by Ginny Dye
“But...?” Aunt Abby made no attempt to hide the laughter in her eyes when she asked the question that seemed to have become a kind of code between them.
Carrie managed a laugh. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” She couldn’t hide the hurt in her voice.
Abby paused. “You are struggling with the slavery issue yourself, aren’t you?” When Carrie nodded, she continued softly. “How could I expect you to confront how I feel about the issue, when you are running from how you feel about it?”
Carrie stared at her, slightly stunned by Aunt Abby’s words. “How did you know?”
Aunt Abby laughed gently. “It’s an old trick I once used quite often. I recognize it easily. I seemed to always have this absurd hope that if I ignored an unpleasant situation long enough it would go away. I found it usually only became more difficult.”
“That’s true,” Carrie agreed, looking down at the ground. Then she looked up. “How long have you been an abolitionist?”
“For ten years.”
“You don’t talk like Alex Morning.”
“Heaven forbid!” Abby exclaimed. “I should certainly hope not.”
“But do you feel the way he does?”
Abby paused for a long moment. “Carrie, I hate slavery. I hate what it does to people - both blacks and whites. I believe it means misery and suffering for the black people who are slaves. I believe it means a lowering of the selves God made us to be, for the white people. Both are a tragedy. But I don’t hate slave owners.”
“Why not?”
Abby seemed to struggle for words. “I believe slavery has become a trap for everyone involved in it. A terrible process, with terrible consequences, was put into motion when the very first slave set foot on American soil. We were a people dedicated to the equality and freedom of everyone yet we chose to deny an entire race of people that which we founded this country for. We have sought to ignore our conscience ever since. The only way white people can continue slavery is by convincing themselves that black people are a lesser person than they are. By doing so, I believe they make themselves the lesser person. Black people are in bondage by no choice of their own. White people are in bondage because they choose to follow their own sin and deception.”
Carrie fought to make herself listen. Part of her knew Abby was speaking truth. Another part of her wanted to throw the words back in her face.
Abby smiled sadly. “Carrie, only God can show you the truth about slavery.”
“But God says slavery is right!” She couldn’t identify why she was supporting something she had grown to abhor.
“Does he?””
“Of course he does! I’ve heard preachers give sermons on it many times. They say the Bible supports our owning slaves.”
Abby spoke softly. “My church preaches that slavery is a sin and that the Bible clearly teaches against it.” Then she continued, “Carrie, have you read the Bible for yourself? Do you know what it says?”
“My father says that’s what ministers are for. To tell us what the Bible says - and then to interpret it.” Carrie’s voice rose in stubborn defiance. She could not explain why she was close to tears. Blinking her eyes rapidly, she forced them back.
Abby edged closer. “Carrie, listen to what I am about to say.” Her voice, though low, was more intense than Carrie had ever heard it. “This has nothing to do with our differing beliefs about slavery. It has everything to do with how you’ll make decisions for the rest of your life.” Abby waited several moments for her to regain control, and then continued. “Carrie, the church is made up of people. The ministers who stand and preach the word of God are nothing but people. Yes, many of them have been called by God to serve in that way - but they are still just people. And people make mistakes. People, even ministers, form opinions and beliefs based on their own experiences and their own interpretations. How else can you explain two men - both ministers of God - standing in their pulpits delivering vastly different messages about the same issue?”
Carrie leaned forward now, intent on every word coming out of Aunt Abby’s mouth. Somehow she knew this was critically important.
Abby continued. “Both men obviously believe what they are saying - enough to preach it to whoever will listen. But, Carrie,” she said earnestly, “those men are not God. Only God holds the real truth. And I believe he will give it to anyone who honestly seeks and asks questions. The Bible says that ‘all who seek me will find me’. It is good to listen to what people have to say. Listen, and then examine it. Read the Bible yourself. And then ask God to show you the truth. That’s the only truth you can stand on - the only truth that will not falter when attacked by others around you.”
