Journey to a Promised Land

by Allison Lassieur

  “Mama!”

  The tent flap flew open and it was Papa, not Mama, who took Hattie into his arms. “Oh, praise be, your fever’s broken,” he said, hugging her to his chest. “We’ve been so worried these past three days.”

  “What are you doing here? Where’s Bram?” Hattie’s questions poured out of her as Papa gave her a tin cup of water.

  “Whoa, slow down. I came as soon as I heard you and Bram was sick,” he replied. “Bram is much improved and with your mama.”

  Hattie gulped down the water and handed the cup back to Papa. “So you’ll be going back to Memphis now that we’re well,” she said dejectedly.

  “Not exactly,” Papa said. “I got enough money for our passage. I sold Old Jeb and the wagon to a farmer nearby.”

  Then he said the words Hattie had begun to think she’d never hear again.

  “We’ll board a steamboat as soon as you’re well enough to travel. We’re going to Kansas.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  May 31, 1879

  Dear Diary,

  I think we’re finally leaving for Kansas tomorrow! Word is a boat is on its way, and Mama wants to make sure we get on it. It took days for me to feel up to leaving the tent. More than half of the camp had come down with the fever, and Mama’s onion soup ran out quick, but she did what she could to nurse the sick.

  Mama wants us to get up at sunrise so we can be the first in line. Which means I need to get some rest now.

  Hattie

  Hattie stood on the landing, clutching her bundle as the huge steamboat chugged slowly upriver, smoke pouring from its tall smokestack.

  The steamboat let out a piercing whistle, and then began to slow. Several rough-looking riverboat crewmen appeared at the railing. They pushed a gangplank from the boat to the landing and tied it with thick ropes. The captain appeared, the brass buttons on his uniform shining in the morning sun.

  He looked out over our hopeful faces, his wiry white eyebrows furrowed.

  Papa stepped forward. “We have four,” he said. “Me, my wife, and my two young’uns.” The captain squinted his eyes and looked them over.

  “Fare is five dollars each,” he said finally. “Full price for everyone.”

  Papa nodded and handed over the money.

  The captain quickly counted it then nodded, waving them forward. Mama smiled and squeezed Hattie’s hand as they stepped onto the gangplank. They were halfway up when the captain stepped in front of Papa.

  “You can’t bring that aboard,” he said, pointing to the tool chest.

  “These are the tools of my trade,” Papa said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m a blacksmith. I’ve brung them all the way from Nashville. I’d be obliged if you’d allow me to take them.”

  “Too much weight,” the captain said. “If it isn’t necessities like food and clothing, you can’t bring it aboard. Maybe the next boat will let you have them.”

  Hattie clutched Mama’s hand, her heart beating wildly.

  “And when will that boat be here?”

  “I have no idea,” the captain replied irritably. “Either leave them behind or step away.”

  “Come on the boat, Nat,” Mama said, holding out her hand. “We’ll make do. We always have.”

  The Fergusons were behind Papa, waiting to board. Mr. Ferguson stepped forward. He glanced at Papa, and then turned to the captain.

  “Would a dollar be enough to get that box on board?” he asked in a low voice. The captain glanced at Papa, then away.

  “Two.”

  “John, I won’t allow it,” Papa said sternly. “You won’t be able to pay your own passage.”

  “You kept food in our bellies on the road, “Mr. Ferguson said. “Mary nursed my Beulah and the baby back from sickness. I owe you plenty more than this. We’ll find a way.” He handed the captain the money, which disappeared into his pocket.

  Papa and Mr. Ferguson shook hands as Mama and Mrs. Ferguson hugged tightly, tears on their cheeks. The Fergusons stepped aside as Hattie and her family made their way up the gangplank.

  More families were allowed on board. The Coopers pushed through the crowds to the other side of the boat. Then the captain held up his hand. “That’s all,” he announced. A gasp went through the crowd.

  “There’s plenty of room on the decks!” one man shouted.

