Chariot on the Mountain

by Jack Ford

  “Miss Withers. Mistress Maddox. Sorry I got delayed. Got here soon’s I could,” he said courteously.

  After turning toward Sam Maddox, he shot him a questioning look. “Sam,” the sheriff said, a hard edge creeping into his voice, “you wanna tell me why you’re standin’ here on Miss Withers’s porch—in the middle of the night—pointin’ guns at her and Mistress Maddox?”

  “Ain’t what it looks like, Sheriff,” Maddox answered quickly.

  “Damn well better not be what it looks like,” said the sheriff. “ ’Cause I ain’t happy at all with what it’s lookin’ like to me.”

  Maddox began to respond when Fanny interrupted.

  “Sheriff,” she said forcefully, “these men showed up uninvited, in the dark of night, carrying guns and scaring the living daylights out of us. And they’ve refused to leave my property. Kindly direct them to leave—or arrest them.”

  “Sam—and you men, too—put them guns down. Now!” the sheriff ordered.

  “But, Sheriff,” Maddox began angrily.

  “Guns down! Now!” the sheriff repeated, raising his own barrel and leveling it directly at Maddox. “Ain’t gonna ask again!”

  Slowly, Maddox and the other men lowered the barrels of their rifles.

  “Put ’em on the ground,” the sheriff barked.

  Reluctantly, the men leaned down and placed their weapons on the ground.

  “Aw right, now,” the sheriff said in a calmer voice. “What’s this all about?” He looked deferentially to Fanny first.

  “Mr. Maddox,” Fanny began, deliberately refusing to lower her shotgun, “and a gang of cutthroats kidnapped and beat Miss Kitty, a former slave who had been freed by Mrs. Maddox,” she said, gesturing toward Mary. “He brought her back here, chained her up, and is planning on taking her south, with her children, to sell them. Mrs. Maddox and I found her chained on his farm, cut her loose, and brought her here, and we plan on returning her to her legal freedom in Pennsylvania.”

  “That right, Mistress Maddox?” the sheriff asked.

  “Yes, Sheriff,” Mary answered. “That’s all true. She belonged to me after my husband’s passing, and I took her to Pennsylvania, where I set her free. Got the papers to prove it.”

  “Ain’t true at all,” Maddox exploded. “My uncle’s will give me a right to them slaves. Never gave her,” he continued, pointing at Mary, “any right to free ’em. Just took back what belongs to me, nothin’ more. An’ they got no right sneakin’ onto my land and stealin’ my niggras!”

  The sheriff seemed perplexed. He turned back toward Fanny and Mary.

  “Mistress Maddox,” he said respectfully, “the will give Sam, here, any rights to yer husband’s estate?”

  “No, sir, Sheriff,” Mary said vehemently. “That’s an outlandish lie. He’s just makin’ that all up ’cause he’s flat broke and tryin’ to grab anythin’ he can get his hands on to raise money. My property, left to me by my Samuel, to do with what I please.”

  “Ain’t so,” Maddox yelled. “My lawyer told me the will gives me rights to them. Plain as day!”

  The sheriff was quiet for a moment, pondering his dilemma. Finally, he spoke. “Where’s this Kitty and her children now?” he asked.

  “Inside my home, under my protection,” Fanny said. “Where I intend to keep them,” she added, shooting a harsh glance at Sam Maddox as she kept the shotgun pointed at his chest.

  “Here’s what we gonna do,” the sheriff said. “First off, Sam, you and yer friends here gonna pack up yer guns and head on back home.”

  “But—” Maddox spluttered angrily.

  “But nothin’,” the sheriff interrupted sharply. “I’m tellin’ you what yer doin’. This ain’t no discussion. Pick up those guns and get outta here, fast. Before I decide to arrest you for armed trespassin’.”

  The sheriff then turned toward the women.

  “Miss Withers, you give me yer word that you’ll keep these folks—Kitty and her children—here with you tonight? Won’t take ’em anywhere?”

  Fanny nodded. “You have my word, Sheriff,” she answered, puzzled.

  “Aw right,” said the sheriff, seemingly satisfied. “They all stay here with you tonight. Tomorrow I want y’all to bring them to me in Washington.”

  “Why?” asked Mary.

