William Henry is a Fine Name

by Cathy Gohlke

  I shook my head. “I promised Nanny Sara. I promised his grandmother that I’d get him to freedom. If Canada is what it takes, then I’m going.” The soup had raised my strength. I stood up. “If you won’t help us go together, ma’am, then I’ll do it myself.”

  “Wait. Let’s hear what she got to say.” Jeremiah pulled at my hand.

  “Sit down, young man, and save your strength and your temper. You’ll need both shortly, and you’ll need them mightily. The point is not to get you out together. You have done a fine job so far. But now your traveling together is a danger to you both. You don’t have to go to Canada to ensure—what are your names?”

  “Our names? Everyone’s told us that they didn’t want to know our names.”

  “Well, I do. There’s nothing anyone can do to drag them out of me, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I’m Effie Burton. McPhearson is the boardinghouse name.”

  “My name be Jeremiah.” Jeremiah spoke first. How could he trust her? “And this be Robert.”

  “Where are you from, Robert?”

  “Maryland.” I swallowed. She waited. “Elkton, Maryland.”

  “And you’ve family that will take you in there? Even if they know what you’ve done?”

  “Yes. At least, I think so.”

  “Then that’s where you’ll go. And Jeremiah will go to Canada.”

  “But I have to get Jeremiah to freedom!”

  “You’ve done your part. The point is not to be a hero, Robert, but to get Jeremiah safely on his way to Canada, and you home safely to your family. I’ll contact another conductor to start Jeremiah on his way by a western route. A few days later you’ll take the train to Baltimore and Elkton. Separating you might slow your trackers.”

  “I’m not trying to be a hero! But this isn’t what we planned!”

  “Maybe she be right, Robert. Maybe this for the best.”

  “No! I can do it! We can do it, Jeremiah! Don’t quit now.” I’d promised Nanny Sara, and I’d sworn in my heart that I’d do this for Jeremiah, and for William Henry, and for me. And it was the only way I could help make up for Grandfather’s cruelties and his selling of Ruby, the only way I could protect Ma’s half brother, my own uncle. “I’d let them take me before I’d let them take you. You know I would.”

  Jeremiah looked at me like he was trying to decide who I was. “I don’t want either one of us taken. I don’t want either one of us dead or beaten or our feet cut off. I been caught once and I mean never to go back. I want to be free, Robert. I taste that freedom already. This lady risks her life helping folks find it. She knows. We got to trust her.”

  “Haven’t I risked my life for you? I gave up Stargazer, my family, everything. We made it so far. Don’t do this, Jeremiah.” Jeremiah looked away.

  “What both of you need right now is sleep. Jeremiah, I’ll pull a cot in here for you. It will be safer, away from the eyes of my boarders. You’ll be up before my help arrives. Robert, come along. I have an extra room. Sleep helps everything.”

  Sleep sounded so good. I had no more arguments. I followed her without a word or backward glance. I guessed Jeremiah was as worn out as I was. We could talk more tomorrow. I’d make them both see, then. I fell on the bed and slept in my boots.

  THE SMELL OF SIZZLING BACON and the bell from a peddler’s wagon in the street woke me. White winter sunlight danced in patches across the rag rug of a room I couldn’t place. All my bones ached. I rolled over, wanting only more sleep. But my eyes focused on the clock sitting on the mantel. Nine. What was it I needed to tend to? Nine. Where was I? Nine! How could I have slept so late? Why didn’t Jeremiah wake me? I pulled myself up, hating to leave the comfort of a real bed. I slicked back my hair and straightened my clothes as best I could, then peeked out the door. Effie Burton was just coming up the stairs with a pitcher of steaming water.

  “There you are, Robert! I thought you’d sleep the day away! I’ve brought you warm water so you can take a wash. As soon as you’re ready, come down and have some breakfast.” She smiled and brushed past me into the room, setting the pitcher in the china washbowl.

  “Is Jeremiah up yet?”

  She hesitated and brushed her hands down the front of her apron. “Jeremiah’s—gone.”

  “Gone? Gone!”

  “He left this morning with a conductor, someone who can see him all the way to Canada, where he’ll be safe—and free.”

