William Henry is a Fine Name

by Cathy Gohlke

  I turned away. I remembered thinking once that the Bible was like a great, long journal written since the beginning of time, a hiding place for the secrets of life. Maybe Rev. Goforth believed that, too.

  “I know you are struggling, Robert. Let the Lord prevail. Ask Him to show you the way. He will not fail you.” I could not see his face, but I felt the hands of my friend reach for mine. It reminded me of William Henry, reaching for my hand the night he spoke to me in the dark, the night he’d said more to me than I’d understood at the time. That night I slept straight through, a dreamless sleep. Early Christmas Eve morning I made my way to the kitchen. I asked Nanny Sara for a cup of chocolate, and whispered, “I’ll do it.”

  The house buzzed with Ma’s excitement. She bustled in and out of every room, sometimes singing, sometimes shouting orders. She’d spent a fortune on her crimson ball gown, and Grandfather and I had been fitted for coats with tails. All our clothes had been brushed up for the holiday round of parties and outings. Ma fussed over every little thing, anxious that all be “perfect” for her first ball since she was a girl. So when it came time to give out the annual Christmas bundles to the slaves, Ma tapped her toe and clearly resented the time taken.

  Just before the noon meal, Slocum and all of Ashland’s slaves were called to the front lawn. Grandfather stood between Ma and me on the verandah steps. “I thank you all for the service you’ve rendered to me and my family this year,” Grandfather began. “Some of you proved to be good workers. I trust you’ll all work harder in the new year. Enjoy this Christmas week with your families, and thank God that you can look forward to a home and food in your bellies for another year.”

  Grandfather motioned for Old George and Nanny Sara to carry the bundles down the steps. “The bundles aren’t quite as big as I’d expected, but y’all get your shoes and cloth enough for a shift or shirt. You know that north sixty acres didn’t harvest well. I’m sure you all can improve that next year. George, you go on now and hand out those bundles. You all have a Merry Christmas.”

  A chorus of “Thank you, Masta Ashton! Thank you, Miz Caroline,” and “God bless you, Masta Marcus” followed Grandfather and Ma into the house. I felt ashamed to sit down to my rich dinner.

  “Robert, you’re not eating!” Ma protested. “You’ll need your strength for the midnight ball!” Before I could answer she chided, “You should have let me teach you those dancing steps. Emily will be expecting a waltz.”

  “One thing you’ll learn, my Boy, is that it is not wise to disappoint the ladies!” Grandfather twinkled as he spoke, a rare thing for him. “Don’t you agree, Rev. Goforth?”

  Rev. Goforth’s color flared. “It is not something I have much experience with, Mr. Ashton.”

  “Oh! I beg to differ, my fine young Reverend. By refusing to join us at the ball you are gravely disappointing our lovely young ladies. Every belle in the county will be decked to the hilt and ready to dance until dawn,” Grandfather wheedled.

  “I meant I don’t dance. I—”

  “And for that I will extend your sincere apologies to the ladies, Reverend. I know how you members of the clergy frown upon our heathen customs. But do you really think such hardness of heart is in keeping with your calling, in keeping with the spirit of this season—this Christian season?”

  “Oh, Papa! Hush! You are embarrassing us all! Don’t pay him any mind, Rev. Goforth,” Ma fussed. “But it is true, the ladies are anxious to get to know you better.”

  Rev. Goforth ignored them both, and didn’t fall into a fuss about dancing. I thought well of him for it. “Rev. Cleary is expecting me to fill his pulpit tomorrow. I would not go back on my word.”

  “Of course not!” Ma sputtered. “Papa just means we’ll all miss you. But you’ll be back soon. You’ll be able to make better acquaintance of our young ladies after your Watch Night service, New Year’s eve.”

  Rev. Goforth smiled uncomfortably.

  “I’m not sure I’m up to the midnight ball,” I said, holding my stomach.

  “Whatever do you mean, Robert?” Ma asked.

  “I’m not feeling so well.”

  “You do look a little green around the gills,” Grandfather observed. “You’re not frightened by the prospect of a ballroom full of pretty girls, too, are you, Boy?”

  “No, sir,” I lied. “It’s just my stomach.”

  “Nothing a little rest and a good nip of brandy won’t cure.”

  “Yes, sir.” I grimaced.

