by H D Coulter
“I was thinkin’ you weren’t coming.”
“I was late receivin’ a package - this is John.”
“Hello.” She threw Elijah a mistrustful glance. “Have you changed your mind?”
“John is just goin’ to take you part of the route, missus.”
“I said I was doin’ it alone.”
“He can take you halfway to the blacksmith, the first station. It’s ten miles, he runs errands and got clearance by the master to attend the shop. He knows this land, child, when you do not.”
“But...”
“You gotta be quick as you can, girl, to get as faraway from your master before the morning count. There ain’t no time to argue.”
“What now?”
“Yes, now. Here are your papers.”
Jessie took hold of the parcel. In it was a few dollars; she had never held money before, and the coins were heavier than she had imagined. She looked at the papers in disbelief. “Sarah? And the description - it don’t sound like me.”
“We all look alike to them; ‘tis the best we could do at brief notice.”
“We need to go now - Sarah.” John stepped forward.
“It’s Jessie.” Feeling insulted somehow, she pulled her hand away from his.
He grabbed hold of her papers with force. “No, it is Sarah now. You are leaving Jessie behind. Jessie is a slave, but Sarah is free.” He stared at her. There was something glorious in what he said.
She nodded; Sarah, I am now Sarah, and she will be free.
“Thank you, Elijah.” She placed her hand on top of his for a moment before taking back her papers from John.
He nodded his head in return. “God bless you on your journey, child; live well for us.”
John put his arm around Sarah as though they were going off as a couple to be alone. Once they rounded the corner of the perimeter fields, they ran.
JOHN PICKED UP A CLOTH bag left hidden in the scrub beside a small tree, and opened it to show her a loaf of bread, a parcel of cheese and some nuts. They ran north through the trees and the swamp fields as they followed the river, stopping at any sound that wasn’t from an animal. It was all too familiar to Sarah. Every time they stopped, she kept an ear out for the dogs, waiting in her heart for them to come close up behind with their angry jaws and capture her once more. John ran without thinking; his feet knew where to go and hoped that Sarah could keep up. After a couple of hours, they stopped for ten minutes to gulp down some bread and water in the shadow of a large bush. Sarah, remembering how her feet had become broken and bloody after her last attempt, tore off the hem of her dress and wrapped the cloth around her toes, up to her ankles. The shoes she wore had always been too big for her, passed down from a former hub woman when she first arrived. Now that her feet moved less and didn’t rub, she could run.
They kept moving through the night, keeping close to the river at all times, the moonlight that bounced off the still water making it easier to see. She wondered how many times John had done this before, but she didn’t ask questions. Silence was their friend.
Just as the sun rose, they made it to a small shack on the outskirts of a sleepy village which looked to Sarah more like a trading post than a shop.
“Stay here.” He left her in the undergrowth as he made his way inside. As she leant against the tree, the heat of the sun already breaking through, she closed her eyes for a moment, feeling herself drifting. Suddenly she jumped at a noise nearby, cursing herself for letting her guard down. She stared around her, trying to hear further sounds, but nothing came, only the pounding in her chest echoing in her ears. A tap on her shoulder caused her to shriek a little.
“Come,” said John.
Sarah did as he commanded, following in his footsteps to the back of the store. He pushed an overgrown bush to one side and slid a wooden panel upwards. The gap was small. She lay on her stomach in the dry dirt and pushed herself through, now trapped in the hot, stuffy space. It was worse than the hot box they had forced her into when she was ten. Punishment for stealing an extra portion at dinner. John handed her the cloth bag with a few remaining pieces of cheese and nuts, and sealed her in without a word. The space was dark. She reached out her hands in front of her; the tips of her fingers could stroke the roof, which gave her about two feet in front of her face, and she could stretch out on either side without contact. She guessed it ran at least halfway across the foundation of the building, enough for three or more slaves to hide in. Footsteps moved about above her, accompanied by a low, muttering voice. A tinkling bell rang out and then came a blinding light. She covered her eyes with her hands.
“I’m Franklin. You’re safe here, girl.”
Sarah peered through her fingers and saw an old man, with skin tanned red by the sun, and a white beard peering down at her through an open rectangular hole. Maybe their version of God was correct, she thought dazedly.
“I’m...”
“Sarah, yes, my dear. John told me you were coming. You are to rest here today, and I’ll move you part of the way to the next station.”
Sarah moved her hands from her face. “You ain’t a blacksmith. I was told I was going to a blacksmith.”
“He’s another six miles downriver, but your master will be out looking for you by now, so we thought it best to wait things out until nightfall, and then I can take you the rest of the way by wagon.”
“Thank you, master.” White men only had one name.
“Franklin, child; I am no one’s master, especially not yours - you are free now! I have some water, bread and cooked meat here – there you go.” He handed down another cloth parcel into the hole. “Rest and sleep; you have still a long road ahead of you.”
“Thank you, Franklin.”
He placed the floorboard back over above her, leaving her in darkness once more.
SARAH GUESSED SHE MUST have slept for a couple of hours until a sudden noise woke her. The space was thick with heat, her skin dripped with sweat and soaked into her filthy head wrap. Disorientated, the voices broke through the wooden flooring as though they were whispering in the cramped slot with her.
