Still, she knew she had to do whatever she could, and if at all possible, before leaving Philadelphia, she intended to find Mother Bethel.
Chapter Sixteen
Erin quickly learned that it was difficult, if not impossible, to find out anything about an underground movement in the city of Philadelphia to aid runaway slaves. Even though she made up her mind to try, she could not seem to locate anyone willing to give her information.
First, she returned to the Quaker church, where the man had stared at her as though about to ask if he could be of assistance. She could not be sure it was the same one who answered when she knocked, but the moment she let it be known she was from Virginia, looking for a runaway slave, the door was quietly closed in her face. She never got the chance to ask if he knew who Mother Bethel was.
She went to several other churches, walking much of the time so as not to have to spend the money Ryan had given her for shopping or hiring a carriage. As a result, her feet were aching, but she plodded on.
Starting to feel all was hopeless, Erin received her first encouragement when a minister of a Protestant church invited her into his study. It was obvious he was reluctant to do so, for he’d stared at her thoughtfully for a long time before finally waving her in.
He got right to the point. “I hate to see you wasting your time, young lady. While I admire you for your devotion to your Negro friend, I think you’ve been misled as to how the majority of white Pennsylvanians feel about the plight of the slave in general.” He proceeded to tell her there was apathy, that most people did not care one way or the other. White churches, on the whole, did not give aid to fugitives and were sometimes even hostile on the subject.
“So you see,” he finished with a helpless smile, “you just can’t make the generalization that Pennsylvania is a haven for these people. The immense burden of antislavery work and fugitive aid is carried out by a very small group of citizens who, understandably, go about their work quietly and cautiously. I’m not one of them, or I’d be happy to direct you to where you might get some better information.”
Erin stood wearily, the blisters on her feet making her wince with pain. She hoped she could hide her anguish from Ryan, for he would begin to ask questions as to exactly why she was doing so much walking.
“Thank you,” she said, holding out her hand. “You’ve been most kind, and I appreciate your wanting to help. Perhaps…” she ventured, taking one more chance he would reveal the information if he knew it. “Can you tell me where I might find Mother Bethel? I was told to find her, and then…” She stopped talking as she realized he was laughing at her. “Is something funny?” she asked, annoyed, for she could find nothing amusing in any of it.
“I would say so. You see, my good woman, Mother Bethel is not a she. Mother Bethel is another name for the African Methodist Episcopal Church, and if someone told you to go there, then you might be headed in the right direction to find news of your friend. It has connection with the Free African Society, which was formed by the Negro community here over thirty years ago to give mutual aid to both freed slaves and fugitives. I’ll give you directions how to get there.”
Within an hour, Erin was sitting across the desk from Pastor Absalom Jones. His dark face grew even darker as she confided her reason for being there. He listened respectfully, and when she finished, gave her a pitying look and said, “Mrs. Youngblood, you are to be commended, and blessed, for caring about this poor girl you speak of, but you must understand I can’t tell you anything. Yes, I will admit to you that I have knowledge of people who do help fugitives, but I am not directly involved, so I wouldn’t know anything about individual cases.”
She had anticipated what he would say and was ready to make her plea. “Will you at least speak to the people you know and tell them I was here asking about a runaway slave girl from Virginia named Letty? If they do know anything at all about her, they could give her a message for me.”
Pastor Jones had to think about that. He did not like to agree to anything with a total stranger, particularly when it dealt with the matter of a runaway slave. Still, there was something about the lovely young woman sitting across from him that provoked trust. She seemed so intense, cinnamon eyes burning with desperation. With her light bronze skin, she might even have Negro heritage herself. He’d heard that once upon a time, slave traders had brought in a different branch of the Negro race called Mandingos, and they lived in South Carolina in great numbers. A child born of a Mandingo and a white parent had skin light enough to pass for white. There were no other racial characteristics, so these mixed bloods had no trouble passing, unlike the mulattoes.
