Chasing Freedom

by Gloria Ann Wesley

  “He left early this morning because Cecil asked him to do some carpentry work at the store. Nothing would stop Papa from a day’s work. It’s too hard to come by.”

  “True, but it’s a poor day for outside work and a long walk in the cold. It is not safe for you to be out alone. I heard about your run-in with Boll weevil. I’d feel better if I went with you.” He reached inside the door and grabbed a heavy coat.

  “Thanks. I don’t like being out alone, but I try to be careful. It’s the cold I hate more than anything.”

  When they had gone some distance, Reece turned to her and said, “It’s a bitter winter, just as bad as the first. I was hoping this one would be better. The winters last so long up here … they seem to last forever.”

  “I try not to think about it. There’s something nice about the snow. It’s so pure and fluffy; it reminds me of the cotton fields!” Sarah picked up a handful of snow and threw it at Reece.

  “Missed!” he said, ducking fast.

  “I hope Grandmother is alright. She’s old and she’s had a lot of worries lately.”

  Reece was quiet. The snow was heavy and walking was difficult. He was thinking that Sarah was strong and determined, like her grandmother. Now that they had settled into a friendship, they were nearly inseparable. He frowned at Sarah’s insistence that they keep their friendship from her grandmother, agreeing only because she assured him it was for the best. He supposed there was no need for trouble.

  They came to a place where the snow had filled in the path and they climbed over huge banks of snow. Beyond the drifts, they took a shortcut through a part of the arm Sarah had not seen before. A long rock wall stretched for about a mile and there were ruins: dilapidated buildings and piles of rocks outlining foundations where the wind scattered the snow—the homes of the French before their expulsion.

  “It’s hard to believe people were here before us,” Sarah remarked.

  “People move on, but they leave their mark.”

  Suddenly, without warning, Sarah let out a loud scream. She found herself sinking down into a wide hole. For a moment, Reece panicked. He approached the hole and managed to pull her out, but Sarah was shaken. She gathered her wits while Reece asked her if she was hurt.

  Sarah straightened her bonnet, brushed herself off and said, “I’m alright.”

  “That’s a relief. You must have stumbled into an old well. The snow’s light, you went right through it.”

  “It gave me a fright. We better hope nothing else happens. Grandmother must be worried.”

  Sarah looked back at the ghostly ruins. A sudden emptiness and feeling of sadness for lost souls caused her to say, “I don’t know what I would do without Grandmother. Death is funny. It comes unexpectedly most times, like a sudden fire alarm. Just go, get out, with little or no warning. I’ve seen so much of it.”

  “Death is hard to deal with, I imagine. I can’t say that I’ve ever had to deal with it, really. I mentioned not knowing my parents. I feel like a ship adrift in the Atlantic. I have no idea who named me Reece. Reece who, I often wonder.”

  “Reece is a wonderful name. You told me your name was Reece Johnson.”

  “I did. It’s funny how that name came about. When the man who was recording names on the Inspection Roll asked for mine, I said ‘Reece.’ He asked if I had a surname. I didn’t think of myself as a slave or want to take on the Redmond name, so I said ‘Johnson.’ It was the first name that came into my head.”

  The path was slippery in places. Reece took Sarah’s arm. “Careful,” he said, and helped her over a spot of ice.

  “You weren’t alone. A lot of slaves just had one name.”

  “They did, but I named myself! My free name is Reece Johnson.” He let go a roaring laugh that echoed throughout the woods.

  “Well, at least you had the freedom to choose. This freedom is not all it was supposed to be. I’m indentured to the Cunninghams for now. Housework does not suit me. It’s shameful to trade our freedom and souls for a hand-out and a bite to eat.”

  “In these hard times, we do what we have to do.” He squeezed her hand, pulled her to a standstill and looked into her eyes. “I have news. I received my notice to go sea.”

  “When are you leaving?” There was sadness in her voice and she bit her lip and looked away, stepping faster, dreading the answer.

  “In three days I will be heading up north on Cape Blomidon. I can’t turn down a job, much less a good-paying one like this.”