  I turned away from her. In that moment I hated her. Despite all her kindness and generosity, I hated her. “How do I know you didn’t turn him in for the reward money?”

  She sat down on the bed. “Because you know better than that.”

  I did know, but I argued with myself. Why should I believe her? She’d tricked me. “Jeremiah wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye.”

  “There wasn’t much time at the last. Robert, sit down, son, and let me talk with you.”

  “I’m not your son.” I kept my back to her and a full minute stretched between us.

  “I don’t risk my life to lose it, Robert. I don’t risk the lives of those I help.”

  Still I stood, facing the window, and pushed back the sting in my eyes. “You tricked me.”

  “It wasn’t a trick. It was a decision, and ultimately, it had to be Jeremiah’s decision.”

  “How can I know that? How can I believe it?”

  “Because I’m telling you the truth.” I heard her smooth the covers on the bed. “He told me you both had a friend who died helping to protect conductors of the Underground Railroad. He said that he thinks you feel responsible for your friend’s death. Jeremiah believed you needed to help him in order to set things right.”

  “Jeremiah said that?”

  “Yes. How else would I know? Robert, you can’t take on the whole world alone. Sometimes helping people means leading them to others that are willing to help and trusting that they will care as much as you do. Trust is an act of faith. Jeremiah chose faith when he trusted you, and again when he trusted me. Perhaps it is the step you need to take now.” Something in what she said reminded me of Rev. Goforth, but I pushed it away, because I didn’t want to let go of Jeremiah. It was like letting go of William Henry all over again.

  At the door she stopped, still speaking to my back. “Oh. Jeremiah said to tell you something—something he said was very important. He looked so odd when he said it. He said to tell you that you were right. He said to tell you, Jeremiah Henry is a fine name.’” My heart stopped. “Do you know what he meant?”

  “Yes.” I breathed. “Yes.” I knew then that Jeremiah had made the decision to go on without me himself. He was on his way to freedom in the way he figured best.

  “Breakfast will be waiting downstairs when you’re ready,” Miz Burton said on her way out the door.

  “Miz Burton?”

  She turned. “Yes, Robert?”

  “Thank you. Thank you for helping Jeremiah.”

  She smiled. “It is what I do.”

  I washed my face and brushed my clothes. I felt like I’d been robbed, both of things I wanted and things I didn’t. I didn’t know how to explain it better than that.

  The fresh eggs and bacon fried in onions tasted good, and reminded me of Aunt Sassy’s cooking. Suddenly I wanted to go home. I knew it would be different than before. Miz Laura was gone, and most of all, William Henry was gone. But I hoped Ma and Pa would be there, and Aunt Sassy and Joseph would be there, and Mr. Heath, and—home.

  I stayed on at the boardinghouse another week, to throw off anybody searching for two boys running north. Nobody came busting in, but we sensed the boardinghouse was watched, and were careful to keep our habits regular and the quilt off the line, the candle from the window.

  I chopped wood, built fires, swept hearths, and ran errands for Miz Burton. She told her boarders that I was her sister’s son, visiting from Virginia. Miz Burton reminded me a little of Aunt Sassy—good-hearted and quick to take things in hand—and we took to each other soon as I stopped blaming
her for Jeremiah’s going on without me. I told her about Ashland and Laurelea, especially about William Henry and Jeremiah, Mr. Heath and Miz Laura, Aunt Sassy and Joseph Henry. I told her how I was both anxious and fearful of facing Ma and Pa.

  “You mean your parents don’t even know you’re alive?” Miz Burton’s eyes went wide.

  “No, ma’am. There was no way I could get word to them, not without risking Jeremiah. We never stayed anyplace long enough to write a letter. If I’d tried to send a telegram we’d of been caught, sure.”

  “Yes, I see that. But now that Jeremiah is safely on his way you can write to them, just to let them know you are all right and on your way home. They must be worried sick! I would be.”

  “Except I don’t know where they are. They might be home, but they could still be at Ashland, or looking for me. And I’m not sure they’ll want me back, especially Ma.”

  “I’m sure your mother loves you, Robert. How could she not? Why not write your Mr. Heath and ask him to get word to your parents? Surely he is at Laurelea.”