“You seen a nigger-woman this mornin’? A runaway, wantin’ food?”
Sarah held a hand over her own mouth, scared she would make a single sound and seal both their fates.
“No sir, I have not. The only black slaves I have seen for the past week are the two black men who come in regular with lists for goods. I checked their papers myself.”
“You sure?” She didn’t recognise this other voice.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I have seen none around here, specially not a woman. I will keep a lookout. What plantation is it she escaped from?” Franklin’s voice sounded calm.
“Drayton Hall; Master Hanley wants her back, and he will pay for any information you can give, so you mind that.”
“I know of it; I will keep a lookout and send word if I see her.”
“Good day then, sir.”
The men, animals themselves, made a low growl, followed by the sound of the shop bell. It was the greatest blessing Sarah could have prayed for, the fact they hadn’t brought their dogs. On the other side of her pen, she could make out the sound of horses kicking up dirt, and then a yell. Silence descended over the wooden hut.
AS NIGHTFALL DESCENDED, the wooden panel to her side shifted open, and a hand slipped in.
“We need to get going.” Sarah slid out carefully and found Franklin standing over her, holding out some fabric. “Here, put this on. It will help you blend in better than those rags. I’ll hitch up the wagon, meet me round front.” Sarah simply nodded.
The cotton dress was a little big for her slight frame, but it was clean and presentable to look at. She grabbed her parcel out of the hole, relived herself; who knew when she would get another chance and made her way round to front of the shop. A single horse and covered wagon stood waiting, with Franklin already seated, reins in hand, ready to move.
“Climb into the back and cover yourself with th
e blanket. We have little time.”
She did as instructed. The blanket was more akin to a hessian sack and scratched at her face. But she now realised after last night’s journey, it was still incomparably better than braving this journey on her own. The horse followed the narrow path beside the river, veering away from the north star.
“Are we not going north?”
“We are too far south to go northward yet; besides, that’s what they’ll expect you to do - to head through the Blue Ridge Mountains, which would only slow us down.”
“Where are we going then?”
“The blacksmith, he will explain further. Now cover yourself back up and try to rest.”
Sarah lowered her head down and placed the sack back across her face, wondering if she would ever see daylight again.
Chapter 24
February 1833, Beacon Hill.
IT HAD BEEN A FEW SHORT weeks since Captain Hanley had made his reappearance, and it left a shadow hanging over the house. Bea spent her days inside, refusing to leave. As if creating a fortress inside her mind, she locked the doors and windows and stayed in the central part of the home, away from the impending threat of Hanley. He could generate hell. He had done it before without succeeding, and it wasn’t in his nature to lose. Beth and Sarah stayed around her whilst Joshua went to work, constantly keeping Grace by her side. They watched her as she stood on the edge, risking slipping back into her former, disordered self and twisting the tangled piece of lace around her wrist. Whilst Joshua struggled to decide the next step with no father for advice and no friend for comfort. They couldn’t run again, not now.
Standing by their bed, he peered down at Bea, sleeping with a constructed nest for Grace next to her. His baby girl was getting bigger. Her sweet, round cheeks and wisps of auburn hair made his heart ache. This was his daughter sleeping there, and the love he felt for her was all-consuming. He would, he must, be the only father she would know and yet... he knew Hanley could take that treasured future away from him?
Joshua trudged through the freshly laid snow, the cold soaking into his boots. It was still dark; he missed the sun during the long winter months. The street-lights bounced off the white ground, and he pounded his hands together inside his mittens. For days afterwards, he and Bea argued about the threat of Hanley and leaving the house. He refused to be controlled by that man. Every day he resisted the urge to react, to yell as the anger boiled up inside him once more. Work was important. At the office, he could command each occurrence, and the power to divert things as he wished. He collected his horse from the stables and resisted the desire to gallop, missing once again the fields and fells around his former family home. He loved Bea with all his heart, especially since he had loved her physically in the months leading up to Christmas. It had been the life he had wished for and dreamt of during dark times. Was that all it had been, a dream, and now he was awake to the icy reality before him? A broken wife; a child that wasn’t his by blood; a man obsessed to the point of madness.
He slammed his numb hands together once more as the horse lead the way. The harbour streets were full of freezing workers and labours, taking turns around the small fires in metal cages spread across the walk like warning beacons.
He handed his horse to a waiting stable boy and stepped into work, instantly switching off the dread surrounding his domestic life.
“Morning George.”.
“Morning... Joshua, sir,” responded George, striding after him with coffee pot in hand, still unsure what to call his superior now that a friendship seemed to form between them.
The fire was already lit. Joshua poked an iron rod into the flames, sparking it to life. He slumped into the wooden chair as George poured their coffees.
“George, we’ve gone over this: Joshua is fine, except in front of Mr Goldstein. Mr Mason reminds me too much of my father.” He picked up the cup and took a sip. “Thank you.” He took out his silver case and tapped a cigarette on the top in his time-honoured way.
“Talk me through today’s agenda.”
