He was so tall that his legs from the calf down hung over the edge of the straw-made bed. He was comely, wide, bright eyes and full mouth, despite the pain contorting his face. Winnie paused before moving to the bedside, trying to reconcile the ugly distortion on such a wonderfully made face.
“Jesus, help,” her mother whispered, and moved to the edge of the cot. She knelt, rolled up her sleeves, and began to examine the man. The man flinched like he expected a blow instead of help. It took little time for her mother to finish her examination. From where she stood, Winnie could see the man’s injury.
Blood stained the side of his pant leg. There was a small tear in the fabric where the bullet had entered his leg.
Winnie moved to fetch water to clean the wound from a small pail Pastor Matthew filled every night. They never knew when a fugitive might show up. The frequency had increased once Pastor Matthew visited Philadelphia. He never said, but she suspected it had something to do with his meeting with William Still. Not only had fugitive arrivals increased. Winnie had more than once been handed a tightly folded note from slaves accompanying their masters as they visited at the Madison house. The hushed instruction was always, “Pastor Matthew.”
At first, she was confused, but she soon learned from Pastor Matthew that those notes brought news from the Southern plantations and that he would deliver the notes to escaped slaves in the North. Now, they had at least one fugitive a month in the cellar, and she expected a note every time the Madisons had company. Tonight was unusual for them to have so many fugitives at once.
“Winnie, I’ll be needing bandages and shears too.” Concern tightened her mother’s voice.
Winnie set the basin of water on a small desk. Beside the desk was a wooden cabinet. She opened and retrieved cut strips of fabric for bandages. Healing supplies often proved more valuable than even safe passage.
Runaway slaves would arrive shot, like this man, sometimes snake-bitten, thirsty, hungry, and sick. It often took all Winnie and her mother’s skill to nurse them back to health before they could continue north to freedom. Some of them never made it and died under their care. The quest for freedom ended their lives, and they were buried outside the church under nameless headstones.
Her mother held out her hand for the bandages without looking away from the man. Winnie placed the supplies in her mother’s hands and retrieved her notebook.
She took a quick peek out of the window to see if there was any light in the main house. Seeing none, she kneeled at the bedside, the familiar position igniting prayer in her heart. Lord, give him some comfort. “Sir,” she began quietly. “What is your name?”
The man looked at her, his expression fuzzy with pain. “Hiram.” His voice rumbled, but with the slightest hitch, like he fought to get the word out.
She wrote his name, along with a sketch of his physique. Over six feet, probably two hundred pounds, very dark. His hair looked black, but she could get a better look once the sun rose. If he survived. She stole glances at the wound as her mother struggled to stop the bleeding.
“My name is Winnie. This is my mother, Ms. Phoebe. You’ve met Pastor Matthew. Do you have a last name?”
He shook his head.
“Me either.” The man gave her a look of understanding. She was a slave like he was. But judging from the scars on his arms, their experiences were very different. Winnie had never been beaten by her owners. Worked until she nearly collapsed, but never struck. “Were there others with you?”
“Left with three. Don’t know where they be. We got separated.”
She scooted a little closer and kept her voice steady and low. “Where did you run from?”
At this question, he looked at each person in the room in turn, distrust in his eyes.
She lowered herself closer to the floor and arranged her skirts around her. “’Tis all right, Hiram. You are safe here.”
He held his intense gaze on her so long that she started to feel uncomfortable, but she did not look away. He opened his mouth to answer when pounding on the door interrupted them. They all startled.
A loud voice shouted from outside. “Open up!”
Winnie’s mother glanced over her shoulder. “Slave catchers.”
Pastor Matthew moved to the door. “Probably followed him here. They have a hound.”
Winnie’s pulse raced as he left the room. She jumped up and blew out the lantern with a quick breath. She crept over to the window that gave her a view of the front of the church, careful to stay completely in the shadows. The slave catcher stood a little shorter than Pastor Matthew, wearing a black hat. The catcher’s hand rested on the butt of the pistol at his side.
