Martha and the Slave Catchers

by Harriet Hyman Alonso

  “Martha,” her mama called, shaking her by the shoulders. “Martha. What happened? Where is Jake?”

  Martha did not open her eyes until her papa sat her up and shouted at her as if she were deaf, “Where is your brother, Mahthah? Come on. Talk to me!”

  “Dawes,” she managed to whisper. “Dawes took him. I tried to stop him, Papa. I really did. But he got away.”

  As she began to cry, Adam Burke approached.

  “Thee take Martha home quickly, Micah, just in case there’s some danger here for her. I’ll send the alarm out through the Anti-Slavery Societies, and I’ll alert the New London and Providence Vigilance Committees to be on the lookout for him.”

  “Where does thee think he will go?” her mama asked.

  “He must be planning to leave by ship, I would think,” Adam responded. “Going overland to Worcester or Boston or using some of the railroad lines would be too slow and too noticeable. My best guess would be to look to the ports.”

  Martha’s mind was racing. She wanted to ask questions, but her mouth would not form any words. She felt weak and delirious. How would she ever be able to cope with her guilt? It was she and she alone who was to blame for Jake’s kidnapping. As she started to lose consciousness again, she heard her papa’s voice shaking with anger. “The scoundrels must’ve attacked my poor girl.”

  “Take her home, Micah,” Adam insisted. “Call Dr. Wisch while I begin the search.”

  Martha’s papa flinched. “Jake must be terrified. I’m terrified, and he’s just a little boy and not as worldly as other boys his age.”

  Adam Burke hurried off to his buckboard as Martha’s mama and papa helped her up onto theirs. About two hours later, she was home in her bed when her mama led Dr. Wisch into her room. She was barely cognizant, but she recognized him immediately. This was a man she positively did not like. He was loud and boisterous and poked and jabbed her in places where she did not welcome his touch. She recoiled as he approached her, his stale breath just an inch from her nose.

  “Well, what have we got here?” he said as if he were at a town fair. “Martha, are you feeling ill?”

  Martha refused to respond and simply glared at him, so her mama spoke for her. “Martha was attacked by slave catchers and cannot speak. We need her to do so, so she can help us know what happened to her brother Jake.”

  “Well, in cases like this, Friend Sarah, I believe bloodletting would be most effective,” Dr. Wisch said, opening his medicine bag. “Martha, now listen carefully, please. I have a jar of leeches here. I’ll place them on your arms and chest and we’ll bleed you so that bad elements are removed and you’ll feel better and be able to help your mama and papa.”

  Martha trembled. She peered over her blankets at the slimy, black worm-like things and tears welled up in her eyes. She wanted to talk, but she just could not. Surely, her mama would not allow this man to proceed with his treatment. But she did, saying, “This will help thee, Martha, but be brave. I am here with thee.”

  Martha gripped her quilts with both hands, but Dr. Wisch was stronger, and pulled them away from her body. He then opened the jar, took out one of the odious creatures, and placed it on Martha’s arm. She winced. He then took another one and placed it a short distance from the first. As the leeches sucked at her, Martha could no longer remain silent. She screamed, “Get them off me. Mama, help me,” and slapped at her arms, managing to squish one of them and cause a bloody mess. Her mama put her hands over her ears and ran from the room.

  At this moment, Martha was relieved to see her papa enter and quickly take in the scene. Surely, he would not allow this man to mistreat her. This she knew for certain, and she was right. Her papa immediately stopped the medical procedure. “Doctor, this is not helping our Mahthah. She’s hysterical with fear. Please remove the leeches immediately.”

  “But, Mr. Bartlett,” the haughty man responded, “these’ll help your daughter by removing the evil elements that have locked her jaw.”

  “I think, then, you have succeeded,” he said as Martha screamed.

  The physician reluctantly followed her papa’s orders, packed his bag, and harrumphed as he left the room. For the rest of the day, Martha drifted in and out of consciousness. She felt feverish and achy from her fall to the ground when she fainted. Although at times she wanted to jump out of bed to go in search of Jake, her sense of shame and loss crippled her. At those moments, all she desired was to huddle under her quilts and block out everything that had happened. Her heartache was too much for her to bear. To ease it, she mumbled Jake’s name and “It’s all my fault” over and over again.

