The Freedom Star

by Jeff Andrews

  “And, Abraham, we will not speak of this to anyone. Am I quite clear?”

  Sweat beaded on Morgan’s brow. His quivering right hand moved slowly across his chest.

  _____

  Florence dropped the bread dough on the table and punched it down, her hands cloaked in floury white gloves.

  Isaac pulled a stool beside the fire. He lifted the lid on the blackened iron pot and poked at the ribs simmering within. Their aroma filled the cabin. “They’re near done, Mama. Might could use a bit more garlic, though. You got any?”

  “There, on the table.” She pointed with her elbow. “You seen your pa?”

  “He mentioned something about talking to Massa Patrick on business. Ain’t seen him since.”

  Joseph scurried through the open door, followed by one of the field slaves, a boy around seven. “We caught us a green snake, Mama.” He held up the slender green reptile for her to examine.

  “Not now, Joseph,” Florence said. “I has dinner to fix—and I done told you, don’t be bringing critters in here where I’m fixing food, lessen you wants me to cook ‘em.”

  Joseph gave Isaac a sly smile, then turned to his companion. “We can find Tempie, or maybe your sister, and scare ‘em good.” The boys disappeared into the barnyard.

  “Mama,” Isaac said. “Is something bothering Tempie? She’s been mighty quiet.”

  “That child’s fine, but you seen how she’s filling out? I ‘spect she’s coming of age. That can start a girl to acting peculiar.” Florence smiled. “Could be she’s working on a heartbreak, too. She ain’t seen that Cato boy for many a week.”

  Heartbreak? Isaac winced. That sure sounded familiar . . .

  Abraham walked through the doorway and tossed his hat on the table. He glanced at Isaac.

  “Supper be ready in a bit,” Florence said. “Did you get your business straightened out with Massa Patrick?” She wiped her hands on her apron.

  “Some.” He turned to Isaac and lowered his voice. “Word is, there’s runners coming through tonight.”

  “How many, Pa?”

  “Looks to be two. After supper I’ll mosey down by the quarters and round up some vittles for them.”

  “Anything you need me to get?”

  “Gather what you can from here, foodstuffs, mostly—and don’t forget the pepper. I’ll have Lilly cook up some dodgers.”

  “Pa,” Isaac asked. “Did you talk to Massa Patrick?”

  Abraham’s shoulders sagged. “Come along, I need some help in the barn.” Abraham gave Florence a quick kiss and headed out the door. Isaac hurried to catch up. Abraham didn’t speak until they rounded the barn.

  “I didn’t want to say nothing where your mama could hear, she’s worried enough about that sister of yours . . .” He pulled Isaac around the corner, then peered into the barnyard, as if to see if they had been followed. Apparently satisfied, Abraham turned Isaac to face him. “There ain’t no easy way to say this, boy, so I reckon I gots to tell you straight. Massa Patrick said there weren’t no deal, never was. I can’t prove nothing different since Massa McConnell took ill and can’t talk no more.” He sighed. “It breaks my heart, son. I been praying on your jubilation day from the time you was born. That Massa Patrick, he sure enough ain’t the man his papa is.”

  His deal . . . gone? Isaac steadied himself. What about dreams of Raleigh and Philadelphia? He slammed his fist against the barn. “He can’t do that, Pa, it ain’t fair . . .” He started toward the big house.

  Abraham grabbed him by the shoulders. “Boy, ain’t nothing fair when you’s a slave.”

  “Henry won’t let this happen. He’ll fix it.” Isaac struggled in his father’s grasp.

  “Henry ain’t here,” Abraham said. “It’s done. Let it be.” He slowly released his grip.

  Isaac closed his eyes. His pa was right. Henry couldn’t help—and Patrick wouldn’t. He took a deep breath. “Guess I’ll speak to Henry next time he’s home from the war.”

  “You do that,” Abraham said. “And you keep quiet about this—don’t be upsetting your mama none. Now, get on and fetch them vittles.”

  _____

  The moon cast a shimmering veil over the barnyard as Isaac crouched beside the cookhouse. Even the McConnells would look suspiciously on anyone out and about at that hour. He waited for a cloud to drift in front of the moon, then darted to the shadows along the path leading to the slave quarters. Once away from the main house, he hurried down the path until he reached the semicircle of small cabins. The glow of the campfire danced against the rough-hewn walls.

