“In fact, he worked with Fletcher on seven escapes of many people from bondage in the Deep South of America. And if Fletcher was in league with Captain Clark, then I knew he was a strong man of character! We’ve been friends ever since. Now he will help you on your journey towards a beckoning future.”
Peter gained confidence after hearing he would be under the watchful eye of a person Captain Vincent valued so highly. He figured Vincent a man who used the term friend sparingly and with much purpose.
“Thank you Captain Vincent for putting my mind at ease somewhat,” Peter responded gratefully. “I know the road ahead will be rough, so it will be nice to have at least one face I can turn to for assistance.”
The two departed company and went about their respective tasks. A few hours later, they were exchanging farewell greetings as Peter left the steamer Chieftain at Halifax Harbor. When he set foot upon the dock, he took his first steps with a new identity into an unknown land. At that moment, the former Peter Harvey was lost to the world.
After walking through bustling dockside scenes Peter headed towards the commerce district of Halifax. According to given directions, he came upon a large two story brick building built in classical period style. Checking the address again for confirmation, he proceeded to enter through a finely decorated door inside.
Peter approached the receptionist to introduce himself. He then inquired whether Mr. Turner was available to meet him. Fortunately he had no appointments scheduled for the next hour.
The lady went to his office and announced that John Lawrence was here to see him. Peter, the new John Lawrence, had now made his transformation to a new identity complete. In time he would work hard to lose his west coast Irish accent as well.
Within a few moments she returned with a distinguished looking Colored gentleman at her side. He came directly towards John with a gentle smile on his face.
“Welcome to the Turner School of Education! I understand you are John Lawrence, sent here by my old acquaintance Captain Vincent. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Lawrence.” He extended his hand in warm welcome, which John took in turn.
“Yes Mr. Turner, he gave me directions right to your establishment. It looks a fine building indeed from both outside and inside! And please, just call me John.”
“I will if you do the same. I prefer to be addressed as Fletcher over Mr. Turner any day. Now then, why don’t we talk in my office and see how I can assist you.” Fletcher led John down the corridor to his comfortable paneled office.
“Have a seat here John,” he offered. Once both men were settled, John began their discussion.
“Yes Fletcher, Captain Vincent was kind enough to furnish your name to me. I am new in these parts, having come from a good distance away. I would appreciate any advice you could give on a decent area to settle. I am not without some means, so if you had a particular property in mind, I would welcome pursuing the opportunity.”
Fletcher held a curious look on his face as he responded. “It is not my intention to offend John, though one can immediately recognize you’ve come from another continent. Further still, a Colored man coming to Nova Scotia with a decent purse is rare indeed.
“Do not worry, you have my complete confidence. Though in this land discretion to such matters can only be to your benefit.
“At the risk of sounding forward I can make some assumptions about where you hail from. Myself, I was a free man from the United States who eventually settled near here in a village called Resting Arms. One thing you will notice is even though this is not America, the land shares much in custom when dealing with Colored folks. It is free territory in regards to law but operates differently outside of it. Do you understand what I mean?”
John read extensively since a young age. He knew all about the United States and its complex social mores. He had anticipated Nova Scotia’s leanings to casually reflect the practices of many former Americans who settled here. Though in comparison to his life in Ireland, he knew these ways would be shocking realities.
“I do understand much of what you are implying Fletcher. The benefits of a formal education and an activist’s mindset make me least naïve of what I may encounter. Now let us concentrate on more progressive matters if we could.”
Fletcher realized he was too strong in his manner of words. “Accept my apologies John. When you’ve spent a lifetime fighting for every scrap of decency day in, day out, it’s hard to lose those ways. Now I shall start over again in better spirits.”
Fletcher rose from his chair and left the office. He then reappeared, walked behind his desk and sat down.
“Welcome to our home Nova Scotia. My name is Fletcher Turner, proprietor of this magnificent building and all which operates within it! I have been here since coming from America as a free man some years before. Let me tell you something John Lawrence. With hard work, perseverance and a can do attitude, you too can make a decent life here!
“I started my commerce from the moment I set foot into town. My original vision was to teach, educate and equip Colored people to become both knowledgeable and self-sufficient. Word spread of my techniques in Colored communities throughout the county, then outside Nova Scotia.
“These doors have always been open for everyone, though it took some time before I taught my first White student. Today it is a common occurrence. But mercy me, it took a long time to prove that success is color blind!”
John smiled in appreciation of Fletcher’s fresh efforts. Soon they were conversing about all manner of life in his new home. When it came to property, he was intrigued by Fletcher’s description of his village Resting Arms. Understanding subtle restrictions of location for Colored people’s residences at that time, Resting Arms sounded like an oasis in a storm of ever present challenges.
“I shall take you at your word Fletcher,” John decided. “When you have the opportunity, could you please show me your village? I am in some desire to begin anew as soon as possible.”
