Redfield Farm

by Judith Redline Coopey

  Inside the barn, I pulled Abby aside. “Go downstairs and out through the barnyard. Keep the corn crib between you and them. Once you’re out of sight, run and get Ben and Elias. Tell Papa to lay low.”

  Abby nodded and climbed down the ladder. She moved quickly, and seconds later I peeked through a crack and saw her edging the yard, skirts hiked up, running like a deer.

  Once Abby was clear, I stepped out beside Nathaniel, who was still arguing with the slave catchers. They were a rough looking lot—grimy, ragged, unkempt, smelling of tobacco, liquor, and horse manure. Their poor, neglected mounts looked as though they’d been pushed hard and fed little.

  “What is this about?” I asked with authority. “What do you mean, coming here making wild accusations?”

  “Ain’t no wild accusations. We been trackin’ that guy with the crippled arm all the way from Harrisonburg. Thought he lost us, but he didn’t.”

  “There are no Negroes here.”

  “Yes, they is. We seen them turn in here last night. Seen you greetin’ them with a lantern. Figured we might as well get some rest and wait ‘til mornin’ to take ‘em back.”

  I figured the trio for a father and two sons, weary from the long ride. There was a sharp meanness about them. I didn’t doubt they meant to get what they came for.

  “You can search the barn if you like,” Nathaniel offered, hoping the hiding place wouldn’t be discovered.

  “I ain’t going to search nothing,” the older man maintained. “You’re going to give them over is what’s going to happen. We know you’re with that Underground Railroad. We know every place you stopped since Harrisonburg.” His saddle creaked as he shifted his weight.

  “We paid the Easterbrooks and the Woodruffs and all your other friends a visit after you left, and we don’t think they’ll be so eager to help you in the future.” He leaned forward in the saddle, smiling down at me with crooked, yellow teeth. “‘Specially that Mr. Easterbrook. He looked pretty bloody, last I saw.”

  Inside the barn, Jesse and Josiah exchanged glances. Jesse moved to the side of the door opposite Josiah, an ax handle in his good hand.

  Now one of the sons dismounted and strode toward the barn. “Enough talk,” he said. “I’m going to get them.” He walked up to the door, gun drawn, slid it open and stepped inside.

  Josiah moved with quick deftness. Before the lout could turn his head, his right arm was twisted behind him, the corn knife at his throat. His gun clunked to the barn floor.

  Jesse, who hadn’t moved, now stepped outside. “We’ve got your boy,” he said. “If you want him back, you’d best leave off and head south. We’ll send him after when we’re sure you’re gone.”

  The older man looked at his second son, rage in his eyes. “Dammit, Ab, why’d you let him go in there like that? You know he’s stupid.”

  “That’s okay, Pa. Let’s just burn down the barn. They’ll all come runnin’ out like rats when it gets too hot in there,” he grinned. “Zach might be stupid, but he can take care of hisself in a fire.”

  The old man considered the idea, but thought better of it for the moment.

  “Naw, they might kill Zach. Besides, them Niggers might roast rather than go back. Then what’d we have? Nothing. I want that reward money.” He took a crumpled handbill out of his shirt and showed it to Jesse. “Here. Look at that there. What’s that say?”

  Jesse’s earlier suspicion was confirmed; they couldn’t read. “Reward $200 for the return of two Negro women, Amanda, 49, and Lovely, 17, escaped from Shenandoah County on the night of July 27. Both women are dark, of medium height. May be traveling in company of a white man and a large, light-skinned Negro. I will give reward for their safe return. Robert Tull, Mt. Jackson, Virginia.”

  “Two hundred dollars! You’ve worked long and hard for a mere two hundred dollars!” I jeered.

  “That ain’t all. I figure that buck’ll fetch three, four hundred easy on the block. No questions asked.”

  A surge of terror passed through me.

  Inside the barn, Josiah let the blade of the corn knife bite into Zach’s neck. Blood trickled down his shirt.

  “Tell your papa to leave off,” Josiah whispered. “Tell him I’ll kill you right now if he don’t turn around and ride out of here.”

  “Pa!” Zach bawled. “Pa! He’s cut me. This nigger’s gonna kill me, Pa.”

