by Jack Ford
Finally, Kitty broke the spell. “What happen to us if we be caught?”
Ol’ Joshua took a deep, wheezy breath and released it slowly. “They bring you back. Prob’ly in chains. Then Mistress Mary have to decide what she be doin’ ’bout you.”
Kitty nodded slowly, her jaw set, her eyes hard.
CHAPTER 7
THE NIGHT SKY WAS COAL DARK, WITH ROLLING MASSES OF DENSE, rain-laden clouds pressing downward like the sagging roof of an old tent. The farm had settled into its night rhythms. A few faint dancing glimmers from the last slumbering cook fires were accompanied by the chirping of nocturnal insects and the soft rustling of the animals settling down in the barn.
Shadows flickered along the walls of the slave cabins, not quite full silhouettes, more like the floating of leaves on a gusty day. Kitty, wrapped in a dark shawl, tread silently from the rear of the farmhouse, past the darkening slave quarters, until she arrived at Ol’ Joshua’s cabin. She carried a sleepy and confused two-year-old Arthur in a sling on her hip and a blanket roll, with some bread, apples, and a goatskin water bag tucked inside, looped around her other shoulder. Eliza Jane and Mary walked on each side of her, their small hands locked inside of hers, their faces mirroring their uncertainty over whether they should be excited or afraid on this adventure.
As she approached the cabin, Ol’ Joshua stepped outside and, without a word, took her arm and led her toward the rear of the barn. He knelt and kissed each of the little girls and sleepy Arthur on the forehead. Then he straightened up creakily and embraced Kitty, kissing her once on each cheek.
“Follow the creek down to the old Warrenton Road an’ head east toward Amissville,” he whispered. “You bes’ not be travelin’ in daylight, so jes’ find some spot to hole up an’ let the babies sleep a bit till nighttime.”
Kitty nodded as the two girls, now sensing Ol’ Joshua’s anxiety, stepped closer and clutched their mother’s dress tightly.
“Thank you,” Kitty said softly, swiping away the tears that slid down her cheeks.
She shifted the sling holding the now sound asleep Arthur and, turning away from Ol’ Joshua, grasped the girls’ hands once again and moved swiftly down the path toward the creek. Before they disappeared into the woods, she snuck a quick look back over her shoulder, but the stygian darkness was so profound that after just a few strides, she could not see if Ol’ Joshua was still standing by the barn.
Kitty and the children kept close to the twisting, shallow creek, which, in the gloom of the dense thickets, provided their only source of navigation. After about fifteen minutes, they emerged from the woods alongside the road. Although it was officially called the Warrenton Turnpike, at this point it was merely a well-trodden, deeply rutted dirt lane, pounded for years by horses’ hooves and metal-clad wooden wagon wheels, barely wide enough for two wagons to pass by each other. The road ran generally east to west, cutting a meandering ribbon through the gentle hills of the rolling Virginia farmland.
Kitty was immediately concerned over how little tree or brush cover bordered the road, mindful of Ol’ Joshua’s admonition about not traveling during daylight and the importance of finding some protective shelter for them to hide and rest. Determined to put as much distance behind them as possible before the first light of dawn, she tightened her grip on the girls’ hands, checked briefly that little Arthur, oblivious to the dangers stalking their escape, was still asleep, and began to trudge eastward, toward the church with the red steeple and their first stop on the “railroad.”
They had walked silently for nearly an hour when Eliza Jane tugged on Kitty’s hand and looked up at her, the silvery relics of drying tears still shining on her cheeks.
“Mama,” she whispered, sniffling, “why we walkin’ in the night? And where we goin’?”
Sensing that they all needed a rest, Kitty shepherded the girls off the road and sat them down on a small rise. She shifted the sling holding Arthur onto her lap and plopped down next to them. She kissed both of the girls on the cheek, tugged the water bag out of the bedroll, and offered each of them a long swallow.
“Well, then,” Kitty said to the two upturned, frightened faces, “remember those books I’ve read to you about different adventures?”
Eliza Jane and Mary both nodded solemnly.