  “And will you return to Birchtown?”

  “I can’t say how long I’ll be gone for sure, perhaps a month or more. I suppose I’ll return here to home port. There’s no other place to call home.”

  “Grandmother says we have to put down roots. It’s the only way to survive,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “She’s right.” That was all he said, until a crow cawed. “Sometimes I feel like your grandmother is sizing me up. She looks at me in the oddest way …”

  “I have my own mind and my own heart.”

  “I have no doubt of that, Sarah Redmond. No doubt at all. We are almost there.” Reece grabbed Sarah’s hand. “You’re a strong and brave woman. I’d work my heart out for someone like you. Honestly, I would.”

  Sarah smiled. “And what good would you be to me if you worked your heart out?”

  Reece smiled a boyish smile. His eyes met hers. He felt manly now that he had a purpose and hope. He stopped and pulled Sarah forward and brushed the snow from her shoulders. The sound of Ackers Brook making its way under the icy covers filled the air. It was in that spot that Reece stopped and pulled Sarah close. Just as they were engaging in a gentle kiss, the sounds of fierce howling and panting jolted them apart. Suddenly a pack of wild dogs sprang from the woods and bared their sharp teeth. Their growls were vicious and their ribs bulged through their puny sides. Like lightning, Reece broke a spruce branch and waved it with much screaming until the dogs ran off through the thick snow.

  Sarah’s fright had turned to amusement as she watched. “They’re starving,” Sarah said. “There’s nothing for them to eat in this snow.”

  With that remark, it came to her that she was starving too. As they hurried on, Sarah turned her thoughts inward. What was she starving for? Food? Excitement? Happiness? There was nothing for a lively spirit in this empty place. A picture of New York came into her mind with its tall buildings, hustle and bustle, smells and people going about with purpose. She was tired of the heavy-hearted wayfarers and gloominess of Birchtown. She looked at Reece, another adventurer, and the very idea of getting married felt like a sentence to the House of Corrections. Such thoughts. It was all too much, too complicated on a morning like this.

  She had other pressing concerns. She could see the roof of Cecil MacLeod’s store in the distance. Upon reaching the store, she and Reece parted company. She watched as he headed back to help other Birchtowners with their repairs. Knowing what had transpired between Mr. MacLeod and Grandmother, her fear of him transformed into a great lump in her stomach.

  Fifteen

  “YOU OWE ME TWICE OVER CECIL. WE HAD AN AGREEMENT.” Boll weevil screamed, the spit flying from his mouth.

  Cecil scowled. “We had a deal and you fell short. A man has to live up to his word, otherwise his word becomes a shallow reminder of how useless he is.”

  “Damn you, Cecil. I agreed to do your dirty work. You couldn’t have managed without me this morning. The old woman and her son were a handful.” Anger cut across his face. “An honest man keeps his word. It wasn’t my fault the first attempt failed.”

  Cecil laughed and then grunted. “An honest man you say? Have you forgotten how long I’ve known you? You are far from that or you would have returned and reported what happened. Did you think I wouldn’t hear the news of Lydia’s prank? I’ve been terrified that she would reveal our plot. I was sick because of your blunder.”
Cecil was edgy, wondering how any man could speak of honour in times like these. He massaged his forehead several times. “I won’t pay you for a botched job. This second attempt to capture Lydia and the girl will put an end to this blasted partnership. For that, I will pay.” He held Boll weevil’s gaze and gave him a poisonous sneer. His tone hardened. “We will talk after you honour your promise to return this evening.”

  Boll weevil eyed Cecil with contempt. Anger bloomed beneath his skin. “I need supplies and the least you can do is allow me credit. You owe me that. Business is slow with the Birchtowners on their guard, hiding runaways and sharing their certificates.”

  “I owe you nothing, man. I would be crazy to trust you in these anxious times. There is no credit here. What chance would I have of repayment? All you’ve got to barter with is a gun and a shabby horse.”

  “You’re a miserable snake, Cecil. You’ll pay for this.” He was in Cecil’s face with his right hand raised. “You can’t cut a man down and walk away free.”