  When she was awake, she constantly asked her mama or papa, “Has Jake come home yet? I want to see him.”

  All they could say was that they were awaiting news of him. There were search parties all over the state seeking information on his whereabouts.

  The next day, Martha saw her aunt Edith’s friendly face beaming down at her. “Come on, Martha, my dear. It’s time you arose from your bed and helped your mama with her chores. It’ll make you feel better, and she desperately needs your help.”

  Martha looked pitifully at her aunt, then pulled her quilts up over her head. “I can’t, Aunt Edith. I just can’t.” It wasn’t that Martha could not help her mama. She wanted to very much, but she simply could not get her body to work.

  “We need to get you back into action, dear heart. Mary Rogers just arrived. Perhaps she can help you.”

  Mary Rogers, the woman who had nursed Jake when he was an infant, entered the room soon after. Martha liked her warm and nurturing presence but had no appetite for the herbal remedies she offered every time Martha or Jake was sick. Nonetheless, she allowed Mary to gently lift her to a sitting position against her pillows and then accepted her liquid mixture.

  “Here, Martha. Drink this. I’ve made it especially for you. It has several herbs and plants in it . . . St. John’s wort, rose hips, gingko, garlic, ginger, and a hint of mint.”

  Martha took one whiff of the mixture and promptly vomited. That was the end of that.

  While her mama and aunt cleaned her up, her aunt Edith said, “I’ve heard that cold water baths every morning are most healthy and invigorating. Maybe, Sarah, if we gave Martha a cold water bath, it would provide her with the energy to get on her feet and back to her normal, active life.”

  “I am not sure about that,” offered her mama. “It is so very cold outside, Edith. Maybe exposing her to cold water will make her ill.”

  “Please, Sarah,” Aunt Edith said. “Let’s try.”

  The two women left the room and soon after Martha heard the clatter of water being poured into the tin tub in the kitchen. When the noise ceased, her aunt and papa came upstairs.

  “We’re going downstairs to the kitchen,” they insisted, “so you can have a nice cold soak. It’ll make you feel better.”

  By now, Martha really wanted to get on her feet. Her mind was clearing, but something in her spirit had been damaged, making for a debilitating melancholia. So she allowed her aunt and papa to help her down the stairs, where her mama, lost in her own fog, silently awaited.

  “Ah, Martha,” she jolted awake. “Let’s give thee a nice cold bath.”

  Her papa left while her mama and aunt helped Martha to undress and then slid her body into the ice-cold water. In a second, she sprang up and yelled, “No! No! No!” Grabbing a nearby sheet from the laundry pile, she wrapped it around her body, ran upstairs, and dove into her bed. But the shock of the cold water had done its job. Martha’s body was coming back to life.

  As she sat rubbing her legs and arms vigorously to warm them up before getting dressed, her mama came storming into her room.

  “Martha, this is no good,” she raged as Martha had never heard her before. “I cannot tolerate this behavior any longer. Having Jake gone is woeful enough. How can we concentrate on finding him and bringing him home if thee continues like this? I need thy help with the household chores, and I need to stop worrying
about thee.”

  Martha looked at her mama with her own anger and despair. “Jake. It’s always been about Jake,” she said in a low, angry voice, which grew louder as she continued. “Everything is about Jake. Jake. Jake. Jake. What about me? What about how I feel?”

  Her mama gasped. “Thee selfish child,” she chided. “Of course everything is about Jake. He has been kidnapped. Thee is safe.”

  Now that her tirade had begun, Martha could not stop it. Resentment of all the years of taking care of Jake, of guarding him, of doing so many chores around the house burst out of her.

  “You don’t understand, Mama. Everything has always been about Jake.”

  Her mama started to cry. Martha, confused and contrite, tried to comfort her, but her tears would not stop. “I know I have not been a good mama to thee or to Jake. The lies. The fear. I do not have the strength to bear them.”