He shook away the suspicion. This woman had said she was married to a wealthy and prominent Virginia plantation owner. It was doubtful she had ever been anywhere near South Carolina.
Sensing his reluctance, Erin persisted, “What harm can it do for you to try?”
Still skeptical, he probed, “What is the message you’re so desperate to get to her?”
“I want her to leave Pennsylvania,” she rushed to explain, desperate to keep his interest now that she had it. “I’ve heard terrible stories, how even freed blacks are kidnapped and sold back into slavery. And you don’t know my stepfather. He’s ruthless when it comes to tracking down runaways. Not because he can’t afford the financial loss. He has plenty of money. He just doesn’t want it said that a slave can ever get away from him, so he’ll never stop looking for her.
“I’ve heard”—she leaned across his desk, encouraged by the concern she saw in his face—“that there is a group that sends freed slaves back home to Africa.”
“Freed,” he acknowledged. “Not fugitives.”
She nodded vigorously. “I know. I know all about that, how the Constitution even sets a fine for anyone helping them, but I don’t care about that. If Letty can get on one of those ships sailing for Africa, she’ll be free.”
A smile touched his lips. “That’s one way to look at it and justify breaking the law, but, it takes money to send freed slaves back, and even more to buy illegal passage for a fugitive.”
She reached into her purse and drew out the roll of money she had taken from her hiding place that morning. Laying it on the table, seeing how Pastor Jones’s eyes widened at the sight of it, she bluntly asked, “Is this enough?”
He picked up the bundle, looked at it, then at her. “This is a lot of money, Mrs. Youngblood.”
“My husband is a generous man. He gives me money for shopping and doesn’t ask what I buy.”
He could not resist saying with a respectful nod, “And, no doubt, money for carriages and doesn’t ask why your feet hurt.”
“So you saw me limp in.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. What does is whether or not you think that’s enough to buy Letty’s passage to Africa.”
For a moment, he could only stare at her in disbelief and shake his head slowly from side to side. Finally, incredulously, he cried, “You don’t even know if she made it out of the Dismal Swamp. You don’t even know if the Free African Society or the Free Soilers have contact with her.
“And most of all, you don’t even know me, Mrs. Youngblood.”
She met his piercing gaze with one of her own. “Let’s just say your position lends character without having to prove it. In short, Preacher, I’m going to trust you to do all you can to find her, and if you can’t, then I’d like for you to see the money go to help some other wretched soul.” She stood.
“Bless you,” he whispered as she made her way out. “And I promise I’ll do everything I can…”
But Erin was no longer listening, for she was in a hurry now. The day was drawing to a close, and so was her time in Philadelphia. She was anxious to get back to the hotel before Ryan did. He would want to know why she had not started packing, since they were leaving the next day. Her feet were burning with agony, and she longed for the comfort of a carriage ride back.
But there was no money.
She had given it all away
.
And even though every step was torture, Erin had no regrets, not if it meant freedom, and a new life, for someone.
Maybe it would be Letty.
Zachary was determined not to return to Virginia without Letty. He and his men had backtracked to the area where she had escaped. There they contacted several informers who, for the right price, would tell which direction a runaway had gone. From one of them they’d learned Letty had made contact with someone, almost the very next day, and had headed for the coast. At Norfolk, Zachary had stood aside while Frank had beaten a Negro dock worker into admitting a Negro girl had been smuggled on board a boat heading north, toward Delaware.
Zachary had refused to give up, even though his men urged him to turn back.
“What’s one slave, more or less?” Frank had challenged. “Hell, you can take your pick the next time a ship sneaks in with a new load from Africa, and you know it.”
Zachary had growled that giving up set a bad example. “Let one get away and another will try. Word is already out, anyway, that my darkies are runnin’ away, even though I’ve tried to keep it hushed up.
“No,” he vehemently declared, “we got her trail, and we’re followin’ it.”
