Daisy's Search for Freedom

by Bertha Schwartz

  The man seemed to be caught off guard at Daisy’s exclamation. Daisy quickly ducked under the wagon and rolled to the other side. She was up and running before the man realized what she was doing. He sprang to life immediately.

  “Stop, this instant!” he commanded, chasing after her. Daisy never even slowed down.

  “Help me, Jesus,” she whispered as she ran. Instead of running back to the picnic area, Daisy rushed into a crowd of people. She immediately stopped running and pretended to be strolling along with the others.

  “Stop her!” Daisy heard the man calling. “She stole money from me!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Secret

  DAISY FELT LIKE PANICKING BUT knew instinctively that if she started running, she’d look guilty and be captured. She squeezed carefully between two heavyset ladies.

  One of the ladies looked down and whispered, “Did ya?”

  Daisy looked up to encounter two dark, kind faces studying her. “Did ya steal?” asked one of them again. Daisy shook her head fearfully. She felt as if she could trust these ladies.

  “Come,” one of the ladies said. “We believe you.” They hurried Daisy up the back steps of a beautiful house. Daisy looked around the spacious kitchen she suddenly found herself in. One of the women quickly undid her hair, while the other one hurried away.

  She returned shortly, pushing an elderly lady in a wheelchair. “This girl,” she announced to the white-haired lady, “has an interesting story, I believe.” She nodded to Daisy. “Now start at the beginning, and don’t forget nothing.”

  Nervously, Daisy repeated everything. The elderly lady nodded. “We’ll help you,” she promised. “It was probably Turner. You did the right thing. Can you read?”

  “You can trust her,” said the one undoing Daisy’s hair.

  At Daisy’s nod, the white lady closed her eyes and whispered, “Oh, thank you, Sweet Jesus!” She opened her eyes and told Daisy, “You are an answer to prayer! Now tell me how you learned to read.”

  “I always need to do Miss Annabelle’s lessons.”

  The lady’s eyebrows rose. “Does her papa know it? What about her teacher? How many people know you can read?”

  “No one, except Miss Annabelle. She said if anyone else were to find out, I will be beat almost to death. She say I be wishin’ I could die. An’ now, I told you.” Suddenly Daisy realized what she had done. Terror shot through her, and she started trembling violently. Immediately, she was enclosed in two strong arms.

  “Never fear! Never fear!” soothed the voice. “Your secret is safe. We’d never tell.”

  “Now listen carefully,” commanded the elderly lady. “We don’t have much time. We will start sending messages to you, which you will need to pass on. You will get them in various ways. The first line will tell you who the message is for. The rest of the lines will be written in a different code. Beginning with the first word in the second sentence, every third word is the message you need to pass on. Memorize the message as quickly as possible. Completely destroy the paper as soon as you can. It is up to you to figure out how to pass the message on without it meaning anything to anyone who might overhear. Trust no one with your secret. Remember always that many lives are depending on you. And above all, keep Jesus close to your heart. Pray often. Know that I will be praying for you, too!”

  The lady turned the wheelchair to pick up a dress one of the other women had brought in. “Now put this dress on. Tell Miss Annabelle you fell into the creek, and a kind lady gave you this dress to wear. We will make sure your other clothes are wet and dirty and on the wagon before you leave tonight. Have I overwhelmed you?”

  Daisy met her smile. “A bit. But I think I can do it.”

  “Good! Now, we have a bucket of muddy water beside the door that you need to step in to make your story sound more accurate. With these new clothes and your hair fixed differently, Turner won’t recognize you. That is also why we don’t want you to be seen carrying your wet, dirty clothes.”

  Daisy was shown into the pantry where she quickly changed into other clothes. When she came out, the lady said, “This man will make sure you find Miss Annabelle and her party again.”

  Daisy looked up in surprise to see a tall, dark man standing beside the door. He gave a slight nod. Daisy noticed that he was very well dressed. A gentleman’s slave, she thought.

  Daisy didn’t have time to think long, as the lady was talking again. “Now go quickly, and God bless!” With that she turned her wheelchair and left the room.