  Cecil smiled nervously. “Here’s money to rent the wagon. Just be sure you are alone and back here by dusk,” and he handed Boll weevil some coins. “We will strike a fair deal then. I’ll pay for what you’ve earned.”

  When Sarah opened the door at Cecil’s, Boll weevil stormed past, meeting her surprise with scorn. She watched him mount his bony charger, mumbling unintelligibly under his breath. Sarah grew faint, wondering if he would remember her, turn around, and come back. She watched as he steered the horse around. Her thoughts were also of Reece’s safety. When Boll weevil headed in the opposite direction, her fear slowly subsided.

  Inside, Cecil scurried about. His face was flushed with sweat though the small stove was barely heating the store. Sarah stood in the doorway watching as he nervously poked in the fire. He appeared distressed and she moved with caution towards him.

  “Hello, Mr. MacLeod.” She expected to see Grandmother sitting near the door, but there was no sign of her or Papa. She looked about. The stillness was disturbing. Something was amiss. The sight of Boll weevil caused her mind to fill with chilling thoughts while Cecil’s awkward silence created even more uncertainty. Sarah spoke again, choosing her words carefully, “Cato stopped by with your message. I am here to see to my Grandmother.”

  Cecil was not himself. The prospect of keeping captives in his root cellar rattled him. Hatching his plan meant one more to join the others. The sheer weight of all the uncertainty filled him with exhaustion. This was turning into a nasty business. “She’s down in the cellar, picking over the vegetables. Go down and give her a hand.”

  Cecil led her to the back of the store where he wrestled with a trap door bolted to the floor. Sarah had not noticed the door before. Why had he bolted it? Grandmother would need light, need to get back up. In her uneasiness, Sarah was trying to decide if she should stay or run. When the door was fully open, she could see a crude set of steps leading into the darkness. Cecil gave her a nudge, saying, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Sarah hesitated. Cecil stood behind her motioning for her to go. “Lydia has a candle. She is at the far end. You go on now. Get along.” She moved cautiously down the seven shoddy steps. When she reached the bottom step, the trap door slammed.

  A strange sickness overcame her as she stood on the bottom step trembling, trying to adjust to the darkness. The cellar had a strange musty odour. It was bitter cold. Faint bands of light glared through the holes in the stone foundation crisscrossing at various angles. “Grandmother. Are you here?” She could barely mutter the words. Overhead, she could hear Cecil moving and the blows of a hammer pounding, pounding on the trap door. She held her breath and listened for signs of life—human or otherwise. A sudden tapping on the dirt floor spooked her just as muffled sounds came from the right of the stairs. Sarah halted. She searched through the darkness, adjusting her eyes to the dim light, expecting to see Grandmother, when instead of one figure, she saw two. They sat upright on the ground.

  “Grandmother? Papa? Is that you?” The ceiling was low with thick beams that prevented her from moving quickly. She knelt and put her hand on the old woman’s face. It was cold and clammy and her breathing strained. She untied the rag from around Grandmother’s mouth, then struggled to untie the ropes that bound her hands and feet, but the knots were too tight. She turned to her father. A sudden flurry of mice scattered about his feet. She pushed her hand against her mouth. Would she survive even an hour in this hole? She worked the knots until Fortune’s hands fell free. He stretched them behind his ears and untied the filthy rag from around his mouth. Slowly he untied the rope that bound his feet.

  He stood and stretched as best he could. After freeing his mother, he turned to Sarah. “How was Cecil able to lure you here?”

  “He got Cato to tell me to come. That Grandmother needed me. She had taken a spell.”

  “This has turned into a game for them, I believe.” To his mother, he said, “Do you have any idea why they would want to do such a thing, when you have papers to protect you?”

  Lydia was quiet, but shortly she responded: “Times are hard. Who can you trust?” Soft humming flowed from her lips while her mind was busy wondering how she was ever going to keep the truth to herself. What a morning. One minute she was looking at the shipment of used dishes and the next Cecil and Boll weevil were grabbing her from behind. They scuffled in the cellar as they tried to tie her up. In the process, she heard the words, “sail to Boston” and “money.” When they brought Fortune down, it was then that she fully realized the truth. The two men had hatched this terrible plot to get her out of Birchtown.