  “Gonna need a judge to sort this all out. Look at the will and decide who really owns the niggras. Meantime, gonna put ’em all in the county jail—for their own protection,” he said, pointedly glaring at Sam Maddox. “Till the judge tells me what to do.”

  “But, Sheriff . . . ,” began Fanny.

  “Sorry, Miss Withers,” the sheriff said. “Ain’t that I don’t believe you and Mistress Maddox. Up to me, be happy to let you take them niggras back up north. But I’m ’fraid this ain’t the kinda decision I’m s’posed to be makin’. Seems like we’re all better off lettin’ a judge decide.”

  “But the jail?” pleaded Mary. “That’s no place for them.”

  “All be fine, Mistress Maddox,” the sheriff said soothingly. “Promise you they’ll be taken good care of. I’ll be sure to have the jailer keep them in the debtors’ rooms. Them’re more like boardinghouse rooms than jail cells. Be comfortable there—and safe—while we sort this all out.”

  The women looked at each other, unsure. After a moment, Mary took a deep breath and nodded at the sheriff.

  “I understand, Sheriff,” Mary said. “And I appreciate your concern for their safety. We’ll bring them to you tomorrow. And we’ll rely on your word that you will protect them.”

  “You can count on that, Mistress Maddox,” the sheriff assured her.

  “You can be sure that we will, Sheriff,” Fanny added, her tone making it clear that his job was on the line if he didn’t protect them.

  “Well, I’ll be goin’, then,” the sheriff said. “Sam, you men get a move on. I’ll be right behind you.”

  As Sam Maddox and his men stalked sullenly away, the sheriff turned back to the women and tipped his hat.

  “Good night, ladies. See you tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Sheriff. And thank you,” Fanny said.

  Both Fanny and Mary finally lowered the shotguns as the sheriff and his posse galloped off into the night.

  “Thought I might have to shoot him,” Mary sighed, drained by the emotional stress of the confrontation.

  “Kind of hoping you would,” said Fanny, with a wry grin.

  “Prob’ly should have,” said Mary, with an answering grin. “Might’ve been my only chance,” she added regretfully.

  “We should go talk to Kitty now. Let her know what’s going to happen,” Fanny said.

  Mary nodded. “Might be the best thing, after all. Least we know she’ll be safe and outta Sam’s reach,” Mary said. “We all need to get some sleep now. Busy day tomorrow. And I’m thinkin’ I’ll be needin’ to talk to a lawyer while I’m in town.”

  “Zeph Turner?” asked Fanny.

  “Think so,” said Mary. “Talked to him a bit about the will before we left. I trust him. And I know Samuel liked him, too.”

  “Kitty’s going to want to know how long she’ll be staying at the jail,” said Fanny.

  “I know,” Mary said, nodding thoughtfully. “Hoping that Zeph might have some answers and be able to figure out how soon we could get a judge involved.”

  The women stepped inside, carrying their shotguns, and closed the big door silently behind them.

  CHAPTER 53

  THEY LEFT THE WITHERS PLANTATION AROUND NOON THE NEXT DAY, traveling in the family’s large, richly ornamental six-passenger, two-horse carriage. When they arrived at the jail in Washington, a square, two-story red brick building located around the corner from the courthouse, several townspeople on the street stopped and gaped in near astonishment at the sight. The richest woman in the county emerged from her ornate coach, together with an entourage of Mary, Kitty, and the three children, and strode regally into the county jail, as if she was making an appearance
at a high-society cotillion.

  Inside, they were met by the jailer, Absalom Lillard, and his wife, Hannah. Lillard was a dour man, tall and rangy, with stringy gray hair down to his shoulders and a full beard framing a narrow, pinched face. His wife, however, was a complete contrast to her husband, as she was short and stout, with a kind face and a warm manner and a broad, welcoming smile.

  “Miss Withers,” Lillard said politely. “Been expecting you. Sheriff says these folks”—he gestured toward Kitty and the children—“gonna be stayin’ with us for a while.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Lillard,” Fanny said, bestowing a dazzling smile on the old man. “And you, also, Mistress Lillard. We are all very thankful to you for your hospitality.” She gestured toward Kitty and the children. “This is Kitty and her children, Eliza Jane, Mary, and Arthur. And I’m sure you know Mistress Maddox.”

