Martha and the Slave Catchers

by Harriet Hyman Alonso

  Jake shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

  Martha persisted. “You must remember something.”

  “He wasn’t so nice to me, Mattie, and that Will man was even worse. I don’t wanna remember it.”

  The two sat in thought for a while. Then Jake broke the silence.

  “He hit me, Mattie.”

  “Dawes hit you?”

  “No, not him. The Will man. It was right after they took me in the carriage. I tried to get away, and the Will man hit me.”

  “Dawes told him to do that?”

  “No. Mr. Dawes, he made him stop.”

  At that moment, Martha hated Will even more than she had before. But Dawes? He surprised her.

  Jake pulled his bent legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Then he began a soft, slow swaying. “Then on the boat? I tried to push that Will man away and I guess I vexed him something awful ’cause he locked me in the cabin for a long time. It got real dark, and I was so scared and I screamed and yelled. Mr. Dawes, he found me and told that Will man to leave me alone.”

  Again, Martha was surprised that Dawes had shown Jake some compassion, but she was furious at Will. Someday, she promised herself, she would get even with him, even if it was the last thing she ever did.

  Martha gently stroked Jake’s arms and legs. “I’m so sorry, Jake. I shouldn’t have left you alone to use the privy. Not for even a second. All of this is my fault.”

  “It isn’t your fault, Mattie. That Will man is just wicked.”

  Martha turned her face away so Jake would not see her tears.

  “Anyway, Mr. Dawes wasn’t so bad. When I got to the big house, Granma Lucy was there. And when she saw me, she cried and asked him if she could take care of me.”

  “And he agreed?”

  “Uh-huh. He said I was of no use. That I couldn’t understand anything, but maybe she could use me in the kitchen. Told her to keep me outta his sight. I was glad.” He paused for a moment. “Mattie, why do people always say mean things about me? Calling me simple and saying I can’t learn things.”

  Martha hesitated. How could she tell Jake he was somehow damaged in his brain? “It means you’re a special boy, Jake, one that some people can’t appreciate.”

  She knew she had not given a suitable answer, but Jake smiled as if she had praised him.

  Martha redirected the conversation. “Why do you call Lucy ‘granma’?”

  “I dunno. I don’t really know what a granma is. We never had none, right?”

  “That’s so.”

  “Anyway, she told me I was her daughter Mariah’s child and that made me her grandson. I told her she was wrong and that my mama’s name is Sarah.”

  Martha nodded.

  “Well, then she took me to a looking glass. It was really interesting, Mattie. We don’t have one, do we?”

  “No. Mama says it would make us self-loving to always be looking at ourselves. But Becky showed me hers once. It was wonderful.”

  “It sure is. Granma showed me how she and me look a little the same. And she said that because of that, I could call her granma. So I did.”

  “Did you live with her?”

  “Uh-huh. Down with the slaves. Like her. They were all nice to me. I slept on the floor and I lost my shoes and I had no toys. But when I felt sad, she took me on her lap and sang to me and hugged me and I felt better.”

  “I’m so glad you had her, Jake. And she was fortunate to have you, too.”

  “I s’pose. But I missed you, Mattie. And Mama. And Papa. And Caleb.”

  He should know the truth about himself, Martha thought, and he would. As soon as they got home, she would insist that their papa and mama explain it all to him. Maybe that would help her mama get well again, too. For now, though, Martha took hold of his hand and squeezed it. “I missed you, too. We all did. We’ve been looking for you for months.”

  “And that’s why you came to get me? ’Cause you missed me?”

  Martha nodded and took him into her arms.

  “And I don’t wanna remember those wicked men anymore. Is that all right, Mattie?”

  “Yes, Jake. No more remembering.”

  For a few long minutes, they were silent. Then Martha heard a sniffling and felt Jake’s body quiver as he cried for a good long while. When he stopped, he said, “Mattie, I don’t like slavery.”

  “I know, Jake. None of us do.”

  “But I never really knew what it was until now. It was just something Mama and Papa talked about. That it was bad. But I didn’t understand. I don’t wanna be a slave, Mattie. Please don’t let them make me a slave.”

