leapt out.

  “Well, that was a victory!” he said, his euphoria illuminated by the coals. He seemed to have completely forgotten that he’d asked me to keep the boy out of view. “Willy-boy, store the oars. And drag the skiff up, will you? Good laddie.”

  “He is good,” I said flatly, but Erasmus did not notice my tone. “Is she safe?”

  “Safe and on her way. My message to Mrs. Beasley worked.”

  Mrs. Beasley, he said, got word to Rankin after she’d hidden the girl in a secret room, and Rankin sent one of his sons to make arrangements. “They’ll have her up the hill tonight and through the cornstalks by the morning.”

  His face held a flush that bordered on unhealthy. Waving his arms above his head, he danced a jig, singing, “‘We are the light of the world! We are the light of the world!’ Come, Willy-boy,” he said, gesturing to the boy to join him. “Let your light shine that they may see our good deeds and praise our Father in heaven.”

  But William made no move toward his father, who twirled as if enraptured, the alleluias rising and falling, just as Sam Mutton had taught him to excite a crowd, but there was no crowd now, and truly I was scared for him.

  “Stop it, brother,” I said. “Can’t you see he’s had a fright?”

  “Ah, Livvie, you were always one to throw sand upon the flames. What’re you burning there, anyway?”

  “Trash.”

  “Well then,” he said, his rapture now subdued, “what’s for dinner?”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, struggling not to cry. “But I’ve burned the bread.”

  Chapter 23

  1838

  After that day, I took a gun with me everywhere. You’re more than a little jumpy, Erasmus said.

  I said I’d seen a mountain lion. I suspected that if I told him the truth, he’d go off his head.

  To both my relief and disappointment, Abner and Pate did not return, although I waited, sleeping lightly for two weeks, my finger on the trigger. More than likely, they had found others to harass. There had been an attack on an abolitionist in a church in Ripley, the man dragged from his pew. Not long after, a free black man from the Gist settlement had his head smashed in with a brick.

  Erasmus still ferried passengers from shore to shore and from the decks of steamboats. The little money I had left—that
which the brothers hadn’t stolen—was running low, but our encampment began to prosper as word got out that we had a chapel. Each week, a new group of settlers arrived to pray. A few tithed. Many bought eggs or bacon. And when the route inland from Ripley was compromised after an abolitionist named Mahan from Sardinia was betrayed by a Kentucky slaveholder named William Greathouse and later arrested, several more runaways showed up at Enduring Hope.

  Not one to let well enough alone, Erasmus decided to try his hand at further abetting. Giddy from his success in delivering Nelly to the Rankins, he angled to make himself essential to the operation of conducting slaves. In late August, he received a coffin from a steamboat that had embarked in Covington. Hoisting the coffin onto our carriage, he dropped it off at a cemetery just west of Ripley. When he later inquired of Mrs. Beasley as to what had happened to that coffin, and was the corpse still breathing, she gave him a withering look and said, Whatever coffin do you mean?

  For Erasmus to be relegated to a mere link in a chain was nearly unbearable. Because each leg of the journey carried its own secret strategy, we seldom knew for certain who had made it from one station to the next before finally arriving in Canada. Like the man and two children whom Erasmus ferried down to Cincinnati, along with a load of tobacco. The last he saw of them, they were accompanying a tradesman with a wheelbarrow filled with the crop, heading away from the landing.

  The worst thing, Erasmus said, is not being able to tell anyone what I’ve done.

  Thinking there were worse things indeed, I said, And didn’t you preach that very virtue, brother? Shame on you for needing credit now.

  Nevertheless, I shared Erasmus’s enthusiasm for our mission. This is not to say I wasn’t worried, for I was in constant fear—but after Tilly and the fateful visit by the brothers, my heart had hardened against slavery.

  Even worse, I discovered I was pregnant.

  It was Mrs. Beasley, of all people, to whom I went for help the next time I accompanied Erasmus to Ripley.

  She sat very still as I told her what had transpired that day. She was herself a widow, protected by neighbors, but she’d seen the violence. Just two weeks earlier, a woman had been shot in the back.