William Henry is a Fine Name

by Cathy Gohlke

  Miz Laura’s knuckles dug white into the arms of her chair. “I do not know who you are, but you are trespassing. Leave my land by way of the road.”

  The stranger leaned back in his saddle. “No disrespect intended, ma’am. Like I said, I’m looking for Isaac Heath. This is his place, ain’t it?”

  “This is Laurelea. Mr. Heath is not available to see you. Now, leave my land.”

  The stranger stroked the stubble on his jaw. “He’s not here, then?”

  “He’s not available to see you,” Miz Laura repeated.

  “Miz Heath, I take it. I have reason to believe your husband has some of my property. At least I believe he had it until last night. I’m only here to take what’s mine.”

  Seconds passed. Miz Laura never took her eyes from the stranger’s face. “William Henry, tell Sassy to bring my parasol, my blue silk parasol. And tell her to bring in my quilt from the line. It’s aired long enough.” I looked at Miz Laura, fearful for her mind. Who cared about her blue silk parasol or that old faded quilt on the back wash line at a time like this? That quilt was hung out in all kinds of weather. William Henry stood as though he hadn’t heard. “Do as I say, William Henry.” She waited. “What is this property you speak of, Mr. … Mr.?”

  “Slocum. Jed Slocum. I’m overseer for Mr. Marcus Ashton, owner of Ashland, the biggest tobacco plantation in the Carolina piedmont.” He lifted his chin.

  Miz Laura didn’t blink.

  “I’m here chasing down some runaways….”

  And then I missed some of what he said. Ashton was Ma’s maiden name, and Ashland the place she was born and raised. I tried to remember the first name of Ma’s father printed in our family Bible, but it wouldn’t come to me. Did Ma know this man, Slocum?

  “Two of those slaves are my prime field hands. One is near six feet, coal black. The other’s a boy, near growed—might try to pass for white. It appears they picked up four or five others as they made their way north, likely bound for the Pennsylvania line. I tracked the lot of them as far as North East before losing them. Met up with a neighbor of yours, man named Tulley. Hired him and his dogs to help track.”

  While he was talking, Aunt Sassy slipped through the front door, clutching Miz Laura’s blue silk parasol with two hands. She carefully laid the parasol in Miz Laura’s lap, its point aimed at Jed Slocum. “Did you bring my quilt in, Sassy? I don’t want the colors to fade.”

  “Yes, Miz Laura.”

  “That’s fine. That will be all, now.” Miz Laura did not raise the parasol but motioned Aunt Sassy toward the house. “And did you find your field hands, Mr. Slocum?”

  “Dogs picked up their scent outside town. Tracked them to a creek near here, name of Laurel Run.”

  Miz Laura ignored him. From the corner of my eye I saw Miz Laura slip her hand into the folds of her parasol and clasp a small pearl-handled pistol butt. The lump in my throat grew and my heart picked up a beat. I forced my eyes back to Jed Slocum. I’d seen such things advertised in the newspapers that came from Baltimore and over the counter in Eberly’s General Merchandise, but never at Laurelea. Ever since Mr. Heath had taken up with Mr. Garrett and his Quaker friends he’d not only freed his slaves, but didn’t favor violence or guns of any kind, save for hunting fresh meat or fowl or maybe killing a copperhead. I wondered if Jed Slocum ranked as a copperhead.

  “We followed that creek a mile or so, till it branched, then picked up the scent again off the road yonder. Near daylight Tulley’s hound kicked up a fuss and ran one up a tree. I wounded one, killed one. I counted one, maybe two white men got away—at least two coloreds. Tulley’s boy claims he recognized one of yours.”

  Jake must have made a good recovery from his ivy poison lunch to be traipsing through the countryside by night. We should have treated him to poison sumac and shut him up for good. Something tugged at my brain—the hounds I’d heard this morning, even in my sleep. And where was Pa? I still hadn’t seen him or Mr. Heath, or Joseph Henry, for that matter.

  “You missing any slaves, Miz Heath?”

  “We own no slaves here, Mr. Slocum.” Miz Laura’s voice remained steady, but her fingers trembled within the folds of her parasol.

  “Blacksmith. Goes by the name ‘Joseph.’ Tulley’s son claims he saw him.” Slocum stroked his jaw again. “There’s a two-hundred-dollar reward for each of my field hands. Talk in town says this is not the first time runaways been tracked by your place. And then there’s this blacksmith, Joseph.”

