16
Free at Last
April 1865
Silas awoke to find Pearl bending over him, kissing his eyelids. He lay there for a moment, accepting her kisses, savoring her nearness. After all this time—nearly ten years of marriage—he only had to look into her deep and tender gaze to be transported back to the moment he had stood with her on the porch and promised to love her forever.
It hadn’t been a difficult vow to keep. Pearl was, in every way, his soul mate. He adored her, couldn’t imagine life without her. And now, at last, after years of disappointment, she was about to become the mother of his child.
He opened his eyes and reached up to embrace her. Her swelling body pressed against him, and he laid both hands on her abdomen. “Good morning, little Abe,” he murmured to her belly.
She pulled back and playfully swatted his hands away. “And how, pray tell, are you so sure this child will be ‘Abe’? She might be ‘Abby,’ you know.”
Silas laughed and pulled her close. “True. But either way, he—or she—will be our offspring, and the finest child ever to bear the Noble name.”
When Pearl had discovered that—after two miscarriages—she was once again with child, they had determined that their firstborn would be named after President Lincoln, in honor of the man who had freed the slaves and changed the nation forever. This baby would live, Silas was certain. He would see to it, no matter what it took. This baby would be the son he had longed and prayed for.
He had tried, at first, to make sure Pearl took care of herself, determining that he would strap her to the bed and make her stay there, if necessary. But it didn’t work out quite the way he had anticipated.
Harriet Tubman had put into motion a method of escape for the Rivermont slaves, and nothing could stand in the way. And that plan took a good deal longer than they had expected. Because Rivermont was so deep in Confederate territory, Harriet’s people could only take slaves out in small groups—ten, at most. A larger group would prove too dangerous, too easily tracked. And since there were fifty-seven slaves on Rivermont land who once belonged to Robert Warren, that meant six groups, and long waiting periods in between. During the winters, there could be no safe passage, so it had taken eighteen months to get them to freedom. Eighteen months fraught with fear and apprehension.
No one—not even Booker—had ever laid eyes on Harriet Tubman after that first meeting, but the reports from her slave-smuggling operation were encouraging. The word came back: not a single soul lost. All resettled north of the Mason-Dixon line.
Tonight the last group would slip out through the root cellar and into the woods on their way to freedom: Booker and Celie, with Enoch; Lily, with her daughter Marissa, and her cousin Jute; and Cato, who had stayed to the very end.
Booker had begged Silas and Pearl to come with them, and at last they had relented and agreed to leave Noble House and make the journey. Silas, of course, was worried about the baby, but they should be able to get to Cairo before Pearl delivered. It was a daunting prospect—a new life in a new place with a new child. Still, Silas was convinced he’d be able to find work among the relocated, and there wasn’t much left for them in Cambridge. And he had to admit that he did want his child to grow up in an environment where all God’s people stood on equal ground. It was a huge risk, but one he thought he was willing to take.
Pearl nudged him. “Drink your coffee before it gets cold.”
Silas sat up. “Breakfast in bed? Does this mean we’re about to have a fight? Or did we already have one and I didn’t notice?”
Pearl smiled. “I don’t think so. Besides, it’s just coffee. Then you need to get up. We’ve got a lot to do to prepare for tonight.”
He propped up on a pillow and reached for the coffee. “Are we doing the right thing, do you think?”
Pearl stroked his hand and smiled. “It will be difficult, leaving Noble House. So many wonderful memories. But we have to trust that if it’s not the best decision, God will somehow give us a new direction.”
Silas nodded. Despite his apprehensions, he felt a sense of peace wash over him. What mattered was not where they were, but that they were together. Wherever they went, as long as Pearl was at his side, everything would be all right.
At six that evening, as Pearl packed up the last of the food she had prepared for the trip, Silas sat at the kitchen table watching her. “You need some help?”
She turned and smiled at him. “I’m almost done. But we’ve got half an apple pie left, and I’m afraid it won’t travel well.”
