by Cathy Gohlke
One afternoon Grandfather spoke of the Souths “peculiar institution” of slavery at the dinner table and how it benefited both the owner and the owned. “It is what has enabled this country to grow agriculturally. It’s God’s gift to these United States and to the heathen people of Africa.”
Rev. Goforth placed his fork across his plate. “It would, indeed, be difficult to imagine the South without slaves. I wonder how they’ve managed in the North?” Things like that confused me. Which side of the fence did he come down on? I wanted to ask him directly, but something held me back. I was beginning to heed the stirrings in my own soul. That was new, too, and the feeling that I could trust myself.
“Robert.” Grandfather broke my wondering after Rev. Goforth left the dinner table. “I hear you’re up before dawn with the preacher. I hope you’re not going soft in the head, Boy. A little religion is a dangerous thing. Remember you have a future here ahead of you. No good getting your head in the clouds.”
“Oh, Papa. I think it’s wonderful that Robert has taken to the Reverend. Commitment at any age is a noble thing.” Ma glowed, and I realized she was looking younger and prettier lately.
“Excuse me, Mr. Ashton.” Jed Slocum stood at the dining room door, hat in hand.
“I’ll thank you not to interrupt my dinner, Slocum,” Grandfather spoke gruffly.
Slocum didn’t like the rebuke. “I’m on my way to town and wondered if you wanted me to have that bill of sale drawn up.”
“No hurry.”
“January first will be here before my next trip to town.”
“Step into my study, Slocum. I’ll be there directly.” Grandfather waited until Slocum left the room, then rose from his chair. Rebecca cleared the plates.
“Mr. Slocum still has difficulty keeping his place with you, Papa. I’m surprised you tolerate his insolence. I saw Dr. Lemly in church on Sunday. He asked if we’d taken Jed Slocum to task for the mix-up in your laudanum dosage.”
“Hang Dr. Lemly and hang the laudanum! You’re both to stop meddling. I spoke to Slocum, and it was just a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding! Papa, it nearly took your life! Mr. Slocum—”
“Not another word, Caroline. It’s over. I can’t do without Jed, and I’ll not accuse him further. Let me remind you that I’m perfectly capable of looking to my own affairs.” Grandfather spoke low, in his “this is final” voice.
Ma sighed. “All right, Papa. As you say.” She folded her napkin and rose from the table. “I’m off to Mitchell House. Will you need me for a few hours?”
“No, my dear.” Grandfather seemed glad to change the subject. “Enjoy yourself. It will do you good to get out of the house for a bit. Robert might like to go along.”
“No, thanks. I need to work on my lessons.”
Ma raised her eyebrows. “I’m delighted to see you so industrious, Robert. But a little fresh air and sunshine might do you good.” I looked down at my plate. “Another time, then,” she said.
As soon as they’d left the room, I shucked my shoes and crept toward Grandfather’s study, pressing my ear to the door.
“I’ll see Stephen Bailey to draw up the papers. The buyer’s planning to run this coffle of slaves to a plantation in Louisiana January first. Jeremiah should fetch near twelve hundred dollars, and being shed of him will be a good lesson for the rest.”
“I suppose,” Grandfather said. “I don’t want to know where he’s going, and I don’t want any word of this getting past these walls, Slocum. I’ll not have Sara throwing fits before Christmas.”
“I could take Jeremiah into town now. Jeff Dawson could hold him until New Year’s Day. That would cut off the commotion.”
“No, no. Let them have Christmas week together. I’d like to keep peace as long as possible. I want to make this a special Christmas for Caroline and Robert. If Sara gets her dander up she’ll spoil the meals.”
“I could take care of that.”
“Keep your hands off my house slaves, Slocum. You have free rein in the fields, but not in the house. This is Caroline’s domain.”