  The father looked frantically at his other son. “Do something, Boy! Go in there and get him out!”

  Both men now had rifles at the ready. Nathaniel, Jesse and I stood helpless between the two horsemen and the barn. From inside the barn, Zach’s loud caterwauling penetrated our brains.

  “Pa! I’m bleedin’! Make ‘em stop, Pa!”

  Suddenly, from behind the three horses, a shotgun blast ripped the air, set them to rearing, and knocked the older man to the ground. Horse and man were peppered with buckshot, both screaming in pain. Ab had all he could do to stay astride his terrified horse as it tore around the side of the barn and down toward the creek, his rifle flying from his grasp.

  Behind them stood Amos Redfield, shotgun breached, reloading. “Nobody gonna take nobody nowhere from this farm,” he said tersely. He walked up to the old man lying prostrate on the ground. “This one’ll live,” he told Nathaniel. “See to the horse.”

  The blast brought Ben and Elias at the run, each armed with a loaded shotgun. Amos looked around at the carnage in his yard. Josiah brought the bleeding Zach out of the barn, corn knife still at the ready. I knelt over the old man, examining his buckshot riddled backside while Nathaniel ministered to the unfortunate horse and Jesse gathered up their rifles.

  “So it has come to this,” Amos said, evenly. “To violence, here in my own yard. Those people who will have slaves have no idea how far reaching is the pain and suffering they cause. Or for how many generations to come. It is shameful that Friends be forced to take up arms in defense of the helpless. God forgive us all.”

  The cut in Zach’s neck was minor, as were his father’s wounds. Ab wandered back from the creek, sheepishly leading his horse. The three stood cowed by the sheer determination of the Redfield family. They mounted and rode off to the south with full knowledge that if they ever came back, somebody would get killed. I knew it, too. My father, my brothers, even Elias, left no doubt about their determination.

  Jesse put a hand on my shoulder as the contemptible louts rode away. I turned to see a steely resolve in his eyes. “We’ve got to move them on right away. If I know anything, those curs’ll be in Bedford visiting the constable within the hour.”

  “I know. But how can we move them in broad daylight?”

  “The old wagon. I haven’t used it since Lettie. Come on. Let’s go. We’ve no time to waste.”

  I hurried inside to gather up provisions for Josiah and his family. We never knew where they would go next, or whether they’d find food or shelter. The way north was safer than the way south but still fraught with danger.

  Nathaniel stayed in the barn to help Jesse hitch up the horses and get Josiah, Amanda and Lovely packed in the narrow wagon bed. Literally packed in. Lying flat, head to toe and toe to head.

  I was back in the barn within ten minutes, hoping to speak to Josiah one last time, but I was too late. Nathaniel stepped up. “I’ll go with you, and we’d better take the shotguns, too, in case our friends decide to follow us.” He swung up on the wagon seat beside Jesse, and I opened the barn doors.

  “Which route will you take?” I asked, anxious to know where to look in case they didn’t return.

  “A different one than usual. I don’t feel as safe as I used to.”

  I nodded.

  “Maybe Pavia to Beaverdale. Haven’t used that one in a while.”

  I winced at the reminder of Jesse’s accident on the Pavia road. “Well, at least it isn’t raining,” I said. “Please, Jesse, can’t I go with you?”

  He looked away without argument. I took that as consent and reached for Nathaniel’s hand to pull
myself up. The need to get moving hung heavy in the air.

  “Jesse?” Abby asked, her face full of hope. “Can I go, too?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Jesse replied, to my surprise.

  “Abby, there’s no need,” I began, but Jesse interrupted me.

  “It’s fine, Ann. I want her to go.”

  Just after noon the wagon with its seven occupants—four up and three down—rumbled past Amos, standing alone in the dooryard, and turned toward Alum Bank. It was a typical early August afternoon—hot, sultry and still. We lumbered along the Pavia road and on up the mountain. Jesse pointed out, as near as he could tell, the spot where his accident happened.

  “Makes my arm hurt just to think about it,” he said.

