Whipper eased himself back onto the stump. “As Ah wuz saying, Ah heered of a place where Ah kin git a ride. Mebbee yu kin tell me how to git there, though Ah cain’t say if mah leg’ll hold up much longer.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
Whipper scratched his chin. “Ah think it wuz a boy named Billy, by the river, several miles back.”
“Tall and skinny, with a straw hat and patches on his knees?”
“Legs skinny as toothpicks!” Whipper said, bobbing his head. “Told me to follow the river til Ah git to the Negro settlement. Then Ah wuz to inquire about a laidy that’ll git me on to a safe place.”
“That halfwit will flap his jaws at anybody,” Reuben said, sighing. “I told that boy to let his elders do the talkin’ when it comes to strangers.”
“Ah ain’t told no one,” Whipper assured. “Ah followed the river just like he said. He seemed an honest chile, not meaning no wrong.” Whipper watched as Eliza ladled stew for her husband.
“Still, he’s got a child’s mind in a man’s body. I told his daddy not to bring him when he visits. It’ll bring nuthin’ but trouble.” As Reuben hunkered down to eat, Eliza poured from a coffee pot and handed him the cup.
Whipper looked from one to the other. “Yu mean there is such a woman?” His voice rose in excitement while kneading his thigh. “Yu kin take me there?”
Reuben spoke between mouthfuls. “I have clothes and blankets to unload first. Eliza,” he said turning, “because of Miss Bruester, our babies are gonna sleep warm tonight.”
Her face split into a grin. “Bless that woman. She’s always bringing relief to families living here.” Jumping up, she headed into the darkness.
Reuben chuckled as he chewed a piece of meat. “She’ll wake our neighbors and have that wagon unloaded quick as lightening. Nuthin’ gets wasted with Eliza, not even time.”
Whipper rubbed his threadbare coat. “Sure is cold up here. Never knowed a man could live in such raw weather.”
“Ain’t nuthin’ yet,” Reuben said as he swallowed the last of his supper. “Gits colder come winter. And, where you’re headed, you’ll likely freeze your britches right off.”
“Ah surely do appreciate what yer doing fer old Whipper. If not fer yu, Ah’d still be cold an’ hungry.”
Reuben grabbed a stick from the fire and left, soon returning with a bundle. He tossed it into Whipper’s lap.
“Whut’s this?”
“What’s it look like? It’s a coat, compliments of Miss Bruester.”
Whipper stood and quickly doffed his ragged frock before donning the newer garment. “Ah do thank you kindly,” he said. “Seems to fit well.”
“Think nothing of it,” Reuben said. “You wait here while I see how Eliza’s doing.”
Once alone, a jabbing pain forced Whipper to step urgently around the fire while dragging his bad leg. He stopped often and massaged his shrunken thigh in an attempt to ease his hurt. When Rueben returned, he found Whipper still pacing.
“It’s time to go. Should I bring the wagon closer?”
“Nah,” he said while putting on his hat. “Ah’s got to keep moving to limber up me gimp leg.” As he stepped around Reuben, he began his odd, arm-swinging motion, merging into the darkness with Reuben close behind. The snort of horses guided Whipper and he deftly scaled the buckboard by climbing the spokes of a wheel.
Reuben climbed into the drivers seat and settled his massive body. “Best you git underneath the straw in case we run into strangers. And don’t make noise.”
Whipper burrowed into the silage near the front of the wagon. Twisting in his seat, Reuben smoothed the obvious bump, then picked up the reins and slapped the horse with a hearty “Hee-ah!”
For nearly an hour Whipper felt nothing but the wagon’s motion as it traveled over hard ground. Without anything to brace against, it hadn’t taken long for him to sink through the straw. Once the weight of his body became pressed against floorboards, his thigh began throbbing. Whipper thrust a palm under his knee but after a while, even that couldn’t relieve his discomfort. In desperation, he bunched up his coattail and stuffed it beneath his leg.
“Be still!” Reuben growled as he again rearranged the bedding. Whipper stopped moving, mostly because the trapped cloth relieved the pressure from his cramped position. When the horse slowed, he perceived the wheels were no longer on the road, but rolling over grass. Soon, the wagon stopped.