  That seemed a good plan. Besides, maybe Mr. Heath could soften Ma and Pa, or at least Pa. So I wrote him that day, and posted the letter. I didn’t tell him what I’d done. I figured Pa would’ve told him already. But I wrote that I was safe and coming home near the end of the week. I didn’t get too particular about when or how. I didn’t want anybody looking for me, putting Miz Burton or the boardinghouse at risk. I asked him to get word to Ma and Pa. And though I might have sounded the coward, I finished by saying that I hoped they’d take me back.

  After early breakfast on that last day, Miz Burton slid a boxed lunch across the table toward me. “You’ll be wanting this, come noon. There’s a fresh set of clothes and a coat in the parcel I left in your room. You’ll want to look nice for the train, and for going home to your mother and father.” I didn’t know what to say. What she’d already done was more than enough. She squeezed my hand. “They’ll be overjoyed to see you, Robert. If you were my son, I would be.” Her smile warmed me through and made it hard to keep my face clear. I just hoped she was right.

  It was eight o’clock when Effie Burton sent me off with directions to the train station, wearing my new suit of clothes. I hugged her at the last, and promised to write when I could, letting her know how things fared. I left a gold piece on the pillow in the room she’d given me, knowing that she wouldn’t have taken it any other way.

  At the station I slid my money across the counter and looked the stationmaster in the eye. “One ticket for Baltimore.”

  As the train pulled out of Washington, the conductor worked his way through the car, punching tickets, and calling, “Tickets! Tickets, please!” When he came to me he said, “Traveling alone, son?”

  “Yes, sir.” And I was. For the first time in a long while I was just a boy traveling alone—no longer running, no longer hiding, not afraid of Grandfather or Jed Slocum or pattyrollers or anybody. I was Robert Leslie Glover, thirteen years old, standing on my own feet, free and clear.

  And that made me think of Jeremiah. I prayed that he was safe, on his way to Canada, and that people were helping him until he, too, could stand on his own feet, free and clear. I knew I had to put one foot in front of the other, trusting that it would happen for him, that the Slocums of this world were fewer than the Miz Lauras, the Andrew Goforths, the Effie Burtons, and the William Henrys. I knew that the power to trust like that was greater than anything in me.

  I wondered if William Henry would be alive today if he had trusted someone stronger to help him, rather than taking on Jake Tulley alone. I’d always wanted to be more like William Henry. But maybe there were things William Henry hadn’t known. It was no good trying to guess. William Henry had made his own decision. Jeremiah had made his.

  I changed trains in Baltimore, and for all my worry and eagerness, slept some of the way home. I never saw when we rolled over the Susquehanna River. It was nearly dusk when I stepped off the train in Elkton.

  I walked up the tracks by Eberly’s General Merchandise. I nodded to old Mr. Wheeler as he clipped dead and frozen blooms from his hydrangeas. “Been away a spell, have you, Robert?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” I called. “But I’m home now.”

  “Good. That’s good.” And he went back to his work. Mr. Sellers lit the lamps along Main Street, the same as he did every night. Nothing had changed, and yet everything looked different—smaller, maybe.

  By the time I’d walked out of town I wondered if I was the same person that had lived here last summer; it seemed so long ago. My hands were the same color, like sand at the bottom of the run—just a little bigger, a little stronger. The world was bigger than I’d imagined, but I’d made my way through a patch of it.

  I thought of Rev. Goforth, and how he’d said our choices determine who we are and decide the path we walk for a very long time. I felt proud of the choice I’d made, glad of the path I’d walked. I’d helped Jeremiah toward freedom, toward liberty. Liberty, for me, I’d decided, is the freedom to make my own choices, to live with their consequences. Grandfather would never welcome me at Ashland again, and I’d thrown away my inheritance with both hands. I didn’t mind. I just hoped Ma would one day forgive me and that Pa would understand. I regretted losing Emily’s friendship. Those were the consequences of my choices.

  Night fell before I reached Tulley’s lane. The hounds snarled and barked, lunging against their pen. I cut through their fallow field and around their pond, the pond William Henry and I had fished in just last summer. My heart beat faster with each step that brought me nearer home. I made my way through the woods and over a log in the run, planting my feet, at last, with a shout, on Laurelea soil. Stars gleamed by the time I passed Granny Struthers’s cabin.