“That’s a lot of work.”
“Yes,” Abby said flatly, her eyes kind. “And that is exactly why most people are merely sheep being led by the person who steps forward claiming to be their shepherd. It’s much easier to be blindly led along. They echo sentiments put forth by someone else without knowing God’s mind - and certainly without knowing his heart.”
“Alex Morning said slavery is of the devil,” Carrie stammered, dismayed by the increased chaos in her heart.
Abby looked into Carrie’s eyes. “If something is not of God, then who is it of?” she asked softly. She didn’t give Carrie time to answer. “Alex Morning was very wrong that night. I may think some of the things he said were true, but his method did more harm than good. He was every bit as wrong as the thing he was attacking. When people fight something with hate and anger, they close the doors to actual change because they close the doors of the person’s heart they are trying to change. Carrie, I believe slavery is wrong, but I also believe many of the methods used to end it are also wrong because they employ hatred.”
“Like John Brown?”
Abby nodded vigorously. “Like John Brown! I sympathize with his heart and his desire to see people set free, but hatred and murder are not the ways to accomplish it. In the end he walked away from the love of God and chose his own ways.” She paused again, obviously deep in thought. “I wish there were a painless way to end slavery - a painless way to both blacks and whites. I have come to the conclusion that is not possible. The minute man decided to do away with another man’s freedom, the wheels were set in motion that would insure a painful ending for the one who began such a system. The South has grown to depend on slavery. That doesn’t change the fact, however, that people’s freedom has been stolen from them. Which is more important?”
Carrie felt as if her head were going to burst. Why, oh why, did this issue have to constantly haunt her?
Abby drew closer and leaned over to look into Carrie’s downcast eyes. “You say you want to be different. You say you want to go places most women never think of. There is a responsibility that goes with being different - with being a leader. Women - people everywhere - will look up to you for daring to be different. What will they see, Carrie?” she challenged lovingly, yet firmly. “Will they see someone with the courage to stand for truth? Will they see someone who moves beyond what is comfortable in order to do what is right?” Abby stopped then and leaned back against the bench. She had said all she was going to say.
Carrie stared at the ground, struggling to bring her rampaging thoughts under control. “I wish I could stay with you longer, Aunt Abby.” Her words trailed off into the glimmering heat waves bouncing off the street. She was completely unaware of the sweat beginning to trickle down her face. Carrie had no idea how to put into words what she was feeling - she just knew she didn’t want to leave. She both despised and welcomed the challenges Aunt Abby was throwing at her. Slowly, a fire ignited in her heart. A fire to live up to Aunt Abby’s standards. But most importantly, a fire to know her own mind - to know her own heart. Suddenly, she truly understood she was the only one who held the answer to all her questions about slavery.
“I would love for you to come back, Carrie,” Abby said earnestly. “You could live with me a few months if you would like.” She reached out and too
k her hand. “I have grown to love you deeply.”
Carrie stared at her, unable to believe her own ears. But then, suddenly, a steady stream of people began to pour into the building across the street. Carrie’s attention was drawn to the oddity of the group. She saw as many blacks as she saw whites. What was going on?
Abby answered her unspoken question. “That is the meeting hall of the Philadelphia Abolitionists. They meet every Thursday morning.”
“Is that why you brought me this way?”
“Heavens, no!” Abby laughed. “I thought we would be home by now.”
Carrie stared across the street thoughtfully. “Can we go?”
“Go home?”
“No. Go to the meeting.”
Now it was Abby’s turn to stare at her. Then she slowly nodded her head. “If you want to.”
Carrie’s answer was to stand and make her way across the road. Heads nodded pleasantly toward Abby as they entered the large room filled with chairs and a podium in the front. The looks directed toward Carrie were curious, but not unkind. Carrie had never been to a meeting like this. There were equal parts black and white. There were also equal parts women and men. She wondered if everyone had an equal say.