A door closed above me, and I ducked behind the stairs, tugging on my shoes. Slocum came out a moment later, and Grandfather closed the door to his study. The pit of my stomach heaved, but I swallowed it down. I had to warn Jeremiah and Sara, or I had to stop the sale. Grandfather had no right to sell his own son like he was some of the livestock, and I didn’t know if Ma even knew she had a half brother.
“Rebecca, bring my hat and muffler. I’m off to Mitchell House.” Ma’s voice came from above me. I met her on the stairs. “Robert!”
“I’ll walk you to your carriage, Mother, and—I need a word with you.”
“I’m so pleased with the fine manners and speech you’ve developed, Robert. I believe this stay is doing us both a great deal of good.”
I held the front door for her. “Mother, I need your help.”
“Of course, dear. What is it?” She seemed anxious to help. I dared hope.
“Grandfather is planning to sell Jeremiah.”
“Jeremiah?”
“Nanny Sara’s grandson.” She lowered her head. “Your half bro—”
“Robert, that is no concern of mine, nor should it be yours. I can’t imagine Papa telling you such things, and I trust you have not reduced yourself to listening at keyholes. Papa must handle his slaves in the way he sees fit. They are his property.” I winced. She swept her eyes past me and continued. “You heard Rev. Goforth at dinner—it is the way things are in the South. Slavery and the discipline and orderliness of slaves is crucial for the development of the land, and the running of happy homes, safe for all.”
“Andrew—Rev. Goforth didn’t say all that, Mother. And Jeremiah is not just any slave. Do you know who his father is?”
Ma’s face froze and her back grew rigid. “That is a rumor, Robert, and I’d like to know where you heard such filth. I’ll thank you not to repeat it.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
Ma tugged sharply at her gloves, pulling them over her wrists. “Such is the grief of every Southern woman, and the sin and shame of every Southern man. Sometimes life is ugly, Robert, but it is life just the same.” She stepped up into the carriage and was gone.
I TRIED TO REACH JEREMIAH all the next day, to warn him. But Slocum was on a rampage. He’d taken to drinking more, followed by fits of temper, uncoiling his whip every chance he got. He worked Jeremiah like a mule and watched me like a bird he planned to shoot and stuff for Christmas. I couldn’t go directly to Jeremiah for fear Slocum might become suspicious or trump up some excuse to beat him again. Jeremiah might lose his chance to run. I saw no other way to save him. And if I didn’t save him, if I didn’t try, I’d be as guilty as when I let William Henry go off with Jake Tulley.
It was December 21, four days before Christmas, eleven days until Jeremiah’s sale. I made my way to the kitchen, waited until Rebecca had taken her basket to fill in the root cellar, then told Nanny Sara.
“You are setting a snare for me and my boy, Masta Robert. A snare, just as sure as you’re standing here. Masta Marcus done promised me on my Ruby’s selling that he always keep Jeremiah—never sell him.”
“You can’t trust my grandfather, Nanny Sara. I know what I heard. He’s not going to keep that promise unless we can think of a way to make him.”
“He promised.” Nanny Sara drew into herself.
“Nanny Sara?” She didn’t seem to hear me. As soon as Rebecca returned Nanny Sara started humming to herself. “Nanny Sara?” But it was no use. She shut me out. Why did I think she’d be of any help, anyway? I slammed the kitchen door behind me.
That night I dreamed that a hundred white rabbits ran over my room. But I woke with a start to find Nanny Sara standing over me in her nightdress and shawl, whispering. “Next time you got something to say, don’t say it in the kitchen. That Rebecca has big ears and a bigger mouth on her if she thinks it help her along.”
I ru
bbed my eyes awake. “I thought you could help Jeremiah if you knew.”
Nanny Sara shook her head. “Nothin’ I can do. But you can take my boy to freedom.”
I sucked in my breath. Somehow I’d known this would come, ever since I’d spoken to Jeremiah about getting free. I wished mightily Pa was here with me, or Joseph or William Henry. They’d know what to do. “I can’t.”
