Redfield Farm

by Judith Redline Coopey

  “S’cuse me, Jesse,” she said, stepping aside to avoid a collision. Then, “Where’re you goin’ with all that food?”

  Jesse turned and looked helplessly at me, then stepped off the porch and headed to the barn without a word.

  “Hello, Abby. What brings you out so late?” I put on a causal air.

  “Rebecca sent me to stay the night. Said you needed me to help make pickles tomorrow.”

  “Oh, yes. I did ask for your help, but I didn’t expect to see you until morning.”

  “She thought you wanted to get an early start. Where’s Jesse going with all that food?” she asked, looking out the back door.

  “Oh, he’s just slopping the hogs.”

  “This late? That looked like pretty good food to be feeding to the hogs!”

  “Abby, be still! You’re going a mile a minute and I have a headache. Let’s just get to bed early, shall we?” I took off my apron and hung it on a peg.

  “Yes’m. Fine with me. But I still don’t know why you’d feed good cornbread to the hogs.”

  “It was moldy. Now, you can sleep in Betsy’s room. You know where it is, so hurry along. I’ll be up shortly. I want to say good night to the rest.”

  I listened to her progress up the back steps, then went into the parlor, where Amos and Nathaniel sat reading by lamplight.

  “We’ve guests,” I told them.

  Nathaniel laughed. “It’s hard not to notice when Abby is here.”

  “Not just Abby. Others, too.”

  Amos nodded. “You’d best keep an eye on that girl. She could get you in trouble.”

  Nathaniel agreed.

  “I know. I’ll try to keep track of her.”

  I returned to the kitchen and set the table for breakfast while I waited for Jesse. I wanted to be sure he knew Abby would still be around in the morning.

  When he returned, he made no effort to hide his irritation at Abby’s presence. “You’d best get rid of her early, Ann. She might figure us out, and she talks too much.”

  “I’ll do what I can, but sending her home early is liable to pique her curiosity. Better to do the pickles in the morning, like we planned.”

  “I’ll want to move this group on tomorrow night. I might have to split them up. Send some over to Windber and some up the valley to Hollidaysburg. I’ve used Johnstown a lot lately.”

  “I’ll have Abby gone by suppertime.”

  “All right. Keep her out of the barn.”

  I took my worries to bed. Abby’s curiosity alone was cause for concern, but her loose tongue was worrisome, indeed.

  In the morning, Abby picked cucumbers while I mixed the pickle brine. Working together, we washed the cucumbers, packed them in three big crocks, and poured the brine over them. Then we set the crocks in the spring house, covered with wooden lids. In a few weeks, we’d have pickles.

  Abby chattered about happenings in Ben’s house. She was a likable child—open, guileless, without malice, but much given to idle talk.

  “Do you like going to Meeting, Ann?” she asked.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I don’t. I think it’s boring. All those people just sitting there, not talking. I like it when somebody stands up and rants once in while. Gives ’em hell. That’s fun, but most of the time it’s just silence. I can’t abide silence.”

  “Yes, I know,” I smiled.

  “I like it when Jesse gets up. At least he has something to say. Not like Friend Marsh and Friend Thomas. They’re boring, droning on and on about how people don’t keep the Quaker ways. Jesse fires them up, tells ’em to disobey corrupt laws like that Fugitive Slave Law. Folks say Jesse doesn’t just talk about it. Folks say he really helps runaways. Does he, Ann?”

  “I can’t say, Abby.”

  “Oh, I guess not. You’d have to keep that a secret, huh?”

  “Jesse’s ways are Jesse’s business. If he wants us to know things, I guess he’ll tell us.”

  “I think he helps them. Anybody as full of the fire as Jesse is, has to be doing, not just talking.” Her eyes shone with admiration. “Do you think he needs any help? With the runaways, I mean. I could help him.”

  “There goes your imagination again,” I said, trying to head her off. “Next thing, you’ll be making up knights and dragons.”

  “No, I won’t. I’d rather help Jesse.” Silence. “Ann?”

  “Yes, Abby.”

  “Does Jesse have some runaways out in the barn right now? Is that who he was talking to last night?”

  “Abby, don’t talk nonsense. Jesse’s against slavery. That doesn’t mean he spends all his time saving slaves. Now let’s go out to the garden and see what’s next to put by.”

  Abby walked across the yard beside me, but her eyes flitted back and forth to the barn. Her mind was clearly not on the garden. I sat down on a bench and patted the place beside me for her to sit.

  “Abby, listen carefully,” I said, firmly. “To you, helping slaves run away from their masters is an adventure. But it is neither fun nor romantic. When it is talked about at all, it is with great secrecy. That’s because lives are at stake.”

  My eyes held Abby’s, intent upon making the girl understand. “You must learn to curb your tongue—to think about what you’re saying and who will hear it before you speak. If Jesse were involved, and I’m not saying he is, you could cause him trouble, injury, even get him killed with your talk. Now, you don’t know any facts, Dear. You may think you do, but you don’t. So please don’t speculate out loud.”

  Abby sat quietly for a long time, studying her shoes. “I’m sorry, Ann. My Mama always said I talk too much. I’ll try to keep quiet.”

