Martha and the Slave Catchers

by Harriet Hyman Alonso

  “I see. Who’s your aunt?”

  Martha hesitated. If she said it was Lorraine Perry, this man would assume she was black. But she did not know anyone else’s name.

  “Auntie Lorraine is her name,” she hedged.

  “You mean Lorraine Perry?”

  “Yes,” she muttered.

  Surprised, he said, “So, you’re colored? Let me see.” He lifted the brim of Martha’s bonnet and laughed. “So you are. And lovely, indeed. Free, too. Too bad.”

  Martha was alarmed. “If you tell me the way, I won’t take up any more of your time.”

  “I wouldn’t mind spending time with you,” he said, “but I do have business to attend to. You just walk down this road for about a mile and you’ll see it. It has a long drive with Lombardy poplar trees lining each side.” He doffed his hat once again and added, “Another time, perhaps?”

  Martha blushed and hurried on. She had no idea what a Lombardy poplar tree was, but a long drive should certainly be easy to spot.

  Being from a small town herself, Martha should have remembered that news travels fast—that tongues wag as happily as the tail of a friendly dog. But she had only one thought in mind, and that was to find Jake. So she hurried down the road, getting no further than a quarter of a mile when she heard those horses’ hooves she dreaded so much and saw two frighteningly familiar faces looming above her—Will and Tom, the slave catchers.

  “Well, well, well. Miss Martha Bartlett. Lookin’ for someone?” said Will with a huge leering smile.

  Martha gulped. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

  “Somehow I don’t think so. We’ve been expecting someone from your part of the world, but never in a million years did I think it would be you. Are you alone?”

  Martha ignored the question and turned back in the direction she had come, practically running down the road. But she was no match for the two large men on horseback. Will quickly caught up with her and scooped her up onto his horse, holding her tightly around her waist. Martha could smell the dirt and sweat of his body, and his breath did not please her either.

  “You’d better come with us,” he said. “I’m sure Mr. Dawes will be pleased to see you.” And he laughed that laugh she had heard way back in Liberty Falls the morning after Jake was born.

  Within minutes, Martha saw the drive with the poplar trees, so tall and pretty and shady. A few gallops more, and the LaGrange Plantation house came into view. It was bigger than any house she had ever seen, even the brownstone in Brooklyn, New York. Broad and white with a huge wraparound veranda, it soared up two high stories. Four columns held up the overhanging roof, and rows and rows of paned glass windows lined each floor, the ones on the ground level twice as high as the ones above.

  As Will and Tom dragged her up to the front door, a group of slave children gathered to gawk. They were no older than five, she thought, and all wore drab shabby sack-like dresses that looked to be made of either wool or cotton, Martha was not sure which. None had shoes. She thought about Jake, wondering if he looked wide-eyed and hungry like these youngsters.

  A better-dressed man opened the door and gazed expressionless at Martha.

  “Massa Dawes saw you ride up. He says you should come into the parlor.”

  To Martha, the parlor looked more like a room in the palaces she read about in her schoolbooks. The ceiling was very high and candelabras hung down in several places. The furniture was plush and ornate.

  As she gaped, her mouth open wide enough to catch more than a few flies, she heard another familiar voice.

  “What did you two boys bring me?”

  Martha spun around to see Robert Dawes slumped leisurely in a comfortable club chair, his legs stretching out forever. In his left hand, he held a newspaper. In his right was a drink in a tall crystal glass. Martha wished he would offer her something to wet her parched throat.

  “A little gift from Connecticut, Mr. Dawes. Found her lurking around on the back road from town. Seems strange that she appears to be here by herself.”

  “Thanks, boys. You did fine by bringing her here. Wait outside, and close the door behind you.”

  The two men left, but not before each walked right up to Martha and gave her a big-toothed grin. Then she heard Dawes’s soft, withering voice.

  “I remember you. You’re Jake’s self-proclaimed sister.”

