That night John listened to wind screeching and howling outside. He was thankful he and Tad weren't out in that, but he was anxious to get moving before they were discovered. This close call had un-nerved him to no end. The quicker he got back north the better he'd feel! His hands still trembled a bit when he thought about the narrow escape.
The next morning when Tad woke, she went down the hall and into the water closet to do her morning business. She wished that she and John could just stay here with kind Mr. Frank and his magnificent house full of food and wonders forever. Truly, Tad had never been exposed to such things before in her short life. She went back to the bedroom and sank back into the soft, warm feather mattress. She snuggled down under the heavy quilts and closed her eyes. She was going to lay there as long as she could and engrave this feeling of being warm, full and comfortable in her mind so that she could always remember this moment, even if she never got to feel this way again. Before she knew it, John was standing over her.
“Little Tad... Time to get ready. Get up.” He gently shook her.
“We gots to go now?”
“Yeah... soon as you eat some breakfast and get dressed we have to be going.”
“Yessir.” She felt like crying.
She ate another generous helping of flap-jacks and jam, then bundled up in her new, over-sized clothes. John lifted her up in his strong arms and placed her in the back of the wagon on a soft bed with many quilts and covers. The wagon was pretty big. Bigger than she'd expected. It had another bed where John could sleep and lots of food and covers for keeping warm. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. More like an adventure than something bad. She had never traveled anywhere... maybe this was just the start of something great and wonderful for her.
John shook Mr. Frank's hand. “I'm much obliged, until you're better paid, sir.”
“You get going while the going is good and watch out for that little one.”
“I will, Mr. Frank.” John climbed onto the driver's seat. “Let's get going!” He shouted and the wagon began rumbling away.
Tad looked out the back and saw Mr. Frank watching them as they went, “Thank you Mr. Frank... I won't forget you!” she shouted.
Mr. Frank waved. “I won't forget you either, Tad! Stay safe!”
Chapter Nine
* * * *
“You're going to have to lay low for a while, John. Hum, this is a pickle. I suppose the only thing to do is kill off Kyle Adams.” Mr. Tyson sat there chewing on a cigar and intently mulling over his thoughts.
“What?” John said in shocked disbelief. “Ain't I Kyle Adams?”
“It'll be simple,” He leaned forward and grasped the stogie in his fingers. “I have people to handle the whole thing and make it look real. Then you'll be able to come and go again as you please.”
“How?”
“We have our ways. The death must be highly publicized too, especially in The South. That won't be hard. Those southern news reporters will be itching to spread the word of your undoing.” Mr. Tyson bit on his fat cigar again.
The smell of it, together with the topic, made John's stomach twist into knots. “What about Tad?”
“We'll find her a family in Canada. Won't be hard finding someone willing to take her in; she's a cute one and sharp as a thorn.”
“Make sure she gets a good home, Mr. Tyson. She deserves the best. She's a bit like my guardian angel, special to me.”
“Don't worry, son. I know of a few good families who'd love to have her. Of course we'll have to wait until spring to get her across into Canada. She's too small to try taking her now. But I'll handle the whole matter myself. She can stay at the boarding house with you until time to go. I don't suppose one little black girl will draw too much attention. She needs some outfits. I'll have my daughter's dress maker measure her this evening.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“John, from now on, it might be smart of you to use different names in every town you visit. You'll keep them mixed up that way.”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
“It gets expensive killing off aliases.” Mr. Tyson let out his throaty laugh.
“I understand.” John stood from the plush leather chair and they shook hands. “Have a fine day, Mr. Tyson.”
“You too, John. Oh, and it might not be a bad idea to see how you'd look in a mustache.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Wouldn't hurt to change your looks a bit. Know what I mean?”
“Yes, sir. I understand.” John walked out of Mr. Tyson's office not feeling altogether comfortable with the topic of their conversation. To fake a death, there'd have to be a body, right? Where would that come from? Who would that be? John tried to shake the thought, but it kept haunting him.