  Lilly looked up from her cooking and waved. “Isaac, come set next to your Aunt Lilly.” She patted the log.

  Isaac settled beside his aunt, tucking his gunnysack between his feet.

  “Not so fast, boy. You hold that open. Lilly’s got herself a mess of dodgers for them that’s running.” She pulled a cast iron pot from the fire and dumped its contents into the sack.

  The aroma of the freshly baked corn bread filled the air. “My mouth’s watering just smelling them,” Isaac said, then he pointed toward the river. “Any word?”

  She leaned close and whispered, “Wind’s from the south. You watch yourself. There’s riders down by the creek—pattyrollers, most likely.”

  “Is Pa around?”

  “He come by. Said you’s to meet him by the bridge on the post road.”

  “He say when?”

  “Midnight, so it’s time you be leaving. You want some ‘pone?” Lilly pulled a skillet from the fire. She poked at the cornbread, then dropped one of the steaming biscuits into Isaac’s outstretched hand. He tossed the bread from hand to hand, letting it cool.

  “You hear anything about them runners, Aunt Lilly?”

  “Word from Johnston’s slaves is there’s two, a father and son. They’s coming up from North Carolina.”

  Banjo slipped in beside Isaac, whistling through his teeth as he tried to catch his breath. “Clancy and another one been riding the post road. I seen ‘em go by twice. Ain’t no mistake, they’s looking.”

  “I’d best get out there and warn Pa. He’ll be waiting. You figure it’s midnight?”

  Banjo studied the sky. “Moon’s moved a fair piece. I reckon it’s close enough.”

  Isaac grabbed his sack, kissed Lilly on the cheek, then slipped through the fence and headed down the lane.

  _____

  “You’re helping those runaways, aren’t you?” A soft voice whispered from the darkened tree line.

  Isaac stepped back and crouched, facing the intruder.

  She stepped from the shadows, her head covered in a floppy slouch hat. She wore trousers with the cuffs rolled up above her ankles.

  “Miss Polly? Is that you? You oughtn’t be out here.”

  “Hush,” she replied. “I’m dressed for the woodlands and I aim to help those who are running.”

  “What makes you think anybody’s running?”

  Polly pointed to the gunnysack. “Are you going out to feed the hogs?”

  “They’s just vittles,” Isaac said. “Aunt Lilly fixed ‘em for me.”

  “So, your mama’s the cook, yet you wander down to the slave quarters in the middle of the night to fetch a sack of vittles?”

  “Miss Polly, there’s danger here about. You don’t know nothing about what’s going on. If’n you was to get hurt, Massa McConnell, he’d most likely lay the whip on Isaac, maybe worse.”

  “Papa doesn’t hold with whipping our slaves,” she said.

  “That might be true, Miss Polly,” Isaac replied, glancing about for signs of danger. “But his daughter never runned off in the middle of the night before to shepherd no runaways.”

  “You have to let me help.” Polly tugged at Isaac’s sleeves. “Please.”

  “This ain’t no game, Miss Polly. Besides, you’s a white woman, and a slave owner. Ain’t no place for your kind out here.”

  “I am a white woman, but I do not own slaves, nor do I hold with that pract
ice.” She placed her hands on her hips. “I’ve read the abolitionist pamphlets, and they’re correct. No man has the right to own another.”

  “That’s all well and good, Miss Polly,” Isaac held up his hands, “but this here is different. There ain’t no pamphlets out here and death’s waiting on them what ain’t careful.”

  “I insist, and that’s that.” She folded her arms across her chest.

  _____

  Isaac ducked into the woods as two riders galloped past on the farm lane. Cautiously, he peered around the trunk of the tree that shielded them, then held up his hand. “This here’s as far as you go, Miss Polly. Can you make like a night owl?”

  She lay beside him, dirt smeared across her cheek. “You mean like this?” She cupped her hands. A plaintive moan drifted across the fields.

  Isaac recoiled. “Where’d you learn that?”

  “You and Henry would be surprised at what I’ve learned from watching the two of you.”

  Isaac shook his head. “For sure, you done a heap more sneaking around in these woods than we knowed about. What else you seen?”