  “We have an excellent free blacksmith in our employ, Mr. Slocum, and his name is Joseph Henry. However, it could not be the same man. Mr. Henry hired out this day, which, of course, he is free to do, an arrangement you may one day do well to consider. We have taken enough of your time, Mr. Slocum. Robert, take me in.”

  Miz Laura’s last words may have been lost to Jed Slocum in the barking of hounds, the clopping of horses’ hooves, and the swirl of dust that rounded my house at the end of the lane. Aunt Sassy stepped out the door and laid a protective hand on Miz Laura’s shoulder. “Robert, Sassy, inside,” Miz Laura ordered. Neither of us budged.

  My neck prickled as Sol Tulley, his son, Jake, and the county sheriff pounded toward us. The pack of Tulley’s demon hounds lunged, barking and vicious, snapping at their heels.

  “Down! Down!” Tulley swore and punched the two-toned lead hound with his rifle butt. The dog shrieked, then cowered, whimpering. “Tie up them hounds, Jake. Ain’t you got no sense?” Jake obeyed, his face a softer version of the whipped hounds. Tulley turned to Jed Slocum. “We took that live one into the town jail and brung the sheriff, like you said.”

  “Mrs. Heath. Sorry to bring this ruckus out here.” Sheriff Biggs tipped his hat, then turned to Jed Slocum. “I told you yesterday that unless you have proof, there’s nothing I can do. It’s not against the law to live by a run, and you can’t help who uses it, runaways or not. You’d best have something worth bringing me all the way out here.”

  “Tulley’s boy recognized Heath’s blacksmith last night,” Slocum challenged.

  Jake shot a look over me and mouthed, “You and William Henry’s good as dead.”

  “I saw a white man with those slaves. Half the town told me Heath’s a slave lover. Him and that blacksmith are both missing.” Slocum steadied his horse, still jittered by the hounds.

  Sheriff Biggs looked from Jed Slocum to Miz Laura. With his eyes on Miz Laura, he asked, “Jake, who’d you see last night?”

  Jake stepped up to the sheriff’s horse and declared importantly, “I seen Joseph Henry, Sheriff! I swear I seen him! We treed that other one this morning. Pa whipped him good and made him tell where he got help and he said, ‘Down by the creek.’”

  “Mrs. Heath? Is what this boy says true? Is Isaac and your man, Joseph, gone?”

  Miz Laura folded her hands across her parasol and leveled with the sheriff’s eye. “I told Mr. Slocum that my husband is not available to see him, Sheriff Biggs. I don’t believe that warrants an arrest.”

  Sheriff Biggs shifted his hat and turned to Jake again. “Can you swear you saw Isaac Heath and Joseph Henry with that colored in the jail last night?”

  Jake hitched his pants, no longer smug. “I never said I seen Mr. Heath. That was Pa said that. But I seen Joseph Henry. I swear it. I reckon.”

  “You reckon?” the sheriff repeated.

  The upstairs window shot up behind us and Mr. Heath, his hair and nightshirt rumpled, leaned out. “What’s going on out there, Sheriff? Can’t a sick man have any peace in his own home?”

  Sheriff Biggs cast a disgusted eye over Sol Tulley. “So you saw Isaac Heath, did you?” The sheriff shook his head. He looked up at Mr. Heath in the window and raised his voice a bit. “Sorry, Isaac. It seems we have a misunderstanding here. Tulleys claim they saw you and Joseph Henry out helping runaways toward the Pennsylvania line last night. Took some shots at you, and … oh, what’s the use. Look here, Ike, will you swear you were here at home last night?”

  �
��No better place for a sick man to be, Tom. I’d have quite a time running up and down the roads and through the woods with no privy, if you follow my meaning.” Mr. Heath ended in a fit of coughing.

  “That’s quite enough, now. You’re upsetting my husband and he isn’t well.”

  “But, Joseph! I know I seen Joseph Henry, Sheriff!” Jake bellowed.

  “Tulley, take this boy home to his mama.” Sheriff Biggs tipped his hat to Miz Laura and said, “Beg pardon, Mrs. Heath. If this lot bothers you folks again, send me word and I’ll run them in for trespassing. A night in the poke might cure what ails them.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff Biggs. But I’m certain Mr. Slocum won’t be back.” Miz Laura smiled, grand lady that she was.

  “What about that blacksmith?” Jed Slocum reined his horse sideways, blocking the drive, challenging the sheriff.

  Mr. Heath called out of the upstairs window. “If you’re looking for Joseph he isn’t well, either. I had Charles drive him over to Granny Struthers. Oddest fever we’ve all come down with.”

