Love Finds You in Liberty, Indiana

by Melanie Dobson

  “It depends,” Anna said, though she didn’t explain the reason.

  Lyle wrapped the silk in brown paper and tied the package with twine. When he handed it over the counter to Esther, she clutched the paper package to her chest. “I do hope you can come! I will send you an invitation tomorrow.”

  The bells rang again over the door as Esther departed, and Anna glanced over her shoulder to make sure that no one else was coming into the store. A crowd was gathering outside, along the street, but no one moved toward Trumble’s. She stepped to the counter and placed the baby garments on it.

  “Should I put this on your father’s account?” Lyle asked.

  “I’m paying with cash today.”

  The register chimed when he rang up the total. “Two dollars and ten cents.”

  She pulled an envelope from her pocket and then stuck it back into her pocket quickly as she dug for her coin purse. She still needed to deliver the envelope to Isaac Barnes this morning, and then she would rush back to Silver Creek to help Charlotte prepare dinner for their guests.

  “These are for a friend, Lyle,” she repeated as she gave him the money.

  “I know, Anna. I won’t say a word.”

  “I thank you.”

  She turned toward the door and looked at all the people gathering in the dusty courtyard across the street. “What’s happening at the courthouse?”

  Lyle stepped to the window, his nose almost touching the glass. “Milton Kent is supposed to debate the town’s newest editor today.”

  “About slavery?”

  “And any other topic Milton feels compelled to expound upon.”

  “Maybe Milton has met his match.”

  Lyle stepped back from the window. “I just hope this man stays around a little longer than the last editor Isaac hired.”

  The crowd surrounding the courthouse had spilled out into the street, and Anna had to elbow her way through the mass to get to her chaise. She had heard many debates over the years, and most of them left people feeling more confident in their own opinions instead of swayed by another’s. Talk was purely frivolous when it wasn’t backed by some sort of action.

  She hid the brown paper package under the seat of her chaise and then turned slowly toward the courthouse. She needed to find Isaac, but curiosity drove her closer to the podium.

  Was Daniel Stanton a man of action as well as of words?

  Chapter Six

  “There is no liberty in America as long as there is slavery!” Daniel cried out to the hundreds of people in front of him. “We must set every one of them free.”

  Milton Kent let the words settle, almost as if he wanted the people of Union County to consider Daniel’s words. Then he retorted with a booming voice that echoed across the crowd.

  “But what will happen if we set all the Negroes free?” Milton paced the length of the portico, his voice growing louder. “Millions of them will swarm our countryside and town like the flies that plagued Egypt, and not even God Himself will be able to stop them.”

  He paused again like a tent preacher so his words would resonate, and then he leaned toward the people in the front rows. “If they are freed, like our young Friend here suggests, they will raid our fields. Steal our livestock.” His fist hit the podium. “Hurt our women and children.”

  “Send ’em back!” a man yelled.

  “That is one proposition that we should consider.” Milton seemingly tempered his outrage as he pointed at the man with his hat. “By sending the slaves back to Africa, we could rid our country of slavery altogether and have honest white folk working the cotton fields instead.”

  “I ain’t working them fields!” someone else shouted.

  Daniel leaned into his podium. Milton was riling the crowd to anger instead of speaking sense.

  “Most of the slaves that live on our soil were born in this country,” Daniel responded. “It’s deplorable to even consider shipping these people off to a continent where they have never lived. Half of them probably wouldn’t survive the journey, and the other half may not survive after they arrive.”

  Milton disregarded Daniel’s comments, focusing instead on the man in the crowd who had shouted out his refusal to pick cotton. “Someone has to be in the fields, working to get sugar and coffee and cotton. It’s only a mite harder than the work in our cornfields up here in Indiana.” He paused and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “And a mite hotter, too.”

  Daniel rolled his eyes at the drama as Milton continued to entice the crowd into his web of fear. He was like a charlatan, swaying emotions and tricking God-fearing men and women into supporting a despicable trade. These men and women would probably go out of their way to help a white person in need, but they were turning their backs on their colored neighbors.