“You can take my boy to a safe house and maybe they send him on with Moses. It no good him running off by himself. It be better, two together. Besides, anybody catch sight of you they think you two white boys runnin’ off. Nobody care about that.”
“How do you know about safe houses?”
Nanny Sara smiled. “Old Nanny reads tea leaves. I read yours sometime.”
“You don’t read about safe houses in tea leaves.” But she didn’t answer. “I don’t know any Moses. I told you what Granny Struthers said about Moses, but I don’t know who that is.”
Nanny Sara frowned. “Your daddy know?”
“I don’t know.” I knew so little about my pa or his work. “There’s not enough time, even if I wrote to him.”
“Then you do it. You take him.”
“I can’t do that!”
“If you can’t help, my Jeremiah be sold.” Nanny Sara waited, then said the thing I’d been thinking for three days. “He be your blood.”
“I know. I know. Let me think.” And that was why I could not understand my grandfather. Even though he held to slavery, how could he sell his own son? How could he live on the same land fourteen years and not even know him, not want to know him, not see the boy he’d grown into?
“Christmas Eve be the time Masta Marcus give out the slave bundles, next year’s cloth and shoes, before dinner. After supper he go to church. After that only house slaves work Christmas week. By dark Mr. Jed be drunk in his cups. That be the time to run.”
“But that’s the day after tomorrow. I wouldn’t know where to go!”
“There’s them that know. They can tell you how to get away to the first safe house.”
“Who?”
She shook her head. “It’s better I don’t know, or you, either. But I can pass the word of need. After you get to the first place they’ll help you there. Don’t nobody know all the way. It’s too dangerous.”
“That’s what William Henry said.” I wondered if that was true for Pa and Mr. Heath. I wondered that they were willing to risk everything time and again with so little to go on. “Let me think on it. Give me some time to think.”
Nanny Sara squeezed my arm and padded away. I tossed and turned all night, frightened, worried, half dreaming, half praying. Five o’clock finally came. I washed and dressed by candlelight and met Rev. Goforth in Grandfather’s study.
“You look as though you didn’t sleep well, Robert.” Rev. Goforth lit the lamps.
“No, sir,” I said. I couldn’t tell him. I didn’t know if I could trust him with this. I didn’t know where he stood on slavery, or if he’d understand stealing away.
The next two days tortured me. I didn’t want to do it. I was scared, more scared than the night William Henry and I skunked those dogs. I knew that if I did this thing there was no turning back. Grandfather would disown me. Ma would live in shame, and there was no way I could explain it to Cousin Albert or Emily. I’d probably never see them again. Beyond that I was afraid to run all the way north, hungry, and through the dark, not knowing where I was going or how to get there, trusting to the goodness of strangers. It was winter, and although the snow hadn’t started yet it would surely come soon. Our tracks would be plain as summer berries swimming in cream. I was afraid of the pattyrollers, of the hounds, of what might happen if we were caught. I was afraid for me and terrified for Jeremiah. What if I failed? What if Jeremiah was killed because of me? The talk at the dinner table didn’t help.
Grandfather slammed his fist, making the crystal jump. “Hang those abolitionists! Murdering, thieving scoundrels!”
“Papa! Please! We have a guest.” Ma tried to calm him down.
“I’m sure the good Reverend has heard that sentiment before, Caroline. Look at this newspaper! They’ve discovered that lunatic, John Brown, had a whole network of criminals at his disposal. Men in high places financed him and his band of cutthroats! Who knows what they’ll find next?”
“But he’s dead!”
“Hanging was too good for him! They’ve made a martyr out of him. They should have dragged his body through the streets and hung it on the courthouse wall. Let it be a lesson to those scoundrels!”
“Papa, you can’t mean that. Please forgive him, Rev. Goforth. He’s overwrought.” Ma was close to wringing her hands. Rev. Goforth smiled feebly.
“I am not overwrought! And the other planters feel the same. We’ll not take chances.”
“What do you intend to do?” asked Rev. Goforth.