  Martha’s throat clutched as he slowly rose to his feet, towering over her. His brown jodhpurs, white blousy long-sleeved shirt, blue satin brocaded vest, and knee-high leather boots matched the wealth of his home.

  “I’m not self-proclaimed,” she heard herself answer. “I am his sister. Have been his entire life.”

  “I think not,” he responded. “That little boy is my son and my slave, and he belongs to me. But haven’t we been through this before?”

  Dawes was a man like none other Martha had encountered. She hated his arrogance and disdain for other people. As he walked to the window and looked out over his lush green lawn, he added, “I’d ask what you’re doing here and who else came with you, but those’d probably be stupid questions.”

  “I’ve come to get Jake.”

  “I think not,” he repeated.

  “What do you want him for? He’s probably being troublesome.”

  “Not so much now, but certainly on our way here. Almost wore me out.”

  Martha had to laugh. “So let me remove him from you, then.”

  “No.”

  She got serious again. “Why not?”

  “I could answer that I generally don’t give away slaves. After all, what would people think if I did that? Every slave I own would be assuming I’d give them their freedom. But I’m also hoping that with him here, Mariah’ll come back to look for him.”

  Martha could not believe what she’d heard. “She can’t do that. The woman who birthed Jake is dead. And none of us knows for sure if she was this Mariah you keep talking about.”

  His body tensed. “She’s dead?”

  “The woman who had Jake died in childbirth. She’s buried back in the town cemetery.”

  “I was thinking maybe you folks were hiding her somewhere or maybe she had gone up to Canada.”

  “Why would she have left her baby behind? And anyway, maybe your Mariah wasn’t Jake’s mother.”

  “Yes, she was. He looks just like her. Even her own mama can see that.”

  “This is all beside the point,” Martha changed the topic and spoke in a more childlike manner. “Now that you know she’s gone, can I please have Jake? Then I’ll leave.”

  “No. He may be of value to me someday. To sell. To use here. I don’t know.”

  “Jake can’t do much. Surely, you’ve noticed that he’s slow and doesn’t learn things well, if at all. Anyway, we offered to purchase him. Isn’t our money good enough for you?”

  Martha caught Dawes’s confused and saddened look before he turned away. For some moments, he ignored her, taking time to pick up his now empty glass, fill it again from a decanter on a nearby table, gulp the liquid down, and refill it again. Martha felt a chill as he strode so close to her that she could smell something strong and unfamiliar on his breath and see how his eyes had become unfocused. Was what he was drinking spirits? Her mama and papa had warned her about the evils of alcohol. It was not permitted anywhere in Liberty Falls.

  “How old are you, Martha? Thirteen, fourteen?”

  “I’ll be fourteen next month,” she responded.

  “Ah,” he said. “That was Mariah’s age when I first realized how attractive she was. Every time she was near me, I wanted to reach out and touch her, but she acted as if I repelled her. The more she shrank away, the more I wanted her.”

  As he moved closer, Martha took a step back. Every nerve in her body buzzed with fear. Should she run for the door? Were Will and Tom guarding it? Hoping he would not notice, she began to slowly inch her way across the room, making her steps as tiny as she could.

  “You know,” he sai
d softly, “I loved Mariah. She was so beautiful, not just in her body, but her spirit, too. She had a glow about her.”

  Martha had never heard such intimate sentiments come out of the mouth of any man. She was shocked and frightened and had no idea how to respond to him. Then she remembered Adam Burke saying that slave owners had a different way of thinking than other people and that to communicate with them, a person had to speak their language and play their game. Frantically seeking the right words, she sputtered out, “Well, if you loved her so, why didn’t you free her? Then you could’ve courted her and maybe she would’ve come to reciprocate your feelings.”

  Dawes leaned his head back and laughed. “You’re sure one innocent girl. First, I couldn’t marry a colored girl, a slave no less. Second, I was already married with three boys of my own. Third,” and here Martha heard him take in a long breath, “if I freed her, she would have left me. She hated me.”