  “Fever, nothin’!” Sol Tulley hollered. “It does seem mighty convenient that they’re both down sick all of a sudden, don’t you think, Sheriff—especially for a man that ‘hired out’ today?” Slocum pressed. Sheriff Biggs reined in his horse.

  That’s when Mr. Heath’s wagon pulled in the lane. Pa drove. Granny Struthers perched on the buckboard beside him. The wagon rumbled past our house, bringing Ma out the back door. She lifted her hand, shading her eyes, and called after Pa. He never slowed.

  Tulley dragged his hounds across the lane, blocking the wagon’s path as it neared the Heaths’ house.

  “Move aside, Tulley. I have a sick man in back,” Pa insisted.

  “I’ll bet you do, Glover.” Tulley sneered. “Sick with a bullet hole!”

  “No, suh,” Granny Struthers spoke up. “No bullets in this black boy. It’s the canker rash.”

  “Canker rash?” asked Slocum.

  “Yes, suh. Canker rash.”

  Ma caught up as Granny spoke. “Scarlet fever!” she cried, and clapped her hand to her mouth.

  “Scarlet fever, my eye!” Tulley spat and stepped toward the wagon. The hounds he held in one hand went wild. He was forced to pull them back. “Fool dogs!” He smacked the lead hound again. “Jake, you climb up there and pull that blanket back. Let’s see if this scarlet fever’s got bullet holes.”

  Jake began to climb, then hesitated.

  “That’s right, honey. You climb on up and take a look to satisfy yourself.” Granny beckoned Jake. “It’s all right. Come on. Just so long as you done had the fever there ain’t no danger. I reckon you did. I know your older brother died of it so you must’ve had it, too. All but your Pa. He was away them days sportin’ himself up in—”

  “But, I—I ain’t never had the fever,” Jake blurted. “Zach died before I was born.” A shadow crossed Sol Tulley’s face.

  “Oh, that’s right, Chile. I clean forgot. I nursed your mama and laid out Zach’s little body for burial. He be the firstborn, wasn’t he, Mr. Tulley? Shame you weren’t there to see him laid out so fine.”

  “Stop! Get down, Jake! No darky’s worth dying for!”

  “You got that right, Mr. Tulley. And this poor boy still weak from his fearful swole-up throat what I nursed that liked to kill him!” Granny shot a vengeful eye over William Henry and me. We backed away. “We got to quarantine this place. Fact is, I be surprised if Mr. Heath’s not down with it from what Mr. Charles say.” Granny paused. “I hope none of you gentlemen got too close. I had the fever when I was a chile so I ain’t scared to nurse it. But if you ain’t never had it and then get it when a growed man … mmm, mmm.” Granny shook her head.

  Sheriff Biggs backed his horse away, giving Pa’s wagon plenty of room. Sol Tulley, Jake, and Jed Slocum did the same. But the lead hound, recovered from his whipping, sniffed the ground, inching toward the wagon. Suddenly the dog lunged forward, barking madly. Tulley yanked him back. “Get off, you fool hound! If darkies catch the fever I reckon dogs can, too!” The Tulleys dragged their yelping hounds down the lane. Sheriff Biggs tipped his hat to Miz Laura and Ma, then followed the Tulleys.

  Slocum stepped his big horse up to the wagon bed and jerked the blanket off Joseph Henry. He pushed Joseph’s legs with the barrel of his shotgun. I didn’t know if he was looking for a bullet hole or aiming to make one. “This is not over.” He looked from Joseph to Pa, tipped his hat deeply to Ma, making her blush crimson, then rode hard to catch up with the others.

  Pa pulled the team back of the house, saying to Ma, “Caroline, take Robert home!”

  Ma reached for my hand, but I raced after Pa, pretending I hadn’t heard. Ma called after me, her voice tight, “Robert, you are to come with me this instant!”

  Maybe I should have obeyed, but I rounded the corner of the house just in time to see Joseph Henry jump from the wagon, open a false bottom in the back that I had never seen, and help Pa pull out a coal black man, unconscious and bleeding. Granny Struthers, her voice low and urgent, whispered, “There ain’t a moment to lose if the Good Lawd and me gonna keep this man alive.”

  William Henry held the door while Pa and Joseph carried the man up the back steps of the Heaths’ house. A boy about my age, white, or nearly, tumbled from the same mysterious place. I tried to follow them inside but Ma, breathless, had caught up with me and grabbed me by the crook of my arm. Aunt Sassy caught my eye, looked at Ma, shook her head at me, and locked the door. I stepped back in disbelief, jerking away from Ma.