  Daisy felt a hand on her shoulder. “Come,” said the man, simply. Daisy quickly obeyed, pausing to step in the pail of muddy water beside the door. She quickly wiped the bottoms of her shoes on the grass outside the door so she wouldn’t leave any tracks for anyone to follow. The man nodded his approval and then led the way down the street.

  Daisy found it hard to follow him in the crush of people. Not once did he turn to see if she still followed. Finally, he stopped and waited until she drew near. Without glancing at her or saying a word, he stood gazing to the right. Daisy looked in that direction. There was Mr. Clemmons looking over the crowd. Daisy hurried that way.

  “Where were you?” demanded Miss Annabelle when Daisy reached her side.

  Daisy sighed, “I was playing too close to the river an’ done fell in. It weren’t deep there, but I got all wet an’ muddy.” She lifted her skirts to reveal her muddy shoes. “A kind man helped me out, an’—”

  “A white man?” interrupted Mr. Clemmons.

  Daisy shook her head without looking up. “It were a colored man. His wife gave me clothes.”

  “Where are your clothes?” Mrs. Clemmons asked sternly. “You didn’t lose them did you?”

  Daisy shook her head. “They’s on the wagon, Ma’am. They said I can keep these.”

  “What was their name?” asked Mr. Clemmons.

  Daisy looked up in genuine surprise. “I never thought to ask.”

  “Come,” Miss Annabelle said impatiently, “or we’ll miss the parade.” She handed Daisy her beautiful, pink parasol, trimmed in fancy lace and ribbons, exactly like her dress. “Here,” she said. “Hold this over my head. It’s unbearably hot.”

  Daisy held the parasol as they walked, while Miss Annabelle used a matching fan.

  “Oh, there are the Wrights,” exclaimed Miss Annabelle. “Let’s go sit with them.”

  As they walked in that direction, Daisy recognized Miss Debra, who often came over to play with Miss Annabelle. Her slave, Cora, was there, too. Before long, all four girls were seated in the grass, with Cora and Daisy still holding parasols over the girls between them. The adults sat in chairs behind them.

  Daisy’s thoughts whirled as she thought of all the lady in the wheelchair had told her. Was she part of the Underground Railroad that helped slaves escape? A loud boom made her forget everything else.

  “The parade is starting!” cheered Miss Annabelle.

  Daisy watched in fascination as two white horses came first. Their riders were dressed in blue uniforms. Between them, they carried the US flag.

  Soon, Daisy got caught up in the excitement. She occasionally glanced at Cora, who seemed to be enjoying it as much as she was. They exchanged many smiles.

  Suddenly, a man paused in front of her.

  “Enjoying the parade, Mr. Turner?” asked Mr. Wright.

  “I would be,” growled a voice Daisy immediately recognized. “But a little colored girl robbed me!”

  It was the same man! Daisy’s first thought was to run. But she remembered what the lady had said. “He won’t recognize you.” She had promised. She pretended to be looking around his legs to continue to watch the parade.

  “What did she steal?” asked Mr. Clemmons.

  “What’s it matter?” he snarled. “If I catch her, I’ll have her whipped!”

  “Turner!” Mr. Wright sounded angry. “If you’re trying to make trouble for one of my slaves, you’re going to be sorry!”

  “Same
here,” Mr. Clemmons added. “I don’t believe for a minute you were robbed. And it’s always young girls, isn’t it? I hope someday you get caught!”

  “How can you say that?” roared Mr. Turner. “You know they all lie!”

  By now, everyone seemed to have forgotten the parade and was watching them.

  “We’ve heard that story too often,” put in another man. “Maybe we ought to plan a lynching. Then all of our slave girls would be safer.”

  As the others cheered, Turner turned and hurried off. Daisy breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t know Mr. Clemmons heard it and raised his eyebrows at his wife. It didn’t take them long to figure out the truth.

  “Don’t let her out of your sight,” murmured Mr. Clemmons.

  “But who—” began Mrs. Clemmons. Mr. Clemmons motioned her to silence.

  Daisy was too shaken up to watch the rest of the parade. If Mr. Turner had recognized her, would anyone have been able to protect her? Daisy had never heard of anyone taking the word of a slave over that of a white man. She was unaware of the hurried conference happening between Mr. Clemmons and Mr. Wright.

