Billy Boy

by Jean Mary Flahive

  Hooves echoed over the stones.

  Elijah prayed they would lose their pursuers in the forest, but the trees thinned; moonlight spilled across a clearing.

  There was no place to hide.

  “There’s a light across the field—a farmhouse!” Billy shouted.

  “No, suh, not the house!”

  “Got no choice. They’re catchin’ us.”

  Then Elijah saw the dark silhouette of a fence only a few feet away. “Jump the fence. Follow me.”

  They leaped over the rails, Billy tailing Elijah, running straight for the cows, disappearing in the middle of the herd.

  The riders emerged from the trees, the light from their lanterns bouncing in the darkness. In an instant there were shouts, a shuddering thump of hooves, horses whinnying to a hurried stop.

  “Cyrus, follow the fence line! Look for the gate.”

  The startled herd lowed, their harness bells clanking noisily. “Let’s head for the barn,” Elijah whispered to Billy, urging him to crouch down and move with the cows, staying close to their underbellies.

  “Come out or we’ll shoot!” a harsh voice sounded in the darkness.

  Slowly, quietly, Billy and Elijah inched their way to the barn as the frightened cows moved across the pasture.

  Elijah crawled under the fence and slithered along the barn’s clapboards, in search of an opening. The doors were latched. He dropped to the ground, signaled for Billy to follow, and dashed around to the back. An opening, at ground level. A buggy rested in the center of the earthen floor. Quickly, Elijah scanned the stone foundation and the wooden sills that supported the main barn above them. There were no stairs, not even a ladder to the upper level. No place to hide.

  He moved under the sills, groping and pushing on the planks in the cobwebbed darkness. Mastuh Ramsey’s barn had a trapdoor in the middle of the floor for sweeping the dirtied straw onto the ground below. He pushed at the floorboards above him; sweat trickling down his face. Nothing. The planks were solid, tight.

  He shot an anxious glance at Billy, crouched beside the buckboard, muttering to himself. Then it hit him. The center of the floor. Elijah raced to the buckboard, climbed onto the springy platform, and standing on its seat, pushed hard against the planks directly over his head.

  The trapdoor creaked open.

  He looked down at Billy, nodded, and then raised the trapdoor just wide enough to glance around the interior of the main floor. The doors were still closed. Elijah pulled himself up through the opening, leaned over, and extended his hand to Billy. Billy braced his foot on the sill and let Elijah lift him through the hole. Quietly, Elijah set the trapdoor back in place.

  They stood motionless, listening as the horses’ hooves clattered to a stop in front of the barn. In the distance a door slammed. Footsteps raced across the farmyard. Someone shouted, “What’s goin’ on here? Who are you?”

  “Ezra! Put your rifle down—it’s Peyton and Cyrus. We chased a slave and a white boy—a deserter, we’re guessing—chased them into the pasture, but they headed for your barn!”

  Elijah heard the men dismount.

  “Barn door’s shut tight. Must be hiding on the lower level where I keep the buggy.”

  Footsteps scrambled toward the back of the barn.

  Billy looked up at the lofts above his head. “Maybe we can hide in the hay,” he whispered.

  “They find us there.” Elijah bit his lip as he listened to their pursuers race through the level below them. His eyes darted about the barn, searching frantically for a hiding place.

  Hogsheads! On a small, high platform attached to the wall between the two lofts were four large wooden casks. Ladders leaned up to both sides of the platform. Elijah tugged at Billy to tiptoe across the floor and then nudged him up the ladder to the main loft, climbing each rung quietly behind him. Lord, let them hogsheads be empty!

  When they reached the loft, he pulled Billy close, whispering, “We gonna hide in them hogsheads up on the platform.” Billy nodded. Slowly, they climbed a short ladder and stepped onto the narrow platform.

  Trying not to make a sound, Elijah opened the lids. The casks were empty. He helped Billy lift his legs over the rim and burrow down inside. “Don’t move and don’t you come out ’til Elijah get you. Elijah gonna put the lid on now.”

  The voices outside grew louder. Rustling by the barn door. Elijah stepped into the cask beside Billy, struggled to squeeze his broad shoulders past the upper ring. The wood pressed tight against him; he was stuck.

