Chariot on the Mountain

by Jack Ford

  Kitty bobbed her head, her strength and hope restored by the presence of Mary and Fanny. Then she looked down at her shackles and chains. “What about these?” she said, grabbing the chains and shaking them.

  Mary bent down and examined the shackles. There was no padlock; rather a locking pin had been driven into a hole in each cuff, locking the two halves of the steel circle together around each of her ankles. Looking at the children, Mary could see that they were shackled in the same fashion.

  Scrambling to her feet, Mary looked around frantically for something she could use to knock the locking pins out of their slots. When she saw nothing that might work, she ran out of the shed and into the barn. There, on a workbench along a wall, she spied a wooden mallet. She grabbed it and raced back to the shed.

  “Help me with this,” she called to Fanny, breathless from her run and the fear that Sam might return any minute. “Hold this steady,” she said, grabbing the shackle on one of Kitty’s ankles and twisting it around so the locking pin was exposed. Kitty grimaced from the pain of the steel grating against her raw, scraped leg but said nothing.

  Mary gritted her teeth, gripped the shackle and swung the mallet. It struck with a ringing noise. The chains shook, but the locking pin did not move.

  “Need to prop something underneath,” Mary said, almost to herself. Glancing around, she saw a small, square block of wood, grabbed it, and wedged it tightly under the shackle for stability.

  “Should help,” she mumbled as she swung again.

  This time, the force of the blow jolted the pin, nudging it partially out of the hole. Two more strikes and the pin popped out. Mary stripped the first shackle away and then quickly placed the block of wood under Kitty’s other shackle and began hammering. After three blows, the pin dropped to the floor and the second steel circle snapped open.

  Mary moved swiftly to the children and began hammering away at their shackles as Fanny helped Kitty to her feet. One by one, all the remaining shackles were unfastened, and the children were also freed and able to stand.

  “Can y’all walk?” Mary asked anxiously.

  The children all nodded. So did Kitty.

  “Then we need to leave right away,” Mary said. “Fanny, you take the children. I’ve got Kitty.”

  Fanny ushered the three children from the shed, while Mary placed an arm around Kitty, who was a bit wobbly. Within minutes, the women had loaded Kitty and the children into the rear of the carriage. As Mary climbed up to join Fanny on the driver’s seat, Kitty grabbed her arm.

  “Where we goin’?” she asked, a look of consternation on her face.

  “Back to Fanny’s,” said Mary.

  “Safe there?” asked Kitty uncertainly.

  “Should be,” said Mary. “For now, anyway.”

  Kitty shot her a crooked smile and inclined her head toward the carriage. “Thought I’d seen the last of this here wagon,” she said.

  “One more ride,” answered Mary, smiling as she reached out and gently touched Kitty’s damaged face. “Just one more ride.”

  CHAPTER 50

  NIGHTFALL HAD COME QUICKLY. THE UNLIKELY GROUP OF CLANDESTINE travelers—a widowed farmwife, a rich plantation owner, and an escaped slave with her children—was thankful for the cloud-strewn, moonless cover of darkness that allowed them to arrive at Fanny’s home undetected.

  Fanny supervised the bathing and feeding of the children, while Mary tended to Kitty, gently salving her wounds, providing her with hot food, and replacing her torn rags with clean clothes. Once the children had been put to bed in a dormer room on the third floor of the mansion, the three women sat together around a table in the large, ornately decorated dining room, before the embracing warmth of a dancing, crackling fire.

  “What now?” asked Kitty, her hands wrapped around a steaming earthenware mug of tea.

  Mary and Fanny exchanged uncertain glances.

  “Not exactly sure,” said Mary. “First thing we had to do was get you away from there. Sam was plannin’ on takin’ you and the children to Charleston to sell you off.”

  A look of horror flashed across Kitty’s face. “Assumed he was bringin’ us back here,” Kitty said, “but thought he just wanted to keep us for himself.” She shook her head. “Never thought he’d be sellin’ us off . . . least not right away.”

  “Fortunately, Fanny heard him talkin’ to Katie about his plans ... ,” Mary began.

  “He was here?” Kitty said, alarmed.