  “We’ve been a’ waitin’ for weeks!” another cried.

  “You’ll just have to wait longer.” The captain disappeared as the crew untied the ropes. The boat shuddered as the engine came to life. Hattie gripped the railing and watched the Fergusons pick their way back into camp. At the last minute, Mrs. Ferguson turned and waved. Hattie waved back madly.

  “Do you think we’ll ever see them again?” Hattie asked as the boat picked up speed.

  “The good Lord willin’,” Mama replied. They watched until the camp was a tiny speck in the distance. Then Mama sighed.

  “Let’s get settled and see what’s what on this boat.”

  Dear Josephine,

  I can’t believe we’re finally on our way again. It took darn near a whole week to get well. I still feel wobbly and lightheaded from time to time. I’m not sure if it’s from the sickness or the excitement of being on a real steamboat.

  So far the weather has been fine, which is lucky for us. All the passengers have to sleep outside on the deck. We stopped twice and picked up more Exodusters. I heard one crewman say there were more than three hundred of us on board! The captain says we should make St. Louis by the end of the week if the weather holds.

  Your devoted friend,

  Hattie

  The decks were choked with Exodusters. They stood, sat, and laid down shoulder to shoulder, taking up every inch of the deck. Hattie desperately sought a little spot to herself, away from the hundreds of strangers.

  She found it one day as she was exploring. Behind a small door, Hattie discovered the hold, where all the crew’s supplies were stored. She crawled between the huge crates and barrels until she came to a roomy spot where no one could see her. She snuck away to the hold every day to read or write.

  Most of the time, she was alone. Once in a while, a crewman would appear. He would rummage around for whatever he was looking for, then leave. It was fun to be in her special hiding place when that happened. So when she heard two people in the hold one afternoon, she held her breath and listened.

  “Two more days and we’ll be in Saint Louie,” one of them said. “I can’t wait.”

  “Me neither,” the other replied, opening a crate with a bang. “The captain better give us our full pay this time or they’ll be a mutiny.”

  “Oh, he will. He’s got a scheme that’ll make us all some extra money.”

  The crewman explained that the captain planned to put every Exoduster off the boat the next morning, miles from St. Louis! Only those who could pay would be allowed to stay on board.

  The other man chuckled.

  “That old fox! I knowed he wasn’t happy about that new law that said we had to pick up all them black folks. So he gets this riffraff off our boat and he lines his pockets with extra money!”

  Hattie’s ears were ringing as the men left. How could we walk all the way to St. Louis? Mama’s belly had gotten a lot bigger in the last few weeks with the new baby. She was in no condition to walk that far. They left their tent and all their camping supplies behind. All they had were their clothes. The unfairness of it all made her so angry she wanted to scream.

  She crept out of her hiding place and headed back to her family on deck. Should I tell them what I heard? What if it weren’t true? Then I’d worry them for no reason. Besides, maybe we do have enough money left to stay on the boat. That thought comforted Hattie a little. She decided to keep this bit of news to herself, for now.

  That evening after supper, Mama began digging through th
eir bags. Papa came back from a walk around the deck with Abraham.

  “Nat,” she said in a low voice. “Did you take my red handkerchief? The one I’d tied our money in?”

  “Not that I’m aware,” Papa replied, echoing her worry. “Why?”

  “It ain’t here,” she said, panic creeping in. “I’ve torn this bag apart and I cain’t find it.”

  They quietly searched all their bags, but no red handkerchief turned up. Mama’s shoulders slumped.

  “That was the last of the money we got from selling Old Jeb and the wagon,” she said dejectedly. “We’ve been robbed, that’s a fact.”

  “I got a little set by, enough for food when we get to St. Louis,” Papa said reassuringly. “We’re to meet Singleton, remember? He’ll take care of us.”

  “But we was supposed to be in St. Louis weeks ago. What if he ain’t there?”

  “We’ll make do,” Papa said, putting his hand on Mama’s shoulder.

