by Jack Ford
“Are you all right?’ Mary asked, pushing Kitty’s dripping hair from her face.
“Think so,” Kitty muttered, still spitting out water.
“Can you stand?”
Kitty nodded uncertainly.
Mary wrapped her arms around her and helped her to stand. They stumbled to the carriage, slipping in the mud, Mary supporting and guiding her. The children were all watching anxiously. When they reached the carriage, Kitty stretched her hand up and touched the face of each of the three children to assure them that she was fine and they were all now safe. Mary carefully boosted her up onto the seat, then untied the reins and clambered up herself.
The rain had not diminished at all during their ordeal, still an unrelenting, solid curtain of water that obscured their vision and hid much of the path before them.
“If we can follow this,” Mary said, raising her voice to be heard above the tempest and pointing her chin toward the murky path, “it should bring us back to the road. Hopefully far enough away from the bridge,” she added.
Kitty nodded her agreement, still too exhausted to talk.
“I thought we’d lost you,” Mary said gently, taking Kitty’s hand in hers.
Kitty offered a thin, exhausted smile and squeezed Mary’s hand.
CHAPTER 32
THE CHILDREN WERE SOUND ASLEEP, WRAPPED IN BLANKETS AND tucked away in a corner of the loft in the barn, surrounded by bales of hay and farm equipment. It was not as secure as the two previous hiding places on their journey, but they hoped that the ferocious rainstorm would help to keep them safe by keeping the slave catchers off the road for a time. And it was dry.
The Quaker couple had responded quickly to their knock on the front door of the farmhouse and had welcomed the spent and sodden travelers warmly. Hot broth and warm bread had restored their energy and their spirits, at least a bit, while their drenched clothes had been dried before the glowing fire in a massive hearth. Once they had all been settled in the concealed alcove, the physically and emotionally exhausted children had fallen asleep instantly.
Mary and Kitty were still awake, sitting in the darkness, propped up against a bundle of hay, the adrenaline rush that had fueled their escape from the near fatal grasp of the swollen creek not yet sufficiently diminished to allow sleep to visit them. They sat quietly, savoring the warmth of their dried clothes and the thick woolen blankets that enveloped them, oddly calmed by the sounds of the moaning wind and the heavy drumming of rain on the barn roof.
Mary was the first to speak and break the comfortable spell.
“Didn’t know you could swim,” she said softly.
“Can’t,” answered Kitty.
Mary sat upright. “Can’t?” she exclaimed. “Then what were you doing jumping into the water like that? You could’ve drowned!”
“Somebody had to,” Kitty said, shrugging. “You were busy drivin’ the wagon, so I figured it had to be me.”
They stayed silent for a few more minutes. Then Kitty spoke.
“When I went under and then got dragged back up by the horse, it looked like you were fixin’ to jump in after me,” she said.
“I was,” Mary answered.
Again, silence.
“Didn’t know you could swim,” Kitty finally said.
“Can’t,” answered Mary.
In the darkness, the corners of Kitty’s mouth turned up in a faint smile. After a few more minutes of quiet, Kitty turned toward Mary, reached out, and touched her sleeve gently.
“Still don’t understand why,” Kitty said.
“Why what?” asked Mary.
“Why you’re doin’ all this,” said Kitty. “I mean, I understand what you said about feelin’ guilty about sendin’ my mother away. And I believe you now. I really do.” Kitty paused, struggling with her thoughts. “But why you doin’ all this?” she continued, waving her hands and gesturing around them. “Hidin’ out in barns and cellars. Sneakin’ about in the dead of night. Nearly drownin’.”
Kitty paused again, shaking her head. “Setting us all free is one thing,” she said, again gesturing around them. “But this—runnin’ away with us and hidin’ out—this is somethin’ different altogether. This could get you arrested.” She dropped her voice low and continued. “Could even get you killed.”
Mary said nothing in response. At first, Kitty thought that she had fallen asleep. Then Mary began to speak, in a hushed tone so soft that Kitty could barely hear her.