“Well, this is our adventure,” Kitty said, trying to sound as happily excited, yet calm, as possible. “We’re traveling to a new place to live.”
“But we already have a place to live,” said Eliza Jane.
“We live at home,” chimed in a terribly confused Mary.
“Yes, but we’re going to find a new home. A better home,” Kitty said, wrapping her arms around the two girls. “A home where we grow all our own food, and do our own work, and come and go as we please.”
“I don’t want to come and go,” Eliza Jane whimpered. “I just want to be home in my bed. I’m tired, Mama.”
Kitty rocked gently, holding the girls close. “I know, darlin’,” she said soothingly. “I’m tired, too. We’ll stop soon and get some sleep. But for now, we got to keep walkin’.”
They all sat for a few minutes, until the girls stopped sniffling. Then Kitty ushered them back on their feet, kissed both of them on the forehead, tucked the water bag back into the bedroll, and slung it over her shoulder.
“So,” Kitty said, trying her best to mask her own fear and sound cheerful, “we’re off on our adventure.”
CHAPTER 8
IT WAS SHORTLY AFTER BREAKFAST HAD BEEN SERVED WHEN THE OLD kitchen slave woman came rushing into the dining room, breathless and stammering. Mary Maddox was sitting in her usual seat at the end of the table, savoring the last of her coffee, putting off as long as possible wading into the farm ledger books, a chore she found confusing and depressing. Not for the first time that morning she thought about how much she missed her husband, not just because she now had his farm tasks thrust upon her, although that certainly was a factor, but also because she so missed the simple interaction and conversation of their daily breakfast.
“Mistress! Mistress!” the old woman spluttered, struggling to catch her breath. “Kitty done run ’way! An’ her chilluns, too!”
“What?” Mary said, puzzled by the outburst. “Run away? What do you mean?”
The old woman took a deep breath and struggled to calm herself. “Kitty be gone. She ain’ be in her room all night. When she din’t come out to help fix breakfast, I look in her room and she be gone. An’ her chilluns be gone, too. I ask round, and nobody be seein’ her since last night. So she musta run off,” the old woman added, almost gleefully.
Mary was silent for a moment, then said calmly to the old woman, “Please go find Ol’ Joshua and bring him to me immediately.”
“Yes’m!” the old woman yelped, then scampered out of the dining room toward the back entrance of the farmhouse.
A few minutes later, Ol’ Joshua entered the dining room, bent over, walking painfully and deliberately. He began to speak, but Mary, still seated at the table, interrupted him.
“Joshua,” she said sternly, “I’m told that Kitty has run away. Do you know anything about this?”
“No, Mistress,” he answered, his tone level and his face inscrutable. “Don’ know nuthin’ ’bout that.”
Mary stared at him. “I know you and Kitty have always been close,” she said, not unkindly. “I can’t imagine she would do such a thing—and take her children with her—without talking to you about it first.”
“No, ma’am,” he answered, shaking his head slightly, his dark, creviced face still blank. “She ain’ said nuthin’ to me. Mebbe she jes’ off visitin’ with some other folks,” he added blandly.
“Joshua,” Mary said, leaning toward him, her voice almost pleading, “if she has run off, it can only end badly. For her. Her children. For all of us.”
The old man remained silent and stoic.
“Please,” Mary said, “if you can help me find her, before it’s too late . . . ?” Her voi
ce trailed off.
Ol’ Joshua shifted from one foot to the other but said nothing.
Mary sighed deeply, then stood and held herself ramrod straight. “Well, then, if you are not going to help me, then I don’t have very much choice, do I?” she said firmly, shaking her head. “Please send Young Joshua to summon the sheriff. Have him tell the sheriff that we have four runaway slaves—a mother and three children—and he should do whatever is necessary to find them and return them.”
CHAPTER 9
KITTY AND THE CHILDREN SPENT THE DAMP DAYLIGHT HOURS IN A rickety, weather-beaten hay storage lean-to that was perched on a slope about one hundred yards off the road. They slept fitfully, huddled under the blanket, trying to fight off the blowing wind and the slashing rain that sluiced through the cracks in the ramshackle wooden structure. A few stray cattle approached during the day and nibbled at the hay, gazing curiously at the sleeping interlopers.