“I need that light, Winnie,” her mother said, hands still working on bandaging Hiram’s leg.
“If he sees the light, he might come ’round looking.”
Her mother grumbled something but Winnie could not make it out over her thundering heart.
In the darkness, she prayed for Pastor Matthew like she had every other time slave catchers showed up at the church. Jesus, give him the right words to say. She also prayed that God would distract the slave catchers and hoped they had not run out of God’s favor.
Hiram stayed as still as he could even when Ms. Phoebe pressed a clean rag to his leg. He clenched his teeth to keep from groaning. He could not muffle his heartbeat, which pounded so loud in his ears that he thought everyone in the room and the slave catchers must hear it.
The banging came again, louder, and Hiram’s fear rose with it. If he was caught…He could not go back. Although these people seemed kind, they could turn on him. He knew it well. He and his three traveling companions had been too trusting with the slaves they had met in Virginia. The three had stumbled across shanties on the edge of a plantation, weary and looking for rest. That was what they thought they had found, but while they slept in the barn the other slaves had alerted the owners of the plantation.
He would have suspected betrayal from these people too, except for the lovely woman kneeling at his bedside. Winnie. He had heard stories of Negroes helping others reach freedom. That horrible night in Virginia made it hard to believe. He couldn’t, wouldn’t have believed it until now. What beautiful help. Winnie’s deep, soulful eyes held a sparkle of smarts and the warmth of compassion. And she had not flinched at the sight of his wound. Hiram could not have dreamed after all the pain he had suffered since he left Virginia that he would end up with such an angel at his side.
Pastor Matthew slipped out the door. They all listened in silence as his footsteps sounded through the sanctuary. Hiram measured out the length of the walk, remembering how the pastor had dragged him down the center aisle. When the bullet tore through his leg, Hiram’s hope of continuing his journey north died. Certain he could no longer outrun the slave catchers, he had lain down in a soft bed of moss in a copse of trees, panic replacing the frenzy of outrunning the slave catchers.
He had offered one more prayer for help, only to have it answered almost immediately when Pastor Matthew stumbled through the brush, hoisting him up and pulling him into a shallow ditch. They waited in silence for what seemed an eternity before they moved down the hill to a church. Hiram fought to keep from crying out from the pain. Pastor Matthew, in a hushed voice, urged him on with gentle words and firm steps.
The church’s front door opening echoed through the empty sanctuary.
“Good evening.” He heard Pastor Matthew’s polite greeting and marveled at the man. How could he stay so calm when he was harboring fugitives? No matter that he was a pastor, it would not shield him from danger. In the slave catcher’s eyes, he was just another Negro.
A louder voice demanded that he be allowed to take a tour of the church to ensure that the escaped slave he was tracking was not hiding there. The slave catcher’s voice had a childlike squeak to it that, if he was not a slave catcher, Hiram might have found amusing.
More words were exchanged, but Hiram couldn’t hear. A soft whisper caught his attention. He loo
ked at Winnie. The moonlight from outside gave the room enough light to see her in the darkness. She had bowed her head, eyes closed, and her lips moved with the slightest of sound. Hiram’s hope rose a little more. As he looked around the room, he realized that both women were deep in prayer. He decided to join them and closed his eyes. Savior, You carried me this far; keep me and these good people safe.
After a time longer than was comfortable, the front door closed and Pastor Matthew returned. He motioned for them to remain silent. After a long stretch—Hiram lost track of time with the pain drawing his attention—Pastor Matthew relit the lantern.
“He is gone.” Pastor Matthew wiped his brow with his sleeve. “I showed him my papers and that seemed to be good enough for now.”
Papers. Pastor Matthew was a free black?
Ms. Phoebe gave him the biggest smile. “Thank God.”
“Which brings us to our present situation. We need to find a place for Mr. Hiram to stay.” He looked down at Hiram. “I am afraid you are going to have to delay your trip north to heal.”
No. He had come too far to stop. “I need to be leaving in the mornin’.”
Pastor Matthew shook his head. “You will not make it injured.”