  We came to the outskirts of Beaverdale around five o’clock. Jesse slowed the team, peering at the gateposts. When he found the mark he was looking for, he turned in and drove the wagon up to the barn, open at both ends. He climbed down and turned toward the house but was met by a tall, stoop shouldered farmer with a loping stride.

  “Afternoon. I’m Mathias Pierson. Got a package for me?”

  “Jesse Redfield. Yes. Three of them.”

  “Good. I’ll take care of ’em,” he said, with a nod toward the barn. “Where’d you come from?”

  “Near Alum Bank.”

  “That’s a long way. You need some supper?”

  “That’d be fine,” Jesse nodded.

  “Come in and rest. Hot coffee and food’ll do you good.”

  Jesse and Nathaniel helped our host lift the false bottom, releasing Josiah, Amanda, and Lovely. I would have taken my meal in the barn with them, but Mathias Pierson was deceptively quick in his movements. They were safely behind a false wall in the tack room before I could reach Josiah’s side. My eyes sought his in the dim light. As the door closed on the tiny room, he reached out and touched my hand, held it, then let go. Mathias Pierson led the way to the house.

  Mrs. Pierson put out a hearty supper, and I ate, in spite of the lead in my heart. We left soon after, hoping to get back before midnight. The ride home was long and lonely for me, but relief at having sent Josiah and his family on soothed my loneliness. Still, I would worry until I heard they were safe in Canada.

  Chapter 26

  1858

  Amos, Jesse, Nathaniel and I. It was getting as comfortable as an old shoe. No change on the horizon, though I guessed I shouldn’t expect it. We sat outside of an August evening, reading the mail Nathaniel had brought.

  “Getting Josiah, Amanda and Lovely to Canada was easier than getting them out of Virginia,” Jesse observed, reading a letter from Josiah.

  “That’s good. My emotions needed a rest.” I opened a letter from Altoona. “Rachel’s had her baby. A girl, Ellen Louisa!”

  Amos smiled. “How many’s that make, now?” he asked, counting on his fingers. “Fourteen grandchildren!” It was clear he took pride in it, despite his Quakerly ways.

  “And more to come, I’m guessing. Jesse’ll probably up and marry one of these days.” Nathaniel shot a glance at our older brother.

  “To say nothing of you!” I swatted at him with a rolled up newspaper. It was left unsaid, but I was destined to remain a spinster. Used goods.

  A week later, Abby and I took the buggy over to Betsy’s to return Jesse’s borrowed clothes, and she gave out the news that she would be adding to the total of grandchildren in about six months. Joy for her! Oh, well, at least I’d known Josiah and borne Sam, and my life was full. Complaint wouldn’t help.

  That evening, I brought up the idea of a little trip. “Jesse, Fall is a good time to visit. How about taking me over to Mary’s so she and I can go on to Altoona to visit Rachel and see the new baby?”

  Jesse was willing, so I wrote Mary, and the plans were made. Visiting Mary was always fun, especially if Jesse stayed for a day or two. We talked and laughed well into the night. Our adventures with Josiah’s family seemed almost humorous now that all was well. And hearing Jesse tell it with his own gestures and voice inflections did make me smile. His imitation of Zach bawling to his Pa that Josiah was like to kill him had Mary and Noah laughing out loud.

  “Our older sister seems quite happy,” I told Jesse.

  He agreed. “Plenty of hard work, tempered by laughter and fun.”

  “That Noah is such a tease. I wonder that Mary doesn’t swat him now and then.” I didn’t say it, but watching the Poole family made me envious.

  In contrast, our visit to Rachel revealed the kind of tension I’d long suspected. Rachel followed Jacob’s directives without question, since it was obvious that not to do so would bring wrath upon her.

  “Jacob makes all the household decisions,” Mary observed to me, “and Rachel carries them out like an obedient servant.”

  I nodded. “I’ve never seen a man so interested in everything to do with his family. He has an opinion about every detail. The children, the house, the cooking, even Rachel’s clothes!”

  “Especially Rachel’s clothes.” Mary scowled. “All it takes is a look from him and she’s off to change!”

  “Well, she doesn’t complain, but I’m sure this is not at all what she dreamed of.”