  “Don’t fret so, Jake. We’re going home, and no one will make you a slave. I promise.”

  It took some time for Jake to stop shaking, and for Martha to realize that this was the first time they had ever had a serious conversation. It was a revelation. Yes, he was still not like other children. He could not read and was easily confused by what she said. And yet he had conveyed deep feelings, a great deal of fear, and an unexpected eagerness to forgive and forget. Lucy had recognized Jake’s special qualities. Martha had a lot to learn from her example.

  Late in the afternoon, Martha awoke with a start from another fitful nap. She was so afraid of losing Jake again that she could hardly close her eyes. Looking around anxiously, she spotted him busy playing with something on top of a nearby low stone.

  “What are you doing, Jake?” she asked.

  “I made us some dinner, Mattie.”

  Martha sat up, her foot hurting something fierce. She tried to remove her shoe, but it would not budge. Panic gripped her. How would she ever be able to walk?

  “What’s the matter?”

  “My foot’s real bad. I hope I’ll be able to make it out of these woods.”

  He looked at her with his big eyes. “You will, Mattie. I’ll help you.”

  “I know you will.” Martha paused. “So,” she winced, “what did you make us?” She was imagining a play meal of rocks and leaves, but instead she saw a nicely laid out meal of things she did not recognize.

  “Well, here’re some greens I picked by the water’s edge. Taste real good, like mint. And here’re some huckleberries I found on the ground, and some nuts.”

  “This looks really good, Jake,” she smiled.

  “Granma Lucy was even teaching me to cook, Mattie.”

  “Cook?”

  “Uh-huh. And I like it. Maybe I can cook something for you someday.”

  “I would like that very much, Jake.”

  As Jake sat cross-legged on the ground, Martha gasped. The bottoms of his feet were all cut up. She felt ashamed that she had given no thought to his being without shoes. Blood was slowly oozing from several of the wounds. Even as a child, Jake reacted to pain differently than other children. He might moan when he saw some visible sign of injury, but when he did not, he simply ignored it.

  “What happened to your feet?”

  Martha saw Jake’s puzzled look as he turned the bottoms up and stared at them. “I dunno. Must’ve cut them on those burrs over there near the sweetgum trees.”

  “Sweetgum trees?”

  “Uh-huh. Those over there.”

  Martha looked at the green tree with its hard, spiked fallen fruits surrounding its trunk. There were dozens of them, and Jake had walked among them without a thought to any discomfort he might have experienced. Martha reached for her underskirt and with great effort tore off a large swath of it.

  “Mattie, what’re you doing to your clothes?”

  “I’m gonna make you some shoes.”

  She tore the length of muslin into two long strips and gently wrapped one around each of Jake’s feet. They would at least cushion him from the rocks and sharp burrs.

  “Try ’em out.”

  Martha watched as Jake hopped around on one foot, then the other.

  “They’re very comfortable, Mattie. Thanks.”

  Next, Martha and Jake ate the meal he had prepared and su
cked water from the cloth he dunked in the river time and time again. As soon as it got dark, they once again headed off through the forest. At a semi-clearing near some marshlands, the tall oaks and pines lessened so that Martha could see the sky.

  “Jake, there it is. See it? The North Star. We’re heading in the right direction.”

  Four hours of painful struggle later, Martha’s ankle was so swollen that she could hardly put her foot on the ground. The two crutches that Jake had found for her were a godsend, but they would not hold up much longer. With each step she took, she could feel them bend and hear them crack under her weight. Finally, she touched Jake gently on the shoulder.

  “I need to rest, Jake. Just for a bit and then we’ll move on.”

  The two collapsed behind another huge rock. For some minutes, they listened to the cicadas and crickets, whose loud, eerie songs Martha knew from back home. There were any number of other insect noises she did not know and which gave her the shivers. From time to time, a noise jolted her to attention, but all she saw were a few rabbits hopping by and a beautiful doe with two fawn. Although Martha had not lost her fear of the woods, now she was oddly comforted by them. The thicker the growth, the safer she felt from the slave catchers and their dogs.