  Daisy tried hard to enjoy the fireworks that followed the parade. Too soon, it was time to leave.

  “Come on, Daisy,” said Henrietta.

  “Just a minute,” said Mr. Clemmons. “It’s of no use for you all to go back there. Thomas, you and Ted take the carriage and wagon to Elm Street. We’ll all meet there.”

  Thomas and Ted hurried to obey this unusual request. They all started walking toward Elm Street. Daisy was surprised when Mr. Clemmons told Daisy and Miss Annabelle to walk in front of them. She was even more surprised to see Mr. Wright standing behind her as Mr. Clemmons helped his wife and daughter into the carriage, which had arrived first.

  When the wagon arrived, Daisy noticed a man on horseback following the wagon. It was Mr. Turner! Daisy turned to run, but was immediately caught!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The First Secret Message

  BEFORE DAISY COULD EVEN SCREAM, a hand was clamped over her mouth, and she was thrown roughly into a carriage. A big shoe clumped on the floor right beside her face. The carriage lurched forward.

  “Papa,” exclaimed Miss Annabelle. “She can’t ride with us!”

  “Annabelle, hush!” Daisy was surprised to hear Mr. Clemmons’ voice.

  “Papa!” said Miss Annabelle, firmly. “Stop this carriage at once! I will not ride in the same carriage as a slave.”

  “Annabelle, you will not use that tone with me!” Daisy was surprised to hear Mr. Clemmons use that tone with Miss Annabelle, his pride and joy! He continued, “Daisy’s life may be in danger! We need to keep her hidden. Stay down, Daisy!”

  “Papa! What about my reputation? What if someone found out I rode in the same carriage as a slave?”

  “Nobody had better find out about this! If I find out you told one person, any one at all, you will be in deep trouble.”

  “Papa, for goodness’ sake! She’s only a slave! So what, if her life is in danger? You can always buy another one. We’ve plenty of money.”

  “Annabelle, not another word from you! If anyone finds out Daisy came home with us, you will be in trouble!”

  Daisy glanced up at Miss Annabelle’s cry of outrage. And then she quickly covered her face just as Miss Annabelle’s sharp, pointed shoe slammed into her hands covering her face. Then everything went black.

  Daisy groaned. Her head and face were pounding. Her left hand felt like it was on fire. Her eyes felt swollen shut. She realized she was in some kind of bed.

  “Honey Child,” a soft voice murmured, from far away. In the dim light, Daisy could make out two forms bending over her.

  “She’s coming ‘round,” a deep voice rumbled.

  “Can you give her something for pain?” Daisy recognized Mr. Clemmons’ voice.

  “I’ll give her something to help her sleep.” It was the deeper voice, again.

  “Just go to sleep, Honey Child,” whispered the familiar voice Daisy couldn’t seem to place. A glass was held to her lips and a foul tasting liquid was poured down her throat. Daisy felt herself relaxing, as a warm blanket was tucked around her.

  The next time Daisy woke up, she had a raging thirst. Her eyes still opened only to slits, but she was surprised to see Mama bending over her.

  “Honey Child,” she whispered softly. “How you feeling?”

  Daisy tried to answer, but groaned instead.

  “Here, sip this broth.” Mama held a spoon to her lips. “The doctor said I can give some more stuff to make you sleep, but ya ought to eat a mite, or your poor tummy’ll be mighty upset. Can ya take a little sip?”

  The next time Daisy woke up, the sun was shining through a tiny window overhead. She could hear pots and pans clattering in the next room. When she tried to raise her head, the room started spinning, and her head throbbed with pain. She lay back down with a soft moan.

  Mama’s head popped in the open doorway. “You okay, Honey Child?”

  Daisy tried to nod, but the pain stopped her. Mama patted Daisy’s shoulder. “I be back soon. I ‘bout got the Master’s dinner ready.” Mama’s faded cotton skirt swirled as she left.

  Daisy woke up again when Mama came in carrying a tray.

  “What happened?” Daisy asked after Mama had propped her up and fed her several bites.

  “You ‘member Miss Annabelle kicked you in the face?” At Daisy’s nod, Mama continued. “You’re lucky you had your hand up. Doc said it’d been lots worse.”