  “Really, Papa! We’ll enjoy a light supper at five and then dress for church. If we leave by seven thirty we can easily reach the church by eight,” Ma said. “Rev. Goforth, after the service Albert’s driver will take you to Rev. Cleary’s. Mrs. Cleary wrote saying their housekeeper is staying on to welcome you.”

  Rev. Goforth nodded. He looked grateful to talk about something else.

  “The rest of us will go straight to Mitchell House. I’m having our evening clothes delivered there so we won’t have to come back through the weather. Old George says he feels snow in his bones, and he’s never been wrong.”

  I passed my hand over my forehead, as though I were tired.

  “Maybe you’d better lie down, Robert. You’ve barely tasted your food, and I so want you to enjoy this evening.”

  “Yes, Mother. Please excuse me.” I rose, and my fine manners alarmed Ma more than my poor eating.

  “I’ll tell Nanny Sara to send you up some mint tea. That might settle your stomach.”

  “Get some sleep!” Grandfather boomed. “I have a surprise this evening. You don’t want to miss it!”

  I nodded weakly and walked from the room, glad to set the stage for my coming illness, glad to get out of their view, hoping to think through all I needed to do. My biggest worries were for food, warmth, and money—in case we needed help. I could dress in layers and wear a blanket. I didn’t have much money, and there was no one to ask for it. I trusted Nanny Sara to come up with directions, at least to the first safe house.

  Nanny Sara brought me the mint tea herself. Inside her apron she’d slipped a chicken leg and a large piece of cake. “You need your strength this night, Masta Robert. You eat up now.”

  “Did you send the word of need out?”

  She nodded. “Your black, Stargazer, be fed and saddled to go just as soon as the others leave for services.”

  “And Jeremiah?”

  “He be ready.”

  “What about Jed Slocum?”

  Nanny Sara smiled. “We take care of him. He be asleep in his cups by then.”

  “But what if he isn’t?” I was more afraid of Slocum than of the unknown things that lay ahead.

  “Old George still have some of Masta Marcus’s laudanum. Enough in his drink and Mister Jed won’t wake up till Christmas Day.” She grew serious. “But you and my boy have to be mighty far from here by then.” There was a sound outside the door. Nanny Sara pressed her finger to her lips. Louder, she said, “You let Nanny Sara know what else you need, Masta Robert. We gonna get you well for that ball.” Then she whispered, “Dress warm.”

  I nodded and tried to breathe as Nanny Sara padded down the stairs. The fear in my chest kept it tight. I ate, then stuck my finger down my throat. I left the mess in my chamber pot. I needed to convince Ma that I was too sick to go to church and the ball. Even with all my worry, I slept through part of the afternoon. Ma knocked softly and woke me.

  “Robert, I thought you’d be dressed for supper. Nanny Sara just rang the bell.”

  I didn’t have to feign sleepiness. “Sorry, Ma. I’m so sleepy.”

  “What is that foul smell?”

  “I spit up. I’ll carry it down later. I just don’t feel so good.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll call for George to take it out. What’s ailing you, Robert? Do you have a fever?” She laid her hand across my forehead. “It doesn’t seem so.”

  “My stomach. I don’t think I can eat anything. I just want to sleep.”

  “Well, you ca
n’t miss church or the ball. It would spoil Christmas Eve!”

  “I’m sorry, Ma. Maybe I’ll feel better later.”

  “I just can’t believe it. Rest during supper and I’ll check on you after. I do hope you’re not coming down with anything serious. Maybe I should send for Dr. Lemly.”

  “No, Ma. I just need to sleep.”

  She tucked me in and brushed her lips across the top of my head. “Sleep on, then, dear. I’ll check on you in an hour or so.”

  I felt bad for deceiving Ma, but guessed that was mild compared to what else I planned to do.

  Ma, Grandfather, and Rev. Goforth all stood over me an hour later. “I can’t abide the thought of leaving you here on Christmas Eve, Robert. I’ll simply have to stay home with you.”

  “Nonsense!” Grandfather boomed. “You can’t miss your own ball, Caroline! Besides, I have a surprise waiting for you at the church. You must go! I insist! Robert’s not a babe in cloths. Leave him to sleep until we get back.”

  “But the ball doesn’t even begin until ten! The banquet starts at midnight and the guests may not leave until dawn— not then if we get snowed in!”