And he did so, all the way to Delaware, where he reached a dead end. Delaware was the only state in the South where a black person was considered free unless proved to be a slave. Any inquiries were met with a surly response, and no physical persuasion did he, or his men, dare try to use.
Doggedly, after nearly three weeks of searching, there had been nothing to do but turn back.
Zachary got home late one Saturday afternoon but stopped off at a tavern for a drink. He figured he might as well get it over with, all the taunting the men he caroused with would inflict over his unsuccessful hunt.
He listened to the jeers, tossing down one shot of whiskey after another, pretending not to care, but then something was said that got his attention hard and fast. He whirled on the man who had spoken and demanded hotly, “Say that again. I don’t think I heard you right.”
The man obliged, having nothing to fear, for he was telling the truth. “I said, at least you got one thing to be thankful for—marryin’ off your stepdaughter to a rich man like Ryan Youngblood.”
Zachary charged out of the tavern, shoving people out of his way, murder in his eyes. He rode his horse into a lather all the way home, while his blood was boiling with rage. He knew there could only be one reason why a wedding would take place so fast, especially with him gone. The little slut had gone and got herself pregnant. Oh, was he mad!
Ben, on his way to the slave quarters after closing up the stables at dark, heard a rider coming in. Hurrying up the path to take the horse of whoever was calling so late, he felt his heart slam into his chest as he saw Master Tremayne. Throwing caution to the wind, forgetting his place, he broke into a run, waving his arms.
Zachary reined in so hard his horse reared up on hind legs to paw the air wildly.
“Mastah, mastah, did you find her? Did you find my Letty?”
Zachary brought the horse under control, then dismounted.
Ben was almost in tears as he continued his plea, “Mastah—”
Zachary struck him across the face with his riding crop and snarled, “Get outta my way, boy. Give my horse a rubdown. Then get the hell to your shack and see that the others do the same. I don’t want none of you skulkin’ around tonight.”
Blood streaming from a gash on the side of his head, Ben could only scramble to his feet and murmur humbly, “Yassah, yassah,” and all the while he was choking back tears. It was torture not knowing what had happened to the woman he loved, realizing he probably never would.
Zachary was going in the back door just as Rosa was coming out. She saw him and instinctively screamed. He looked like someone gone mad, eyes bulging, face a reddening grimace of wild fury. She covered her mouth with both hands in terror and backed away. Grabbing her by her hair and slinging her from the steps and onto the ground, he yelled the same command to her that he’d given Ben. “Get to your place and stay there. I better not see no black faces around here this night. I’m goin’ to find out what the hell is goin’ on.”
He started on inside, but Rosa dared to call out from where she lay sprawled on the ground. “For the sake of Jesus,” she shrieked from the depths of her soul, “tell me what you done with my baby girl.”
Turning, he stared down at her. “I haven’t done anything with her. Ask your Jesus. Maybe He knows where the bitch went.”
Arlene had gone to bed early. She had done little but rest in the weeks since Erin had been gone. Tulwah’s potion did not stop the coughing spasms from coming but helped bring them under control. Still, she felt terribly weak, and the blood seemed to be getting worse. She supposed there was nothing to do but go back to the doctor and ask for his help; yet it was so much easier just to drink the foul-smelling, horrid-tasting concoction and let it take her away to a peaceful sleep. At least, she drowsily gave thanks as she snuggled beneath the sheets, Erin was safe. She would be taken care of for the rest of her life.
Suddenly, the door opened, flying back to bang loudly against the wall.
Arlene quickly sat up. Seeing the maniacal look on Zachary’s face, she whispered, “Oh, my God!” and then shrank weakly back against the pillows, quaking in terror.
Slowly, he crossed the room. Striking the air with his fist, he raged, “I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch for gettin’ her pregnant, and then I’m gonna beat the hell out of her for bringin’ shame on this family.”