  Daniel intended to find out what would make the people of Liberty and across Union County fight against slavery instead of promote the popular views of people like Milton Kent. He needed people like his sister and brother-in-law and their respected associates to speak out against this evil practice in spite of the cost.

  Daniel scanned the crowd for Friends. He saw businessmen dressed in long coats and top hats, intent on Milton’s words. He saw farm boys slouching around the perimeter and shop owners who’d snuck outside to listen.

  He didn’t see many Friends in the ocean of faces until he spotted a pretty young woman with the familiar dove-colored bonnet. He stopped looking around. Instead of focusing on his opponent, the woman’s eyes were on him.

  Daniel cleared his throat and turned back toward Milton. “No one here is going to Mississippi or anywhere else to pick cotton. We farm just fine in Indiana without slave labor, and by improving the way they run their farms down South, they can operate without slaves as well.”

  Anna couldn’t take her eyes off Daniel Stanton. It seemed like he was looking right at her, and she listened as he clearly refuted the silly notion that their country couldn’t survive without slavery. He was a better speaker than he was a writer, which would help tremendously since Milton Kent liked to obliterate his opponents with both his voice and his pen. Few people agreed to debate him twice.

  She moved through the crowd, closer to the portico where the men were speaking, so she could hear their words.

  Daniel Stanton was younger than she’d imagined. He was tall and lanky and wore the plain coat of a Quaker. His skin was clean-shaven, and the tips of his brown hair curled over his ears. He was a handsome man, but it wasn’t his features that caught her attention. It was his expression. In spite of the harsh rhetoric between Milton Kent and him, Daniel Stanton’s face was calm.

  Milton Kent’s cheeks, in comparison, matched the deep red in the scarf that topped the copper buttons on his jacket. He was shorter than his opponent, but his loftiness made him appear almost six feet tall. She’d never known a more arrogant man in her life. Instead of observing and writing news, he often created it and then reported on what he had done.

  The Union County News editor lived over in Brownsville, their neighboring town, but his subscribers resided in Liberty and across Union County. He probably sold at least twice as many papers, if not more, than Isaac Barnes, but she guessed people liked to read it more for entertainment than to get the news.

  Milton’s voice was escalating into a roar, but she didn’t hear his words. Nor did she honor his rhetoric by turning her head. She focused on the courageous Quaker man who was slowly unnerving his opponent. She couldn’t help but admire him for taking a stand against Milton and facing the ridicule of at least half of Liberty. The last man who had scuffled with Milton had left the debate coated in eggshells.

  “Slaves aren’t property,” Daniel insisted. “They are Americans who deserve a chance like the rest of us at life and liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”

  Milton motioned to someone in the crowd, and as if Moses himself was walking through, people parted on both sides. Anna pushed herself up on her toes like the rest of the crowd to watch the next act of
Milton’s performance.

  “This here’s Enoch Gardner,” Milton said, pointing at the black man who was crossing the portico with his face held high. Instead of the torn, threadbare attire she had seen on most of the slaves passing through Liberty, he wore a clean, white jean shirt and denim trousers with suspenders. There were no chains in sight, though the man who escorted him had his hand secured around Enoch’s elbow.

  This man was the perfect example for Milton—subdued enough to seem content with slavery yet imposing enough to reiterate Milton’s claims that the colored population might plunder the North if set free.

  The crowd around Anna murmured with a mix of curiosity and anxiety until Milton spoke again and introduced the man at Enoch’s side. “And this here is Enoch’s owner, Whitney Johns, from Kentucky.”

  The slave owner shook Milton’s hand before Milton continued. “My friend is a typical Southerner, owning thirty-six slaves on his horse farm in Kentucky. Yet unlike what Mr. Stanton here implied, Mr. Johns provides well for his slaves and treats them better than most employers around here.”