  Kitty offered a brief nod, while the children hovered close behind her, frightened by these new surroundings. Mary stepped forward.

  “We all thank you,” Mary said, smiling at the jailer and his wife. “Kitty and her children are . . .” She hesitated, searching for the right words, and then continued. “They are a part of my family since they were born. They are all free now, and I trust you will treat them as such,” she added pointedly.

  The jailer seemed uncertain about the status of his new residents—slaves until very recently—and how he should be dealing with them, but Hannah immediately put them all at ease, stepping forward and clasping Kitty’s hands in hers.

  “Y’all are very welcome here,” she said sweetly. “Come, let me show you where y’all will be staying,” she added, then gathered up Kitty and the children and steered them off in the direction of a narrow staircase in the corner.

  “Been told by the sheriff to keep ’em all in the debtors’ rooms upstairs, away from the jail cells down on this floor. Be safe up there. Rooms ain’t too bad. And they’re just above where we live, so we can look out for ’em,” Lillard said. “Still ain’t quite sure why they bein’ here in the first place, though,” he added, a puzzled and not very happy look on his face.

  “It’s a complicated story,” offered Fanny, still ladling on the charm. “But you can be sure that the sheriff and all of us trust that they’ll remain safe here with you and Mistress Lillard until their legal situation is resolved.”

  “Sheriff says keep ’em here, I’ll keep ’em here.” Lillard shrugged, still not convinced or appeased.

  Upstairs, Hannah had ushered Kitty and the children into a modest-sized room with two beds, a washstand, a low bureau, and a single barred window that looked out at the courthouse next door.

  “How long we stayin’ here, Mama?” asked Eliza Jane softly as Mary and Arthur peered curiously out of the window.

  “Not sure,” answered Kitty, stroking her daughter’s hair soothingly. “But we’ll be safe here. And Mistress Mary and Miss Fanny will still be lookin’ after us.”

  “We’re happy to have y’all stayin’ here with us,” said Hannah, trying her best to make Kitty and the children feel comfortable. “A little later,” she said to the children, “we’ll all go outside so we can play a bit before dinner. Would you like that?”

  The children looked at each other, puzzled, and then turned to Kitty. It had been so long since they had been able to actually play outside that they were unsure how to respond to this invitation. Kitty nodded at them and smiled reassuringly.

  “That would be very nice, Mistress Lillard,” Kitty said. “The children would like that.”

  “Well, then,” said Hannah cheerfully, “let’s get y’all settled in.”

  Kitty slipped back down the staircase into the main room, where Mary and Fanny were still talking to Lillard.

  Mary looked questioningly at Kitty.

  “The room is very nice,” Kitty said. “Thank you, sir,” she added, turning to Lillard. “My children and I appreciate your hospitality.”

  Lillard grumbled something about having to go check on a prisoner and inclined his head toward Mary and Fanny. “Good day, ladies,” he said.

  “Again, our thanks,” said Fanny.

  “Happy to oblige,” Lillard said, offering a slight bow of his head.

  As he turned to head off toward the cell wing of the building, Kitty followed him. “Mr. Lillard,” she said. “Might you help me with one request?”

  The jailer stopped and faced her, his head cocked to one side, and one eyebrow raised. “What now?” he asked.

  “When you see the sheriff, could you tell him I must talk to him?” Kitty asked respectfully. “It’s important,” she added.

  The jailer stared hard at her for a moment, nodded slightly, and then turned and walked away.

  “What was that all about?” asked Mary.

  “Have to talk to the sheriff,” said Kitty.

  “About what?” asked Mary.

  “About pressin’ charges against Sam Maddox,” said Kitty grimly.

  CHAPTER 54

  “AIN’T NEVER BEEN DONE BEFORE,” EXCLAIMED SHERIFF WILLIAM Walden. “Been sheriff here nigh on ten years now and ain’t never heard of such a thing. Slaves just can’t up and charge a white man with assault and kidnapping. It just ain’t done round here. Ain’t done anywhere! Law won’t allow it!”

  The sheriff was a broad man with a large potbelly and hands the size of ham hocks. His moon-shaped face was creased with doubt as he sat behind a small wooden table in the tidy closet-sized office of Jailer Absalom Lillard. Kitty sat in the chair in front of him, her hands folded in her lap.