“Well, how'd it go, John?” Doug asked.
“As good as can be expected, I guess; considering.”
“What ye meanin'?”
“They're going to have to kill me off.”
“Really? What kind of food will be served at yer funeral?” Doug laughed.
“You can find something amusing about anything, can't you?”
“Better laughin’ than cryin’ and worrin', I always say. Laughin’ be keepin’ ye sane in this business.”
“And you call yourself sane, huh?”
“Sure, there ain't a thing wrong with me.” He twitched his head and flickered his eyes in an exaggerated, spastic manner.
John couldn't help laughing. “You are pure nuts, you know that!”
“Yeah, I do... but ye are too. We both got to be nuts to be puttin’ ourselves in this situation.”
“But, it's a good and noble thing we do.”
“Oh yeah, I'd give me very life to do it!” He laughed again.
“I swear, if you can make me smile on a day like today, I don't guess there's anything you can't do.”
The reports of Kyle Adams’ death indeed did spread far and wide just as Mr. Tyson had wanted. One paper John picked up read: Highly vocal abolitionist, Kyle Adams, was found dead last Tuesday hanging from a tree in southern Georgia. John wadded the paper and threw it into the fireplace. A cold chill ran down his spine. Well, looks like it's done. He looked in the mirror at his new mustache. His face was unusually pale. John wondered if he should grow a beard or merely the mustache... or should he save that until the next time he had to change his looks? He hoped there wouldn't be a next time.
John poured himself a drink, sat in his favorite chair at the front of the fireplace and closed his eyes, he was uneasy. He wasn't looking forward to going back to work. At just barely eighteen, John had already lived a life full of burdens and high expectations. He'd already died once. The thought just would not pass, that perhaps the next time, it really would be him hanging from that tree. Suddenly Tad burst through the door carrying a large box.
“Mr. John, Mr. John! Look at what Mr. Tyson sent me.” She held the box toward him.
“Let's see what you have here.” He took the package from her. Inside was a new winter coat and a fancy dress.
“And it just fits me, Mr. John! Looks like it was made just for me. It ain't too big and it ain't too small.” She beamed.
“I think it was made for just you, Tad. Remember when Mr. Tyson took you to that woman and she measured you?”
“Yessir. I just forgot.”
“Well, this is why she did that. So she could make you some clothes just to fit you.”
“You mean that these clothes won't fit nobody else on earth but me? They is mine, only?”
“That's right. They weren't made for anyone else on earth but you.”
“Oh my!” she exclaimed. “I ain't never thought I'd see a day like this.”
“And that isn't all. There'll be more coming if I know Mr. Tyson. He loves to spoil sweet little girls like you.” John patted her on her head. Then he turned to gaze back into the fire.
“What be the matter, Mr. John?” She looked puzzled.
“Nothing, my sweet little Tad... j
ust business.”
“You in trouble?”
“No, everything is fine. You go on and put on those new duds.”
“Shouldn't I save them?” She cocked her head to one side.
“No, they were meant to be worn. Go on.” Tad smiled and eagerly ran off to change.
John didn't leave his room for days. He mulled over the fact that Kyle Adams had to die. Who was this man who had taken his place? Where did he come from? It all gave him an eerie feeling. A sickening coldness in his bones.
Doug came to his room. He poked his head through the door. “Hey there, corpse! How it be feelin’ to be dead?” he asked playfully as he entered.
“Not too good, I daresay.”
“Oh, ye got a whole new life a waitin'... wanna come out and celebrate with me?”
“Celebrate? How?”
“By livin’ it up a bit... Come on! Get out of this blasted room for a while. Stop actin’ like a dead man. Ye do know it was just a hoax, don't ye?”
“You keep joking about it and I don't think it's all that funny... you don't know how it feels!”
