Martha nodded eagerly. And so they sang the song that Martha loved so much because it connected her so tightly to her papa:
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Comin’ for to carry me home.
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Comin’ for to carry me home.
And Jake joined in, “. . . low . . . home . . .”
After they finished the song, Martha wondered, as she often did, what had happened to Jake’s mother after she left the South. Why was she all alone when she got to Uncle Jonah and Aunt Edith’s house? Did she get left behind because she was having a baby? Or was she always alone? Maybe if someone had stayed with her, she would be alive and Jake would be in her arms and not in Martha’s papa’s, as things should be.
Once Jake had dropped off to sleep, Martha’s papa stood up and lifted him tenderly in his arms.
“Time to head home, Mahthah. Your mama will be wondering what happened to us.”
Martha got up and shook the grass off her skirt.
“Papa,” she asked tentatively, “why is Mama always so sad and fretful?”
“It’s nothing, my darling daughter. She is just concerned is all.”
“About Jake?”
“Uh-huh.”
“But why? He’s safe with us, isn’t he?”
“Of course, Mahthah. But she hears stories sometimes about slave catchers, and they frighten her. And also, she doesn’t like to lie to people about where Jake came from.”
“But people don’t really ask questions anymore, do they?”
“Most don’t,” her papa said. “But there’re still a few who stare at him and talk behind our backs. That’s why she prefers staying home where she feels safe.”
Martha thought about that for a while before speaking again. “Sometimes she seems angry at me, Papa. Doesn’t she love me anymore?”
Martha’s papa paused at the edge of the field and looked down at her with sorrow. “She loves you very much, Mahthah. She’s just preoccupied. It’s not just the slave catchers that worry her. It’s also that it seems that Jake might not be growing up like normal children, and she doesn’t know how to help him. She’s worried that she’s doing something wrong that’s harming him somehow.”
“Maybe that’s why some people still notice him,” Martha said.
“Maybe,” her papa responded. “In any case, she keeps to herself. It’s just easier for her that way.”
Martha chewed the inside of her cheek as she thought this through. “Do you mean she frets because Jake doesn’t seem to learn and is so jittery and can’t sit still?”
“That and other things. You know how he is. He doesn’t seem to understand the simplest instructions and he can’t do the simplest things. Like holding a spoon the correct way. Or even making the easiest words into a sentence. And the way he moves his hands all the time, the same movement over and over again. And his swaying back and forth. Those sorts of things.”
“Is that why she always makes me watch him? She thinks I can maybe teach him something?”
“No. I don’t think she believes a girl can do better than a mama, even when that girl is good and responsible like you.” He chucked Martha under the chin and gave her a big fatherly smile. “I just think that her feelings get low and Jake’s running around and shrieking all the time tire her out.”
“And she feels bad about it?”
“You’re very smart, Mahthah. And exactly right. And she needs your help, so she asks for it.”
Martha moved her teeth from her inner cheeks to her lips.
“I’ll try to help more, Papa, but it’s hard.”
“I know. And I also know that somewhere down the road, Jake will grow out of this stage and be like any normal boy.”
Martha sure hoped so. Meanwhile, the two walked slowly to the house, Martha looking down at the ground to hide her tears.
The one saving grace for Martha was that Becky had become her friend and a big help every Saturday and Sunday when the family went to town and they met up. There on the village green, they sat together, playing with their dolls or with Jake, pretending he was the baby. Jake, however, did not appreciate having to stay quiet and being swaddled like an infant. Once he mastered walking and then running, they had to change their games to suit him. Still, with Becky beside her, Martha had fun. The two friends chased Jake around or rolled a ball to him, which he could not catch even when he was four, then five. He was just all thumbs and constantly confused, turning this way and that, trying to figure out what he was supposed to be doing.
More often than not, Martha got tired of trotting after him or entertaining him, especially when she wanted to share secrets with Becky. So one Sunday when he was three, she got what she thought was a bright idea.
“Hey, Becky. I brought this piece of rope with me. I figure we can tie it around Jake’s waist and then he can run around, but not run away.”
“You are some pumpkins, Martha,” she said as they fastened the long rope around Jake and then around the tree they were sitting under. Once they were sure he was secure, they got seriously involved in their game of cup and ball. Every so often, Martha glanced around to check on her brother or to accept some treasured leaf or rock he offered as a gift.
“Mattie,” he would say, using his nickname for her. “Yook.”
“Very nice, Jakey,” she would answer and then hug him. “Now go play. Becky and I are busy.”
Just as Martha tossed up the ball on its string and angled her cup under it for her winning point, she heard a familiar sound, one that reminded her of the day Jake was born—horses’ hooves along with deep male voices laughing.
“Martha,” Becky stammered, “I think those wicked slave catchers are back. They sometimes come through town like we live way out on the frontier. Why are they here, do you think?”
Martha started to gently pull Jake in by the rope. He had wandered way out to the full length of his tether, and the men had stopped and dismounted close to him.
“Well lookee here,” Martha heard the bigger one say. “A little boy on a rope. Think he’s a caught fugitive, Tom?”
“Might be, Will. Let’s take a closer look.”