“No! No, you aren’t going to do anything.” Despite her frailty and her fear, Arlene quickly crawled out of bed to attempt to explain. “It wasn’t like that at all. Erin isn’t going to have a baby. It was all very proper. They just wanted to go ahead and get married, and we had no idea when you’d be back, and—”
He grabbed her by her throat and shook her viciously, then flung her onto the bed and roared, “Then damn it, why did you let her get married before I got back? How do you think it looks, my stepdaughter gettin’ married and me not here? Makes me look like a fool, that’s what it does. Makes it look like I’m not respected around here, that all I’m needed for is payin’ the bills.”
Arlene could not speak. The coughing had begun, rattling from deep down in her chest. She struggled to reach her handkerchief on the bedside table and the bottle of Tulwah’s potion.
“But then that’s all you married me for, anyway, wasn’t it, you goddamn strumpet!” He knocked her outstretched hand away. “You thought you were so smart, didn’t you? A high yaller marryin’ a rich man from Virginia! Well, who in the hell do you think you are to make me the laughingstock of Richmond? Don’t you think it’s bad enough, me havin’ to worry folks will find out my wife’s part nigger, without havin’ to face their snickerin’ ’cause my own family don’t respect me?”
The coughing was quickly getting worse. “Please…Zachary…” she begged, groping for the bottle. “My…medicine…please.”
He backhanded her, knocking her across the bed. Then he threw her on her back and straddled her. With one quick jerk, he ripped off her nightgown. “I knew you was Mandingo, all right, but it didn’t make no difference, not with a body like you had back then.”
He was panting with excitement as he tore off his shirt. It had been a long time since he’d had a woman. Letty had been the last. He, along with Frank, had had his fill of her the night before she escaped. He’d been leaving Arlene alone, because she always started that damn hacking, but tonight she was going to remember who was master around here. “You always did drive me crazy. Beautiful. Just beautiful.”
She was too weak even to attempt to fight him off, calling on what strength she had to try and breathe. The coughing was becoming a heaving spasm, and his weight on her was only making it worse.
He was about to enter her when, in the bedside lantern’s glow, he saw the way she was looking at him. The coughing had finally subsided, and she
made only a soft, wheezing sound. But contempt, hatred, and disgust were mirrored in her glaring eyes, and this enraged him. He slapped her and yelled, “Don’t you look at me like that, goddamn you! I’m your husband. I’ve got my rights.”
He hit her again and again. Her head lolled to one side, and then he took his pleasure.
Arlene made no move, and, at last, he got off the bed and walked out.
She was good for nothing, he fumed. Always sick. Her and that infernal coughing. Before, he had managed to cope with the misery of his marriage by thinking ahead to the time when he’d have his way with Erin. Sooner or later, he would have been able to convince her she would be wise to keep his bed warm on a permanent basis. If it ever got out she had Negro blood, well, as tense as things were getting, no white man would have her, except as a whore. And for damn sure, he bet Youngblood didn’t know about it. Coming from his blue-blood aristocratic background, he’d never marry a woman of mixed color.
Arlene and Erin had pulled it off slicker’n a baby’s bottom.
And now Erin was married and gone, and he was bitterly forced to acknowledge he had no one to satisfy his lust. Not even Letty. She had been a prime lay, too. Now he’d have to find somebody else. Start all over. Maybe he would get him a young woman. Have the younguns Arlene hadn’t given him. Just as well. He didn’t want to sire any high yallers. He wanted an all-white heir to his fortune. He’d worked too hard to see it go to a high yaller, and that’s damn sure what would happen if Arlene should happen to outlive him.
But maybe she was dead already.
He’d worry about it in the morning. The whiskey was catching up with him, making his head spin.
He made it to his room and was asleep by the time he fell across the mattress.
Rosa waited nearly a half hour before daring to go upstairs. Even then, she crept along, holding a candle in her hand to light the way. She paused between each step to wait for any sound that would mean Master Zachary was still moving around. She thought she had heard him leave Miz Arlene’s room but couldn’t be sure, would take no chances.
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