“Ye think not? How many times ye think I'll be dyin'? We're in this together, remember. We both know this be dangerous work, but we can't stop until we succeed. Because of people like us support for slavery is dwindling every day. Why don't ye think about that and not so much about yerself? Just live while ye can, work till ye can't and be content in doin’ what ‘tis right.” He slapped John on the shoulder. “Now come on, get up out of this chair. Tonight's the night we live it up a little or a lot, whatever happens, happens.”
John smiled. Doug was right. He couldn't let slavery enslave him. He threw on his coat and they went out for a night of freedom from everything. They drank and they laughed. They danced with all the girls they could get their hands on and didn't stumble back in till the wee hours of morning. The boarding house maid, Tess, met them at the door.
“And just where have you two been?” she snapped in her thick, Irish accent as she looked at them sharply.
“We been out celebratin'.” John slurred his words.
“Yeah, celebratin',” Doug echoed John's slurred statement.
“And just what have you two got to celebrate about?”
“We celebratin’ the death of Kyle Adams and the life of John DuVal!” John laughed.
“Ye both stink! Yer reekin’ of the liquor!”
“That ain't the liquor, ‘tis bow-legged Bonnie ye smell.” Doug patted John hard on his back. “Ain't that right, ol’ buddy?”
John looked at Doug. “Shush! Don't tell her that!” he said as he pushed his finger into his lips.
“And just where did you two do all this ‘celabratin'?”
“No, no, no. That ain't for no lady to hear about, so I ain't gonna tell you.” John wagged his finger in her face. “And Doug ain't gonna tell ya neither.”
“That's just fine, it ‘tis. I don't want to be knowin’ anyway.” Tess was trembling with anger. “I thought better of you than this sort of rigmarole, Mr. DuVal.” She stormed away.
“What's the matter with her, you reckon? Why'd she just get onto me? You were there too.” John looked at Doug. “She needs to whip up on you some, too!”
“I think she likes ye. Kissy, kissy, kissy.” Doug smacked his lips at John.
“Don't be ridickulous.” John made his way, with unsteady steps, to the parlor to sit down.
Doug soon followed him. “Haven't ye ever noticed the way she looks at ya? And her gettin’ so upset just now? She acted like she was your wife, she did for cryin’ out loud.”
“Tess? You must really be addled. How much did you drink tonight?”
“Not so much that I'd bed down ol’ bow-legged Bonnie like ye did,” Doug shot back.
“You're not going to stop teasing me about that, are you?”
“Let's see... Um, no.”
“It's not like you've never done it.”
“John, tha better ye get to know me, the better ye'll understand that there be things I will and will not do and bow-legged Bonnie is one of them I won't.” Doug cackled loudly.
“And how is it that you know where all the brothels are within fifty miles, Mr. Purity?”
“There's more to do at those places than bed down tha ladies. I may be wild, I may be tha flirt, but I'm still a gentleman.” He poked out his chest proudly.
“Well, I guess since I'm a ruined scallywag now, I'll try out lopsided Lila next time.”
John and Doug both roared in laughter as Tess passed the parlor. “Could you two take this nonsense up to yer rooms? Tad'll be comin’ down for breakfast soon and I don't want her seein’ ya like this, Mr. DuVal,” she snapped.
“Yes, dear.” Doug said as he winked at John, then left the room.
Tess stared at John. Her eyes looked as if they were shooting daggers at him. It made him uncomfortable. “Um, I'll be going up to my room now too.”
“I should hope so. I'll be bringin’ ya up a strong pot of coffee in a minute. Maybe that'll sober ya up.”
“Thank ya kindly, Miss. Tess, I'll be up in my room anticipating the soberin’ up.” He giggled as he rushed past her. He felt her angry gaze following him as he staggered up the stairs. He turned and looked back, “Did you fall on your broom handle this morning, Miss Tess?”
“Get to yer room, ye makin’ a fool of yeself, ya are!”
“Oh well, fools need love too, don't be mad at me now.” He winked as he smiled back at her.
“Get on with yeself.” She giggled as John blundered on upstairs.