  “Jake,” she said as they rested, “wanna hear a few conundrums?”

  “Oh, yes, Mattie. Maybe I’ll guess the answers.”

  Martha knew that Jake could never figure out the answers to these riddles, but he always loved to try.

  “Okay. Here we go. Why is a cook like a barber?”

  Jake thought and thought and then his face lit up. “I dunno. Tell me.”

  Martha had expected this exact reply. This was always how they played the game.

  “Because he dresses hare. Get it? Hare like in another name for rabbit.”

  Jake laughed and then shushed himself. “I get it. Tell me another one.”

  “Okay. What is the difference between a stubborn horse and a postage stamp?”

  “Ummmmmm. I dunno. Tell me.”

  “You lick one with a stick, and stick the other with a lick.”

  Jake laughed so much he had to cover his mouth to muffle the sound. Finally, he giggled, “Tell me another one.”

  “One more and then we have to head off. Why may a slap on the side of the head be considered equivalent in worth to gold?”

  Jake grinned at her again, jumping up and down on his crossed legs like a little spring toy. “Tell me.”

  “Because it makes the ear ring.”

  Martha wondered how Jake could laugh at these conundrums he did not understand. It was the spirit of them, she guessed. He liked feeling part of something, the give and take that did not include being told to be quiet, to sit down, to behave.

  “Time to go,” Martha said as she struggled to her feet and placed her makeshift crutches under her armpits.

  On they went until, close to daybreak, they reached a small open field that ended in a dirt road. Three cows stood under a tree moving only to lower their heads to munch some grass. Across the road was a small red clapboard farmhouse with a yellow quilt hanging on a line strung across two trees.

  “Look, Jake. I think that’s the house Lucy told us to look for. But I don’t think that the quilt was supposed to be yellow, do you?”

  “I’m not sure. But yellow is a happy color, Mattie, so it must be all right.”

  “I guess yellow could be fine because red would mean danger. Right? Red always means danger, doesn’t it?”

  Martha looked at Jake’s puzzled face.

  “We’re not supposed to move around in daylight, Jake, so we should probably wait here until it gets dark. Then maybe we’ll remember the right color.”

  Jake looked unhappy. “But I don’t see anyone around, Mattie, and it’s not that far. I wanna go there.”

  Before she could stop him, Jake took off like a shot.

  “Jake,” she called, “I remember. It’s blue. Blue’s safe, not yellow!”

  But he was too far away to hear her.

  CHAPTER 12

  MARTHA HELD her breath as Jake raced through the field, across the road and into the front yard. She heard a dog bark, and in a snap, Jake raced back across the road, through the field, and directly to his frantic sister.

  “There’s a big, huge, orange dog over there, Mattie. It barked at me and looked mean.”

  “Did you hear it growl?”

  Martha sucked in her lips as Jake carefully thought this point over. “No, but it started coming toward me so I ran away as fast as I could.”

  “Maybe we should wait until it gets dark.”

  “No, Mattie,” Jake whined. “I’m tired and I wanna go to that house.”

  Martha could see no way around this. If Jake had a fit, they were sunk. There was nothing here but that red farmhouse and nowhere else she knew to go. Yellow, red, or blue. It made no difference. She had to make a move now. So, she gathered herself together, stood as erect as she could on her uneven crutches, and put on a brave face.

  “We’ll have to go there, Jake, and face the dog. We have no choice. Pick up a few of those small rocks over there. Maybe we can chase it away and run for the front door.” Jake did as he was told, and they headed off. Her heart pounding, Martha hobbled through the grassy weeds, keeping her ears and eyes alert to any strange sound or movement. All seemed quiet, even the dog. By the time they reached the road, the sun was shining brightly. Still, everything appeared safe.

  As quickly as possible, Martha crossed the road to the front yard. There she and Jake were greeted not by a vicious monster but by a big, friendly golden-orange-haired dog wagging its tail a mile a minute.

  Martha smiled in relief as Jake, fingering the stones he had gathered, tugged on her arm. “Make it go away, Mattie. I’m scared of it.”