  The barn door rattled open.

  Elijah took a deep breath, sucked in his stomach, hunched his shoulders, and pushed down hard. Splinters of wood jabbed his flesh like needles; his blood was like oil against the roughly hewn slats, sliding him at last deeper into the barrel. He was in, just as the light from the lanterns spilled through the room—except the lid lay on the platform floor.

  “Reckon they kept on runnin’. Don’t see how they would have gotten in here.”

  “Like as not, we’ll take us a look around. Plenty of hay up there to hide in. Keep your rifle cocked, Peyton, while I check out the lofts.”

  Beads of sweat trickled down Elijah’s cheeks, mingling with his blood, stinging him. He listened as one of the men climbed the ladder. Suddenly there was the frightening sound of a pitchfork swishing through the hay.

  “Gonna have to push some of the hay onto the floor, Ezra.”

  “Go ahead, Cyrus, I ain’t sleepin’ tonight—not with some runaway about.”

  For several agonizing minutes Elijah listened to the repetitious sound of the prongs sinking fiercely into the hay. He swallowed, fear racing through him. He worried about Billy in the next barrel. Lord, don’t let them look in that barrel. Startled mice scurried across the loft.

  “This loft’s clean. Lemme check the hay on the other side. What’s the best way to get over there, Ezra?”

  “You can use that platform up there with the hogsheads as a bridge,” Ezra answered. Elijah sucked in his breath. “Or, you can use the rope. There’s a pulley straight across the beam.”

  Elijah’s silent prayers were answered when he heard a rope swaying across the barn, the thud of boots landing on the opposite loft. He listened for several more minutes, as the fork again pierced the hay.

  “Looks like they got away. Must’ve run off into the woods somehow. They ain’t up here.”

  The pitchfork clanged against the wall. Footsteps climbed down the ladder.

  A horse whinnied. “The horses! By the God! They’re stealin’ our horses. Hurry!”

  In spite of the rush of retreating footsteps, Elijah waited. Instinct told him someone was still there.

  Moments passed.

  Someone chuckled below.

  “Looks like you gone and scared yerself some horses out there, Chesapeake! Out there nuzzlin’ their legs, I reckon. Old cat like you still scaring the bedevil out of the horses. I’m headed inside … There’s no runaways around here.”

  The barn door slid shut along its tracks, and Elijah heard the latch click. After a few more minutes, he climbed out of the hogshead and, stepping quietly, raised the lid on the other barrel. Elijah placed his hand on Billy’s head and touched his matted, sweaty hair.

  “We all right. We safe, Billy, suh.” He reached under Billy’s arm and helped him out.

  “We rest here a bit. Then we go.”

  Billy followed Elijah down the ladder, stepping lightly across the hayloft and then settling down. Rolling onto his side, Billy leaned his back into Elijah’s shoulders as they burrowed under the straw. Both were still trembling. A half-hour later, Billy was asleep.

  Elijah lay quietly, listening for stirrings in the night, waiting for his heart to quiet.

  I never think white folk ever gon’ sleep beside Elijah. This all hard to figger out. I didn’t pray for no white folk. And Billy, suh, he my friend now. Yes, suh, he act just like a chile and then he go and save Elijah’s life. What all this mean, Lord?

  His q
uestion unanswered, Elijah closed his eyes, willing himself to waken long before the dawn.

  Chapter 15

  A cold wind riffled through his hair as Billy beat his fist against the door of the Friends Meeting House. Leaves swirled in the darkness as precious moments passed. Suddenly, the door opened. Billy raised his head, staring timidly into green, deep-set eyes. The woman’s height startled him; her fiery red hair was pulled away from her face and tucked tightly under a small lace cap. The wind rushed into the hallway, flattening her pale blue dress against her legs.

  “Are you Johanna Samson?” Billy asked meekly, his body shivering.

  “I’m Johanna. Thee looks very cold.” She stepped to the side of the entryway, holding a lantern. “Come in.”