  She almost felt sorry for this man who so obviously had passionate feelings for Jake’s mother. Almost, but not quite. She screwed up her courage and tried to imitate the cool, sophisticated manner in which Caroline Smith spoke. Maybe that would make him move away from her.

  “Surely not, Mr. Dawes. You’re a most attractive man, and you have lots of money. Maybe if you’d been nice to her, she wouldn’t have hated you.”

  Dawes took another long drink from his glass while Martha’s own throat burned with thirst. At last he said, “It’s of no matter now. I wanted her, and so I set out to take her. When she refused me, I threatened to whip or even sell her mother. So she complied. When she became with child, my wife, who knew what I was up to, demanded I sell her. That’s why Mariah ran away.”

  “Maybe she ran away so that her child—and your child—wouldn’t be a slave.”

  Martha jumped as Dawes angrily shouted, “Why am I telling you these things? What kind of Northern witch are you?”

  She looked down and continued her minute steps toward the door. Dawes stared at her for some moments in deep thought. “You know. You remind me a bit of Mariah.” Martha shuddered as he once again gained ground on her. “You’re not thin like her, but you are young and innocent and you do have intriguing curves.”

  Martha froze as he placed his face next to hers, his breath hot on her cheek. He traced his long thin finger down her face and cheeks, and then further down her neck. She leapt away, her heart thumping so hard she thought it would burst through her skin.

  Dawes laughed again. “Ah, little Martha. What am I going to do with you now?”

  Martha’s voice shook. “Let me go back to the town with Jake. After all, you don’t want your wife to see me, do you?”

  “She’s not here. Takes the children up to the Virginia mountains in this heat.”

  “Has she seen Jake?”

  “Not yet. I know she won’t be happy when she does. She’ll probably insist I sell him right away. She hated Mariah. In fact, she hates all the young slave girls. If she had her way, I would sell them as soon as they reached ten.”

  Again, he laughed. Martha was appalled. Dawes’s scary behavior added urgency to her quest. She needed to get Jake and herself away from him as quickly as possible.

  Dawes, meanwhile, continued with his drinking. Martha saw him stumble before saying, “Until I can figure out what to do with you, I need to keep you someplace where you won’t cause any more trouble.”

  He opened the parlor door and called in Will and Tom. “Take her to the woodshed out back and bar the door so she can’t get out.”

  Will looked gleeful. “Chain her up?” he asked.

  “That’s not necessary. And don’t you boys rough her up or anything. I just need time to think.”

  “Mr. Dawes,” Martha pleaded frantically, “don’t do this. The law will be coming to look for me real soon. You’ll be in deep trouble.”

  “You don’t understand, Martha. In LaGrange, I am the law.”

  Within minutes, Martha found herself tossed into a small, dark, musty storehouse with just one tiny window near the ceiling way above her head. There were no lamps, no furniture, nothing but a few sawed-up logs and some old sawdust scattered around the floor. She rushed to the door and pushed, pulled, and pounded on it but it was all to no avail. She shouted until she was hoarse and then broke down in tears. What was there for her now?

  For the rest of the day and into the night, Martha huddled on the floor, away from the ants crawling over the logs. She was hungry, thirsty, hot, then cold, and terrified, especially by the footsteps that crossed the door’s path several times, paused, and then continued on. She welcomed the light from the full moon that eventually made its way across the sky and shone in the small window. At least then she could make out her own fingers as they nervously twisted through her hair, loosening her plaits. What a mess she had created! Now she was the one who needed rescuing.

  Finally, sometime late into the night, she heard the bar being quietly removed from the door. As it opened, she saw the outline of a tall, thin woman come limping in. When the fading moonlight lit her face, Martha gave out a scream and then quickly covered her mouth with her hands. The woman standing before her looked exactly like the runaway slave who had come to her house the night that Jake was born. She would never in a million years forget that face.

  “Chile, you look like you seen a ghost,” said a soft voice.

  “Who are you?”

  “Can’t you tell? I’m Lucy, Jake’s granma. But you thought I was Mariah, didn’t you?”