  “Yes,” Mary agreed. “It seems a hard life for one who was as flighty as a butterfly. Her beauty is fading. Her eyes have lost their luster. I can’t say marriage has agreed with her.”

  Still, Jacob Schilling prospered. His investments paid off handsomely. Despite her lack of personal freedom, Rachel had a beautiful, well appointed home and all the modern conveniences. But Jacob forbade her to travel, so she saw her family only when we came to visit her. Mary and I winced at his controlling ways but kept still, except in confidence with each other.

  “Most of her sentences begin with ‘Jacob says’ or ‘Jacob thinks,’” I told Mary on the way home. “How sad! I’d stay unmarried for eternity before I surrendered my thinking to any man.”

  Now there was an amusing thought. Time was, if Elias Finley had smiled at me, I’d have agreed with anything he said. Surprising how a few years of living changed one’s perspective so. All I knew was, once a perception changed, there was no going back.

  Ï

  I didn’t have time to think much about either of my sisters once we got home. Fall was closing in fast, and I had my hands full with putting food aside for the winter. Abby and I made the rounds again with whatever canned or preserved food we had extra for anyone who seemed in need.

  On the way home one day, we met Pru Hartley and her brother Cooper walking along the Pleasantville road. I hadn’t laid eyes on Cooper Hartley in years, but he still looked tough to me. Slouching. Not given to bathing or shaving.

  “Well, Cooper Hartley. Where have you been keeping yourself?” I greeted him in my brightest, friendliest voice. The Hartleys were always on the lookout for a slight. Better not to give them an excuse.

  “Been around. Here and there.” He leered at Abby’s budding young womanhood. “Who’s my little friend here?”

  “I’m Abby Hill, and I’m not your friend. So you can just stop staring.”

  Cooper stepped back. “Nasty little snake, ain’t you? I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  Abby straightened her spine and looked away. Needing a quick diversion, I looked to Pru. “Need any tomatoes to can, Pru? I’ve got more than I can use this year.”

  She sidled up to Cooper, made a point of slipping her arm through his. “No, thanks. My brother’ll be takin’ care of us for the present.”

  I looked to Cooper. “So you’ll be staying around for a while?”

  “Long enough to make me some money roundin’ up niggers,” he said pointedly. “Been livin’ down to Maryland. Got a lot of friends getting’ rich catchin’ runaways. Figure this’d be good territory to start up on my own.” He looked me straight in the eye.

  I thought of Josiah and Sam, safe in Canada, thank God. Cooper Hartley meant to do us harm, no doubt of it.

  “So, you’ll be looking out for Pr
u and her boys? That’s nice. They need a man around.”

  “Got one now,” he said, puffing out his chest. “Man enough to handle what comes.” He spat a stream of tobacco juice, leaving a little trickle at the corner of his mouth, and turned his attention to Abby again. “Ain’t you Robert Hill’s girl?”

  Abby’s nod was barely an acknowledgment.

  “Your old man was a piece of work, now wasn’t he?”

  Abby looked down at her lap. She rarely mentioned her father, and when she did, it was only brief, in passing. Now she picked up a handful of her skirt and twisted it with white knuckles.

  “Owed me some money, that one. Died afore he paid me my debt. I might be collectin’ it yet, though,” he said, leering at Abby.

  I felt a need to move on before my temper got the better of me. It was a lifelong tenet of survival not to rile the Hartleys. Though I hated being hostage to their evil ways, I knew better than to poke a snake.

  “Well, nice to see you, Pru. You take care, now, and if you change your mind about those tomatoes, let me know.”

  “Not likely.”

  I flipped the reins over the horse’s rump and drove away, not too fast, but not too slow. At home that evening I told Jesse about the encounter, but, true to his nature, he was unconcerned.

  “Cooper Hartley’ll have to go to school before he can catch me,” he said. “Not that I’m proud. I just know a fool when I see one.”

  “He was very interested in Abby. Said her Pa owed him money.”

  Jesse turned to face me. “He’d best stay away from Abby. Now, get your bonnet and shawl. We’ve got visitors.”

  A man and wife had been passed along from Everett, and Jesse was careful not to keep people around for too long with the Hartleys watching our every move.