  Polly smiled and looked away.

  Isaac stared at her a moment, then shrugged. “Listen, you stay here and keep hidden. You see them riders, you give that owl call, but not so’s you bring no attention to yourself, hear?”

  “Yes, just like a sentry.” Polly smiled. “I will do that.”

  “You be careful, Miss Polly.”

  “And you, Isaac. I’ll not let you down.”

  _____

  Isaac crawled to the edge of the field. No sign of the riders. He cradled the gunny sack in the crook of his arm, took a deep breath, and dashed across the moonlit pasture to the forest on the far side. Safely within the shadows once more, he stopped and caught his breath, then snuck through the tangled thicket to a small stream. He followed the stream to a bridge that crossed the post road, ducked behind a tree, and listened. Then he cupped his hands and whistled. Somewhere to his front, a whippoorwill’s call answered. Isaac grabbed his sack and crept to the meeting spot.

  “Any trouble, boy?” Abraham asked.

  “There was pattyrollers on the post road headed west,” Isaac replied. “Banjo says they been riding back and forth all night.”

  “That they has,” Abraham said. “I seen ‘em twice. Is that the foodstuff?” He pointed to the sack.

  Isaac nodded. “Where’s them runners?”

  “Right here.” Abraham lifted a pine bough that leaned against the small wooden bridge. A man and a small boy peered out.

  “Hey there.” Isaac held out his hand. “Where’s you headed?”

  “Petersburg,” the man replied. He glanced at Isaac’s extended hand, but didn’t take it. “We has relatives there. They’s free and they says they can hide us, maybe get us down river behind them Yankee lines. Folks is saying, you gets to Hampton, it’ll be jubilation time.”

  Isaac dropped his hand. “Where’s you coming from?”

  “North Carolina, down by Yanceyville.”

  “Yanceyville?” A sudden shiver ran up Isaac’s neck. “Did you happen to know a girl by the name of Raleigh? She works for Mr. Patterson.”

  “Sure,” the man replied. “Everybody down that way knows Raleigh. She teached our children a Bible class last summer, out behind the white folk’s church. But some of them whites, they didn’t hanker none to nigras getting the book learning, so they made her stop.”

  Isaac’s stomach knotted.

  “You best be moving along,” Abraham said. “Them pattyrollers will be back this way before long, so you needs to put some distance between you and that road. These here supplies will last you four, five days.” He hefted the bag, then cocked an eyebrow and turned toward Isaac.

  Isaac straightened and faced his father. He cleared his throat. “Pa, there’s food there for three. Tell Mama I loves her. Tell Joseph and Tempie too.”

  Abraham slowly shook his head. “Boy, it ain’t your time . . .”

  “It weren’t yesterday,” Isaac said, “but things done changed.”

  “You’s gonna break you mama’s heart.”

  “Life ain’t getting no easier on that farm. She’ll understand.”

  “There be danger out there: dogs, pattyrollers, bad folks to do you harm . . .”

  “Pa, I knows what to do.” Isaac smiled. “You done taught me.”

  Abraham grabbed Isaac by the shoulders. “Are you sure, boy?”

  Isaac nodded. “It’s time I be chasing my own dream. When I gets to Philadelphia, I’ll write. Miss Polly, she’ll read it for you.”

  A distant owl called out across the woodlot.

  “Down!” Isaac pushed Abraham to the ground. In a moment, horse’s hoofs pounded the packed dirt road, then crossed the bridge and faded in the distance.

  “That was too close, boy. How’d you know?”

  Isaac stood, brushing off the leaves. “We has us a friend.”

  Abraham raised his eyebrow.

  Isaac shook his head and smiled. “Best you don’t know.”

  Abraham held him at arm’s length. “Lord be with you, boy. That freedom star will guide you true.” He squeezed Isaac’s arms, then let go and slipped across the bridge.

  Placing a finger to his lips, Isaac turned to the other runaways. “We needs to be real quiet.”

  Moving slowly so as not to splash, they walked down the middle of the creek for an hour or more, until they arrived at a stand of pines. “We’s past where them pattyrollers will be looking,” Isaac whispered, “least ways tonight. If we gets under them pines, we’ll be well hidden.” He pointed to the stream. “Staying in the creek like we done, them dogs’ll have trouble picking up our scent.”