He grinned. “Then I guess we’ll have to do something about it. Come, sit down.”
She brought the pie and two forks to the table, along with two glasses of milk. As he started in on the pie, Silas realized he felt like a child raiding the kitchen in the middle of the night—a delicious sense of rebellion. “This is going to be quite an adventure, isn’t it?”
“I’m glad you can look at it in that light,” Pearl responded. “For a while there, I was beginning to think you’d back out at the last minute.”
“I just don’t want to take any chances with you and the baby.”
“We’ll be fine—both of us. And I’ve got everything packed, including the quilt Lily made. I didn’t have the heart to leave it behind.”
Silas chewed thoughtfully. “Pearl, I don’t have any idea what kind of life we’re going to have when we get to . . . well, to wherever we end up. I’d like to be able to promise you that we’ll have a nice house and that I’ll make a good living, but—”
“I know.” She put a finger to his lips to silence him. “You can’t make such a promise, and I’m not asking for it. All I want is for us to be together.”
He gazed into her face. “I love you, you know—with all my heart and soul.”
She started to respond, but before she could get a word out, the back door slammed and Booker rushed into the kitchen.
“You’re here a little early, aren’t you?” Silas laughed. “We don’t leave until after dark.” Then he looked at Booker’s face.
The big black man was trembling, and shiny tracks ran down his cheeks.
“Booker!” Pearl reached out and touched his arm. “Booker, what’s wrong?”
“Is somebody hurt?” Silas asked. “Pearl, where’s my bag?”
“Your medical bag ain’t gonna do no good this time, Massah Doctor.” Booker leaned over the table and dropped a newspaper in front of them. “Found this in a trash bin in town.”
Silas stared down at the headline, and his heart sank.
LINCOLN ASSASSINATED.
“He dead,” Booker whispered through his tears. “Mister Lincoln, he dead.”
Silas felt something shrivel in the depths of his soul. “When did this happen?”
“What the paper say is three nights ago. Mister Lincoln, he went to a place called Ford’s Theatre to see some big play, and a fella shot him in the head.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
“Southern sympathizers, of course,” Pearl snarled. Silas looked at her and saw an expression of raw fury in her eyes. “People who thought that if they got rid of the president, the Confederacy would live on.”
“Man’s name was Booth,” Booker answered. “An’ Pearl ain’t far wrong. All them pattyrollers is out with a vengeance. They’s roamin’ the woods with guns and ropes and dogs. There’s gonna be trouble—big trouble.”
Silas closed his eyes and fought back tears. They had come so far, and now this. “Maybe tonight isn’t the best night for us to go,” he suggested. “Maybe we should wait a while.”
“Naw sir, Massah Doctor,” Booker countered. “We gotta get out now.”
“Booker’s right,” Pearl added. “Who knows what will happen now that President Lincoln is dead? Up till now, Noble House has been spared because we helped Confederate soldiers as well as Union ones, and because Master Robert’s slaves stayed put. But if they come and find all but a few of the slaves gone, they’ll know we’ve helpe
d. There’s likely to be retribution.”
“All right,” Silas sighed. “Booker, gather everybody up and get them over here as quickly as possible. I don’t want any Negroes roaming around in plain sight. Tell them to be packed and prepared to go on a moment’s notice. Our guide will be here shortly after dark, and we need to be ready.”
Booker nodded, picked up the newspaper, and left without a word.
“I’m scared, Papa Silas.”
Pearl watched as Silas held Enoch on his lap and cuddled him close. “I know, son. We all are. We just have to wait until it’s safe to go.”
The clock on the mantel chimed ten. For the past three hours, the remaining seven slaves of Rivermont Plantation had been huddled in the log cabin room of Noble House, with the shutters closed and only a single lamp lit. The guide sent by the Underground Railroad, a big, burly fellow named John Carver, paced back and forth across the rug.
Outside, the noise continued as if some kind of bizarre celebration were in full swing. Gunshots, dogs baying, shouts echoing through the woods, and every now and then a bloodcurdling Rebel yell that made Pearl fear that the pattyrollers had begun another lynching party.