  I can’t bear to tell them about the captain’s plan now, Hattie thought, but how can I keep it to myself? Her mind was jumbled. Then one thought burst out of the confusion. Of course.

  It was the only way.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Her parents were too busy talking to notice her slip quietly away. She went back to the hold. When she was safely inside, she tugged at the ragged hem of her dress until the stitches gave way. The damp, worn five-dollar bill dropped into her hand.

  She didn’t know if it would be enough, but she had to try. She’d never bribed someone before. What if it didn’t work? Worse, what if he got angry?

  Hattie pushed those thoughts away and took a deep breath. The captain always smoked a cigar on the upper deck in the evening. She climbed the stairs and looked around. Sure enough, there he was. He leaned on the railing, scowling, a brown cigar clamped between his teeth. Below him, hundreds of Exodusters crushed cheek-to-jowl on every deck.

  Hattie paused. When he saw her, he frowned.

  “What are you doing up here?” the captain demanded. “Get on back down where you belong.”

  “Mr. Captain, sir,” Hattie began in her most polite voice. Inside, her heart was hammering madly. “I wanted to thank you for takin’ us to St. Louis. It means a lot to my family.”

  The captain peered at her and didn’t say a word. Smoke curled from the cigar and disappeared into the evening air.

  “To show our appreciation, I wanted to give you something. Just so’s we know we’ll be landing in St. Louis day after tomorrow.”

  She opened her book of poetry and pulled out the five-dollar bill. The captain’s bushy eyebrows popped up in surprise.

  “What’s this?” he said gruffly. “Who put you up to this?”

  “No one, sir. We’re all just thankful for your kindness. It’s so important that we get to St. Louis, my mama being in her state and all.”

  The captain didn’t answer. Hattie hoped he’d say something kind.

  He looked closely at her. “Is that your book?”

  Hattie nodded, surprised. “Why, yes sir,” she replied, the words tumbling out. It was like she had no control over her tongue as she told him about Miss Banneker and how she hoped to be a teacher one day.

  Her voice trailed off. There wasn’t anything more to say. The captain stared out at the water, chewing on the end of the cigar until it was a soggy mess. Then he sighed and slowly opened his palm. Hattie’s heart sank as she pressed the money in his hand. He slid it into his pocket and nodded.

  “Thank you,” Hattie whispered. At the bottom of the steps, she stopped and looked back. The captain was gone.

  Did it work? He took the money, so Hattie thought it did. She should have been pleased. But instead, she felt sad and uncomfortable, like she’d done something mean and gotten away with it. Mavis Robinson’s voice drifted through her mind.

  It ain’t no sin to do what you have to do to care for the ones you love.

  Maybe not, Hattie thought as she made her way back to her family. But why did it have to feel so bad?

  When she returned, Mama and Abraham were asleep. Papa rested against a coil of rope, snoring softly. She looked at their tired, dirty faces and loved them so much, it felt as though her heart would break. Mavis was right. She’d do anything for them.

  I’ll tell them when we get to St. Louis, she promised herself as she settled in. When we’re safe. She closed her eyes, but sleep would not come. So she watched the stars as the steamboat carried them closer to St. Louis.

  June 4, 1879

  Dear Diary,

  I didn’t get much sleep last night. The butterflies in my stomach woke me up at dawn. Everything seemed normal. Mama fixed breakfast. I watched the crew but they went about their business like they always do. I almost told Mama what I’d done a hundred times. But something stopped me. Guilt, maybe. Or just plain old fear.

  I tried to take my mind off things by reading my book, but that didn’t help. Word spread that we’d be in St. Louis by tomorrow morning. It’s almost suppertime and my nerves are so on edge I can’t sit still. Is the captain going to do it? I can hardly stand to look at all the hopeful faces.

  Hattie

  “What’s got into you?” Mama asked as they ate. “You’ve been jumpy as a frog all day!”