  Running through the stubbled fields, I rounded my house, almost afraid to look. I couldn’t bear it if no light burned in the window. For all I’d said about Ma and Pa maybe not being home, I believed in my heart that they would be, that Mr. Heath had told them I was coming, that they’d be sitting in the parlor with the fire burning and all the lamps shining, waiting for me. I bounded up the front porch steps. But no light burned through the parlor window, not one. I closed my eyes, and opened them again. But it was still the same. My head went light, and my arms and legs felt heavy burdened. I pushed down the lump in my throat and stepped back, dropping to the porch step. I’d hoped. I’d so hoped.

  I don’t know how long I sat there. I just knew I couldn’t stay in my house without Ma or Pa. I couldn’t do it. Maybe, I thought, Mr. Heath or the Henrys would take me in, at least for a time—at least until I knew where I stood.

  But first, there was something I needed to do. I walked down the lane and around the barn, through the orchard behind Mr. Heath’s house. Miz Laura’s old quilt was hanging on the wash line in the yard. I pulled it from the line and buried my face in it. It smelled of wood smoke and sunshine, of snow and home. I marveled how I’d seen it almost every day of my life, never knowing it was a sign for runaways, letting them know it was safe to come for help. Then I wondered if the quilt Jeremiah’d set on Jacob’s marker was left for that reason. I wished I’d asked him.

  I turned to head over the hill to the colored church. That’s when I saw a light glimmer from the Heaths’ side window. Keeping to the shadows, I crept closer, hoping for a glimpse of Mr. Heath. My heart jumped in my chest and I nearly cried out. For there was Mr. Heath, just sitting down to supper at the head of his table, with Pa at the foot. Joseph and Aunt Sassy sat on one side, with Ma on the other—an empty plate and chair beside her. On the back of the chair hung my old coat, like I’d just stepped out and would be back any minute to take my seat. I blinked back the burn in my eyes. I wondered how long Ma and Pa had been home, and if Ma meant to stay. I wondered if they’d set my place every night, hoping I’d come. I wouldn’t disappoint them long, and I could hardly wait. Still, there was something I needed to do first.

  I walked to William Henry’s grave. The moon skitt
ered in and out behind a lone cloud, but I knew my way among the plots and markers. I ran my fingers over the carved letters in William Henry’s name, wrapped Miz Laura’s quilt tight around me, then sat down on the frozen ground. While that moon kept us company, I told William Henry the whole story, about Ruby and Jeremiah, about Nanny Sara, Old George, and Rev. Goforth. He already knew about Slocum. I told him he was right about my grandfather and slavery, more right than I’d ever imagined. I told him about the boy that found Jeremiah and me in the bell tower, and our Christmas sleigh ride, and about losing Stargazer. I knew he would understand what that meant to me. I told William Henry about the night Jeremiah and I spent in the cave, and the ride in the false-bottom wagon with Brother Peter, and how we ended up in coffins. I figured William Henry’d get a hoot over that, and especially Jeremiah’s dress and veils. I explained to him about Effie Burton, and taking that leap of faith, and that Jeremiah was on his way to Canada.

  I told William Henry all that he meant to me, and to Jeremiah, how I missed him and would never forget him. Finally I told him about Jeremiah’s last message. I knew he would understand that, too.

  PA HELD OUT FOR A TIME, I think for Ma’s sake, but in the end it was Mr. Heath that convinced him I should be given the choice of helping slaves run north, that a boy who could do what I’d done deserved that much. I wanted it more than anything. So Mr. Heath took me with him on one of his trips north and introduced me to Mr. Thomas Garrett, an Underground stationmaster and his old Quaker friend in Wilmington, Delaware, the very man who’d influenced Mr. Heath to free his slaves all those years before.

  Mr. Garrett said he believed I was sent by God for this great work, and that same day he sent me on the train with two disguised runaways to a colored safe house in Philadelphia—to meet up with Mr. William and Miz Letitia Still. That’s when I learned that Mr. Still kept records, stories, of all the slaves who’d passed through his hands on the freedom train. He was tireless, and careful, and counted each head precious.