  “I understand, Sheriff,” she said quietly. “But I’m not a slave. I’m a free woman.”

  The sheriff shook his head vigorously. “But you were a slave. And Sam says you’re still a slave—his slave,” he argued.

  “He’s lying,” Kitty said firmly. “Mistress Mary showed you the papers. She freed me once we got to Pennsylvania. Since I was free, can’t possibly be legal for Sam to go to Pennsylvania and bring me back here. And beat me and chain me up.”

  “But this is Virginia, not Pennsylvania. And I ain’t seen nothin’ says you’re free here,” he countered.

  She paused and looked at him thoughtfully. “Would you let him get away with that if I was a white woman?”

  “But you ain’t,” he answered, clearly frustrated.

  “No, I’m not. But I am free,” she said. “Those papers from Mistress Mary prove that’s true. So I’m entitled to the same protections as any other free woman.”

  The sheriff leaned back in his chair and balanced his bulk on the back two legs, his hands now folded over his abundant belly. He stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, as if he was seeking some divine guidance. Finally, he leaned forward and spread his massive hands across the table.

  “Listen here,” he said firmly but not unkindly. “Don’t like Sam Maddox. Never have. He’s a mean son of a bitch. Up to me, I’d throw his ass in jail in a heartbeat.” He paused. “But this ain’t about me. Ain’t just about you, neither. About much more. It’s about who we are and how we live. It’s about all them troublemakers up north tryin’ to tell us what we should be doin’ with our slaves.”

  “But, Sheriff—” began Kitty.

  “No, just listen up,” the sheriff said, cutting her off. “Not that I ain’t sympathetic about what he done to you. I am. Don’t take kindly to beatin’ anyone—even slaves. But the law’s the law, and my job’s to enforce it.” He shook his head sadly. “Just don’t see any way that I can be signin’ a complaint against him. Not if I want to keep my job,” he added. “Sorry, but that’s the way it’s gotta be.”

  The silence enveloped the room like a heavy cloak. Neither Kitty nor the sheriff spoke for several moments. Kitty was staring out of the window at the courthouse, while the sheriff shifted uncomfortably in his creaking chair. Finally, Kitty sat up straight, placed her hands on the wooden table, nodded thoughtfully, and spoke, her words precise and steady.

  “I understand. But I will not let w
hat he did to us go unpunished. I’m no longer someone’s property. Folks can’t just do whatever they want to me. I’m free, and I have rights now, too.” She took a deep breath and then continued. “I will sign the complaint against him.”

  The sheriff looked at her, perplexed.

  “Not askin’ you to sign the complaint. I’ll do it,” she said. “Folks allowed to sign complaints against someone, right?”

  The sheriff hesitated and then answered uncertainly. “Well, yes . . . but usually for lesser types of charges, like trespassin’ or stealin’ animals. But this is different,” he said.

  “Why?” said Kitty. “Just because you’re the one usually signs a complaint don’t mean that nobody else can. Right?”

  The sheriff thought for a long moment. “Guess it don’t,” he finally said.

  “And that way, nobody’s sayin’ you’re not doin’ your job right or breakin’ any laws,” Kitty added.

  “But still gonna be a question whether you’re a slave or not, ’cause slaves can’t sign complaints. Can’t even testify in court,” the sheriff said.

  “Well, then,” Kitty said confidently, “guess the judge’ll have to make that decision, won’t he?”

  “Guess so,” the sheriff said. “Outta my hands that way.”

  “We’re settled, then,” Kitty said and then paused a beat before continuing in a solemn voice. “Sheriff, I would like to sign a complaint against Sam Maddox for kidnapping and assault.”

  The sheriff shook his head gravely and unfolded his big body from the chair. “Let’s get Jailer Lillard to take you on over to the court clerk’s office. You can tell him what you want to say and then sign the complaint yourself,” he said.

  * * *

  An hour later, Kitty and Absalom Lillard were sitting across from the court clerk, a bald, rodent-like man with wire-rimmed glasses that constantly twitched on the end of his nose. Although clearly troubled by what he was asked to do and resentful of being ordered to assist a Negro, he nevertheless reluctantly followed the sheriff’s instructions, noted the details of Kitty’s claims, and prepared an official complaint for her signature.