  Martha pushed the quilts away, grabbed hold of the now damp sheet around her body, and knelt beside her mama. “Mama, please. I’m so sorry.”

  The two cried together until Martha heard the sound of feet rushing up the stairs. Hoping there was news of Jake, she released her mama and ran to the door. But there was no news. It was, instead, Becky.

  “Martha. I’ve been longing to see you . . . Oh, I’m sorry.” She paused. “I’ll come back later.”

  Martha gave her friend a grateful look. “No, it’s fine. Come on in.”

  Her mama, who had been wiping her eyes, got up, gathered herself, and left the room. Martha, embarrassed by her sheet wrapping, climbed back into bed.

  “Is she all right, Martha?”

  “No. None of us is, Becky.”

  “I’ve been so worried about you.”

  “I’ve been a bit ill,” Martha responded, “but I’m getting stronger.”

  “What happened, Martha? The town is full of rumors. Did those wicked slave catchers hurt you?”

  Martha could not deny her need to confess the truth. She was so, so tired of lies. Look how much trouble they caused.

  “I’m so ashamed of what’s happened to Jake, Becky,” she said at long last. “It’s all my fault that he was taken, you know.”

  “Psshaw, Martha. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of. You’re just a thirteen-year-old girl. Well, thirteen and a half. Of course, you don’t look weak and fragile, but, still, you couldn’t fight off a band of slave catchers.”

  “You don’t understand, Becky. I left Jake alone for a few moments to use the privy, and that’s when they took him.”

  Martha took in a deep breath, so relieved she had finally told someone what had really occurred. She knew from overhearing her parents that they believed the slave catchers had hit her over the head and stolen Jake. They had never realized they had found her lying on the ground because she had fainted.

  “Please don’t tell my parents,” she pleaded. “They still don’t know the circumstances. I haven’t told this to anyone before now.”

  Martha was shocked because Becky looked like she was going to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Of course, I’ll keep your secret,” she gulped, “but, Martha, what else could you have done? I mean, when a person has to use the privy, they must tend to that.” Then she cracked a smile, and even Martha had to stifle a little laugh. She, of course, immediately stopped. It was not right to laugh at such a serious matter, she thought.

  “But, Becky, everyone in the town must be blaming me for what happened. I’m too ashamed to face them. People will say mean things, and the children at the school will shun me.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Martha. People admire you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Here you are, not quite an adult. Yet, as we all know, from since you were just six, you’ve been doing a lot of the work taking care of Jake. You showed how much you really love him, even if he is so difficult at times.”

  “I did?”

  “Of course. Everyone is saying how brave you were down in Brooklyn.”

  Martha blinked. She was proud that people saw how much care she had given Jake, but she did not believe she had actually shown him love.

  “All the children and the adults, too, are praising you and praying for you. They’re all talking about that wicked Mr. Dawes and have even said that if he should ever come to Liberty Falls again, they’ll lynch him.”

  Martha’s jaw dropped.

  “Becky, lynching is against the law. And many of the people in our town are Quakers. They don’t believe in violence.”

  “Well, maybe not the Quakers. But lots of folk are grumbling.”

  Martha stared at Becky and remembered her gentle papa’s clenched fists the first time Dawes confronted him.

  “Are you sure, Becky?” she asked. “You know. About people being proud of me. You’re not just saying what my parents asked you to say?”

  “I’m sure, Martha.” Becky paused for a moment. “So? Are you gonna stay in bed and sulk over one mistake?”

  “It was more than a little mistake, Becky. Don’t you agree?”

  “Maybe. But you can’t stay in bed forever. So, are you gonna get moving or not?”

  “I think it’s time I get moving.”

  Martha had been ill for two whole days, and she still did not feel quite right. To get back to normal life would take a bit of effort. Silence prevailed for several more minutes as she gave the idea some thought.

  At long last, Becky asked, “Are you wondering about Caleb?”

  “Yes,” Martha said, barely above a whisper. “How is he?”