“He’s right.” Ms. Phoebe stood. “You need to heal and rest a while. He can stay in Mr. Samuel’s loft.”
Pastor Matthew looked at Hiram. “We will wait a few hours before we move Mr. Hiram to his new quarters.”
Hiram wanted to argue, but the throb in his leg made it a difficult task. He had been whipped so many times he thought himself immune to pain, but he was not. He would not return to that pain even if he died in the process of escaping. It would be nice to have a safe place to heal. But was this place safe? “Thank you.”
Ms. Phoebe moved to the door. “We will go and help Paul and Samuel get things ready and come back in an hour.”
Pastor Matthew nodded toward Hiram’s leg. “This is going to hurt for a few days. I will give you some powder for the pain once we get you over to Mr. Samuel’s.”
Winnie rose and Hiram almost reached out to keep her from leaving. “I guess we should let Mr. Hiram rest for a while,” she said. She smiled at him, but even in the soft light, he could see it was strained. She touched him softly on the arm. A brief touch but it filled him with peace. “Rest well. We will talk later.”
Hiram nodded. He was looking forward to seeing Winnie again.
Chapter 2
Hiram’s first week at East Towson proved the wisdom in waiting to heal before he continued his journey north. His wound became infected, keeping him confined and, for many days, unconscious. There were times he awakened feverish and unsure of where he was or what had happened. In his twisted nightmares, he awoke believing that he was still in Virginia. But Winnie’s face anchored him, confirming that he had indeed escaped.
He wasn’t sure how often she was by his side. The haze of pain and fever left his memory full of large gaps. He did, however, figure out some things. Ms. Phoebe and Winnie possessed great care in tending to him. In one of his feverish hazes, he heard Ms. Phoebe and someone else discussing amputation.
But Ms. Phoebe’s stern, authoritative voice rang through the cloud of sickness. “By God’s help, I will not agree to further suffering for one of His precious creations.” Hiram had drifted back to sleep, at peace that he was in the older woman’s care. Winnie’s voice was the next thing he remembered, encouraging him to drink, something bitter, which he did.
Through God’s help, on whom Ms. Phoebe relied, the fever broke one week after he arrived. On the eighth day, he managed to sit up on his own for the first time since they’d laid him on the bed inside the small building. The room swam a bit, and when his vision cleared, he saw Winnie. She sat on a small stool across the room, a bowl of broth in her hands and a big smile on her face.
“Good to see you awake. You’ve been feverish for several days.”
Another man, who stood by the door, grinned too. “Well, praise be to God. I’ll go fetch Mr. Paul and Ms. Phoebe.”
Winnie brought the broth to Hiram, carefully placing it in his hands. “We were sure we were going to lose you. But we rallied everyone to pray.”
Hiram lifted the spoon. His hand trembled with weakness, but he managed to get some of the liquid into his mouth. The faster he healed, the faster he could leave.
Winnie clasped her hands in her lap. She had joy, real joy in her eyes. Something he hadn’t seen in anyone’s eyes for a long time. “You had us quite alarmed when the infection took a turn.”
He looked up from the bowl. Winnie sat, sun to her back, giving her a glow. Behind her, the window framed green fields and trees.
“Where is this place?”
“East Towson, Maryland.”
Hiram focused on lifting another spoonful of broth to his mouth to hide his disappointment. He’d hoped he was in Delaware. Traveling only at night confused the distance, making it seem he’d gotten farther than he had. Nevertheless, Maryland was closer to freedom than Virginia. He’d made it this far. “How far from Pennsylvania?”
“Four days on foot. One by steamer.”
He smiled at the thought of steamers. He’d heard much about the big boats. Maybe he would see one as he left Maryland.
Winnie slid to the edge of her seat. “The catchers came around the church a few times. Their dog had your scent, so I took your shirt and hung it in the woods.” She giggled. “I moved it every night. Those poor dogs ran the catchers crazy, but they kept coming back every day for a week.”
Hiram smiled. She was as smart as he thought. “They won’t stop. Got a big bounty on my head.”