Whipper raised himself enough to peek over the rim. He could see Reuben tie a cloth over the horses’ face before leading it through a dismantled split rail fence. The moonlight revealed the outline of a large barn and a house marked by a gabled roof. As Reuben reassembled the fence, Whipper lay down and pulled back the straw. The wagon advanced a short distance before he heard a creaking door and smells of a barn assailed his nostrils.
“Can Ah git up now?” he implored. “Mah leg’s all stiff.”
“Not yet,” Reuben said as he fumbled for a lantern kept under the seat. Striking a match, he lit the wick, turning the taper low. “I got to find out if it’s safe, first.”
After climbing down, he leaned against the wagon and looked inside. “You got to stay put.” He reached down and smoothed the straw. “And quit your twitchin’! You keep uncovering yourself.” Leaving the lantern on the seat, Reuben left the barn, squeezing his bulk through a side door.
In the silence that followed, Whipper cautiously stretched his leg. But instead of easing the cramp, his muscles went into a sudden spasm. Muffling a scream, he clambered from the wagon before madly kneading his thigh until the pain subsided. When he leaned against the horse, it snorted uneasily.
“Easy, boy,” Whipper soothed, looking around. Suddenly, he noted several bales of straw as well as two stalls occupied by other horses.
Whipper’s interest perked. Where there were horses, there were liniments and such to doctor injured animals. Oftentimes, flasks of alcohol were stored with medicines. Limping toward a workbench, Whipper found a narrow-necked crock. He sniffed the opening but was disappointed at the lack of a familiar odor. He next felt along a shelf, but found only cobwebs long undisturbed. Retracing his steps, he retrieved Reuben’s lantern. Lifting it high, he searched first above the workbench, then below, spying a small shuttered cabinet near the floor.
Placing the lantern on a nearby bale, Whipper grasped a knob and tugged. The door opened, revealing various bottles and tins. Ignoring the ones with horse pictures, Whipper removed each cap to sniff the contents. The third bottle emitted the familiar odor of rye whiskey. He sat beside the lantern and tipped his head, swallowing the liquid in great gulps.
The whiskey burned his throat but Whipper didn’t stop until he emptied the bottle. Soon, the fire that warmed his innards spread to his legs. Tossing the flask, he continued testing other bottles as the alcohol numbed his thinking and he forgot about being quiet.
“Damn!” he muttered. “There ain’t no more!” Like a child who can’t believe he’d received all his presents, Whipper kept revisiting bottles, sniffing hopefully. Spying a vial in a dark corner, he gleefully tugged at the stopper, but it resisted his efforts. Unable to keep hold of the barely protruding plug, Whipper turned the vial sideways and brought it to his mouth. He bit the cork and pulled with all his might. With a sudden pop, it released, spilling the contents onto his coat as well as straw at his feet.
He sniffed deeply. “Shit! It’s ether!” He threw the vial, smashing it to bits while muttering about his sorry state and scarcity of liquor. He kicked the cabinet door causing it to bang shelves and rattle bottles. Suddenly, the door facing the house was thrown open and a man with a bowler hat entered. It wasn’t Reuben.
A wave of nausea washed over Whipper as cloying vapors of ether clouded his mind. He fumbled with the lantern, his fingers feeling thick and useless as he tried snuffing the flame. Instead, he knocked the lantern to the floor with a loud crash of splintering glass.
An unfriendly voice called out, “Who’s there
?”
Whipper looked stupidly at the fire spreading around his feet. As if in a dream, he reached out and touched the flames. The searing heat had the effect of a hot firebrand torching his brain and it occurred to him if he didn’t escape, he would burn to death.
As he scrambled toward the shadows, he accidentally pushed the bale into the fire, causing it to ignite. Whipper pressed against a wall and groped around obstacles while the man ripped off his coat and rushed toward the spreading blaze. He first slapped at loose straw, but the motion sent burning strands flying in every direction. When that failed, Ben tried stomping out the flames. Yet he couldn’t keep apace with the engulfing fire and he once again beat at it with his coat. As the fire intensified, so did Ben’s efforts. He’d put one fire out; only to accelerate another by the breeze he created from his coat.