  Billy hesitated, took a deep breath, and stepped inside. He was greeted with a rush of warm air and the sweet scent of spruce burning in the woodstove. A low slat wall on either side of the stove divided the room into equal sides. The room was stark, the clapboard walls without plaster. Even the beams lacked pegs for holding lanterns or hanging coats. Billy thought Johanna Samson must be very poor to live in such a cheerless house.

  “Would thee like to sit down?” she asked as she closed the door behind her and motioned him to one side of the room. He stepped across the floorboards and sat down on a long bench, casting a shy glance at the tall woman.

  “What brings thee to my door at this late hour?” she asked.

  “Miss Sarah said you could help my friend, Elijah,” Billy said, swallowing hard.

  “Sarah?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The lady from the other town—Rockville. She’s right pretty and all.”

  Eyebrows arched on Johanna’s face. “Of course, Sarah Mayfield. Indeed, Sarah is a lovely person. Tell me, how may I help Elijah?”

  “Elijah, well, he says Ol’ Joe told him about the railroad in Sandy Spring gonna take him to Canada.”

  “I see.” Johanna paced across the floor, stopped, and came back. “And where is thy friend now?”

  “In them woods over yonder.” Billy’s fingers tingled, and he rubbed his hands back and forth across his trousers. Miss Johanna seemed nervous all of a sudden. He worried as she turned and walked to the window, pressing her face to the glass and peering into the darkness.

  “Has thee told anyone else about me?”

  “Just Elijah.”

  “And what is thy name?”

  “Billy Laird.”

  “Thee is not from around here. Where is thee from?” Her voice sounded harsh of a sudden, and Billy shuddered.

  “Maine,” he said. “You sore at me, Miss Johanna?”

  “Maine?” Johanna shook her head and moved across the floor, sitting down on the bench beside him. Her voice was softer this time. “Forgive me. I am sorry if thee felt offended by my tone. Thee is an abolitionist?”

  Crossing his arms, Billy stared at the floor, biting on his lip for lack of anything to say. “I’m not understandin’,” he said shyly.

  “Tell me, then, how thee came to help Elijah.”

  “Miss Johanna, I’m just wantin’ to go home is all.”

  “To Maine? Now it is I who does not understand.”

  “Thing is, I mustered in the Seventeenth Maine Regiment—”

  “Thee is a soldier of war?” Johanna asked.

  “I run off.”

  He saw her wide, erect shoulders slump; she turned away from him and sat silently, her eyes pinched shut. Long moments passed, and Billy worried that the strange woman was sore at him for running away.

  He stirred awkwardly, got to his feet, and took a step toward the door.

  “Is thee denying war?”

  Billy hesitated and turned to her.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Does thee not wish to fight another?”

  “I ain’t afeared to fight.”

  “It is not fear that I speak about. Does thee understand I am a Quaker?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Please, come and sit down. Let me explain. Quakers oppose all wars. We believe it is wrong to fight—to kill another child of God or to take violent action against anyone. I believe it is honorable that thee chose to walk away from war.”

  “Captain sent me away—to another company—away from my friends, who always … well, they help me, and … ” Billy squirmed nervously and finally sat down on the bench, struggling with his words. “Besides, reckon I ain’t wantin’ to hurt no one—but Pa says folks that kill are doin’ the Lord’s work and all.”

  “God is in each of us, Billy. If thee does not want to hurt anyone, then the spirit of Christ as thee hears it is the truth that shall guide thee.”

  “You a preacher lady? You don’t seem old enough … Reverend Snow back home, he must be—”

  “No, Billy, I’m not a preacher. And I shall be thirty-four next month. Now, tell me more about this Elijah.”

  “When I cut out from Livingston’s battery I run into the woods by Goose Creek. Leighton says you got to hide in the woods for a time—so the army don’t catch you. Thing is, I found Elijah lyin’ by the creek.”

  “Was he hurt?”

  “Hungry is all. I went and fed him what I brung.”

  “And thee became friends?”

  Billy shook his head. “He thought I was a slave catcher.” He looked at her. “I ain’t.”

  “If I help Elijah, how does thee plan to get home?”

  “Don’t rightly know.”

  Johanna stood and walked again to the window. “It is late and Elijah must be cold. Bring him to the horse shed across the lane in the woodlot,” she said pointing her finger against the pane. “Be very careful that he is not seen. Stay close to the trees. I will return with food and blankets for thee both.”