  I could still hear Tulley’s angry hounds in the distance. It reminded me of my dream and I ran back to the lane. But riders and hounds were gone. Their yelps faded at last. Only then did I reach down to touch the two fresh, red drops of blood in the dirt.

  MA BARRED ME from the Heaths’ house and hustled me home. She drove me with yard and garden chores till noon, sidestepping every question I asked about those people from the wagon. The more questions I fired the less she spoke, until she stopped speaking altogether. I couldn’t even get her interested in my thumb. Ma banged pots across the stove, burned dinner, and nearly rocked a hole in the floor before she finally set off for a walk in the late afternoon. I figured I’d be turned loose then, but she set me to chopping kindling in the side yard. I piled enough kindling to last us nearly forever.

  At supper Ma and Pa barely spoke. She wouldn’t meet his eye. When I asked if Granny Struthers still nursed down at the Heaths’ and how Joseph Henry and Mr. Heath were faring, Ma shot me a furious glance. Pa mumbled, “Tolerable.” Then he barked, “But you know the house is quarantined. You heed that and stay away till those signs come down.” I stopped short of asking when that would be or about the man that Pa and Joseph had pulled from beneath the wagon, or why they’d locked me out. Pa skipped the evening read for the first time in my memory and turned in early. Ma rocked late into the night.

  Pa took to the fields before breakfast. We carried on like that all day and into the next. By the third day I began to doubt that the Lord would look kindly on blessing the same warmed-over beans and cornbread. But Pa didn’t complain and Ma didn’t apologize.

  Late that afternoon, on a wide detour from the henhouse, I passed the red and white quarantine signs nailed to the Heaths’ hitching post and across their back door. I checked every which way, decided to ignore the signs Pa had told me to heed, and slipped into Aunt Sassy’s kitchen, hoping for something solid. I filled my shirt with fresh molasses cookies and slipped out, thinking myself clever and lucky until I bumped into Joseph carrying a flour sack up the back porch steps.

  “Whoa! Robert! Where you off to in such a hurry?” Joseph’s eyes rested on the bulge in my shirt. “You wouldn’t be stealin’ food from Sassy’s kitchen, now, would you?” But the corner creases of his eyes were friendly.

  “You don’t know what it’s like at my house, Joseph! Ma’s not cooking—just warming up old beans and such. She’s working me to death with no food. My backbone’
s likely to pop out my belly any day now!” Then I remembered something. “Say, Joseph. I thought you had the fever.” A shadow crossed his face. “Granny Struthers said!”

  Joseph dropped the flour sack and leaned toward me. “Listen here, Robert. There was good cause to call quarantine on Laurelea. But I heal up real fast and Sassy needs my help. Now, I expect your Mama is looking for you at home. You’d best go on, before you get us both in trouble.”

  I stepped back. A moan, deep and full of pain, drifted up from the belly of the Heaths’ house. I knew it didn’t belong to Miz Laura or Mr. Heath or Aunt Sassy. “Who’s that? Who’s moaning, Joseph? Is it the man you and Pa pulled from that hidey-hole in the wagon?”

  “I didn’t hear nothin’, Robert, and neither did you. Now, go on, or I’ll tell Miz Caroline that you’re over here stealing Sassy’s cookies.”

  Joseph brushed past me and disappeared into the house. I backed down the steps. He’d treated me like a toddle baby, and lied to boot. And what about Miz Laura and Mr. Heath? They were the most honest, law-abiding folks I knew. I knew they didn’t hold with slavery. They believed it to be against God’s will and His plan for men, brought on by this world’s greed. They’d freed their own slaves and provided good employment for them that wanted to stay. They treated the Henrys like family. That proved their convictions to my mind. But surely they wouldn’t help slaves escape. That was breaking the law, like stealing, wasn’t it?

  I rounded the side of the house. I felt eyes upon me, but the yard stood empty. Looking up, I saw a boy’s face, nearly as white as mine, peering at me from the attic window. My breath caught. It was the same boy I’d seen tumble from the wagon. Our eyes scarce met before he pulled back, dropping the curtain into place. I waited, but the curtain never moved again.

  I roamed the long way home, through the fields and by the road, wrestling with my questions and the memory of the boy in the window. Was this the first time runaways hid at Laurelea? Pa’s nighttime ramblings had been going on as long as I could remember. Was this why? And where was William Henry? I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since Slocum came. He hadn’t seemed nearly as surprised as I was about that wagon, and they’d let him in the Heaths’ house right off. I felt my face heat up. How could Pa and Joseph tell William Henry and not me? How could William Henry keep such a secret from me?