Reuben’s horse, still hitched to the wagon, shied from noise Ben made as his garment hit the floor. When the stench of burning fodder filled the barn, the penned horses began snorting and banging fearfully against stalls.
It wasn’t until the barn began glowing from multiple fires that Whipper grasped what he had done. Petrified, he stumbled forward, gasping as smoke threatened another surge of bile in his throat. The weight of his coat made him feel as if he were neck deep in water. Ripping it off, he cast it to the floor before detecting fresh air from the open doorway. In great relief he hobbled through it. Then, with his odd, arm-swinging motion he limped out into the night.
Chapter Thirty-Three
When Reuben left the barn he felt sure Whipper would stay out of sight. He knew fugitive slaves were well aware of the need to stay hidden. So he hadn’t been in hurry when he skirted the yard to reach the back door of the house.
Nearing the porch, he heard voices outside and hurriedly crouched behind some shrubs. Reuben couldn’t make out their words. But by careful listening, he determined the voices came from the road in front of the house. Fearing renegade bands that snatched Negroes to sell to Southern buyers, he hunkered down, pulling himself into a ball.
A lamp shone through a window, beckoning him to approach. Yet Reuben knew if he could hear voices, they might also hear him knock at the door. Though he was a free man with his papers always tucked in his pocket, his actions would be viewed suspiciously. If caught, he could claim no good reason for being at the back door of an elderly white woman this late at night.
The echo of approaching hoof beats matched the uneasy cadence of Reuben’s heart and he shrank further into the bushes. Barely had the clatter subsided when the back door opened and a man emerged. Reuben held his breath while the man struck a match and lit a cigar. Just as he determined the man to be Gabriella’s driver, Ben stepped off the porch and headed toward the barn.
“Ben!” Reuben whispered. “Ben!” As the moon suddenly lit the barnyard, Reuben quieted. He felt it best to wait until the moon retreated behind clouds, then hurry to the barn and explain the wagon’s presence.
Ben approached the barn, his mind on the events of earlier that day. Having witnessed his mistress being followed, in all probability by Jebediah’s men, Ben had learned from Gabriella of her suspicions of being watched.
Upon reaching the barn, Ben paused when he heard sounds of breaking glass. The hairs on his neck stood up as he imagined bounty hunters ransacking the property, searching for evidence. Another bang sounded and Ben steeled himself, bursting through the door. A dim light illuminated the area beside the horse pens, but little else.
As he neared the stalls, a crash sounded before the barn plunged into darkness. “Who’s there?” Ben called. Running forward, he caught a glimpse of a man against flickering light. To his horror, he realized fire was eating a partially burned bale of hay.
A pungent odor hit his nostrils as he tore off his coat and beat at the flames. But, rather than smothering the blaze, he only seemed to be making it worse. He tried stomping and more beating but realized his efforts were futile when the fire spread to several areas.
Throwing down his coat, Ben whirled before running toward the main doors. Rounding the stalls, he skidded to prevent running into a buckboard wagon. “What the hell--?”
“Mistah Ben! Mistah Ben! What’s happening?”
Ben recognized the voice as the man he had delivered supplies to that day. “Reuben! There’s a fire! Open the doors so we can get the animals out!” Ben felt along the wagon til he reached the hitched horse then began pushing the animal backward.
Reuben rushed to open the barn doors as Ben backed the wagon out. Once it was safely away, Ben grabbed the kerchief from the animal’s face and dashed back inside while Reuben tarried long enough to feel around the straw. Fear squeezed his heart as he realized Whipper wasn’t in the wagon. If the cripple had hidden in the barn, he might not escape. Spurred by a sense of responsibility, Reuben ran back inside where night breezes flooded the barn, spreading flames to nearby feedbags.
Ben had opened a stall and was twisting the kerchief around the horses’ halter when a glowing ember landed on its muzzle. The frightened animal reared, pulling Ben off his feet and slammed him against a wall. The punishing blow knocked Ben senseless and as he fell, the horse backed out of the enclosure and raced out the door.
Reuben barely missed being trampled as the horse galloped into the barnyard. “Mistah Ben! Where are you?” he called.
Seeing a movement, he rushed into the stall finding Ben sprawled on the floor. “Are you hurt?” Without waiting for an answer, Reuben scooped Ben into his arms then straightened with a powerful contraction of his back. Turning sideways, Reuben elbowed his way out of the stall, half trotting, and half running until he reached the back porch.