As the two men moved toward Jake, Martha gave the rope a tug so hard that Jake fell and began to cry.
“Maybe you better run to the meeting house, Becky, and get my folks.”
Becky nodded and took off at top speed. As she turned to look back, Martha saw her collide with Caleb, now at age twelve a reedy, gawky-looking farm boy.
“Whoa!” she heard him say. “What’s the rush?”
“Slave catchers. Over there with Jake and Martha.”
“What’s the big deal? They have nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not so certain. I gotta go get Martha’s parents.” And she ran away as fast as she could.
Martha glanced nervously at Caleb as she knelt by Jake and wiped the tears from his eyes, the snot from his nose, and then held him close. “Go away,” she told the two men. “You’re giving him a fright.”
Will winked at his partner, leaned over Jake and Martha, and bellowed, “This boy does look kinda brown to me.”
“Well, he’s the same color as me,” Martha bellowed right back. “We’re white. Go away!”
Caleb took this moment to stride over to the scene.
“Martha,” he said in an agitated voice, “our folks told me to come and fetch you. It’s past time to go home. Said you’d be in big trouble if you don’t get a move on.”
He reached for Jake and removed the rope. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, “my brother and sister have to leave now.”
Martha was flabbergasted but she caught on right away to Caleb’s ruse.
“Sorry, Caleb. I lost track of time.”
Martha could tell that Caleb was having fun now with his role as rescuer. “Well, Mama and Papa are gonna tan your hide if we don’t hurry. And they’re gonna be vexed that you tied him up like a slave.”
Martha opened
her mouth in protest, then promptly shut it. Had she really done that?
Caleb lifted Jake, and he and Martha hastened across the village green, leaving the two men dumbfounded. They were so loud, however, that Martha clearly heard their ongoing conversation.
“You know, Tom, those two kids have a lotta gumption, but something about them doesn’t smell right. Anyways, I’m tired of this town. Dawes keeps sending us back here, convinced he’ll find that young filly, but I’ve never seen hide nor hair of anyone fitting her description.”
“Me neither,” added Tom. “And we won’t neither’ cause these Connecticut Yankees know how to hide their runaways or pass ’em on north.”
“You’ve got a point. I say we quit this town and head back home.”
“For now, though, I’m mighty hungry,” Tom said as the two men mounted their horses. “Let’s go find some grub. We passed a place a few towns back. And maybe we can get us a good wash. I really need one.”
“I’ll say,” responded Will as he slapped his horse on the rump with his reins.
As Martha and Caleb crossed the main road to the meeting house, the two men passed in front of them, waving their hats and grinning like hyenas as they headed south.
“A good direction for them,” muttered Caleb.
“Thank you so much, Caleb. That’s the second time you’ve come to Jake’s rescue.”
“It’s nothing.”
Martha was relieved that the slave catchers’ affront had not fazed Jake in the least. Right then, he was busy getting a better look at Caleb. He patted Caleb’s cheeks and hugged him around the neck, enjoying, as Martha herself did, the earthy smell of hay and cows that clung to his hair and clothes.
“Here. Let me take him,” Martha offered.
“Nah,” Caleb replied. “I’m used to young ’uns. My brothers and sisters climb all over me when we roughhouse. But this skinny little fella sure feels light. He’s just a little splinter. I like him.” Much to Martha’s surprise, Caleb gave Jake a big hug.
After that, on Sundays when Caleb came to town, he often stopped by during Becky and Martha’s visits. Martha was grateful that he sincerely liked to entertain Jake, and Jake responded with enthusiasm. As soon as he spotted Caleb, he ran to him, his arms reaching to be picked up for a hug and maybe even a ride on his shoulders. Martha wished she was young enough to do the same because even though she was only nine, she found Caleb interesting and exciting.
“Becky,” Martha asked her friend soon after the episode on the village green. “What’s it like to have an older brother?”
“It’s fine, but he can be pretty bossy. Like you are with Jake.”
“Oh.”
“Martha,” Becky ventured, “can I ask you something?”
“Sure. We’re best friends, aren’t we? You can ask me anything.”
“Yeah.” She paused. “I heard my parents say your folks hide runaway slaves. Is that true?”
Martha bit her lower lip and played with her hair as she considered her response carefully. What should she do? Tell the truth? After all, Becky was her best friend. Couldn’t she trust her? Tell a lie like the ones that bothered her mama so? Neither? Slightly confused, she decided to do neither. Instead, she answered the question with one of her own.
“Sakes alive! Why did they say that?”
“Caleb told them about what happened the other week on the green.”
“Oh.”
“They wondered if your parents were attracting those wicked men to the town.”
“My parents wouldn’t do that.”
“No. I didn’t think so.”
“Don’t your parents hate slavery, Becky? Almost everyone around here does.”
“Yeah, they do. But they don’t get involved. You know what I mean? They say it’s too dangerous. They just mind their own business.”
“Just like my folks,” Martha responded. “They just mind their own business, too.”
Martha was happy to end the query. She had led Becky away from her main concern so easily that her friend seemed to lose track of her own question. And as for Martha, she felt relieved that she had not given away any secrets nor told any lies. But this keeping secrets business was getting really, really hard.