  Fanny nodded. “Came to visit with Katie,” she said. “I overheard him talking about taking all of you down to the Carolinas for sale and realized that we had to do something quickly. So,” she added, holding her open palms out and shrugging, “we got you away from him. At least for now.”

  “What about Miss Katie?” Kitty asked. “She know we’re here?”

  “I suspect she will soon,” said Fanny. “Think she’s upstairs in her room right now . . .”

  As if on cue from a stage manager, Katie stormed into the dining room.

  “Do you care to explain this?” she exclaimed, her face flushed with fury, as she pointed at Kitty.

  Fanny stood and stepped directly in front of Katie, stopping her in her tracks. “You seem to be under some illusion that I somehow owe you an explanation for what I choose to do,” Fanny said sternly, her eyes flashing.

  Katie took a step backward, her indignation momentarily blocked by her older sister’s hostile stance. “This is my home, too,” she spluttered angrily, “and you have no right sheltering her—a runaway slave—here without my permission.”

  “First of all,” Fanny said coldly, “I don’t need your permission for anything. Second, she’s not a runaway slave. She’s a free woman who was kidnapped and beaten by your friend.” She spit out the last word derisively. “And I—we—don’t intend to let him get away with such ungentlemanly conduct. So,” she added as she took a threatening step closer to Katie, “if you’re not happy offering the hospitality of our home to her, feel free to go someplace else while she’s here as my guest.”

  The women glared angrily at each other for a long minute before Katie turned and stormed indignantly out of the room. Fanny returned to the table, sat down, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

  “Well,” Fanny began, “I guess we can assume that Sam will know soon—if he doesn’t know already—that y’all are here.”

  “Should we run?” asked Kitty. “Get as far away as we can before he gets here?”

  Mary shook her head. “Don’t think we’d get very far. Probably on his way here right now,” Mary said.

  Fanny was silent, contemplating the situation. Finally, she shook her head. “Don’t think running would work. Not now.” She paused and then looked at the two women. “But I think I’ve got an idea. What if we send for the sheriff? Tell him what happened, how you took Kitty and the children to Pennsylvania and freed them. How Sam then kidnapped them and brought them back here. Tell the sheriff we want Sam kept away from them. At least until a judge comes to town.”

  Mary nodded slowly. “Might work. At least for the time being,” Mary mused. She turned toward Kitty, who had remained silent. “What do you think?”

  Kitty straightened, a fleeting grimace a reminder of her injuries, and looked directly at Mary and then Fanny. “I want you to summon the sheriff,” she said adamantly. “And when he gets here, I want to press charges against Sam.”

  “What?” said Fanny. “I don’t understand.”

  “I want to press charges against him,” Kitty repeated. “For what he did to me and my children. He kidnapped us and beat us, chained us up like animals. Want him to be held responsible.”

  Mary and Fanny exchanged confused glances. Finally, Fanny spoke.

  “But, Kitty,” she said gently, “you can’t bring charges against Sam. The law doesn’t allow it—”

  “Why?” Kitty interrupted. “Because I’m a slave? Because I’m someone’s property? And not a person?” she said, barely controlling her fury.
“Well, I’m not a slave! I’m free! Set free by Mistress Mary in Pennsylvania and had the papers to prove it. He kidnapped and beat a free woman! No different than if it was either of you he kidnapped and beat.”

  “But I don’t recall it ever being done before . . . ,” began Fanny.

  “Don’t care about before,” insisted Kitty. She swiveled to face Mary. “You told me I was free. The Pennsylvania court told me I was free. And then Sam comes bustin’ into my room, beats me, and ties me up like I was some kind of criminal.” She paused and looked carefully at Mary. “So, was I free or not?”

  “Yes,” said Mary, without hesitation. “Yes, you were free. But now we’re back in Virginia. . . .”

  “Makes no difference,” asserted Kitty. “Was free in Pennsylvania, and that’s where he kidnapped us. And,” she added, “you would have freed us here in Virginia, anyway, if we didn’t have to run from him.”

  “All true,” agreed Mary. “But what Fanny’s saying is right. Don’t remember any slave trying to press charges against a white man, much less winning in court.”