Kitty had been dozing restlessly, unable to calm her mind or her nerves. Now, after just a few hours, she was wide awake, her thoughts tumbling about like loose apples in a rolling barrel. During the first part of the journey, as the farm disappeared into the darkness behind them, she had felt a surprising euphoria, not the fear that she had expected, but rather a powerful sense of exhilaration that accompanied this newly seized freedom. But now, as she watched the children shifting sleepily under the blanket, seeking some protection from the stinging, slanting rain, her doubts reappeared and began to overwhelm the earlier joy. A creeping dread started to envelop her, squeezing through her drenched clothes and seeping into her weary bones. A mistake, she thought, suddenly panicked by the realization that she was now a fugitive slave and that she and the children would soon be the subjects of a manhunt. This is a terrible mistake. She shivered uncontrollably, not from the cold and wet, but from the emerging fear now churning deep within her.
She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking some warmth, and tried to slow her breathing, hoping to dispel the terrifying images of angry men and howling dogs relentlessly pursuing them. Then, suddenly, a strange thing happened. The sodden smell of the wet wool of the blanket, together with the small rustling movements of the sleeping children, combined to somehow calm her. After a few minutes of staring at their inexplicably serene faces, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I’m doing the right thing, she thought, striving to convince herself. This is not a mistake. We’ll make it to the safe house, and from there we’ll find help. I had to do this, she concluded, her confidence slowly returning. It is the only way to keep us together. She took another deep breath, sighed softly, and snuggled closer to the children to await the nightfall.
The children awoke about an hour before dusk, but despite the darkening skies that had accompanied the storm, Kitty did not feel that it was safe to leave the protection of their shabby shelter until night had descended. They pecked away at small bits of their food—Kitty was reluctant to consume too much of their rations in case Ol’ Joshua’s estimation of two days’ travel time to the safe house turned out to be wrong—and passed the time by telling stories from books that they had read together. The girls seemed to have buried their anxieties a bit and, feeding off Kitty’s confidence, now appeared to be more embracing of the idea that they were off on an adventurous journey. However, little Arthur remained uncharacteristically quiet most of the time. After checking his forehead, which felt warm, Kitty was concerned that he might be coming down with something.
As a heavy curtain of darkness finally fell across the turbulent sky, the rain lessened, and Kitty, struggling once again to dampen her lingering sense of dread, felt that it was time to resume their journey. She tucked the remaining provisions away, roused the girls up onto their feet, and wrapped a now wriggling and fidgeting Arthur back into his sling.
Picking their way carefully along the furrowed road in the dense, enveloping blackness was a slow and painful task. The girls stumbled often, scraping knees and ankles, crying out softly when they toppled to the ground, but always helped each other up and soldiered on. Kitty, too, found herself lurching often, struggling to maintain her balance as she clutched the still restless Arthur close to her.
Once, after they had been walking for nearly two hours, Kitty thought she heard the sound of horses up ahead. She grabbed the girls roughly by their shoulders and yanked them off to the side, plunging them all into a nearby thicket. They stayed hidden and silent for perhaps ten minutes, Kitty twitching and swinging her head side to side like a cornered animal, listening desperately for any sounds that might mean hunters on their trail. Finally, satisfied that the sounds, of horses or not, had faded into the night and that they did not seem to be in danger, she gathered up her flock and trudged on.
Kitty was certain that they were on the right road, the one stretching across the county and leading into Warrenton, but she was unsure of any road markers that could tell them how close they were getting to the church with the red steeple. And with the relentless darkness, she worried that they might have missed some sign or structure that would provide a tantalizing hint as to how close they were.