As he gained the steps, the door flew open. Gabriella stood in her wrapper, holding a candle. She gasped as she saw a large figure looming toward her.
“It’s me-Reuben,” he panted, “with Ben. He’s hurt!” Reuben burst into the kitchen and dropped Ben onto a nearby chair. “Ben got squished by a horse!” he said in a rush. “And, the barn’s afire! I’ve got to go back!” Reuben ran out, his breath coming in great gasps as he plunged into the barn now eerily lit by flames. In his absence, the fire had formed an upward draft, climbing timbers that supported the haymow. The horse still confined in a stall shrieked as sparks showered it from above.
“Whipper!” he yelled. “Whipper, come out! You’s gonna die in here!” As smoke billowed around him, Reuben’s eyes began watering and his lungs burned. He heard nothing but the crackle of fire and the frenzied screams of the remaining horse. Unable to stand its cries any longer, he rushed to open its stall.
As the horse bolted through the doors, Reuben searched places a man might hide. He checked inside Gabriella’s carriage and behind a row of water barrels before feeling around a tack room. When the heat became unbearable, Reuben covered his face and ran out the door straight into the arms of several men. Many on horseback were still coming from the road and into the barnyard.
“Ho there! Lookee what we caught!” snickered one. “We got us a troublemaker, fer sher!”
“Whooee! He’s a big’un!” exclaimed another. “Betcha this’n will fetch us a pretty penny, eh boys?”
Reuben’s lungs protested the sharply cold air after the singeing heat, and he began to cough. “I-I’s a free man!” he sputtered. “I ain’t no troublemaker! I wuz helping Mistah Ben git the horses--”
“Stealing horses, no doubt,” scoffed the one who appeared in charge. “Ain’t knowed no darkie that’ll do honest labor lest he’s stood over by a white man with a whip.”
“Hey Charlie, ya think Jeb’ll want to keep him? Or, can we have some fun since he started the fire?” The men murmured agreeably as he continued. “We ain’t done nothing but spy on the old biddy fer weeks.”
“Shut up, Willie,” Charlie said. “Yu know better’n that. Jeb will want to talk to him a’fore yu’uns do anything. I already sent our scout to go fetch him.”
“Aw, Charlie, I’m not talking ‘bout killing the feller
, just having some fun is all.”
Charlie crossed his arMs. “Willie, yu ain’t nuthing but a no-account moron! Our orders are to bring any and all information to Jeb immediately, not after yu torment the poor bastard. Once we git rid of this feller we can see if those saloon gals are ready fer a good time.”
“Hey Charlie,” another spoke up. “Ain’t we gonna do something ‘bout that fire?”
“Naw,” he said, clamping on a cigar. “We ain’t paid to save the old lady’s barn. It’s whut she deserves fer letting nigra’s come and go as they please. Let her git her own friggin’ fire brigade.”
Striking a match, Charlie puffed on the stub before laying a hand on his gun. “Now mind yu,” he said, pointing at Reuben. “If yu’s to try running from us, we’ll be obliged to shoot yer black ass. Yu understand?”
Reuben managed a weak “Yes Suh!” as his hands were lashed with twine. The men then mounted their horses, forcing Reuben to walk behind.
Flames had broken through the barn’s roof when a horse-drawn wagon bearing a water tank raced into the barnyard. Men clinging to the sides jumped down and began unwinding a hose connected to a hand pump engine. Ignoring the bounty hunters, several men unhitched the horses and led them a safe distance away while others formed a bucket brigade. Working the pump and passing buckets, none of the firefighters noticed the large black man being led away.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Sheriff Hadley stood outside his office and watched an unnatural glow in the sky. After the sudden departure of the fire wagon, he had sent Deputy Welch to investigate, hoping the blaze was nothing more than the act of a careless citizen.
Just then, a group of riders thundered past. Most of them halted in front of the saloon while a few approached the boardwalk where he stood. As they reined in their mounts, Jim counted four riders and a fifth that stayed purposefully behind.
“Evening, Sheriff,” the leader said.
Threads of Betrayal Page 16