  I patted her hand, then got up to pick lima beans. Abby joined me, and we worked silently for a while.

  “Ann? Last night on my way over here, I saw Jesse take those people into the barn. I know I shouldn’t have, but I followed him. Heard him tell about the room in the hay mow. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it, but I couldn’t help myself.”

  I rocked back on my heels and studied the pale, scrawny girl in silence. A tear stole down her face. I put my arms around her thin shoulders and held her close. “It’s all right, child. You did what anybody else would have done. Now you just have to find a way to keep what you saw to yourself. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Yes,m. I’m sure I can.”

  Chapter 12

  1855 – Summer

  Jesse came in shortly after I’d sent Abby home. My agitation was obvious.

  “You look like you found a rattlesnake in your bed.”

  I winced. “There’s a problem.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “An Abby problem. She saw you take them to the barn last night.”

  “Oh,” he breathed. “That is a problem, given Abby’s wagging tongue.” He sat down, frowning. “I’ve been thinking about how to move them on, and I’ll need your help. But how can we be sure that girl won’t blurt something out and ruin it for us?”

  “I explained the danger to her, and she promised to keep quiet. She’s a good girl and very smart. But I’m afraid she’ll forget and let something slip.”

  “Who knows what she’ll say or who’ll hear it and repeat it? If Ben’s girls get hold of this, anything could happen.” Jesse rubbed his forehead.

  “Tell you what. I’ll split this bunch up. They’re not related to each other, so it’s okay with them. I’ll take the three men to Windber in a wagonload of potatoes tonight. Hide them in sacks, among the potatoes.”

  “It’s early for potatoes.”

  “I know, but it’s early for anything in sacks. If anyone presses me, I’ll say it’s the end of last year’s crop.”

  I was confident he knew what he was doing. I had to be. “What about the women?”

  ”Dress them up in Quaker dresses and mourning bonnets and you drive them in Ben’s buggy to Hollidaysburg.”

  “In broad daylight?”

  “I figure Quaker women in mourn
ing won’t raise much suspicion.”

  “I guess not.” I was daunted by the thought of doing this alone, but anxious to earn Jesse’s confidence.

  “It’ll take five or six hours. Do you think you’re up to it?” he asked, with a look at my protruding belly.

  “Sure.”

  “That’s what we’ll do, then. I’ll give you the name and directions for the drop-off at Hollidaysburg. Can you find enough clothes?”

  I was one step ahead of him, working out the details in my head. “I’ll fix my own mourning bonnet, and I think Mama’s old dress and bonnet are still in the trunk upstairs.”

  “They should fit the younger woman. She’s slight. I don’t know about the older one. She might be too big for your clothes.”

  I giggled. “Mama would be proud for us to use one of her dresses so.”

  Jesse smiled. “That she would.”

  When Amos and Nathaniel came in from evening chores, Jesse let them in on the plan. Amos objected to my going alone. “She needs someone with her. I should go, or Nate.” A show of concern with no mention of my condition.

  “More than one person should stay here in case something happens to me,” Jesse asserted.

  Amos nodded.

  “There is someone who could go with me,” I offered, a bit timidly.

  “Who?” Amos asked.

  “Abby.”

  “Abby? That prattling child? We can’t let her know about these things!”

  “She already knows, Papa. She saw Jesse take them to the barn last night.”

  “A fine turn of events.”

  “Maybe we can make it an advantage,” I went on. “Maybe if we let her help, she’ll see the importance of keeping quiet.”

  “Right, Sister,” Nathaniel put in.

  “I don’t see that we have much choice, and she could be an asset. It’s wise to have someone along in case anything goes wrong.” Jesse rubbed his forehead again. “I’ll go over and borrow Ben’s buggy and team for you.”

  “Ask if Rebecca has an extra black dress and bonnet. And bring Abby over here for the night so I can prepare her,” I told him.

  Amos took supper out to the Negroes, and Nathaniel helped load the potatoes in the wagon. When Jesse returned, he unhitched Ben’s team and put them up for the night, and I took Abby aside to explain the plan to her. About an hour after dark, Jesse hitched up the horses and helped the men into sacks. Nathaniel made sure all the sacks of ‘potatoes’ were settled in, and carefully arranged.

  “Since I’m going as far as Hollidaysburg do you think I could go on to Altoona and see Rachel? Maybe stay the night?” I asked Jesse as he checked his load.

  “Good idea. She‘ll be glad to see you, and it’ll give you a chance to rest from the trip.” He hopped up on the wagon seat, clucked to the horses and drove out of the barn.

  I climbed to the loft and called to the two women, who emerged from the hay and followed me into the house. Once inside, I gave them hot water and soap and left the kitchen while they bathed. Abby and I took a lamp up to my room. I opened a trunk, and Abby held the light while I rummaged through Mother’s clothes until I found the black dress and mourning bonnet. The fine black netting sewn to the brim was almost opaque and would serve our purpose well.