“I’m goin’ on sixty years old. Got no family, no brothers or sisters. And no children,” she added, the pain obvious in her voice. “When Samuel passed, I realized that now I was all alone. An awful feelin’, bein’ all alone in this world. I mean, I got some friends, of course, but that’s different. Not the same as blood relatives, folks who you share some history with, folks who’ll feel somethin’ missin’, some kind of empty hole when you’re gone. Realized I didn’t have any of that.”
Mary sighed deeply and then continued. “Then I started thinkin’ about you. About Samuel bein’ your daddy. And I realized somethin’. I realized that, just like me, you didn’t have any brothers or sisters. No parents left alive. No family, other than your children. And I realized that maybe this was part of God’s plan. That maybe he was sayin’ to me that if I was truly sorry for the terrible thing I did to you and your mama—and if I could find your forgiveness—that maybe my salvation would be to start a new family. With you and the children.” She paused and then continued gently. “So that’s why I’m doin’ all this. Because that’s what you do for your family.”
After a moment, Kitty spoke.
“You know, I named her after you,” she said.
“What?” said a puzzled Mary.
“My little Mary. I named her after you. Thought it might’ve made you more willin’ to deal with me and where I came from. Be a little more acceptin’ of me still bein’ around.”
“I . . . I didn’t realize . . . ,” Mary began, but her voice trailed away.
Kitty said nothing more. She simply shifted closer and laid her head on Mary’s shoulder. Within a few minutes, they were both fast asleep.
CHAPTER 33
THEY HAD DECIDED TO REMAIN AN EXTRA DAY. ALTHOUGH NOT MOVING on immediately carried with it certain dangers, the fierce storm had not yet subsided, and they all had agreed that after their ordeal, the food, rest, and warmth would do them all good. And perhaps the additional time hiding out in one location might place more distance between them and the relentless slave catchers. The Quaker couple was only too happy to care for them for one more day.
When they ventured out from their refuge the following night, the carriage brimming with new bundles of food to replace the soggy ruins of the provisions that had accompanied them through the storm, the rain had finally come to an end. The night sky was clear, and the air was crisp and blessedly dry. They thanked their new friends warmly for their care and protection and set off again, following the directions they had been given to the next stop on their clandestine journey.
The night passed without incident, and they arrived at the stopover, yet another farm owned by another Quaker couple, just before dawn. After spending the day sleeping in a root cellar dug into the side of a hill about a dozen yards from the farmhouse, they resumed their travels, with directions to a gristmill near the intersection of the road they had been following and the Old Carolina Road, which would eventually carry them into Maryland.
Just after dawn had arrived, they found the gristmill on the banks of a rushing stream that fed into the Potomac River a few miles away. The owners, a Dutch couple who spoke broken English but welcomed them enthusiastically with hugs and hot food, got them settled in a distant storage shed just minutes before the mill workers began to arrive for work. They promised to return at the end of the day with more supplies and their new directions.
As evening arrived, the couple returned, carrying a basket stuffed with cheese, sausages, and bread for their guests to take with them. This time, however,
they were not as cheerful as earlier. The husband, in his heavily accented English, told them that two men—rough-looking men who he assumed were slave catchers—had arrived at the mill earlier and had passed around to the workers and customers flyers offering a five-hundred-dollar reward for the capture of four runaway slaves—a woman and her children—and a white woman who had aided them in their escape. With a troubled look on his face, he thrust a sheet of paper into Mary’s hands. She took a moment to read it and then showed it to Kitty.
FIVE-HUNDRED-DOLLAR REWARD
Ran away from the farm of S. Maddox, near Washington, Rappahannock County, Virginia, FOUR NEGRO SLAVES—KITTY, a mulatto-skin NEGRO woman aged about 25 yrs old and 5 feet 8 inches tall, and 3 children; ELIZA JANE, aged about 5 yrs old, a light-skin NEGRO girl child; MARY, aged about 4 yrs old, a light-skin NEGRO girl child; and ARTHUR, aged about 2 yrs old, a light-skin NEGRO boy child. They were last seen traveling in a one-horse carriage, accompanied by MARY MADDOX, a WHITE WOMAN aged about 60 yrs old. They are believed to be heading toward the PENNSYLVANIA border.