  The horse shed was lit by candles, and picking up one of the candlesticks, Elijah scanned the small space. It was swept clean of all clutter. Except for a sprinkling of hay over a plank floor, the stalls were empty. Elijah spotted only a single harness on a row of wall pegs, and holding the feeble light above his head, he could find no saddle or bags of feed. He was relieved. The shed was little used. A hinge creaked and Elijah moved the candle toward the sound. Holding the door open with her shoulder, Johanna entered the barn carrying a tray of food; blankets were tucked under her arm.

  Elijah stared at the tall woman who called his name. This missus sho’ don’t look like Missus Fowler in her fancy silk dress.

  “Thee must be Elijah.” Johanna set the tray down on an overturned crate and let the blankets fall from her arm. “I am Johanna,” she said as she glanced at Elijah’s bare feet. “Would thee like a soapstone from the woodstove to warm thy feet?”

  “They all right, missus.”

  “I brought bread and soup.”

  Billy yelped with excitement and ran across the barn floor. He reached for a bowl and spoon, grabbed a slice of dark bread, and plopped down on the floor. Elijah stared at the thick slices covered in smooth yellow butter. He hesitated, raised his head, and looked questioningly at Johanna.

  “Thee must eat.”

  Elijah picked up a piece of bread, touched the creamy butter, and licked it from his finger. “This real good, missus.” He reached for the bowl of soup.

  Johanna glanced around the small room. “There is a loft above. Spread your blankets on the hay. Finish eating. I will come by early in the morning. Thee must not leave this shed. There is no meeting for worship until the third day, so thee will not have to worry about people milling about. Not all Quakers—or Friends, as we call ourselves—help runaways find their way to Canada, so thee must always remain in hiding. Tomorrow we will discuss what needs to be done.” She stood and turned toward the door. “Good night.”

  “Good night, Miss Johanna,” said Billy.

  Elijah set his bowl of soup on the floor and hurried across the room, sliding a plank board into the hooks that flanked the barn door as soon as Johanna disappeared from view.

  “She’s a nice lady—’cept I ain’t und
erstandin’ her much,” Billy said as he sponged the last of the broth with his bread and placed the empty bowl on the tray.

  “Yes, suh, she all right.” Elijah walked slowly across the floor, picked up the blankets, and tossed one to Billy. “Go on up the ladder now, Billy, suh.” Blowing out the candle, he fumbled in the instant darkness, climbed the rungs, and settled on the straw beside Billy.

  “Miss Johanna sure talks like a preacher,” Billy said.

  A cold rain beat against the shingled roof. Sheltered in the hay, Billy and Elijah listened to the patter of raindrops, pulled the blankets over their heads, and drifted into peaceable sleep.

  Chapter 16

  Elijah and Billy watched from the window as Johanna stood in the small graveyard outside the horse shed. She had barely moved in the past half-hour. “What she doin’ out there like that? She all right?” Elijah wondered aloud. “You go on out there, Billy, suh, and see if she be needin’ sumthin’.”

  Johanna turned her head as Billy closed the shed door and walked over to her. “This is the grave of Philip Thomas who died when he was only twenty, way back in 1754,” Johanna said. “He was the first member of our Quaker settlement to be buried in the graveyard.”

  “You all right, Miss Johanna? I come out ’cause you been standin’ here a long time.”

  A smile passed over Johanna’s face. “Thee boys need not be concerned. I was holding in the light—praying silently.”

  “Ain’t you got a church for that?”

  Johanna nodded. “Friends hold meetings for worship here, in this brick house. But our worship is different from what thee is accustomed to. Men and women sit on separate sides of the room and wait in silence upon the Lord.”

  “Then why you out here all by yourself?”

  “To seek God’s will by this first grave. In many ways thee reminds me of Philip Thomas; I feel a kinship to him with thee. There is a long history of the Thomas family in this area. Some were disowned as members in our religious society for their participation in the Revolution. It was a family divided on our ancient testimony of peace with all men. So I came here to pray. I have been struggling with how I might help thee and yet not violate this testimony.”