  Lydia gasped for air. “Forgive me. Forgive me,” she moaned. She was a fool to believe she could leave her torment behind, that it could possibly not trip her up in a faraway place. So this was how Cecil’s cunningness was to play out. If only she had revealed the truth about having children by him after arriving in Birchtown … but she had hesitated, believing there was too much at stake. Here was the result of her stalling—and it was not just her life on the line, but Fortune’s and Sarah’s as well.

  Sarah sat in silence, too overcome to speak. Her first thoughts were of Reece, wondering if he was safe and if she would live to see him again. Boll weevil and Cecil had the three of them caged like animals. She wondered how long they would keep them in the cellar. She wondered if Grandmother’s God was watching. Impulsively, she cast her eyes upward and prayed.

  Fortune took several deep breaths. Lydia’s run-in with Boll weevil had something to do with their situation and he wanted answers. He put his hand on her arm. “Tell me what happened the evening Boll weevil tried to kidnap you and Sarah.”

  The demand irritated the old woman. She remained silent for a long time before saying, “Oh my Lord. He tried to say we were runaways.” She snatched up her pipe from her pocket, and sucked air for several seconds. “He planned to ship us down to Boston. His living comes off the backs of slaves you know.”

  “You have your certificates. Did you show him your certificates?”

  “I searched in my purse, but I could not find them because, oh, sweet chariots … they were gone.”

  “What happened to the papers?”

  “I don’t know. I had them at Cecil’s store that morning.”

  “How would he get his hands on your papers?”

  “I left my purse on the counter when I went to look at the vegetables.”

  “Mama, of what interest was your papers to Cecil?”

  Lydia stared at the light coming through the tiny holes in the cellar wall. She rubbed the back of her neck, felt the pain of a thousand beatings, the weight of long-held secrets when they came like thieves to steal her rest. It was her fear of Cecil and shame that kept the secrets safe. She was careful in her answer this time. “You know how Cecil loves the coin. He would sell his own mother if he could make a shilling.”

  “Seems like a lot of troubl
e.”

  “Oh, Lord, Fortune, that man is not worrying about who he catches.”

  “He planned this for a reason.” He looked at his mother. “I believe that you know the reason. It is time now to be free of your worries. Tell what happened.”

  She sucked more air through the pipe. “I was bought to make slaves. I was breeding stock. Cecil bred me behind Master Redmond’s back for the light-skinned babies to sell.” Silence hung on her painful account and tears streamed down her face. “He fathered my children. He is … your father as he was Prince’s.”

  For a moment, Fortune could feel nothing, then his heart rebelled and the pain was so intense, it was as if a sharp blade was passing through it. However, he came to himself and summed up the situation. “You suffered a lot. I saw how he treated you. That was the practice, selling, buying and breeding slaves without any regard for life or decency. But that does not explain why he wanted to get rid of you and Sarah. That’s my concern.”

  “He is protecting himself because he has moved up in the world. He is afraid I will tell about his past. He will not lose what he has. “Cecil and I have a daughter in Roseway, perhaps a son in Birchtown, and another daughter somewhere.”

  “My Sweet Lord. Who are they, Mama?”

  “I only know of the one for sure.”

  “Who?”

  Her words turned to mumbles. The name would not fall from her lips. What right did she have to reveal her daughter’s mixed blood without her permission? She thought again of the trouble that letting it slip in Roseway might bring.

  “This woman, do I know her?” Fortune growled, impatient with his mother’s stalling.

  “The name is the least of our worries now. How are we going to escape from this cellar?”

  Fortune realized now that, sadly, she and Cecil were entangled in a secret web. “I’ll wait on your time to tell me. You are right about the cellar. We need a plan for when Cecil and Boll weevil return. I got my pistol.” He reached down inside his long brown boot and gently rubbed the cold metal of his ol’ dragoon, as though it were a harmless kitten.