  Milton turned to the man at Whitney’s side. “We’re glad to have you visiting Indiana, Enoch. Are the fine people of our state treating you well?”

  The man bowed his head. “Yessuh.”

  “How about your owner here? Has he been treating you well?”

  Anna didn’t hear his answer, but it must have been positive since Milton kept exalting this real-life example of slavery and how well it worked for Enoch and Whitney Johns and all the people in Union County who didn’t want to destroy their fingers and backs picking cotton.

  Apparently Enoch was treated well. Fed well. He had security for life in the Johns home. According to Milton, self-righteous people like Daniel Stanton were the real troublemakers, trying to stir up animosity when their Southern neighbors and slaves were content. Slavery may be a peculiar institution, but it was an institution that worked.

  Anna wanted to march up onto the platform and shake both Enoch and his master—and then tell Enoch to run. She glanced over at Daniel, and it looked like he wanted to shake Milton instead.

  Daniel stepped around his podium. “I’d like to ask Enoch a few questions, too.”

  Milton chuckled. “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. You might scare the fellow.”

  One hand resting on the front of his podium, Daniel seemed relaxed as he smiled back. “I don’t think it’s me he’s scared of.”

  Several people around her snickered at his comment, and for the first time, nervousness washed over Milton’s face. “Would you like to speak to Mr. Stanton, Enoch?”

  The slave shook his head back and forth.

  “I’m sorry, Stanton,” Milton replied. “He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” Daniel said as strolled toward Milton and the other men. “I can understand why he’d be afraid. If he doesn’t say what his owner here has instructed him to say, he’s liable to get beaten.”

  “Now, that’s not...,” Milton started, but Daniel interrupted him.

  “Because, my friends, Enoch is free to think, but he’s not free to say what he really thinks. His owner tells him what to do and what he can eat and what he can say. Even his heartfelt declaration of how much he enjoys being a slave is proclaimed under the watchful eye of Whitney Johns.”

  “Here, here,” Anna muttered, before clamping her mouth shut. Thankfully no one looked her way. All eyes were focused on the man who was stealing the reins from Milton Kent.

  Milton flanked to the other side of Enoch, but Daniel managed to step in front of the colored man. He whispered something to Enoch and then looked at the crowd. “What I would really like to know is if Enoch would like to be free.”

  Milton stepped to the podium. “Enoch is not able to answer that question.”

  Daniel looked perplexed. “Why not?”

  “Well...,” Milton stumbled over his words.

  “Because it is illegal for slaves to bear testimony in our country?” Daniel prodded.

  Milton looked relieved for the moment, even if it was his opponent who had given him an out to the argument. “Exactly.”

  Daniel turned back to Milton. “Why is that?”

  Milton’s face turned red again. “I will not let you badger this man....”

  Daniel didn’t let him continue. “The reason is that the courts don’t believe slaves always tell the truth.”

  Milton started to say something and then stopped when Whitney stepped forward and said something in Milton’s ear. Milton addressed the crowd again, his voice not quite as strong as it had been minutes ago. “Even though this is unprecedented, I’m told that Enoch is willing to answer Daniel’s question.”

  Daniel turned toward Enoch again, his voice loud enough for the people closest to the courthouse to hear. “Would you like to be free, Enoch?”

  The crowd was silent as they waited for Enoch to answer.

  “Nosuh,” he finally said, but there wasn’t even a hint of fervor in his tone.

  Milton nodded like he had won the point, but the damage had been done. No one in the courtyard believed that Enoch desired to remain in bondage to Whitney Johns or anyone else.

  Someone tapped Anna’s shoulder, and she twirled around to see Isaac Barnes. She greeted him with a smile, but he didn’t smile back at her.

  “You shouldn’t linger here, Anna.”

  “I was looking for you.” She glanced around her, and then she retrieved the envelope from her side. Without looking at it, she stuffed it into Isaac’s coat pocket.