  “Don’t matter,” answered Kitty firmly. “None of that matters. Because this isn’t about a slave going against a white man. I . . . am . . . free! This is about a free woman going against a white man. And as a free person, a court has to listen to me.”

  Kitty sat back in her chair, her jaw set, her mind made up.

  The silence in the room stretched out for a few minutes, marked only by the rhythmic ticking of a large grandfather clock standing guard in a corner of the room. Finally, Kitty spoke again, her voice calmer.

  “Just tell me this,” she said, shifting her gaze carefully from Mary to Fanny. “What would y’all do if Sam attacked you the way he attacked me? Would you let him get away with it?”

  Fanny sighed deeply. “Now that you put it that way, no,” she said. “I’d never let him get away with that.”

  “Probably just go and shoot him myself,” said Mary, “if he ever put his hands on me.”

  Kitty shook her head defiantly. “Thought so,” she said. “Well, I’m not goin’ to just sit back and let him do that to me, either.”

  “Well, then,” said Mary, “I think we’ve decided what we do next. At least, Kitty and I’ve decided.” She looked at Fanny. “This here’s not your fight anymore. You’ve already done more than a friend should be asked to do.”

  Fanny shook her head. “This is still my fight,” she said. “My daddy told me that sometimes the only battle worth fighting is one where everyone else thinks you’re wrong. Well, we’re on the right side of this battle, and I don’t much care what anyone else thinks.”

  Fanny picked up a small handbell from the table and rang it several times. Within seconds, the young slave who had been sent to summon Mary rushed into the room.

  “Yes’m?” the boy said.

  “I need you to please go find the sheriff. As quickly as you can. Tell him that I need him here right away. And,” she added, “tell him there might be trouble.”

  CHAPTER 51

  THE HAMMERING ON THE FRONT DOOR ECHOED THROUGH THE HOUSE like a series of thunderclaps. The three women, who had been dozing on couches in the living room, sat bolt upright. Fanny glanced at the clock and saw that it was after midnight. She was distressed that the sheriff had not yet arrived.

  Mary scrambled to her feet, picked her way stealthily to a front window, and peered out from behind a heavy brocaded curtain. She caught her breath and turned toward Kitty and Fanny, a look of alarm on her face.

  It was not the sheriff standing at the door. It was Sam Maddox, along with two other men, whom she did not recognize in the darkness. All three were carrying rifles. Maddox slammed his fist on the door yet again, the striking even more ferocious this time.

  “Sam!” mouthed Mary.

  Fanny nodded, stood, straightened her clothes, and walked to the door. Before opening it, she turned and looked to Kitty.

  “Run to the third-floor room with the children,” Fanny whispered. “Don’t leave that room, no matter what happens. And keep the children quiet.”

  Kitty shook her head in acknowledgment and rushed out of the living room and toward the back stairs leading to the upper floors. Fanny shot Mary a worried glance.

  “Stay inside,” she whispered.

  Mary nodded.

  Fanny slid the large brass locking bolt back, swung the door open, stepped outside, and pulled the door closed behind her. As she walked onto the veranda, Sam Maddox retreated two paces, still flanked by the two men. Fanny glared at them.

  “I’m not sure why you men think you can come—uninvited—to my home in the middle of the night, carrying weapons, and make a ruckus on my front porch,” Fanny said harshly. “But you are most surely mistaken. I’d thank you to leave—now!” she ordered.

  Maddox took a small step forward, while the two men accompanying him, now clearly uncertain, shifted backward toward the edge of the veranda.

  “You got somethin’ here belongs to me,” Maddox said almost casually. “And I’m here to retrieve ’em.”

  “There’s nothing—and no one—here that belongs to you,” Fanny said. “Now please leave,” she added firmly.

  “What makes you think you can just up and take somethin’ belongs to me? And from my own property? Just ride up to my home, break into my shed, and steal ’em from me?” Maddox said, glowering at her, his voice now as hard and threatening as the edge of a knife blade. “You think because you own all this”—he gestured toward the house and the surrounding property with a sweep of his arm—“you got some right to do what you want? That you’re better’n everyone? That you’re some kinda royalty who can tell everyone else what to do?”