  She enfolded his hand in hers. “She looks friendly, Jake. See her tail wagging? I think you can throw those stones away.”

  Meanwhile, the dog started barking and running back and forth between Martha and its doghouse further back in the yard. Martha stopped, not knowing what to do and somewhat fearful that maybe Jake had been right. She had never had a dog at home because of the runaway slaves. A dog might bark and frighten them, just as this one had, or worse, growl and snap at strangers on the property.

  The dog came closer and, taking the bottom of Martha’s dress in its mouth, started tugging her toward the doghouse.

  “Mattie,” Jake whimpered, “it’s trying to bite you.”

  Martha straightened her back and stood her ground. The creature was not growling or baring its teeth. Instead, it kept barking and running back and forth and then tugging on Martha. In the distance, Martha caught the sound of horses’ hooves.

  “I know this sounds peculiar, Jake, but I think the dog wants us to hide in her doghouse.”

  Gingerly, Martha hurried Jake over to the structure. It sure was bigger than any doghouse she had ever seen, and its entrance was higher and rounder.

  Hearing the horses coming closer, she told Jake to lean over and get inside. “Go to the back and be really, really quiet.”

  Before she got down on her hands and knees to follow him, she tossed her crutches away. The dog chased after them, bringing the smaller one back to her. Jake stuck his head out of the doghouse to see what was going on.

  “It wants to play fetch,” he said, scrambling out and grabbing the end of the crutch. The dog pulled from its end.

  “Oh, no,” he laughed. “Now it’s playing tug.”

  The horses were just around the bend of the road, and Martha had to act quickly.

  “Jake,” she ordered him, “just drop the thing and get into the doghouse.”

  Jake hurried inside and Martha dropped to her knees and crawled in after him. The doggy smell of it was almost overwhelming, and it was pitch black except for the opening, which was now almost totally covered by the panting dog. Martha turned her body and huddled next to Jake, hoping the slave catchers would not connect the t
ree branches with crutches.

  Immediately after they settled in, the dog entered the doghouse, made a turn, and lay down with its head and paws sticking out into the sun. It remained totally alert, barking out from time to time.

  Every few moments, its wagging tail swept across Jake’s face, threatening to make him giggle. Martha shushed him as she heard the horses turn into the yard. It sounded like there were at least two of them. Her blood turned to ice as she also heard the braying of the bloodhounds. The golden dog stood up and growled. Jake wrapped both arms around Martha and whimpered.

  “Hello there, boys,” came a woman’s voice and the sound of the farmhouse door opening and banging closed. “What brings you around here?”

  “More than just our usual slave patrol, Miz Holden. We’re looking for two runaways. The dogs brought us right here to your door.”

  Martha thought she recognized the voice as that of Will, but she was not absolutely sure. She gritted her teeth in anger and fright. Then she heard the woman, the one Lucy had told her about.

  “Now you boys know I don’t cotton with no runaways.”

  “We’re just checkin’ anyway, ma’am. Thought you might’ve seen them. Two young ’uns. Maybe fourteen and around seven. A girl and a boy.”

  “Young ’uns on their own? Should be easy to catch, but no, ’taint seen ’em.” She paused for just a second, then added brightly, “Thought you boys might be hungry as usual.”

  “We sure are, ma’am. What’ve you got today?”

  The woman’s footsteps took her to the door, which she opened. “Thanks, Samantha.” Martha heard the door close again and the woman walk close to the doghouse where the dog still stood growling.

  “You know how Samantha’s afraid of the dogs, so she won’t come out. But here, she made you some fresh cornbread and here’s a few pieces of meat for the dogs and one for you, too, Rosie.”

  Martha saw a thin elderly white woman bend down, catch a quick glimpse of the inside of the doghouse, and give the dog the piece of meat. Then she stood up and threw the other pieces to the hounds. They gulped the meat down and brayed in a less threatening manner.

  “Thanks, ma’am. We’ll be off then. Keep this description and let us know if you see ’em. We’ll be by tomorrow as usual.”