  Back in the kitchen, we helped the two women try on the clothes. Mama’s dress fit the smaller one—a little tight, but it would do. The taller one wore Rebecca’s black dress as though it were made for her. Their faces were invisible behind the veils, so the only skin showing was their hands. My gloves fit the larger woman, but Mama’s had to be split in the palm to fit the smaller one. Once they were outfitted, we took them up to Jesse’s room where they could sleep more comfortably than in the barn.

  Abby’d been close to silent the whole evening. Being a part of so important an event was working its magic on her tongue; she was a model of self control. Maybe even ‘speechless’ was the word. We passed a sleepless night as somewhere out west Jesse and the three others bumped and rattled through the darkness toward Windber.

  As soon as the sun rose, I was up and busy in the kitchen. Jesse wasn’t back yet, and we ate breakfast in silence. Amos did the chores and hitched up Ben’s team to the buggy. We women attended to our attire, critiquing one another, offering advice about how to move, stand and sit in the mourning clothes. I decided that Abby, due to her age, needn’t wear a bonnet. Someone should have unobstructed vision.

  By seven o’clock the four of us were seated in the buggy for the twenty-five-mile trip. Amos nodded to me as we prepared to leave.

  “Papa,” I said, “Abby and I are going on to Altoona to see Rachel. We’ll stay the night with her and come back tomorrow.”

  “Suit yourself,” was all Amos said. The sting of Rachel’s departure was still there. He opened the barn doors and I drove out into the early light, black-draped bonnet in place.

  It was very cool—almost cold, early on—but as the sun rose higher it burned off the morning chill. The front of the buggy was open, but the back seat was enclosed on the top, back and sides, giving our passengers shade and less visibility. Abby chatted with them as we drove, helping to pass the time. The older woman hoped to find her husband in Canada. He’d run a few months earlier. The younger one was a pitiful soul. Only about fifteen, she was just running. Didn’t know where or to what. Her whole family had been sold away, and her master’s son was showing a little too much interest in her, so when the chance came, she ran.

  We drove through St. Clairsville and Osterburg—right by Mary’s house without a glance to the left or right—before many people were astir. Then on through King, barely a village, and Sproul, not much more, to Claysburg by mid-morning. That was a tense passage; there were lots of people about, but none took special notice of a Quaker buggy and women dressed in mourning black.

  Later on we passed through East Freedom and stopped for lunch in a picnic grove outside Newry. There was no one around, so we lifted our veils, and ate in comfort.

  We got to Hollidaysburg at about 1:30 and, following Jesse’s instructions, turned down Montgomery Street to a large, yellow brick house surrounded by a lawn and an iron fence. I turned the horses in, following the gravel drive to the back of the house. No one was about, so I stepped down and went to the back door. After making sure I couldn’t be seen from the street, I knocked. The door was opened by a woman, obviously a maid, with a forbidding countenance.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Thaddeus Burns, please.” My voice quavered a little, and I struggled to keep calm. It was my first underground trip alone, and the responsibility lay heavy on me.

  “Mr. Burns is out. He won’t be back until four,” the maid said without the least sign of friendliness.

  “Oh. What time is it now?” My weak confidence wavered in the face of this cool reception.

  “Just after two,” came the crisp reply.

  I didn’t know what to do. “Is Mr. Burns at work?”

  “Mr. Burns is in court. He’s an attorney.” There was no help from this sector.

  “Thank you. Thank you very much,” I stammered. I returned to the buggy and drove the horses on through the U-shaped driveway and back out to the street.

  Beside me, Abby scanned the town. “That white steeple up there might be the courthouse,” she offered.

  “Yes, but even if we find the courthouse, how can the man help us if he’s in court?”

  “Well, I guess we could drive around and find a picnic grove or something and wait it out.” Abby looked perplexed.

  “You ladies lost?” A man walking down the street stopped by our horses’ heads.

  “No, thank you. We’re waiting for someone,” I replied. It was hot now, and the dark clothes were stifling. I wished I could at least take off the bonnet. My silent passengers must be melting. Only Abby’s head was bare, her blond braids glistening in the sun.

  There must be some place we could rest and keep out of sight for a few hours. Not knowing what else to do, I turned right on Mont
gomery Street and followed it down over the hill toward the canal. At the end, I turned left, crossed the canal and proceeded through a little community identified on a signpost as Gaysport. Here the houses were farther apart, each with a small barn and some livestock. We moved slowly. The horses needed a drink. As we passed a neat looking farmstead, we saw a woman picking beans in her garden. I stopped the buggy, climbed down, and went over to talk to her.

  “Pardon me, Ma’am. Could I water my horses at your trough?”

  The woman rose and smiled from under her sunbonnet. “Certainly you may. Just drive in and let them drink.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am.”

  “You look tired,” the woman said, observing my protruding belly. “Do you have far to go? You can stop here and rest for a while if you want.”

  “That would be nice, but I think watering the horses will do,” I replied cautiously. I climbed back up and drove the horses in at the lane, stopping by the trough. The horses drank like they’d never tasted water before.

  The woman came along, carrying her basket of beans. “Can I get you something to drink, too? I’ve some fresh root beer on hand.”

  I hesitated, but a look at my drooping passengers made me accept. “Thank you. Yes.”