  Fanny returned his angry glare. “And what makes you think that you can just ride up north, break into someone’s home, kidnap a woman and her children—a free woman—beat her, and then chain her up like she’s some mangy dog?” Fanny said, straining to control her fury. “And then you think you can show up here, like this, and demand that I turn them all back over to you? Well, if you think that, then you’re damn sure stupider than I thought you were—and I always thought you were pretty damn stupid to start with.”

  “Nice speech,” Maddox sneered. “’Specially from someone’s got dozens of slaves workin’ for her round here. Don’t see you freein’ none a your darkies. So what gives you the right to tell me what to do with mine?”

  “She’s not yours,” Fanny said, seething. “And you’ll never get your evil hands on her again—not if I can help it. Now,” she said, raising her voice, “get off my property!”

  Fanny and Maddox stared at each other for a long minute. The two men standing behind Maddox shuffled their feet, unsure what they should do.

  “I ain’t leavin’ till I got what I came for,” Sam Maddox said menacingly.

  At that moment, the big front door swung open and Mary stepped outside. She carried two shotguns, one in each hand. Raising the barrel of one, she pointed it directly at Maddox, while she quickly handed the other to Fanny, who immediately grasped it and aimed it in the general direction of the other two men.

  “Fanny asked you to leave,” Mary said calmly. “Now I’m tellin’ you to leave.”

  Maddox took a step backward, looking from one woman to the other. “You gonna shoot us?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly, the arrogance giving way to a trace of uncertainty. “Right here, on your porch?”

  “Way I see it,” said Mary, “here we are, two women, all alone and unprotected in this house, when a bunch of strangers show up in the middle of the night, trying to get into the house. Scared the hell outta us. So we’re just tryin’ to protect ourselves from who knows what and shot the intruders.” She flashed Maddox a hard grin. “Nobody’s gonna have much of a problem with that. Folks’ll probably be talkin’ ’bout how brave we were.”

  One of the men shifted slightly and began to raise the barrel of his rifle. Fanny immediately pointed her shotgun at him and cocked the hammer. He
stopped moving and stood still as a statue.

  “On the other hand,” continued Mary, “if you shoot us . . . well, you’ll have an awful difficult time explaining what y’all were doin’ here in the middle of the night, threatenin’ two poor, unprotected women in one of their own homes. My bet is they’d probably hang you by dawn.” She paused and looked at each of the men. “So . . . what’s it gonna be?”

  “You’re bluffin’,” Maddox said. “You ain’t gonna shoot us.”

  Mary smiled at Maddox, as if she was actually enjoying herself. “I’d shoot you down right now and wouldn’t lose a lick of sleep over it,” she said.

  There was dead silence as neither Mary nor Sam Maddox moved. Then Fanny, her gun still trained on the two men, spoke.

  “You two boys willing to bet your lives that we’re bluffing?” she asked sweetly. “Seems like an awful lot to wager on a fight that isn’t even yours.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like such a great bet to me . . . but it’s up to you, I guess,” she added, swinging the barrel ominously back and forth between them.

  “We ain’t leavin’,” Maddox said grimly.

  “Sam,” one of the men mumbled, “maybe we ought to talk about this. . . .”

  “I said, we ain’t leavin’,” Maddox repeated.

  Mary slowly used her thumb to pull back the hammer of her gun, the menacing clicking of the steel as it locked into place reverberating in the stillness of the dark night.

  Suddenly, the pounding of hoofbeats could be heard storming up the long driveway, interrupting the standoff. As they all turned toward the noise, the sheriff, accompanied by three deputies, burst into sight.

  CHAPTER 52

  “WHOA, THERE! GUNS DOWN!” SHERIFF WILLIAM WALDEN YELLED, jumping from his horse and grabbing his own rifle from its scabbard. “Don’t know what’s goin’ on here,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm, “but do know that we ain’t needin’ all these guns drawn.”

  He took two cautious steps toward the veranda as the three deputies leaped from their horses and, following the sheriff’s lead, drew their rifles and fanned out around him. Not wanting to get caught in any cross fire, he stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Looking up, he brushed his index finger to the brim of his hat and nodded toward Mary and Fanny.