  “Much obliged,” the man said. “Me and the boy, we can use some rest.”

  “Make your beds from that there pine straw,” Isaac replied. “I’ll keep watch.”

  “Bless you,” the man said. He took his young boy by the hand and started up the draw.

  “Hey,” Isaac whispered, “What does they call you?”

  “I’s Moses,” the man replied. “This here’s my boy, Carter Louis.”

  Isaac nodded as he settled against a tree where he had a clear view upstream.

  Chapter Thirty

  April 1862

  The cookhouse door flew open. “Outside now,” an angry voice demanded.

  Was that Massa Patrick yelling? Florence bolted upright in bed and shook Abraham. “Wake up. There’s trouble brewing.”

  Abraham grunted and rolled over. Florence poked him again then climbed out of bed. “Isaac, Joseph, Tempie, y’all get down here,” she called to the loft. “Massa Patrick wants us all outside.”

  Florence wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped onto the porch. Abraham joined her, tying his britches with a rope belt and rubbing his eyes. A hint of pink sliced the eastern sky.

  Slaves filled the barnyard, some still in nightshirts. Lilly and Banjo stumbled past. Their faces reflected fear and confusion. Crying children clung tightly to their mothers. Sean O’Farrell held a lantern and directed people to their places.

  Patrick paced like a bantam rooster. He drew a pistol and fired into the air. “Get over here. All of you, line up now.”

  Florence flinched. What had him all riled? Must be something terrible bad. She gathered Tempie and Joseph and they took their place in the back row beside Abraham. “Where’s Isaac?” She whispered to Tempie.

  Abraham put a finger to his lips and hushed her.

  “Appears we have us a problem,” Patrick said, pacing in front of the gathering. “Seems like some runaways crossed our land, and rumor has it, McConnell slaves were out giving them aid. O’Farrell, do you have a count?”

  “Aye, that I do, sir.”

  “Well . . . ?”

  “We’d be missing but one slave, sir.”

  “And who would that be?”

  Sean hesitated. His glanced at Florence, then quickly looked away. “That would be Isaac, sir.
”

  “Isaac?” Florence cried. She turned to Abraham. “Where’s my boy? Where’s he at?” She grabbed his shirt. Abraham pulled her close. Joseph clutched her skirts.

  “So, he’s a good boy, he’ll never run?” Patrick gazed at the dawn sky. “O’Farrell, send them to the fields. Looks like we’ll get an extra hour’s work today.”

  Slaves drifted quietly toward the tobacco fields.

  Patrick approached Abraham. “Where were you last night?”

  Abraham eased Florence behind him.

  Patrick holstered his pistol and yanked Joseph from Florence’s side. He turned the boy’s face toward him. “This cuffy could fetch three hundred dollars, maybe more . . .”

  Florence gasped.

  Abraham looked at her, his eyes filled with terror. “I was in the woods, sir.”

  “Helping the runaways?”

  “Y-yes sir.”

  “And Isaac?”

  “He was there too, Massa Patrick.”

  Patrick released Joseph. He wagged a finger in Abraham’s face. “I’ll deal with you later.” He pointed to Florence. “Breakfast in thirty minutes.” He turned on his heel and marched toward the house.

  Florence grabbed Abraham by his shirt. “Why didn’t you tell me my boy was running?”

  “He done surprised me with that last night. I was gonna tell you this morning soon as you woke.”

  Joseph tightly clutched his mother. “Mama, Them dogs ain’t gonna get Isaac, is they?”

  “He’ll be fine.” Florence wiped her tears. “Ain’t no dog, nor no pattyroller, can catch him in them woods.” She put her arm around Joseph and leaned into Abraham. Tempie hesitated, then slowly slipped her arms around Florence too.

  _____

  “See them railroad tracks?” Isaac lay next to Moses, pointing to a slight rise across the open field. “They’s the Richmond and Danville line. If we stays to the woods and follows them tracks, in two days we’ll be at Burkeville.”

  “Then is we safe?” Moses said.

  “Nigras ain’t safe nowhere,” Isaac replied, “‘cepting up north. These rails cross the Petersburg line in Burkeville. We follows that and, Lord willing, we’ll be to Petersburg in three, four days.”