  “The snow is already falling. I was just outside,” Rev. Goforth said. “If I wasn’t expected in Rev. Cleary’s pulpit tomorrow morning I’d be glad to come back and stay with you, Robert.”

  “No,” I said. “I’d feel bad about that.” Rev. Goforth could have no part in this.

  Grandfather clapped Rev. Goforth on the shoulder. “No, you must go on, Reverend. Nanny Sara and Old George are both here if Robert needs anything.”

  “I just don’t know what to do.” Ma sat on the bed and fussed with my covers.

  “Go on to church and Mitchell House, Ma. I’ll be all right once I get more sleep. I’ll probably be up again sometime tomorrow. If I need help I’ll call Old George.”

  “It’s settled then.” Grandfather pulled Ma to her feet. “You’ve got to get well, Robert. The surprise I have is for you as well as your mother. Perhaps it’s just as well she get first sight of it. But you must be up and about by tomorrow— Christmas Day—my orders!”

  “Yes, sir.” I smiled weakly.

  “All right, then,” Ma relented. “Sleep well, dear. I’ll be home early tomorrow morning or surely by tomorrow noon, even if the snow is deep. Albert has more than one sleigh, doesn’t he, Papa?”

  “I’m certain he does. Now let’s get dressed for church and give this boy some peace!”

  On their way out the door Rev. Goforth took my hand. His eyes probed mine. “I’ll pray for you, Robert.”

  “Thank you, sir.” But I looked away, afraid my eyes might say too much.

  An hour later I heard the front door close and the carriage horses trot away. I raced to the window and tried to catch a glimpse as it passed up the drive. “Good-bye, Ma. I love you,” I whispered. “I hope someday you’ll understand and forgive me.” But I didn’t believe she would.

  I DRESSED IN TWO LAYERS of warm clothing, topped with a vest, a coat, a muffler, riding gloves, and a warm cap. On my way downstairs I crept into Ma’s room. Moonlight spilled through the open curtains and across the floor. The air smelled like Ma—like her new toilet water—and it made me miss her already. Ma’s everyday drawstring reticule lay on the dressing table. I’d never taken money from anyone. I wondered if the Lord looked kindly on this action, but I couldn’t stop to ponder. The little gold clasp of her change purse came undone easily, and I poured the gold pieces into my palm—ten gold pieces, each worth twenty dollars. It must be Grandfather’s money. Ma never had so much at home. I laid the purse down.

  My hand was on the door handle. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go off and take Ma’s money and not let her know that I was all right. I couldn’t go without telling her again that I loved her and not to worry. Who knew if I’d even make it home alive? I lit the lamp at her writing desk and drew a sheet of paper from the drawer, then penned this note. “Ma, I love you and am sorry to take off like this without telling you. But it is Christmas. We’ve never been apart from Pa at Christmas and we are all he has. I’m going home and will see you when you come home. Don’t worry about me. I took money for the trip from your purse. Love, Robert.”

  She’d figure out soon enough that I’d helped Jeremiah run. But at least she’d have another story to tell if she wanted one. And at least she’d know I was the one that took her money. I didn’t want to get Old George or Nanny Sara or Rebecca in trouble for stealing. I folded the paper and left it beneath the gold watch Grandfather had given me. She’d see it, and I doubted Grandfather would want me to have the watch now. I surely didn’t want to risk dropping it while helping Jeremiah like I’d done with William Henry. It could be the end of us both.

  I met Nanny Sara in the dark saving room behind the dining room. “Jeremiah and Stargazer be waiting on you in the barn. Listen careful, and remember the way. Take the road to the church. Keep to the woods till the doors close and the singin’ starts up. Then follow that road till you come to a fork. Take the right fork, what runs along the Yadkin. Stay close on its banks till you make sure they’s no pattyrollers out, then go on to Mount Pleasant. They be a white Methodist church up the hill there. Make sure everybody gone. Then you boys hide in the bell tower. They’s a man will come and take you the next way.”

  “Who?”

  Nanny Sara shook her head. “Don’t know. Don’t need to know. Put this tin of lucifers in your pocket. Keep it dry or they be no good. Look in your saddlebag for food; the other one totes oats. They be a gourd of water, too. Fill it fresh, often as you can.” She nodded in the moonlight. “Be fast. Watch your tracks. Come morning they be looking for two boys traveling together.”