  He patted his jacket. “Go home now.”

  Her gaze wandered back to Daniel, and he seemed to be looking at her again. Then she looked at the crowd and saw angry faces mixed in with the complacent ones...and the solemn ones.

  Isaac was right. She couldn’t stay. Most of the people were listening, but a few would be watching. Those people didn’t need to know that Edwin Brent’s daughter had been rooting for the newcomer.

  Chapter Seven

  Marie pushed her heels on the carpet to rock the chair. Peter lay in her arms, dressed in the prettiest gown she’d ever seen on a baby, black or white. If her mama were still alive, she’d be so pleased to see her grandbaby draped in such finery.

  She kissed the tender skin on Peter’s nose and leaned her head back on the rocking chair to watch the pink glow of the sky outside the window as she softly sang one of the many songs her mama used to sing to her. “Your hands my heartstrings grabbin’; just lay your head upon my breast, just snuggle and rest and rest, my little colored chile.”

  Her mama was up in heaven tonight, probably rejoicing that her daughter was finally free from Master Owens and his angry wife. So many times during this journey she could almost feel her mama running along with her. On the darkest of nights, as she crouched in the swamp and listened to the snakes slithering through her hiding place, there was someone warm beside her. No matter how soaked she was—or how cold—it was like God Himself had given her the gift of His presence and He’d brought Mama with Him so she wouldn’t be afraid.

  So through the swamps and forests and farmland, she talked to her mama. And she kept running and stumbling and following the Drinking Gourd in the dark sky until she reached Indiana.

  It wouldn’t be long now before she reached the Promised Land.

  The four other fugitives were downstairs helping Charlotte clean the dishes. She should be helping, too, but after dinner, Miss Anna had told her to go upstairs to the guest room and rest with her baby.

  She gently patted Peter on the belly.

  She’d never had anyone be so kind to her as the two women in this house. For the first time since she’d started her journey, it seemed like maybe she would make it all the way to Canada. There weren’t many miles left now, especially with people helping them. Miss Anna had assured her that all of the stationmasters along the line would take good care of her and the other runaways.

  When she was a child livi
ng in the main house, she’d heard Master Owens and his guests whisper about the slaves who’d been swept away overnight on a train that moved so quickly and so quietly that it seemed to pluck slaves out of their cabins and then disappear with them underground.

  She hadn’t known how to catch this invisible train. And she’d never have imagined that she would be a passenger on it. She’d only known that she had to leave the Owens house. The same day she realized she was expecting, Mrs. Owens had thrown Marie out of the house in shame. Marie had tried to explain to her that she didn’t want to be pregnant, didn’t want to have a baby. But even though Marie had spent the past nine years caring for Mrs. Owens, the woman refused to speak to her again.

  Marie looked down at the light clump of hair on the top of Peter’s head.

  She hadn’t wanted him at first, but now she’d do anything to help him survive. She’d never had anything of her own in her entire life, and this baby was hers to love and hold and protect. She would never give him back, and she would never let Master Owens or anyone else take him away from her.

  She knew exactly what would happen if she relinquished Peter to the Owens.

  A few years ago, her mistress had found out that a house slave named Nelle was expecting, and just like with Marie, she had sent Nelle out to work in the plantation’s grist mill until she began her laboring pains. Then she took Nelle into the house for the birthing.

  Before Nelle even got to hold her son in her arms, Mrs. Owens stole that baby away. No one except the Owenses knew exactly what happened to the child, but Nelle was convinced that Master Owens had sold him to a neighbor. She grieved the loss of her son for weeks until their mistress insisted that Master Owens take Nelle to auction. Marie didn’t know if the slave woman would ever completely recover from the not-knowin’.

  Even though she had been only thirteen at the time, Marie had never believed that Nelle’s baby made it outside the iron gates of the property. Their mistress didn’t want anyone to know about the child. Even if they took the baby to the slave market, the neighbors would talk about the light-skinned slave.