Fletcher opened a leather bound diary at the side of his well-kept desk. “I have one more appointment today in about fifteen minute’s time. It should not take more than one hour. Could I offer you some refreshments in the reception area while you wait for me? Then we could take my carriage to Resting Arms together.”
“I will definitely take up your offer of hospitality,” agreed John. “It will be of great benefit to see the village firsthand with a knowledgeable man like you.”
“Then it’s settled! Let me escort you back to the reception area, where Mrs. Little will take care of everything.” John was attended to by the efficient receptionist while Fletcher returned to his office. Within a couple of hours they were riding in a fine carriage just outside Fletcher’s hometown.
After hearing stories of deprived living conditions and second class citizenry for North American Coloreds, John was pleasantly surprised. Resting Arms was a picturesque coastal village which anyone would proudly call home.
One could sense the pride of place as Fletcher’s carriage rode down this town’s streets. People greeted his passing and he in turn. Here was a collectiveness of community which John fell for immediately. Although it was situated within a decent ride of Halifax, it seemed another place entirely.
Driving through town, Fletcher began to fondly reminisce. “It is often my old mind remembers the vitality here when I first settled. I arrived with solid men of great character like Rodney, Thomas, Clarence and Fortune. Here we were nurtured by wise souls like Grady and Lucas.
“With full vigor from new found freedom our minds conspired in unbridled energies of enterprise! Oh yes, we still strive, though one wonders what could have been if some of our cream was not skimmed so early. In that regard, I dearly miss my friend Fortune Smith and his wife Dainty.
“Yes, others left before them like Clarence and Thomas. Though Fortune was in a different league in my mind. He and his wife set up and did well in
Resting Arms, but the siren call of betterment led them and their tiny child to seek more back in Africa.
“With the promise of a better life ahead they bade farewell to Resting Arms. Their destination over there was called Hopeville I believe. Those last goodbyes pain me to remember! I can still see their ship Isabella sailing off from Halifax Harbor.
“No one heard tell from any person on Isabella after that day. Much time had passed before we received word in town that Isabella must have gone down during a fierce Atlantic storm. Not one soul lived to recount that nasty ordeal. Yes, the sea gave him his freedom from bondage in Georgia. But it was taken away when he sailed aboard Isabella just the same. What a tragic story!
“I’m sorry John for taking your time with such babble. And that ends your tour of Resting Arms. I hope your expectations were not dashed by reality. So what do you think?”
John knew he wanted to live here. He was enchanted with the warm environment of neat, tidy buildings, its lovely church and well-crafted public buildings. All made with caring hands borne of good industry and strong endeavor. He even knew where he wanted to live, recalling one property which still held his rapt attention.
“Fletcher, you were true to your words. Here is where my home will be. Still, I do have a nagging question for you. One place on the town limits truly caught my attention. It looked quite striking, situated down a winding carriage lane. Do you know of it?”
He nodded in complete understanding. “You’re referring to Ellenwood, which was inhabited by my dear friend Rodney. Such a shame it’s lost some of its grandeur from yesterday. Rodney still owns it, though he went back to America, fighting for the Union cause in their Civil War. He decided to dedicate his life to helping all men become free. Why do you ask?”
“I shall be perfectly frank. Not only is Ellenwood a beautiful property, but I felt a pull to it which I cannot explain. If there is any way it is available, I would like to acquire it as my new home.”
Fletcher flashed John a look of increased interest. “Well, Ellenwood is a substantial place which is out of the financial reach of most. Rodney entrusted me to act on his behalf in all affairs, so you’re speaking to the proper person. Are you sure it is within your means?”
John had saved heavily from his work in Dublin. In addition, Aidan Malloy continued to pay his wages while he worked in the Common Man Movement. Lastly, John still held all the monies received during his escape and from selling remaining personal interests. It was a tidy sum indeed.
“I feel it will be manageable,” he replied confidently. “When and where would you like to discuss terms?”
Fletcher nodded his head and the two reached a purchase agreement for Ellenwood the following day. Within two weeks John took possession and moved into a furnished Ellenwood.
Afterwards, John Lawrence threw himself into his new life. He followed in the steps of those pioneers before him who set up stakes in this environment of contrasting beauty and social challenges. Yet he felt a connection to this community which truly startled him.
In his new hometown he accustomed himself to a different sense of community than back in Ireland. Although Resting Arms was founded by those seeking escape from the brutal institution of slavery, they encountered restrictions of another kind in these confines.
Here a subtle division worked its tired ways through many facets of society. It came with the vestiges of those who traveled north from America through the generations. It came from those who viewed other peoples as competition for scarce resources and jobs. And it came from a fear of people who appeared different in physical features, despite sharing similar dreams and ideals. Here was a perversion of society on a different scale than Ireland.