The above reward will be paid for their arrest or capture.
SAMUEL MADDOX
Washington, Virginia
Kitty handed the paper back to Mary, her eyebrows raised questioningly. “Now what?” Kitty asked.
Mary shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned. “Should’ve known this would happen,” she said. “They’re not gonna just let us walk away. Need to be more careful, that’s all. And get to where we’re goin’ faster.” She turned back to the mill owner. “So, where’re we headin’ now?”
The man shook his head, obviously anxious. “Next stage is a little tricky,” he said. “You’ll take the Old Carolina Road, which is right over yonder”—he pointed to the road—“a few miles to the Potomac river. A covered bridge takes you across the river to Point of Rocks, in Maryland. Once you cross, you’ll still be on the Old Carolina Road. That’ll take you through Frederick. Your next stopover is a few miles past the town.”
“Why is that tricky?” Kitty asked. “Sounds pretty simple.”
The man shook his head again, more vigorously this time. “Problem is that you can’t make it all the way from here to the next stop during the night. Too far to go before the sun rises.”
“So?” said Mary. “What do we do?”
“This is the part that could be difficult,” he said. “Not a good idea for you to camp out somewhere before you reach town. Not with those men around looking for you. You’ll have to travel through Frederick in daylight. Should be right after dawn, though, if you make good time tonight. So probably not many folks awake and about. Just pass through quick as you can and hope nobody sees you. About five miles out of town, there’s a Quaker meetinghouse, a two-story white building. The back door’ll be open, and someone will be waiting for you.”
Mary and Kitty exchanged a worried glance.
“Remember,” Mary said. “Anybody asks, we’re just traveling to Emmitsburg to visit friends.”
Kitty nodded, her confidence returning.
“You need to be going, then,” the man said.
“God bless you all,” the woman said, taking a moment to embrace each of them in turn.
“And God speed,” the man added gravely.
CHAPTER 34
FROM ACROSS THE POTOMAC RIVER, POINT OF ROCKS LOOKED EXACTLY as it sounded. An enormous outcropping of jagged stone that seemed to have been haphazardly hewn from the surrounding cliffs by some colossal chisel, it presided over one of the narrower spans of the river. A covered bridge provided passage above the coursing white water, conveying travelers from Virginia into Maryland.
Darkness had settled in completely by the time they approached the bridge. There was a half-moon that occasionally ducked behind a tapestry of scudding clouds, providing just enough milky light to guide them along the road. They had seen no other travelers as yet, and as they peered through the dim, shadowy darkness of the covered passageway, there did not seem to be anyone else crossing the river.
The planking of the bridge groaned and clattered as the horse cautiously stepped onto the span, which was nearly thirty feet above the Potomac. Midway across, the horse began to balk as the sound of the rushing water below became louder, echoing off the wooden walls.
As Mary wrestled with the reins, Kitty leaped down from the carriage and, gripping the bridle, began to coax the horse along, offering a chorus of soothing words to accompany the tugging on the leather bridle.
Finally, they reached the other side of the bridge, and the horse, now calm, trotted onto the Maryland side of the Old Carolina Road. Hours later, as they could see the first purple-pink imprints of dawn along the edge of the eastern horizon, the town of Frederick emerged from the brightening sky ahead of them.
The Old Carolina Road passed directly through the center of town, which was lined with storefronts, stables, warehouses, and a few homes. Frederick, given its location near the Virginia-Maryland border and close to a number of growing towns, had become a crossroads for travelers and a market town for nearby residents. Usually bustling with commerce and voyagers, as dawn arrived, the town was still slumbering, with no one in sight.
