Spring Will Come

by Ginny Dye

  “McClellan is on the move!” one man crowed.

  “Yep. That dirty Yankee and his army of scoundrels are tucking tail and running for good. I reckon those folks in Richmond will be able to sleep a lot more peaceful now.”

  Moses leaned forward, determined not to miss a single word.

  “The man I talked to said Harrison’s Landing looks like a giant mud flat.”

  Anger tinged his companion’s words. “Yeah. They said the old manor house might as well be burned. It won’t ever be the same.”

  “The owner is ready for some Yankee blood, that’s for sure,” one chortled. “Seems he left orders to have the place burned when he evacuated, but his slaves didn’t do it. He hates thinking the Yankees used his home for their hospital.”

  Their words floated on the breeze and then were gone. Moses watched as the boat eased from sight, the paddles flashing in the sun. McClellan’s army was gone. He, himself, had been gone a little more than a week. The peace he had been feeling just minutes before evaporated with the mist. His fists clenched in frustration. He had to figure out a way to determine where he was. He had no way of knowing where Saunders’ plantation was. He would have to take the risk and ask someone.

  Suddenly the idea of hiding in the bushes for a whole day seemed impossible. If he was going to rescue June, he would have to take the chance of being caught. Five weeks had seemed like an eternity when Captain Jones had offered it. Now he was seeing it in the light of reality – it would be a struggle to make it back in time. Besides, he had to find something to eat besides fruit if he was to have the strength to keep going. Muttering a prayer under his breath, Moses continued his way down the river and ignored his fatigue. At least it was easier going in daylight. He could see the branches before they slapped him in the face, and there were not as many mosquitoes. He was making better time - wherever he was.

  Moses planned as he walked. He would get as far as possible in the light. Then he would creep inland and look for some slaves to give him information. He looked down at his clothes and grinned. No one would confuse him with a Union soldier. His clothes were stained with mud and dust as well as torn in several places from the brambles.

  Suddenly Moses jerked to a halt, staring around him. His pulse quickened as he realized what he was looking at. A wide grin spread across his face as he turned inland. Cromwell Plantation! He was sure he had passed it during one of the long nights. The idea of slinking in to visit his friends had crossed his mind, but the need for speed had chased it out again. His brow creased as he realized he had not been making as good of time as he thought. He knew he had been moving slowly, but he hadn’t thought his floundering in the night had cost him that much. His lips tightened as he strode forward. He had wasted too much time.

  Caution kept him in the trees. He had no idea what to expect. Union troops had destroyed other homes along the river. Had they set fire to Cromwell? Would he find any of his old friends? Would he find anyone to help him? Pushing down the questions, Moses concentrated on approaching the slave quarters undetected. It seemed like just minutes before he was pushing aside the brush and peering out onto his old home. What he saw made his face split in a wide grin. Opal!

  Moses stood slowly and eased from his cover and stood quietly in the shade. It was just moments before Opal looked up. Time stood still as she stared, shook her head, rubbed her eyes then stared again. “Hello, Opal,” Moses said with a smile.

  “Moses! Glory be! Moses!” Opal cried, running forward. “I can’t believe my eyes. Is it really you?”

  Moses put a finger to his grinning lips. “I’d just as soon the whole world not know I’m here.”

  Opal slapped her hand to her mouth. “Of course not!” she whispered. Then she wrapped her arms around him in a big hug. “Glory be. It’s great to see you!” She stopped suddenly, her eyes wide. “What are you doing here? Are you in trouble? Some kind of spy mission?”

  Moses shook his head. “Are there any soldiers here?”

  “What kind?”

  “Any kind!” he exclaimed then relaxed as he saw the smile playing on Opal’s lips. She was teasing him - she hadn’t changed a bit.

  “There aren’t any soldiers here, Moses. You’re safe. The soldiers took all the food they needed in the spring. The only food we have here now is what we’re growing ourselves. But we’re doing fine. A lot better than the folks in Richmond,” she said then frowned. “Have you seen Carrie? Is she all right?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since I left her in the tunnel.”