As the first light of the false dawn began to engrave itself across the rolling hills of the horizon, Kitty could tell that the storm had moved past and the wind was freshening and crisp. She knew that the real dawn would be creeping in soon and that they needed to find a place to hide. Scanning the barely visible contours of the countryside, she found that they seemed to be traveling along pastureland that had been cleared of trees and heavy vegetation, land that offered no readily available protection sites. Squinting into the distance, she sensed that the road curved gently off to the right ahead, and she picked up their pace, prompting the tired girls in urgent whispers to go quickly so that they could find a safe place to rest.
As they neared the sweep in the road, Kitty stopped suddenly, startled. Again, she thought she heard the jingling of horse harnesses, but this time the sound was much more pronounced. And definitely coming toward them. She swung her head around, searching desperately for someplace off the road for them to hide. Panicking, seeing nothing that offered any real protection, she seized the two girls and shoved them into a small ditch in the bordering field that she had spotted about five yards from the road. They all tumbled into the shallow trench, and Kitty pressed the girls’ heads down into the slick grassy turf.
“Shush!” Kitty whispered harshly. “No talking! Keep your heads down!”
An eerie, spectral luminescence floated around the bend, followed by the hammering of horses’ hooves. Damn! Lanterns! thought Kitty, realizing that the ghostly light must be coming from lanterns carried by the riders. Instinctively, she reached out and pushed the girls deeper into the sodden ground. She held her breath as four horsemen rounded the curve, riding abreast. Harnesses clinking, the horses reared their heads and snorted, spraying steam from their nostrils, as they picked their way carefully along the dark, uneven lane. The vexatious lanterns swung back and forth, casting long shimmering shadows across the road and into the fields.
Kitty could feel Eliza Jane and Mary shaking next to her, but they never made a sound. She turned her head, barely perceptibly, toward the terrified girls, whose eyes were as wide as a full moon, and nodded to them with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Peeking up from their sheltering ditch, she saw that the riders had just cantered past their hiding place. She slowly and quietly exhaled.
Then, suddenly, little Arthur began to wail.
CHAPTER 10
THE AFTERNOON SUN HAD BEGUN ITS LEISURELY DOWNWARD TREK across a pristine blue sky, scrubbed clean by the passage of the previous day’s storm, as the four horsemen turned off the main road and sauntered up the narrow lane leading to the Maddox farmhouse. Leading the pack was the sheriff, astride a large molasses-colored mare. Attached to the pommel of his saddle was a long rope. At the other end of the rope was Kitty, a noose notched tightly around her neck. She staggered along behind the horse, the hem of her dress ragged and ripped, revealing bloodie
d shins and knees, her hands tied together loosely so that she could hold little Arthur in his sling. Eliza Jane and Mary, with nooses around their necks likewise tethered to saddle pommels, stumbled as their little legs, also scratched and bleeding, flailed beneath them, futilely attempting to keep pace with the horses’ strides.
The workers in the fields surrounding the farmhouse stopped what they were doing and stared at the bleak, melancholy procession as it wound its way up the lane toward the house. Some shook their heads sadly, others offered empty gazes, while, for a few, tears welled in their eyes and spilled down their grimy cheeks.
On the porch, Mary Maddox waited, having been alerted to the sheriff’s approach by one of the field-workers. Her face was impassive, and her features were set, revealing neither anger nor relief. Only her hands, grasping and twisting inside the folds of her apron, gave any evidence of her apprehension about how she should handle Kitty’s escape and capture. She knew that all eyes would be on her, judging how she reacted to this challenge to her authority as the new head of the farm.
“Mistress Maddox,” Sheriff William Walden said, touching the brim of his slouch hat respectfully, as he reined his horse in a few feet from the porch. “Found ’em ’bout ten miles from here, travelin’ along the Warrenton Road. Must’ve holed up during the day and done their travelin’ at night. Caught ’em just before dawn.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Mary said, coldly eyeing Kitty. “I’m very thankful for your efforts.”
“Pleasure, ma’am,” the sheriff answered. He looked around and, seeing no white man present, only the collection of curious slaves now gathered near the farmhouse, nodded toward Kitty. “Would you like me and my men to handle the whippin’?” he asked. “Need to remind you that the new law requires a whippin’ anytime a slave tries to run,” he added in a slightly apologetic tone.