  “He’s just fine. Working with your papa as usual. Wondering how you are and worrying about you a lot. He’s been wanting to see you, but, you know, Martha, it wouldn’t be proper for him, being a boy you know, to visit your bedroom. You’re gonna have to get up and go see him. That is, if you ever wanna see him again.”

  “Are you sure he wants to see me?”

  “Oh, Martha, don’t be such a dolt!”

  “He’s not ashamed of me?”

  Becky let out an exasperated sigh. “Martha Bartlett. You have to be the most ignorant girl in the whole of Liberty Falls. C’mon. Get. Up.”

  Martha slowly pushed her quilts off her body until Becky gave them one huge tug and they fell to the floor. Martha laughed. It felt so good.

  “And maybe, Martha? Before you see Caleb? Or anyone? Maybe you should put on some clothes and comb your hair.”

  And with that, Becky gave Martha a big hug and ran out of the room, calling behind her, “See you soon, I hope. I’ve missed you.”

  After Becky left, Martha got up, put on a dress, and combed and plaited her hair. Using the bowl and pitcher of water on her chest of drawers, she took a washrag and wiped around her face. Finally, she put on her stockings and shoes and slowly edged her way down the stairs. Her parents and aunt were elated to see her.

  “Mama. Papa. I’m ready to face the world, but not all at one time. If you don’t mind, I’ll just do my chores for a few days. I’m not ready to go to town or back to school.”

  “That’s fine, Martha. One step at a time,” her mama said.

  “Is Caleb in the woodshop, Papa?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Would you mind very much if I went to see him for a few minutes?”

  “Not at all, Mahthah. Tell him I’ll bring luncheon in a little while.”

  “Thank you, Papa.”

  Martha opened the door to the back of the house. It was freezing, and she could see a new blanket of snow on the ground. She ducked back inside for a shawl and then quickly walked to the woodshop.

  The roaring blaze in the fireplace that greeted her felt wonderful. Caleb, whose back was to her, was sawing a piece of wood for a table he was making.

  “Caleb?” she said softly.

  At the sound of her voice, he spun around. Seeing she was alone, he rushed to her and embraced her, holding her close for several moments as he touched he
r hair and kissed her forehead.

  “Are you all right, Martha?”

  “Not really. But Becky just visited me and has made me feel much better.”

  “I’ve been so worried about you,” he said with great concern. “I asked your folks if I could talk to you, but they said it wasn’t proper for me to see you upstairs and that you couldn’t come down. Did those slave catchers harm you?”

  “No, Caleb. They never touched me. And anyway, it’s all my fault that they took Jake.”

  “How can it be your fault, Martha?”

  “I made it easy for them, Caleb. I took my eyes from Jake for just a few moments to use the privy. But it took too long with all my winter overgarments and my girls’ clothing. I didn’t think they were still around or I would’ve held in my needs. Please, Caleb, don’t tell my parents. Becky knows and you know, but I don’t want anyone else to know.”

  “Martha, you couldn’t know they were still lurking around on the grounds. And you can’t torture yourself like this. You must get on with your life. I promise to keep your secret, though I think it might be better for you to tell your parents. They’ve been sick with worry about you, not to mention their despair over Jake.”

  “I can’t tell them. I’m humiliated and overwrought. If they knew that I had neglected Jake even for a moment, they would never forgive me. Caleb, that one moment, the only time I was ever careless, was the time it mattered the most. Now who knows what’s become of Jake?”

  “The Anti-Slavery Societies and Vigilance Committees are searching for news of him, Martha. They have eyes and ears all over the North and the South. I’m sure they’ll find him. Most likely, Dawes is on his way to his plantation, and your parents or Adam Burke will be able to go and get him.”

  “How? Dawes claims fatherhood. And once in Maryland, Dawes will claim ownership as well.”

  “But he has no proof,” Caleb said excitedly. Apparently, he had given the situation a great deal of thought while she had been wasting precious time in bed. “You know that Jake’s birth mother was a slave, right? But even you don’t know who his father was. Dawes can’t be sure that Jake’s mother was the same woman he’s searching for because she’s nowhere to be found. Correct?”