  “You think she made it to Richmond?”

  “Carrie is a resourceful young lady. If anyone could have made it, she did.” He changed the subject. “Is Sam still here?” He was pretty sure the old butler was the only one who could help him.

  Opal nodded. “Everyone is still here who was here two months ago. We’ve all decided the whole world has gone so crazy we might as well stay put. At least we know we can eat and the Union army doesn’t seem to want to harm us.”

  “Most of them are good men,” Moses agreed. “Just be careful. Some of them hate blacks as much as any Southerner does.”

  “That’s what Sam told me,” Opal said with a wise look. “Said hatred isn’t just northern or southern.”

  Moses smiled. The old man was still as sharp as ever. He was suddenly eager to see Sam again. “Is he in the house?” When Opal nodded, he took off at a jog. Memories flooded him as he ran up the driveway - riding up the night Cromwell had bought him, cramped in the back of an open wagon; seeing Rose for the first time; Old Sarah helping him let go of his hate... When the big house broke into view, Moses slowed to a walk.

  An old man, his bearing erect, his eyes sharp, appeared on the porch. Moses continued to walk forward until a wide grin spread on the man’s face.

  “Moses! It’s good to see you, boy.”

  Moses laughed loudly. Sam’s voice was as casual as if they saw each other daily. Only his eyes revealed his pleasure. “Hello, Sam. It’s good to see you, too.” He paused. “I don’t have much time.”

  “Somethin’ tells me you didn’t just show up for a social visit,” Sam drawled.

  Moses sank down on the step. “I’m looking for a man named Saunders. Actually I’m looking for his plantation. All I know is it’s somewhere south about fifty miles from Richmond.”

  Sam nodded. “That would be old Joshua Saunders. Owns Millstone Plantation.”

  Moses’ pulse quickened. He’d come to the right place. “You know where it is?” he asked eagerly.

  Sam nodded again. “You don’t look like you’ve eat for a while, boy. Why don’t I be tellin’ you how to get there over some food?”

  Minutes later, Moses was shoveling hot food into his mouth. He didn’t think he’d ever tasted anything so good. After weeks of hardtack and beans then nothing but fruit, the steaming vegetables and hot cornbread were delicious. He could feel life pour back into his body as plate after plate disappeared beneath him. Not until he was full did he look around. “How do you like being lord of the manor?”

  Sam shrugged, a smile playing at his lips. “Bout as well as I thought I would,” he replied. “I know it can’t last for good, but I’m enjoyin’ it sure enough for now.” He paused. “Opal even taught me how to read.”

  “That’s great, Sam!” His voice turned serious. “Keep learning, Sam. There’s a lot of people up North who want to see us free. I can feel it coming, Sam. I can feel it coming.”

  “Yep,” the old man said easily. “It’s coming. Now each person got to figure out what they’re goin’ to do with it - use it or waste it.”

  “You haven’t changed,” Moses laughed. “You always know how to say it the way it is.”

  Sam changed the subject. “Why you need to know where Saunders lives?”

  Moses was instantly all business. “I’m going after my little sister June.”

  “The army know you’re doing this?” When Moses nodded, he continued. “How you aim to get
her out of there?”

  Moses shrugged. “I haven’t figured out all the details yet. First I have to get there.”

  “It’ll come to you,” Sam agreed. He pulled out a sheet of paper and began to draw a crude map.

  Moses leaned forward to watch him. Concern flooded his mind. Sam knew the roads, but he couldn’t travel on the roads. It would be too easy to get caught. Would he be able to continue down the river and then pick up on the map when he thought he was far enough south? His mind raced as he tried to formulate a plan.

  Sam read his thoughts. He sat back and studied the map for a long time. Finally he spoke. “I don’t imagine the roads are too safe for you.”