Carrie was too busy looking around during the opening portion of the meeting to hear much of what was said. Her attention was drawn to the front, however, when a small, plainly dressed woman with a head covering took her place behind the podium. “I have a special guest I would like to introduce,” the woman began. “Many of you remember me telling you about Harriet Masters. For those of you who don’t, you’re in for a real treat. But I’m not going to say anything else. I prefer to let her speak for herself.”
Carrie gasped when Harriet took her place behind the podium, and she pulled her hat a little closer down on her face. She was glad Aunt Abby had selected chairs toward the back of the large room. She sensed Aunt Abby looking at her inquisitively, but she refused to return the look.
Harriet gripped the podium and spoke slowly. “My name be Harriet Masters. I don’t speak too good, but I got me somethin’ to say. First off, I want to say thank you to all you fine folks who helped me get free. I know I ain’t all the ways free yet. I stills got to get myself to Canada. I know I only be here in this city of Philadelphia for a while - den I’ll be on my way again. Only I know I won’t be alone. I got fine folks helping me break away from the misery I was in.”
Carrie leaned forward, soaking in every word. Her eyes never left the familiar face.
“I ain’t always been a slave. I was born a free girl somewhere’s up North. I can’t rightly recollect where. I was only a little gal - maybe seven or so - when some slave hunters kidnapped me from my Mama and daddy’s front yard. I screamed for my Mama but it didn’t do no good. I never did see them again.” Harriet paused to take a deep breath. “I done been livin’ as a slave for twenty years now. Some of it was not so bad... some of it was real bad. I worked out in the fields for my owner. The first overseer weren’t so bad. He yelled and hollered a lot but he didn’t use the lash too much. But then the new one come. He be a real bad man. He didn’t have no problem using the lash. We done worked in the fields sometimes till it be way past dark. The old overseer let us have garden patches and we could even keep some animals for eating. The new one - he made us get rid of our gardens. Then he killed our animals and put the meat in the marse’s meat house. As long as the work got done, the marse didn’t care nothin’ about what be going on with us.” Harriet’s voice was a mixture of bitterness and sorrow.
Carrie looked quickly around the room. Faces were set in anger. Many women wiped tears from their eyes as they listened to the woeful tale. Carrie battled the sickness rising in her stomach like bile. She wanted to jump up and run from the room. Instead, she turned and leaned farther forward to listen intently.
Harriet continued after a long moment. “Being a slave can be either real bad or just bad. Even when I got treated good - all I wanted was to be free. It be hard on the mind and the heart when everythin’ around you be telling you that you ain’t no more use than an animal. Sooner or later you start wonderin’ if it be true. Your spirit be tellin’ you you be somebody. Everythin’ else be telling you you’re nothin’.” Her voice grew more intense. “The South be full of people like me just wantin’ to be free. Most of us have heard somethin’ bout the Underground Railroad. But we think it be a dream. We can’t believe it be for real - dat people really care ‘bout what be happenin’ to us.” She stopped to wipe a tear running down her cheek. “Why, I thought it be too good to be true when one of yo conductors came and took us away from our plantation. It took us near two months to make it this far. I can’t tell you how many mounds of hay I been hid under, nor how many barns I been sleepin’ in. The slave hunters done ‘most caught us a bunch of times. But the good Lord done been watchin’ out for us. We done got this far. I think we be movin’ on soon.” The tears were flowing in earnest now. “I be a free woman now. I aim to find my Mama and daddy somehow. I know somewhere they’re still out ‘dere wonderin’ where their little girl be.” Then she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. Pride and determination shone from her strong features. “And one day I be goin’ back to find my own chillun’. I have three of dem. Fine chillun... They be taken from me when they was little and sent off to be house chillun’ for people in the city. They told me we could visit sometime. I ain’t seen nothin’ of them since they be gone. But someday...” she vowed in a strong voice, “my chillun and I will be together again. Someday...!” Body erect, Harriet turned and made her way back to her seat.