“Increase the pattyrollers—give them more liberty. We’ll teach these uppity nigras not to run or hope that some misguided white traitor will ‘steal them away to freedom.’ Freedom! They wouldn’t know what to do with it if they had it.” Grandfather waved the paper in the air. “If they got hold of this foolishness, no telling what they’d do.”
Ma probed the brooch at her neck. “I don’t believe our slaves would turn against us, Papa.” I looked at Ma and wondered what world she was living in that she could think such a thing.
“Not if I can help it. We’ll increase the patrols starting Christmas Day. Fools won’t go anywhere till they get shoes and a good meal in their bellies. Then we’ll keep watch over our own and guard the roads and riverbanks. I’ll send Slocum out for a turn.”
I felt sick. What chance did Jeremiah have with or without my help? But Nanny Sara watched me from hooded eyes, waiting, I knew, for a sign that I was willing to help.
Just before bedtime on December 23, I stepped out onto the front verandah. Stars danced in their patterns and the cold December night only made their white lights burn brighter, icy cold and beautiful. I thought I was alone and leaned my fevered head against a pillar, glad for the frost. “What do I do, Lord? What do I do?” I prayed out loud.
“Robert?” It was Rev. Goforth, rising from his seat on the steps. “I heard your voice and didn’t want to startle you. Beautiful night, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, glad that I hadn’t prayed all my heart out loud.
“Robert,” he began, hesitantly. “I’ve noticed that something seems to be troubling you. I don’t want to pry, but if there is anything I can do to help, I’d be honored.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s just—” Just what? What could I say? What dared I say? “Have you ever wondered what God wants of you? I mean, have you ever felt that God asked you to do something you weren’t ready for, that you were afraid to do?”
“Almost always.” I heard his sad smile in the dark. “I think that’s how God gets us to grow. He gives us tasks beyond our ability. And then He says, ‘My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.’”
“But how does He give me that strength? How do I know I can do it?”
“You can’t do anything alone, Robert. You have to trust. Trusting is the hard part. Paul said, ‘I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.’ He never claimed to do great things alone.”
I sighed. I wasn’t feeling strength from anybody. “What do you think of slavery, Rev. Goforth?”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. We both knew a great deal hung on his answer. “Slavery comes in many forms. Some people, like the Negroes here, are slaves to other people. Some of us are slaves to sin, or worldliness, or greed. I aim to live as a slave to Christ, because only then am I free.”
“That didn’t exactly answer my question.”
“We’re all in some kind of bondage, Robert. Most of us have the freedom to choose that slavery, whether we realize it or not. Are you free to love, to help your neighbor?”
“I am. But who is my ne
ighbor? My cousins? My grandfather? Ma? The slaves here at Ashland? Helping one gets you in trouble with helping the others.”
“They are all your neighbor. Do you remember the story of the Good Samaritan? He helped the neediest of them all, the man who had been robbed and beaten. He ministered to the desperate need, saw to it that others helped when he couldn’t, then came back to check on his progress. That has always been a tremendous example to me. He continued his giving until the entire need was met.”
“The entire need,” I repeated. “That means you have to choose who to help, and that might be different people at different times.”
“Remember Isaiah’s words, ‘Is not this the fast that I have chosen? to loose the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, and to let the oppressed go free, and that ye break every yoke? Is it not to deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are cast out to thy house? when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; and that thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh?’”
My heart beat faster. Did Rev. Goforth know what he was saying? “‘Let the oppressed go free’ … my ‘own flesh,’” I whispered. “What if helping the people who need you most gets you into trouble? If it’s against the law?”
“Remember Queen Esther? She knew that by approaching the king without permission she might lose her life. But the lives of her people were at stake. Her uncle reminded her that she may have been placed in that position for ‘such a time as this.’ I think all of us have defining moments in our lives, when we are allowed to make a choice that carries us down one path or another. Sometimes they are choices between good and evil, right or wrong. But they are choices that change our lives forever. They decide who we will be or what we will do for a long time to come.”