  Martha’s heart beat quickly and her breath came in short gasps. “Yes,” she replied. In the dim light, she could see her mistake. This woman was much older than the girl she remembered.

  Lucy stepped closer and gave Martha a hard look. “I didn’t expect to see a colored girl. Jake keeps talkin’ about his family being white.”

  “Yes. Well. It’s a long story.”

  “We don’ have time for no long stories.”

  At that moment, Martha caught the whiff of smoke and ashes. “What’s that smell?”

  “A fire in town. Started at Lorraine Perry’s and spreading like wild fire.”

  Martha was horrified.

  “You know, don’t you,” Lucy said. “Massa Dawes wanted to send a message to us all.”

  “Is Mrs. Perry all right?”

  “I dunno. Won’t know ’til morning. But she has no home now and no livelihood, that’s for sure.”

  Martha was so ashamed she could not look Lucy in the face.

  “We don’t have but a little bit of time,” Lucy said. “Here, drink this water. Fast.”

  As Martha gulped down the liquid and ate a piece of cornbread, the older woman said, “I have to get you outta here. But first I need to know about my Mariah. I heard tell you told Massa Dawes she’s dead.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  “I was just a little girl, Miss Lucy. Just six. She came to our house to hide on her way further North. My parents and aunt and uncle took her up to the attic. She was in great pain. I was peeking from my bedroom and she looked at me. Just one look. She tried to smile, but then another pain came.”

  Lucy’s eyes filled with tears. “Then what?”

  “I heard lots of moans and then after a long time a scream. Then nothing until finally I heard a baby cry.”

  By now the tears were streaming freely down Lucy’s cheeks. “She was such a beautiful chile. About your age when that monster started pushing hisself on her. Just fifteen or so when she became with chile. Just a chile herself.”

  Martha remained silent while Lucy took time to wipe her eyes.

  “I ’member he even gave her a beautiful red silk embroidered shawl. I tole her to give it back, but she wouldn’t. She’d never had anything so precious before.”

  Martha gave a loud gasp.

  “What’s the matter?” Lucy asked.

  “I saw that shawl the night she came to our house. Oh, Miss Lucy, I’m so sorry.” She quickly added, “My papa
and uncle buried her and said prayers for her.”

  “That’s good,” Lucy responded.

  After a moment, she knelt by Martha and took her hands. “We’ll have only a short time to get you and Jake outta here. So we gotta hurry.”

  “Where is he, Miss Lucy? How is he?”

  “He’s fine. When he first got here, he was silent and angry. But Massa Dawes let me take care of him, said to teach him about the kitchen. He been better since then. He’s a good boy.”

  “Really?”

  Lucy gave a small smile. “A real good helper. And smart.”

  “Smart?”

  “I been teaching him about herbs and such. He takes to it good.”

  Martha was so surprised she could think of nothing to say.

  “Anyway, we need to go now. Jake is waiting for us in the woods behind the house. Hurry up.”

  “Where am I going? Will we meet Moses?”

  “Moses done left hours ago. She had five others waiting to run and no one could find you. Come on.”

  A confused Martha followed Lucy to the back of the house, and there was Jake. He was wearing the clothes that he had on the day he was kidnapped. They were a bit ragged but clean and now too short for him. He was barefoot, his shoes somehow gone missing. Other than being somewhat taller, he looked the same. Not underfed, as she had expected. Not black and blue. For sure, Lucy had protected and cared for him as best she could.

  When he saw Martha, Jake ran to her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

  “Mattie. Mattie,” he sobbed. “Why did you let him take me?”

  “I’m so sorry, Jake,” she sobbed in turn. “But I’ve come for you now. To take you home. We can talk about everything later, but now we have to be quick and leave.”

  “But I don’t wanna leave my granma. Can she come with us?”

  Martha looked at Lucy. She liked the idea of having this person who knew the way out come along with her. “Yes, will you come, Miss Lucy?”

  Lucy knelt down next to Jake and took him into her arms.

  “Chile, I can’t go with you. Not with my bad leg. And I’m too old to make the journey.”