“You are a—” She glanced at his chest and her words faltered. She swallowed and continued. “You look like you were very valuable to your owners.”
He grimaced at the memory. He was very valuable. Young and strong, but that didn’t stop his master from mistreating him. Mr. Toley often told Hiram that he got worse punishment because he was so strong. Told him he needed to break his body to break his rebellious spirit. The beatings accomplished neither. The more Hiram suffered, the more he longed to be free. He looked down at the broth in his hands. “Could lift a yoke by myself.”
Her gaze stayed fixed on her hands. “The catchers called you Goliath.”
Anger flared up in his chest. “My mother named me Hiram after my father.” The only thing he had left of the man.
She held his gaze with one filled with compassion. “Good strong name.”
He didn’t look away. “Thank you.” The whole world seemed to quiet as they looked at each other, and it stayed that way until she dipped her head in a soft smile.
Ms. Phoebe and a man Hiram hadn’t seen before came into the room, breaking the moment. Ms. Phoebe, with a smile that she had passed on to her daughter, clapped her hands. “Hello, Hiram.”
The man moved near the end of the bed. “Hiram, I’m Mr. Paul, Winnie’s pa. You sure had us worried and prayin’.”
Hiram studied the two, their exuberance odd. No one was ever this happy to see him. “Thank you for caring for me so well.”
“Let’s see that leg.” Ms. Phoebe carefully removed the bandage, and by the look on her face, she was pleased with the process. “A little infection left, but you are well on your way to healing.”
Hiram nodded. “And on my way to Philadelphia.”
Ms. Phoebe applied fresh bandages. “That will be a while. This has to heal completely. But I think you can go outside for a bit each day so it doesn’t get too stiff. But you have to be easy on it.”
Hiram heard the truth of her words even though it meant a longer delay. The fever from the infection had sapped his strength, and he could see that he’d lost weight. The first part of the journey had nearly killed him, and he’d been at almost full health.
The idea of going outside filled him with warmth. After years of working in the fields, it felt strange not to have the sun on his back for such a long time. When he worked the fields, he w
as only inside at night, to be asleep as fast as he could. The out-of-doors called to him. East Towson was a different kind of green than Virginia. There must be different kinds of trees and flowers here. And a different kind of soil. His extended stay would give him a chance to explore the green fields outside the window.
Or I can stay inside if I want. He jolted at that thought. He didn’t have to work the fields anymore. Didn’t have to rise early and go to bed exhausted. Didn’t have to work until he wished for death. Four days away from freedom. That and the time it would take to recover. As soon as he did, he would be on his way.
He let out a deep sigh. “When will I be able to continue north?”
“When you are better,” Winnie said.
They sat with him a little longer and then left for Sunday meeting. If East Towson was like Virginia, this would be the only day the slaves had to rest. He gently lifted the bandage on his leg. The gunshot had left a small dent in his leg. Still pink with a little yellow, but it had healed well. There was still a risk of infection. He would have to take the time to heal, as much as he wanted to leave. Because when he stopped again, he would be completely free.
Winnie finished her chores with one final swipe of her rag across the table. She hung the wet cloth over the hearth and was out the back door before Mrs. Madison could find something else that “needed” cleaning. Mrs. Madison filled every moment of the day with work and stood over Winnie’s shoulder, inspecting every task. There were times when Winnie longed to protest the unnecessary cleaning she and the other house women did, but she held her tongue. Too much was at stake for her to fight with her mistress.
Since Hiram arrived, Winnie had rushed as much as she could to finish all her work before the night grew too dark. She and Hiram had taken to walking in the growing coolness of the evening to exercise his leg. He had been telling Winnie about his life before he ran so she could record it in her notebook. When Pastor Matthew had asked her to record the stories of fugitives, she’d believed it had one purpose: to be sent to Mr. Still in Philadelphia for his records. Now she saw it performed another purpose: healing.
The Underground Railroad Brides Collection: 9 Couples Navigate the Road to Freedom Before the Civil War Page 35