  Moses just shook his head, still staring at the map. A long silence passed as both men pondered the problem.

  “You gots to take the boat,” Sam stated quietly.

  “The boat? What boat?” Moses asked.

  “Marse Cromwell’s boat. It was hidden purty good when the soldiers came through. Figured we might need it some day, so we hid it even better.”

  “I don’t want to take it if you’re going to need it,” Moses protested.

  “I figure this is what we needed it for,” Sam observed quietly. “I ain’t plannin’ on gettin’ in any boat and floatin’ down that river. If you want it, you welcome to it.”

  Moses considered his options. He could continue to flounder down the river on shore, or he could take his chances of floating downstream under the cover of night. According to Sam’s map, he still had a good thirty miles to go. He had to find June and get her out of there, or he would never make it back to his unit on time. “I’ll take it,” he announced.

  Sam stood and headed back toward the kitchen. “I reckon you goin’ to need some food.”

  Moses followed, once more confident in God’s leading.

  It was almost dark when Sam stopped in front of a jumbled pile of brush and limbs. “There’s your boat.”

  Minutes later Moses had uncovered the simple rowboat.

  “The Union soldiers took Marse Cromwell’s big boat. They didn’t get this one,” he said proudly.

  Moses stared at it in delight. “It’s just like the one Rose and I rowed across the Potomac,” he said quietly. Once again memories poured into his mind. Memories - along with an ache of longing. He would give anything to see her right now - to hold her in his arms and feel her soft lips. Resolutely he pushed the thoughts away; they would bring him nothing but torment right now.

  Sam helped him carry the boat to the edge of the water and then stepped back. “God bless you, boy.”

  Moses exchanged a long look with him and then embraced the old man. “Thank you, Sam.”

  “We gots to stick together, boy. That’s how we all gonna make it. I learned that a long time ago.”

  Moses watched until Sam’s figure was swallowed by darkness. Then he settled into steady rowing. He figured it would take him two nights to travel the thirty miles. He would have to estimate his distance the best he could. Sam had studied the river then told him by his figuring Moses could make between three to four miles an hour.

  Memories assailed Moses as he pulled at the oars. He could almost see Rose in the bow of the boat. He could almost feel her hands massaging his shoulders to ease his bunched muscles. He could almost hear her beautiful voice singing out into the night. The scary moments of their escape took on precious meaning as he relived them. They had fought their fears and conquered them - together. Once again the ache of missing Rose swelled up in him, tightening his throat and constricting his stomach.

  He groaned and leaned harder into the oars. Sweat poured down his face, and his breath came in quick gasps. Finally he gave a short laugh and stopped rowing. If he kept up this pace, he wouldn’t be able to paddle by midnight. He knew how important it was to maintain a steady momentum. Moses searched his mind for something to take his mind off Rose. There was only one thing that came to mind. He kept his voice low as his deep bass floated toward the heavens.

  Sometimes I feel like a motherless chile,

  Sometimes I feel like a motherless chile,

  Sometimes I feel like a motherless chile,

  A long ways from home,

  A long ways from home.

  True believer, true believer,

  A long ways from home,

  A long ways from home.

  Sometimes I feel like a moaning dove,

  Sometimes I feel like a moaning dove,

  Sometimes I feel like a moaning dove,

  A long ways from home,

  A long ways from home.

  True believer, true believer,

  A long ways from home,

  A long ways from home.

  When Moses finished singing that song, he launched into another. Just like generations before him, the words poured hope into his heart. The songs he sang were not merely songs; they were life itself - the life of the human soul. They had been all that kept his people going at times. He recognized them as a rich heritage. He poured out his soul – the songs in return poured life back into his soul.

  When he was finally quiet, the inky night embraced him in fellowship and brotherhood. The soft breeze caressed his aching muscles and kept the mosquitoes at bay. Twinkling stars whispered great secrets of the universe. Hooting owls joined with croaking frogs to form a background symphony for the gentle lapping of the waves. A shooting star grabbed his attention as it flashed across the sky then faded into oblivion. Moses continued to hum quietly as the boat glided across the water.