CHAPTER 5
IN SEPTEMBER 1850, Martha skipped to school every day as happy as could be. She was now ten years old and ready for new and harder subjects. While it was true that sooner or later she would have to go to a larger school with separate grade levels, for now she could enjoy the safety of her small, comfortable one-room schoolhouse.
Other parts of her life were going smoothly as well. For months, there had been no sign of the slave catchers. Jake, at four, was less frantic. He sat still during his meals before bolting off for here and there. He dressed himself, although many days he put his pants or shirt on backward and Martha had to turn them around. His conversation was basic, but at least he was talking and making sense. Best of all, her mama was less fretful and spent more time on Jake’s care. All these things gave Martha new opportunities to be with Becky and to pursue their newest passion—knitting. Her mama had taught her to knit and purl over the summer, and at the moment, she was making a nice warm scarf for her papa.
One beautiful day as she skipped and sang on her way to school, Martha spotted the new issue of The Liberator on a chair in front of Adam Burke’s store. Always curious, she stopped to look at some of the headlines. “The Law to Catch Men” immediately drew her attention. Something about it made her shiver involuntarily. Just then, Adam Burke came outside.
“I see thee finds my newspaper interesting, Martha,” he said.
“I always enjoy looking at the story titles.” She pointed to the article in question. “But, Mr. Burke, what does this one mean?”
“Ah. It’s a bad day for us all. A new law just passed that gives slave owners and slave catchers the right to go anywhere in the nation and reclaim fugitives. It even says they can claim someone they think is a fugitive, and that person will need a lot of people to attest they are not.”
Martha did not totally understand what Adam Burke meant, but she was late for school, so she bid him a good day and hurried off. Still, an unwanted worry entered her mind. Something about this new law felt like a threat to her, but she could not figure out what it was, except Jake’s face kept appearing before her eyes.
As Martha entered the school, Miss Osgood gave her a severe look.
“You’re late, Miss Martha Bartlett. What’s your excuse?”
“Sorry, Miss Osgood. I just stopped to say hello to Adam Burke.”
“Well, sit down. And, Martha, plan on visiting Mr. Burke after, not before, school.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Martha was distracted the entire morning. What did Adam Burke mean? Didn’t Connecticut have laws protecting runaway slaves? That’s what her papa told her. And what did that mean when it came to Jake? Papa said Jake was free because he was born in Connecticut. So why was she so concerned all of a sudden? She puzzled over this even as Miss Osgood talked about the plans for next year’s seventy-fifty anniversary celebration of the Declaration of Independence, something she was very, very interested in.
As Miss Osgood dismissed the children for luncheon, Martha looked up, confused. How had the morning passed so quickly? Slowly, she piled up her books and took out the cloth with her bread, cheese, and apple wrapped in it. As she stood and looked for Becky, who had to gather three of her younger siblings to look after, Miss Osgood’s voice startled her.
“Martha, is something wrong?”
“No, ma’am,” she mumbled.
“Your head’s been in the clouds all morning. What is it?”
Martha looked at her teacher thoughtfully, weighing just what she could or could not say. Miss Osgood was about the same age as her mama and had the same gentle way about her, but Martha had never heard her say anything at all about slavery. Should Martha say anything then? Sometimes the whole situation simply perplexed her.
Just to be on the safe side, she said, “It’s nothing, Miss Osgood. Truly.”
“Well, all right, then. I’ll see you after luncheon.”
Martha caught up with Becky as she was cleaning up her food scraps while keeping an eye on her brothers and sister.
“What was all that about?” Becky asked.
Again, Martha hesitated. Becky also spoke little about slavery, except to say she was against it, but her parents felt it was none of their concern. Martha bit her lip and repeated what she had said to Miss Osgood.
“It’s nothing, Becky. Truly.”
The afternoon went no better than the morning. Even when reciting her multiplication tables, Martha’s mind kept drifting back to what Adam Burke had said. “It’s a bad day for us all.” He had indicated that the slave catchers might be back, and more of them. And slave owners, too. And there would be nothing anyone could do about it. Martha could not help being frightened of those two slave catchers who had threatened Jake and of someone finding out about the secret surrounding him. Surely no one would come looking for one troublesome little boy, would they?
Martha walked home alone rather than running along with Becky and her rambunctious gang. As she passed Adam Burke’s store, she saw a large notice tacked on the door:
EMERGENCY MEETING TONIGHT.
8 O’CLOCK.
REGARDING THE NEW FUGITIVE SLAVE LAW.
FRIENDS’ MEETING HOUSE.
A large group of men and women had encircled Adam Burke and were discussing the news.
“This is a wicked, wicked law,” said one.
Another responded, “And just months before the seventy-fifty anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. How could those who profess to love liberty and equality pass such an abomination?”
Martha picked up her pace, distancing herself from the crowd. This was scary indeed, and all she wanted was to get home as quickly as possible.
As she entered the parlor, however, she saw her mama and papa huddled on the sofa over a copy of the same Liberator as she had seen earlier. They were whispering earnestly to each other.
Martha and the Slave Catchers Page 4