  I swallowed. My heart beat faster. What hadn’t I thought of? “Slocum?”

  “Dead to this world. Dead to this world. He drank that whiskey and laudanum like a baby sucks milk. Don’t you worry your head about that man. We keep him fed and drunk.” On impulse I hugged Nanny Sara good-bye. “God bless you, Masta Robert. I know my boy be in good hands. You your father’s son.”

  I hoped she was right. “Are you coming to the barn to say good-bye to Jeremiah?”

  She shook her head. “My grandbaby and I done said our good-byes. Once more’ll break this ole heart. You go long now and watch that you not be seen.”

  “If there is any way we can get word to you that we’re safe, we will.”

  She shook her head again. “Not hearing is good news. Not hearing means you on the freedom train and nobody’s draggin’ you back.” Gently, she pushed me out the door. The frigid air caught in my throat. Powdery white snowflakes brushed my face, and I looked up, searching for stars. No stars tonight. But the moon was a pale light, and the fine layer of white powder on the ground helped me see.

  The scene in the barn was something out of the Christmas story. Old George held the reins of Stargazer, saddled and ready to ride. Jeremiah, wrapped against the cold, clutched a lantern and his small bundle of clothing, which could have been a baby in the lamplight. How sacred, how holy this mission looked to me, and how dangerous.

  Old George wrapped me in a bear hug and breathed a prayer over me. I swung up into my saddle. Jeremiah grabbed my arm, swinging up after me. Stargazer pawed the floor. Old George put out the lamp, lifted the bar, and pushed open the heavy wooden door. He swatted Stargazer on the rump and we were off.

  It felt strange, riding off with Jeremiah behind me. But Stargazer didn’t flinch, and I wondered if he sensed the danger. We kept far from the quarters and the drive, finally coming out on the road a quarter mile from the house. I knew the postings of the pattyrollers. I’d overheard Grandfather giving Slocum orders for the extra men he’d hired. I just hoped they’d keep to their routes.

  By the time we neared the church, the snow fell in earnest. The large white flakes became smaller, drier, stinging our eyes and cheeks as we rode into the wind. I reined in Stargazer. We stood for a moment at the edge of the woods. Horses, tethered with th
eir buggies to the hitching posts, pawed the ground in front of the little church. The whitewashed doors were closed and wreathed with pine. Lamplight glowed from the windows, inviting weary travelers, but not us. As we walked past we heard the chorus of “Oh, come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant …” Part of me wished I was inside, safe and warm, singing beside Ma. And part of me tingled with the daring and excitement of what we’d begun.

  Just beyond the church’s glow, I dug my heels into Stargazer, and we began a cautious trot. Ahead of us a horse pounded the road. Before I could pull into the ditch we nearly collided with the charging horse and rider. Stargazer reared and kicked the air. I clung to his neck. Jeremiah clung to me, and we both nearly tumbled off. The other rider shouted, “My apologies! Are you all right?”

  “Yes!” I shouted and spurred Stargazer forward, away from the stranger, scared by our near miss, and terrified that we might be caught so close to our beginning. But even as we raced ahead, something called me back until I reined in Stargazer, and turned, riding back toward the church.

  “What are you doing?” The panic rose in Jeremiah’s voice with each word.

  “That rider. I think I know him.”

  “So what? We don’t want to see nobody we know! Are you trying to get us killed? Turn around!”

  “Quiet! It will only take a minute.”

  Fifty feet from the church we pulled into the woods and I climbed down. I handed the reins to Jeremiah and whispered, “Take these. I’ll be right back.”

  “Robert! Don’t do this!”

  “Be quiet! I’ll come back.” I crept through the trees toward the church, drawn by the familiarity of the figure tying his horse to the post and slapping the snow from his coat. The church doors opened then and the man looked up. Light spilled onto the snow and across my father’s face. Grandfather, proud and benevolent, his arm circling Ma, stood, framed by the open door. I saw Ma gasp, “Charles!” then run into his arms. This was the gift, the surprise my Grandfather had promised. How he had convinced my father to come I didn’t know. But it was a Christmas miracle, and I wanted more than anything to rush into his arms, too, to give it all over to him and let him make things right.