She went into their bedroll, retrieved the handmade quilt, and laid it out on the rug as a pallet for Enoch and Marissa. After a while, despite the noise and commotion, the two children settled down and fell asleep at the adults’ feet.
If only we could be that trusting, Pearl thought as she watched them. To lie down and sleep, and believe that no matter what, we’d be safe, because Someone is looking out for us.
Was it any wonder that Jesus told adults they needed the faith of a little child? But grownups always seemed to have a difficult time with simple faith. We always try to figure things out for ourselves, Pearl thought. We trust our own reasoning, our own plans, and our own schemes, instead of putting our faith in the protection of the Almighty.
Well, they would have no choice but to depend upon the Almighty’s protection this night. When the right time came—if there was a right time—they would have to trust God to blind the eyes of the pattyrollers and keep them at bay. Otherwise, they might all end up swinging from the nearest tree.
“It’s time,” John Carver said. “Let’s move.”
Silas stirred in his chair and strained his ears. The gunshots had died down, and the baying of the dogs seemed to be getting farther and farther away. He checked his pocket watch: twelve forty-five.
Lily awakened the children and herded them into the bedroom. Cato and Jute followed. From the parlor, Silas caught a glimpse of the closet door standing open, revealing the secret passage that would lead them into the root cellar and then to the woods. And—he hoped—to safety.
“Get your coats on. It’ll be chilly out there,” Silas instructed. “And make sure you don’t leave anything behind.” Out of the corner of his eye, Silas saw Pearl bend down to roll up the quilt. Then, without warning, she collapsed to the floor, gripping her stomach.
“Pearl! Are you all right?” He ran to her and started to lift her up, then saw the stain beneath her on the quilt.
“No,” she moaned. “Not now!”
Booker came to his side. “What’s wrong?”
“Just lie back, honey. It’ll be all right.” He turned to Booker. “Looks like she’s going into labor.”
“It’s too early,” she protested. “It’s probably false pains. Give me a minute, and I’ll be fine.”
Silas shook his head. “Apparently it’s not too early. Your water broke.” He knelt beside her and took her hand. “There’s no turning back now.”
John Carver appeared in the doorway. “That’s exactly what I was about to say. Booker, Celie, come on. Lily’s already got Enoch and Marissa down in the cellar. It’s now or never.”
Booker turned and faced Carver as if tensing for a fight. “We still got plenty of darkness left,” he argued. “We ain’t leavin’ without Massah Doctor and Pearl.”
“That’s right,” Celie put in. “We’s staying ’til that baby is delivered and strong enough to travel.”
Pearl clutched Silas’s hand and motioned for him to help her to a sitting position. “Celie, you know better. This is my first pregnancy—at least the first one I’ve carried to term. And I’m not so young anymore. This is likely to be a hard delivery, and a long one. But you can’t wait. You’ve got to go now. We’ll catch up with you. Wherever you are, we’ll find you.” She gave a wan smile, then winced as a contraction gripped her. “We’re—we’re family. Don’t worry—we’ll be together again soon.”
Celie and Booker exchanged a glance, and Booker put his fists on his hips. “No ma’am.”
Silas eased Pearl back onto the quilt and stood up. “Booker, you listen to me. This is your chance—it’s what you’ve waited for all your life. Now, take your wife and son and go. Please.”
Booker looked at him, and his dark eyes held a curious expression. “If you was me, Massah Doctor, would you leave?”
Silas narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “Yes. Yes, Booker, I would.”
Booker stepped forward and enveloped Silas in a massive bear hug. “You’s a bad liar, Massah Doctor,” he whispered in Silas’s ear. “Now you take good care of that gal of yours,” he added. “And that baby. I ’spect to see all of y’all real soon.”
“Come on!” Carver insisted. “If we don’t go now, we won’t be far enough along by daybreak.”