THE DAY PASSED BY LIKE all the others, with two shipments to organise and some logistical compromise to be arranged between ports.
“Joshua.” George peered his head around the corner of his office door.
“Yes, what is it?” he sighed.
“Mr Goldstein would like a word with you down at the harbour.”
“When?”
“Now, if you’re free.”
He grabbed his pocket watch out from his vest pocket and flipped the lid open. The lamp light glistened off the engraving left by his father. There was enough time. Joshua collected his overcoat from the hook by the door and made his way down the stairs. Mr Goldstein was standing at the furthest point along the pier, beside a ship he didn’t recognise. “Good afternoon, sir. What seems to be the problem?” Joshua tried to keep a lightness to his tone.
Another man, some yards behind Mr Goldstein, raised his head from the letter he had been perusing, turned, and stepped forward, smiling at Joshua. “Oh, no problem, Mason, I simply wanted to introduce you to someone - Captain Victor Hanley. Hanley, this is Mr Joshua Mason; he’s been invaluable to us this past year.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr Mason.” Hanley held out his hand to shake.
Joshua stared at the hand before him. If he didn’t play along, it would seem rude and strange to his employer, and more importantly, if he told Mr Goldstein how he knew Hanley, the past would become unearthed. Joshua shook the proffered hand. The other smiled again and gave his hand a tight squeeze. Joshua smiled back and returned the same gesture a little tighter. If that’s the way of things...
Mr Goldstein continued, paying no attention to the interaction between the two men. “I have been doing business with the Hanley family for years. We have formed a formidable partnership, eh Victor.”
The realisation of the statement sank in like a damp fog; Joshua knew what business the Hanley family primarily dealt in, and that meant that Mr Goldstein must know the extent of their dealings, too. It made him suddenly suspicious of other ships that docked at their pier.
“I did not know that Sir; I haven’t seen the name in the books.”
“Oh, something has somewhat preoccupied me over the past year – woman trouble!” Hanley looked at Mr Goldstein, and they both laughed. Joshua called upon all the restraint he could muster and remained rigid. “Anyhow, I am back now, and will continue my regular visits; you won’t be able to miss me. I will be here that often. I almost feel as though Boston harbour is my second home.” Hanley stared at Joshua, telling him everything he needed to know.
“Indeed,” Joshua muttered through gritted teeth. Mr Goldstein patted each man on the shoulder.
“Well, I better be off gentlemen; I have another engagement. Victor, I’ll see you at the club later?”
“Of course, Richard.”
The gentlemen doffed their hats to one another before Mr Goldstein left. Joshua waited until he was out of earshot.
“Why are you here?” His voice was controlled, but the anger was palpable.
“I should be I asking you that, shouldn’t I, Mason? My family has been working with Mr Goldstein for over twenty years, and then suddenly, you too have found a place in the company. How did that come about, I wonder?”
“If I had known of the connection, I would never have accepted the job. I have no interest in your history or how you earn your money. Only in that you stay far away from my wife and child.”
“The distance I keep from your wife is between her, myself and... our child.”
“Grace is not your child.” Joshua was willing himself to remain calm; Hanley had baited him all too often in the past and resulted in two fights.
“I can assure you sir, your wife was a virgin when I fucked her.” Hanley whispered into Joshua’s ear.
Joshua pushed him away and took a step back. “You are less than human, Hanley. Do you know that? Walk away now, before I do something I regret.” Joshua’s knuckles turning t
o the colour of the snow.
“You’re right, of course. Who would protect Beatrice and Grace if you’re in prison? It is certainly something for us both to think about.” Hanley sniggered, turned his back, and began walking off down the wooden boulevard.
“Stay away from us, and from my daughter!” Joshua yelled, but there was no response.
JOSHUA PICKED UP THE crystallised snow and formed them into some sort of ball before lobbing them into the dark sea. He repeated the motion until his hands became numb. Manic thoughts chased through his head one after the other, creating a cloud of dust in his vision, blocking his sight ahead. He needed a distraction to ease the pain, if only for a while.
Joshua stormed into the office and startled the nearby staff. “George!”
“Yes, sir?” George ran down the stairs, taking two at a time.
“There aren’t any more shipments or urgent matters to attend to today, are there?” Joshua snapped.
“No s- Joshua.”
He saw the fear on George’s face and took a deep breath. “Then grab your coat; where does a man go for a drink around here?”
“Is... everything alright?” George looked concerned, hesitating at the foot of the stair.
“Yes, yes, I... I just need a drink, that’s all.” The junior clerk studied Joshua’s face for a moment, then said cautiously. “Between you and me, I’ve never liked that Captain Hanley fellow. Always put me on edge.”
Joshua smiled. George was a simple man, but undeniably kind-hearted, honest, and easy to talk to. Exactly the friend he needed.
“Where to, George?” Joshua let out a little chuckle at his confused friend as he grabbed his coat off the stand.
“Not far. There’s a little place called the Boardroom. Cheap food, but decent ale.”
Joshua smiled at a cowering clerk hiding in a nearby doorway. “Lead the way.” He flung his arm out for George to go first and felt lighter already.