“When in this Rome,” he muttered on reflection, “I will treat everyone as equals, though fight for liberties like I did in Ireland. No man should stoop low for another in this world!”
John Lawrence established a thriving wholesale store while participating fully in the strong traditions of Resting Arms. He donated to educational pursuits. Funded land purchases for new homesteaders. And he engaged against ingrained racism with full vigor.
Over time he won the begrudging respect of many in the broader community, though the hostile opposition of countless others. None of that fazed this seasoned activist. He was truly of his own means; financially, physically and mentally, with the unfettered support of those who admired this new spark in their midst.
They say true love is a rare thing indeed. John experienced it only once through his past life in Ireland, never thinking it could happen again. Nevertheless, he would soon find this cherished gift a second time amongst the good citizens of Resting Arms. Her name was Iris Clark, whose family came to Nova Scotia as established Colored Empire Loyalists.
John met Iris at a Saturday afternoon church picnic in the spring of 1864. He found her graceful beauty quite intriguing, though that was the extent of things at their first meeting. It was through continued courtship and sharing time together they realized a much deeper connection was developing. When they married in the springtime of 1865, he felt blessed with true love again.
Amongst all the good fortune and ill tidings he witnessed in ensuing years, one event hit John particularly hard. He developed many good relations over his time in Resting Arms, though his friendship with Fletcher was an unusually close bond. Fletcher described it best when he said, “I know you as John Lawrence, but our deep kinship says you are from a time before well met.”
On Fletcher Turner’s passing in 1885 it seemed every citizen in Resting Arms came to attend his funeral. Many people from surrounding villages arrived as well. In testament to the significance of his passing, numerous White citizens were present along with a few local politicians of note. In the late twentieth century he could have been a statesman. Yet in the late nineteenth century of Nova Scotia he became another opportunity lost to the benefit of this young nation of Canada.
He heard much lament that day about the end of a golden era for Resting Arms. Yet over time John Lawrence grew into a visionary on par with his dearly departed friend. John’s industry and generosity were matched with a reach that went well beyond Resting Arms and color lines.
Through his deeds, John Lawrence became a man of quiet importance in this province by the sea. He made good in his new home by every measure. Yet not a day went by when he did not wonder at what could have been, back in his beloved Ireland.
Chapter Twenty-Five
THOSE FINAL HORIZONS
We always remember those that should never be lost
John Lawrence viewed his greatest accomplishment in Resting Arms as his family. He took great pride in being a good provider, father and companion. Life had been kind enough to give him a second chance, an opportunity which he took full advantage of.
Yet there were times when, despite a deep affection for his family, John needed some space for basking in quiet reflection. Iris called this period his “big going away.” Every year on the exact same date, he would travel for a fishing expedition in solitude. At that time, the Lawrences knew for one week their head of household would not be accessible.
Unknown to them or any other, there was more behind John’s “big going away” than they could ever imagine. Yes, he would enjoy leisurely pursuits such as fishing and hiking. However, it was during this time he would also meet for one day with three Men of Goodhope.
They would always send a post to arrive at his home with information on who would attend and where they would meet. In later years transatlantic cable telegram would be the preferred medium of delivery. All correspondence of course would be written in secret code.
It was five years after Fletcher Turner’s death that the Men of Goodhope brought something very special for John. It was a plain sealed envelope with the words “To John Lawrence” written as an address. When they returned to Ireland the following morning, John eagerly opened its content
s.
He was immediately overwhelmed with deep longing for a past life long ago. Many memories raced through his fertile mind, while soft tears fought exploding happiness in a volatile mix of emotions. He immediately began reading the familiar penmanship.
“Dearest John, I say these words to my closest confident from yesterday and still feel today. Too much time has passed in the crazy whirlwind of our advancing years! What can I say to quench your thoughts about intervening years since we last clasped hands as brothers in the streets of Dublin?
“I dare not have made such a letter in prior years because father thought it best we let you live your new life unfettered. To him it was well enough every year to know how you were faring through visits by the Men of Goodhope.
“How I cherish our unique bond today as if it were yesterday! There were people here with whom you shared life and love; I felt now is the right instance to let you know their fate. I am trusting time and maturity will make the present that much better to reveal their circumstances.
“I did not want to make this letter weighed down with details of everyday developments. I write you today because the urgency of candor is necessary. You need to know the place you hold in my thoughts always.
“As for Maggie, not a day goes by when she cannot be caught drifting into the special place where only you held a presence. She never took on another in her gentle companionship, thus remains a spinster. It is all too apparent the grand space of time did nothing to dull her sense of your mutual intimacies. To ask her penmanship for phrasing a few words here would surely have opened wounds which still have not healed. That fact in itself should leave no doubt as to her undying devotion to you.
“I hope you left this vibrant green land knowing that the opportunity it promised did not forsake you! We tried with strong nature grafted with true character to heal such long, coursing wounds which Ireland has endured for centuries.
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