  Hattie shrugged and said nothing. The boat sailed on. She longed to tell her parents what was going on. But she couldn’t bring herself to add to their worries. She was afraid too. Afraid they’d be angry at her for what she’d done.

  After supper, a figure pushed through the mass of people standing, sitting, and lying on the deck. He looked here and there, as if he were searching for someone. When his eyes lit on Hattie, he came straight to her.

  It was one of the crewmen.

  “Are you the girl who reads?” he asked.

  She was so shocked, she couldn’t make a sound. She nodded.

  “Here,” he said, shoving a book in her hands. He turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  “What was that all about?” Papa asked.

  “I—I don’t know,” Hattie stammered. She turned the book over in her hands. It had been well loved. The leather had cracked in several places. The pages were dog-eared and worn.

  Leaves of Grass, she read on the spine. A book of poetry. Something had been slid between the well-loved pages. It was a small photograph of a white girl. She sat primly on a chair, a book cradled in one arm and a doll in the other. Hattie could just make out the words on the cover: Leaves of Grass.

  A few words were written in spidery handwriting on the back of the photo.

  This is Victoria, my book reader. She died when she was nine. Thank you for reminding me of her. Godspeed to you and your family.

  When Hattie lifted the photo out of the book, a piece of paper fluttered to the deck. It was her five-dollar bill.

  “What in tarnation is going on, Hypatia Florence Jacobs?”

  With a sob, the whole story spilled out, as if a dam had broken. The worry and fear that weighed her down seemed to wash away with every word. When she finished, Papa looked thunderstruck.

  “I’d heard a whisper of something like that,” he said slowly. “But it seems you changed his mind.”

  “My brave girl,” Mama crooned, holding Hattie tight. “Don’t you ever think you cain’t tell us something like this.” Hattie nodded. She leaned against Mama and closed her eyes, and said a prayer for the little girl who loved poetry, and the steamboat captain who had loved her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The steamboat was scheduled to arrive a little before noon, but Hattie had been at the railing since dawn. By the time the city came into view, every Exoduster on the boat was ready. Excitement was thick in the air.

  With a long, piercing whistle and a belch of smoke, the steamboat paddled to a stop at the wharf. Crewmen lowered the gangplank and people jostled t
o get off.

  A well-dressed black man appeared out of the crowd. “Are you one of the Exodusters?” he asked kindly. “I’m Adam, I’m with the Colored Men’s Land Association of St. Louis. Our organization is providing food, clothing, and a place to stay for the new arrivals.”

  They followed Adam a few blocks to a large church. Dozens of people milled about the hallways. Hattie recognized many of their fellow steamboat passengers talking and laughing, relief and hope in their faces. Adam showed them to a small room with cots and a washbasin.

  “There’s a kitchen out back,” he explained. “Food’s waiting. Welcome to St. Louis!”

  When he left, Mama sank gratefully onto one of the cots, her arms around her expanding belly. “Lordy, it’s good to be off a moving boat!” she sighed.

  After they’d washed up, they went in search of the kitchen. They got their bowls of stew and fresh bread and found seats at the long tables set up outside.

  “Jacobs! Nat Jacobs!” Singleton strode up to their table. “Adam said you were here. I’m so relieved to see you. When I heard about the trouble with the steamboats, I feared you’d give up and go back to Nashville.”

  Hattie slowly ate her stew and listened to Papa tell the story of their adventures.

  “I’m not surprised, Jacobs,” Singleton commented, frowning. “Your story sounds like many others. I’m glad you made it.”

  “I’m not sure what we’re going to do now,” Papa said. “I reckon we need to decide where to settle.”

  “Have you thought about the town of Nicodemus?” Singleton asked. “That would be a good town for your family. It’s a young town, founded in 1877. They need a blacksmith, that’s for sure. Plenty of land for farming. They’ve got a school.”

  Hattie’s ears perked up at the word school.

  “Did you hear that, Nat?” Mama asked. “A town of black folks. We can have the farm you always wanted.”