In January there were a few precious days of warm weather when the temperature soared into the mid sixties. Sarah spent these days down by the stream reading John's letters. This was her favorite spot. The trickling music of the water soothed her soul as it washed over the rocks going to places she could only imagine. To her, the water was a freed spirit gaily laughing as it made its way toward new lands, cutting new paths and pushing forward to join something greater than itself. Sometimes Sarah dreamed of riding the waters to someplace far away from here: to see what the water saw; to go where the water went; to have an adventure. Like John, she craved to explore this world that she'd only read about, to reach out from a mere observer to become a real part of it. Her soaring thoughts were interrupted by a whistle echoing through the woods. It was Shane. He stepped from behind the brush to find her.
“Well, hi there, girl. You here again?” He smiled at her.
“Hi Shane. Oh yeah, you know this is my spot. What are you doing here?” She smiled back.
“Going fishin'.” He held up his pole. “It's too fine of a day to spend in the house.”
“That's true. Where's Greta?”
“She's helping Ma with our sister's wedding dress.”
“I can't believe your folks are letting her get married already!”
“Well, it's what she wants. Besides, our folks were married at her age.”
“I think I'll run over and see Greta.” Sarah stood up and packed John's letter back in her leather purse.
“She'll be glad to see you. What's that you got there?”
“Just letters from John.”
“You miss him an awful lot, don't you?”
“Yeah, Shane, I do.”
“He'll probably be coming home one of these old days.”
“I don't know,” Sarah mourned. “It's just my luck that the good brother would leave and never come back and the mean one would be with me for the rest of my life.”
Shane walked over and placed his hand on her shoulder. “You can't be like that. Besides, you have me and Greta, your luck isn't all bad, is it?” He looked into her face with his sparkling blue eyes as he gently stroked her cheek.
“You're right, I have lots to be thankful for. Sometimes it's more fun to feel sorry for myself though.” She smiled. “You're a great friend.” She looked into his eyes for a moment. “Well, good luck.” She stepped back. “I hope you catch the big one today!”
; “Thanks. You and Greta have a good visit.”
“We always do.” She smiled at him again, then trotted off toward the Thompson's place as Shane watched her go.
Sarah knocked on the door and Mrs. Thompson yelled, “Come in.” As she entered, Greta was sewing the lace on Vivian's gown while Mrs. Thompson was fitting the veil. The fourteen year old bride looked like an overdressed china doll. Way too young to play the role given her. Sarah decided then and there that she would never allow herself to look so ridiculous. She didn't care if folks did call her an old maid. She wouldn't marry before her time.
“How do you like it?” Greta asked.
“The dress is beautiful.” Sarah smiled.
“Yes, we've put a lot of work into it. My baby is going to be the most beautiful bride ever!” Mrs. Thompson smiled. “So what brings you around today?”
“Nothing much, I saw Shane and he told me you two were working on the wedding dress and I just had to see it. You know I've got to see it before everyone else does,” Sarah said.
“It's so good to see you, Sarah! Hasn't this weather been just awful?”
“Yes, it certainly has been. But things are looking brighter now. I've been soaking in this wonderful sunshine.”
“I do hope it will keep shining.” Mrs. Thompson sighed. “I need to do my washing. Dirty laundry is piled high.”
“Care to help me tack on some lace?” Greta looked up at Sarah from where she sat on the floor attaching the lace.
“Sure! I'd love to help.” She sat beside Greta and held the delicate, white lace. “This is so fine it's almost not here.”
“It is, isn't it? Momma worked for hours tatting the finest thread she had.”
“It looks like it was made by spiders.” Vivian cooed. “Nothing is more delicate than that.”
“Are you calling all my hard work spider webs?” Mrs. Thompson faked being insulted as she propped her hands on her hips. Everyone laughed.
“You know we're talking about the fine delicacy of your work, Ma. Besides, I've always thought spider webs were kind of dreamy and mystical,” Vivian explained.
It was late afternoon when Sarah made it back home. “Where on earth have you been?” Marion asked.
By Way of the Rose Page 11