“Wait!” Pearl gasped. She motioned for Silas to bring her the canvas bag that held their meager belongings. She reached in and drew out a small velvet box.
“Sweetheart—” he protested.
But her eyes stopped him cold. “The night before we married, I told you I’d treasure this forever,” she said softly as she drew out the heart-shaped amethyst. “But if it can help save the lives of people we love—”
Silas nodded. “You’re right.” He took the brooch from her and handed it to Booker. “If you get into trouble, maybe you can find some sympathetic white folks who will sell this for you.”
Booker’s enormous, pale palm dwarfed the amethyst. “I can’t take this, Massah Doctor.”
“Yes, you can. And you will. We can’t go with you right now, but—”
“We’ve got to hurry,” Carver interrupted. “We don’t have time for this.”
Booker heaved a huge, shuddering sigh and slipped the brooch into his pocket, then swiped at his eyes. “Pray for us,” he said as he turned to go. “You be right here"—he pounded a hand against his chest—"in our hearts.”
Silas nodded and laid a hand on his own chest. But tears choked him and he couldn’t speak. By the time he found his voice again, the big slave he had come to love so deeply was gone.
Just as dawn was sending rays of orange and pink over the horizon, Abraham Lincoln Noble pushed and kicked his way into the world. Silas cleaned him up, tucked mother and son into the big poster bed, and went out onto the back porch with a steaming cup of coffee.
Father. Daddy. Papa. Pa.
He tried out the names in his mind, and breathed a prayer of thankfulness into the morning air.
An early rain had washed the world clean, and scattered clouds reflected back the light of the rising sun. Unbidden, his gaze wandered toward the woods. Were they all right, the friends who had fled in the dark hours of the morning? Had the patrollers found them, or were they now on their way toward the liberty for which they had waited so long?
Thousands had fought and died for that freedom—indeed, were still fighting, still dying. President Lincoln lay dead because he dared to stand up and declare that no one should have to endure a lifetime of enslavement. And from the deep recesses of his memory, Silas called up Booker’s profound words the night of Enoch’s birth: Life and death is in the hands of the Lord . . . One brother was goin’ out, even as another was comin’ in.
Through the screen door, Silas heard the reedy cry of his infant son and the soft murmuring of his wife as she cooed the child back to sleep. How c
ould he feel so fulfilled and, at the same time, so empty?
“Let there be an end to the dying,” he prayed. “Dear God, keep them safe.”
Early June 1865
Abraham Lincoln Noble was little more than a month old when his father’s prayers were answered. The war was finally over. The fighting had ended; the Confederate surrender had been signed. And this time when troops of both colors marched over Silas’s land, they didn’t ransack or burn or pillage. They just walked on, exhausted, trying with the last of their strength to get back home.
Some of them stopped, asking for food or water or quinine or bandages, and Silas and Pearl gave freely of whatever they had. But nobody stayed, not even the sick ones. The medicine they needed most was the first glimpse of home, the long-awaited embrace of a loved one.
“Are we going to go or not?” Pearl asked one morning as she sat at the table nursing Abe. “He’s very strong. In another month or two he should be able to make the trip without any problem at all.” She smiled down at the baby. “Besides, now that the war is over, traveling will be a good deal easier. At least we won’t have to sneak through the woods in the middle of the night.”
Silas sighed. He didn’t know how to answer her. As the time approached when they could finally leave and go north, he sensed a powerful resistance in his soul, as if they should stay in Cambridge. But why? Pearl’s father had died of influenza the previous winter, and she rarely saw her cousins who now ran the mill. Everyone they loved was gone. And although Silas expected he would be able to rebuild his practice, nobody’s money would be worth anything—just more of the useless scrip that had been floating around during the war. Once again, they’d be taking chickens and hams and potatoes for payment, and for what cause?
He felt lost, as if all sense of mission had vanished from his life. He had his wife and son to look after, but he had spent so many years with a larger purpose than just caring for his family. He loved them, but he needed more—something beyond himself and his own to give his life to.
The Amethyst Heart Page 14