“Who are we goin’ to visit? In Emmitsburg?” Kitty asked. “In case anyone asks.”
“Don’t really know anyone there,” Mary answered musingly. “Have to make up a name. Say it’s a cousin I haven’t seen in a long while. Just let me do all the talkin’, if we have to.”
Kitty nodded as she glanced around the street, trying to appear casual and to suppress her surging anxiety. Would be just my luck, she thought, if we made it through the dangers of rainstorms and raging creek waters, only to be recognized and captured on a sunny morning in this pleasant little town.
Mary kept the horse cantering along, anxious to exit the town but not wanting to be traveling at such a speed that they would attract any attention. The children were slumped down in the rear seat, covered with blankets, only their heads visible, and Mary kept her gaze focused straight ahead.
As they neared the end of town, the front door of a two-story boardinghouse that faced the road banged open, and a squat, disheveled man dressed in shabby, mismatched trousers and jacket, a battered black derby perched on his head, stepped outside, striking a match and applying the flame to a narrow cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth.
At first, the man paid no attention to the carriage as it approached, but then, after he furrowed his brow in brief thought, he turned and surveyed it carefully as it passed by. After nearly leaping down the two steps of the front porch, he shambled as quickly as his stumpy legs could carry him to the front doors of the saloon across the street and reached for a piece of rough paper that had been nailed to the door frame. The words five-hundred-dollar reward were emblazoned across the top of the page.
The man turned and looked in the direction of the carriage, its silhouette now fading in the distance as it left town, traveling north on the Old Carolina Road. At first, he seemed uncertain as to what he wanted to do; then, having apparently made up his mind, he ran toward the rear of the boardinghouse, where his horse was stabled.
Meanwhile, unaware of the unwelcome attention directed at them by the man on the street, both Mary and Kitty audibly exhaled as they left the town, heading toward their next sanctuary location.
“Good thing we got there as early as we did,” Kitty commented. “Didn’t seem to be any folks around.”
Mary nodded. “Now we just need to find the meetinghouse up the road. Hopefully won’t bump into any curious souls before we get there,” she said.
About a half hour passed before they heard the sound of horse’s hooves behind them. Kitty turned to see a man on a swaybacked horse approaching them. He was not traveling at a pace that alarmed them for any reason, nor did he seem to be especially focused on them, so they simply exchanged glances and continued along, Mary sliding the carriage slightly toward the right shoulder of the road to allow room for the follower to pass them.
As the rider drew up even with them, he slowed his horse and tipped his hat in Mary’s direction. “Mornin’, ma’am,” he said pleasantly, addressing Mary and deliberately ignoring Kitty.
“Good morning,” Mary responded, offering a nod and a half smile.
“Out awful early, ain’t you?” the man said.
“On our way to visit some friends and thought we’d get an early start,” Mary answered flatly, keeping her eyes on the road, hoping to discourage any more conversation.
The man now looked pointedly at Kitty and then the children. “Where y’all travelin’ from?” he asked.
“From down south a bit,” Mary answered vaguely.
“Whereabouts?” he asked, the suspicion now seeping into his voice.
“Don’t mean to appear rude, but we’re tired and anxious to reach our destination, so . . . good day, sir,” Mary said, then flicked the reins to speed up the horse.
The man lagged behind for a few strides, then, with a swiftness that startled them, spurred his ragged horse forward. When he drew alongside the carriage, he reached out, grabbed the horse’s bridle and, using his own horse as leverage, savagely jerked the reins and forced the horse and carriage off the road and into a small clearing.
CHAPTER 35
MARY STRUGGLED WITH THE REINS, TRYING VAINLY TO CONTROL the veering carriage, but the force of the stranger’s lunging horse drove the carriage off the road, where it careened to a halt in a clearing. The man jumped to the ground and grabbed the reins, yanking them from Mary’s grip.
Kitty leaped from the carriage to the ground. She had taken two steps toward the man when a small single-shot pistol appeared in his hand, pointed directly at her. She stopped and raised her hands.