Carrie was trembling all over.
“We need to go, Carrie.”
Carrie started when she felt Aunt Abby’s hand on her arm. Nodding wordlessly, she rose to follow her from the room. The searing heat hit them full in the face when they exited the building, but Carrie barely felt it.
“Want to talk about it?” Aunt Abby’s voice was deep with concern. “You went white as a sheet the minute Harriet took the podium. Was it too much for you? Was I wrong to take you to the meeting?”
Carrie shook her head, too full of emotion to talk just then. They were several blocks from the building before she regained control of herself. Then she turned to Aunt Abby. “It was Harriet. She...” Just then her eyes widened in horror and she broke away from Aunt Abby to stride across the street. Several swiftly moving carriages barely missed her.
“Mr. Manson! What a surprise to see you in Philadelphia!” Carrie’s voice gushed with enthusiasm.
The burly man who was the target of her pursuit pulled up short as Carrie appeared in front of him. The two men accompanying him stopped, but didn’t bother to hide the impatient looks on their faces. “Hello, Miss Cromwell.” He made no attempt to hide his surprise.
Carrie bit her lip. She knew it wasn’t proper for a plantation owner’s daughter to be familiar with an overseer, but now was no time to worry about protocol. “Why, what a delight to see you here. What brings you here? Do tell me how you like Philadelphia!” Carrie maintained her position in the middle of the sidewalk.
Manson looked at her sharply. “It’s nice to see you, Miss Cromwell, but I am in rather a hurry right now.” The two men beside him shifted uneasily.
“Why, Mr. Manson, what could be more important than talking to little ole me?” Carrie almost laughed aloud at the sound of her own petulant voice. “I have so missed everyone from home. You’re like a breath of fresh air! Do tell me how things are back in Virginia. The Blackwells? Louisa?” Carrie fought to control her panic. She had to stall them. She was counting on the close friendship between her father and Alfred Blackwell to keep him there.
The two men stared at Manson as he pushed his hat back on his head and sighed heavily. “Miss Cromwell, the truth is that I am not here in Philadelphia on pleasure. It’s business. I really must be going.” He moved as to walk around Carrie.
Carrie, fighting a desire to laugh, moved forward suddenly and put her
hand on his arm. His tanned face blush crimson. Why, it was rather fun to use her feminine wiles! “Oh, business,” she gushed, stretching out the word as long as she could. “I am so fascinated by business, Mr. Manson. Man’s ability to handle business is something I so admire! Do tell me what kind of business you’re here on.”
Manson ignored the two men at his side, and settled into a relaxed posture on the sidewalk. “Well, Miss Cromwell. It’s quite a long story.”
“Oh, I love long stories,” Carrie cried, feeling quite triumphant. The men behind Manson ground their teeth in frustration.
Thus encouraged, Manson embarked on his long tale of frustrations and thwarted opportunities as he had sought for weeks to hunt down the Blackwell slaves who had escaped. “There were ten of them, Miss Cromwell. They be mighty valuable to Blackwell. I’ve had to come and go in the hunt because I still have my responsibilities at the plantation. But we’ve been told they’re here in Philadelphia. Close, as a matter of fact…” Suddenly he was all business again. “Good day, Miss Cromwell.” He tipped his hat, stepped around her, and disappeared into the crowd.
Carrie looked after him, biting her lip. Had she given Harriet enough time?
“What in the world was that little show of southern seduction all about?”
Carrie started as Aunt Abby’s amused voice sounded at her side. “Oh, Aunt Abby,” she cried. “I hope I gave her enough time!” The despair in her voice was obvious.
“What in the world are you talking about, Carrie?”
Carrie looked around the crowded sidewalks, now aware of people having to sidestep around her. “Can we sit down on this bench for a moment? I know you said we had to be going, but…”