  “Doc?” croaked Daisy. Seldom was a doctor called for a slave.

  Mama nodded. “Ya broke your hand an’ nose. Master Clemmons says you can rest ‘til you’re all better. Then you can help in the kitchen.” Daisy was too surprised to do more than swallow the broth Mama was feeding her.

  Mama continued, “He said Miss Annabelle’s to be without a slave for the rest of the summer. She’ll need to look after herself.” Mama leaned closer and whispered, “Chloe says Miss Annabelle got in trouble like never before. But I’m afeared for you.” Mama squeezed Daisy’s hand. “Miss Annabelle’s still in an awful rage. If she can harm you . . . just be careful.”

  The next morning, Daisy woke up to hear the deep, rumbling voice she’d heard the first morning. “How’s our little lady doing?”

  Daisy heard Mama’s quieter voice. Then the curtain, hanging over the doorway, was pushed aside and a short, robust man stepped into the tiny room. He quickly unwrapped the bandage on her hand, and then wrapped it up again, murmuring constantly soft, gentle words that did not require a response. He examined her face and head, asked several questions, and then was gone as quickly as he had come. Before he left, he gently squeezed Daisy’s right hand and murmured, “Now you take care, Little One.”

  After he left, Daisy laid there thinking about the strange occurrences. Never before had a white man spoken so gently and with such concern for her. But he was a doctor, Daisy reminded herself.

  Suddenly, Daisy realized there was something in her right hand! She found a tiny slip of paper and read: “The cook needs to give you some more stew. Meat and vegetables in stew, or orchard fruit taken at noon and sundown.”

  Daisy stared at the note. Was it written in code or was it a trick? Daisy read the note again. Hearing a noise outside, she quickly hid the note. No one came inside.

  Daisy remembered that the lady had told her the first line of the message would be the name of the person it was for. The first line said Cook! Was the message for Mama? She thought about the message—every third word, beginning with the first word of the second line.

  Daisy quickly opened the note again and read only every third word after the first line. “Meat . . . in . . . orchard . . . at . . . sundown.” Daisy shuddered as she realized the content of the note. I need to destroy it! she remembered, suddenly. Daisy looked around quickly. Then grabbed a glass of water and splashed some on the note. She tore the note into tiny bits and rubbed them together until they disintegrated.
She gathered up the tiny scraps. It looked like little bits of lint. She slipped them under her pillow just as the curtain was pushed aside.

  “You!” yelled Miss Annabelle. Her face was flushed with anger. “You mean troublemaker!” Miss Annabelle charged toward the bed. She looked around frantically until she spied the heavy water pitcher. Grabbing it up, she raised it above her head.

  Daisy squeezed against the wall as tightly as she could. She watched in horror as the pitcher swiftly descended toward her.

  Suddenly the pitcher was knocked aside. Thomas, the butler, had a firm grip on Miss Annabelle’s arm. His voice held a threat, but his words were calm, “Master Clemmons wishes to see you in his study.”

  Miss Annabelle’s face turned pale, and she allowed Thomas to take the pitcher from her hands. As soon as they left, most of the kitchen help swarmed into the tiny room to see if Daisy was all right.

  “I’m so sorry,” sobbed Lucy. “I promised to watch your room. I forgot an’ ran to the garden after some carrots.”

  Last of all, Cook rushed in, out of breath and looking very frightened. She hung back until the others started leaving one by one. “Are you hurt?” she asked, gently stroking Daisy’s face.

  Daisy shook her head, and then remembered the message. “Cook,” she whispered. “Meet in orchard at sundown.”

  Only Mama’s eyes acknowledged that she heard the message. She continued talking as if Daisy hadn’t spoken. “Try to sleep a bit again. Then mayhap we can help you sit up a bit. Sooner you can be up an’ about, the better.” Cook fluffed the pillow and tucked the blanket around her again. When she came back, stirring a drink, Daisy noticed the worry on her face.

  That afternoon, Cook and Lucy helped Daisy sit up. They braced her on either side. Daisy was glad for the support because the whole room spun. She was relieved to hear Cook say, “That’s enough for this time.” Daisy lay back down, gratefully.