  Two mornings later, Moses pulled the boat ashore at first light, found a place to hide it, and then carefully covered it with limbs and piles of brush. If anyone looked closely, they would know something had been hastily concealed, but it would have to do. If he moved quickly, he might find someone in the area who could tell him how to locate Millstone Plantation.

  Once the boat was hidden, Moses settled down on a log and finished off the last of the cornbread and sweet potatoes Sam had sent with him. He washed it down with a canteen full of water then turned to the river to refill it. He stood on the bank of the James River for several minutes and stared out into the early dawn. He would miss the river. It had become his friend during the last two long nights. He had shared secrets, memories, and hopes with the great expanse. In return, it had taught him one of the lessons of life.

  Life will always flow on, it had whispered gently. You might try to stop it, but no one can alter the flow of life. You can only learn how to move with it gracefully, tumbling through the rough times, restoring yourself during the smooth times - knowing that wherever it takes you a mightier hand than yours is guiding you - always directing your path.

  Moses raised his hand in farewell then disappeared into the woods. Thirty minutes of hard walking brought him to a narrow dirt road, dusty from the heat. The morning air was still cool, but the sun promised another searing day. Moses stood still, pondering his options. The road seemed little used, but that didn’t mean anything. He was so close to June! Dare he risk walking down the open road? A clatter of wheels in the distance made his decision. Turning quickly, he dove for cover in the bushes then peered out, watching to see who was coming.

  The sounds of an approaching wagon drew closer and then finally materialized into a rickety open wagon, drawn by an equally rickety mule. Moses waited quietly, watching closely as the wagon drew nearer. Not until he could tell the driver was an elderly black man did he step from his cover in the woods.

  “Whoa there!” the driver called in a startled voice. “What you want, boy?” came the suspicious question.

  “I mean no harm,” Moses assured him.

  “Hmph. Don’t reckon as how I could stop you if you did,” the man drawled. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking for Millstone Plantation.”

  “Millstone, eh?” The man examined him for a long moment then barked. “What for?”

  Moses hesitated then chose honesty. “I’m looking for my sister.”


  The driver looked puzzled. “Am I missing something here? What’s a young buck like you roaming the country for? You be a free man, boy?”

  Moses smiled. “I am unless the wrong people find me.” Instinctively, he knew he could trust this man.

  The driver threw back his head and laughed heartily. “My name be Bartholomew. My friends call me Bart.”

  Moses moved forward and shook hands firmly. “I’m Moses.”

  “And you’re looking for Millstone Plantation. Well, you ain’t too far away, boy.”

  Moses’ heart quickened in anticipation. “How far?” he asked quickly.

  “Oh, I reckon you can be there in less than an hour if you want to climb in this wagon with me.”

  Moses thought quickly. Regretfully, he shook his head. “I don’t think I better be doing that. I’ve come a long way without anyone seeing me. I think I’ll just walk.”

  “Suit yourself, boy,” Bart said casually. “Your sister know you’re coming?”

  “No.” Moses didn’t see the need to say any more. He was sure Bart could be trusted but the less said the better.

  “Well, you tell me who she is, and I’ll let her know you’re on the way.”

  “You’re from Millstone?” Moses asked incredulously.

  “Lived there all my life,” he said with a grin then became very serious. “Moses, you listen to me. You stay to the woods, and you’ll be just fine. Follow this road up a couple of miles till you reach a stand of tall pine trees - you’ll know em when you see em. Take the right fork - it’ll take you right into the plantation. The slave quarters ain’t too far from the big house.” He paused. “Old Marse Saunders high-tailed it for Richmond when the Yanks come through. Had the place to ourselves for a while. Now the overseer is back. He’s a pretty good man - treats us pretty good, but he ain’t gonna take kindly to someone comin’ for one of his slaves.”