Midnight Rose

by Patricia Hagan

  Erin was terrified, helpless beneath him. He was lying to one side, pressed against her thigh, as he forced her legs apart with his knee. Grabbing her wrists with one hand, he pinned her down, assaulting her with his other. She rocked back and forth, horrified, knowing any second he’d have his way with her.

  His body was pressing down her other leg, and when he maneuvered to unfasten his pants and release himself, she felt the momentary laxity in his hold. Gathering all her strength, she jerked one arm free, and sent her fist slamming into that giant, throbbing thing that was about to invade her. With a scream of pain, he tore away from her, doubling over in agony.

  Erin was on her feet at once. Chest heaving, rage and terror melding together like hot, molten lava through her veins, she towered over him to gasp, “If you ever touch me again, so help me God, I’ll kill you!”

  He managed to get to his knees, and fire was in his eyes as he glowered up at her. “Just who the hell do you think you are?” He was nearly choking on his fury. “You dare threaten me? I’ll tell you something, you little strumpet…”

  She began to back up toward the door, then snatched up a vase in case he tried to attack again.

  Slowly, he struggled to his feet; then, leaning against the desk, he made his way around to the chair. “Next time, I’ll be sober, and we’re gonna talk about this, ’cause it’s time you learned which side your bread’s buttered on. You’re gonna find out just how mean I can be. And remember somethin’ else: if you ain’t good to me, I’ll see your momma suffers for it, too.” He fumbled in a drawer, took out a flask. Unscrewing the top, he tilted it up to his lips and drank greedily, watching her all the while.

  She shuddered with contempt, and, yes, fear. In that frozen moment, Erin knew there was but one way out of the hell on earth her life had become, for both her and her mother.

  She had to marry Ryan Youngblood.

  Albeit a deceitful arrangement, Ryan deserved it, she rationalized, in a way. Like her mother claimed, there was a matter of honor involved. He had insulted her by presuming she wasn’t good enough to be his wife, fit only to be a kept woman, a prostitute by any other name. Instead, he would have to marry her, according her all the rights and privileges of a wife. She would enjoy a life of luxury and wealth, bearing, in turn, his children, perhaps a son and heir. Meanwhile, he could take some other woman for his mistress to endure society’s censure.

  She would make her position clear from the beginning, and how she also intended to persuade her mother to move in with them to escape Zachary’s mistreatment.

  “Don’t worry.” Zachary snickered between gulps of the whiskey. “We’ll keep this from your momma as long as you keep me happy. The way she is lately, I don’t imagine we’re gonna have to bother with her much longer, anyway.

  “If you play your cards right,” he continued, “I might marry you, like I said. Now get out of here.” He stopped sneering to command, “And send somebody in here to clean up this mess.”

  Erin quickened her steps, and as she reached the door, turned the knob, he yelled, “By the way, there’s no need for you to snoop around in here. You won’t find out where she went.”

  She turned to stare at him, wondering what fiendish torment he’d throw at her next.

  With a deep scowl, he told her, “The damn wench got away.”

  Erin couldn’t hold back a scream of joy. “Thank God!”

  “We’ll get her, though,” he was quick to say. “Me and my men are goin’ right back to the North Carolina line where she got away, and we’re goin’ to fan out in all directions and hire vigilantes and slave hunters, whatever it takes to find her.

  “She got away.” He paused to snicker. “Next time, you won’t.”

  Chapter Nine

  After the ugly encounter with Zachary, Erin had taken time to change clothes, hiding the torn dress in the bottom of her armoire. Later, she’d make sure it was thrown out, for it was beyond repair, and she didn’t want her mother to see it and ask how it happened. Then, she’d gone in search of Rosa, to tell her what she’d just learned.

  As she left by the back door and hurried across the yard toward the outbuildings, she could see Zachary over at the barn. Evidently, the reason he’d gone back to the house, after she dared think it safe to go in his study, had been to take weapons from the gun cabinet there. She could see him handing over several to Frank and the other white men gathered. No doubt he was sending out a search party, all the way to the vicinity of where Letty had managed to escape.

  Beyond the outbuildings—the kitchen, blacksmith, weavers, brickmakers, and several storage facilities—a path began to wind down toward the creek. She made her way past the nicer overseers’ section—log cabins in a neat row along cleared, smooth banks sloping to the creek. Farther along, the area became almost swampy, with fallen trees and dense undergrowth to the sides of the path. Zachary didn’t allow any clearing, wanting the denseness for a divider between slaves and white workers.

  She walked the trail for nearly a half mile, ever on the lookout for snakes. In the summer months, it wasn’t unusual to find a copperhead water moccasin curled up beneath a pokeberry bush. Several slaves had been bitten in the past, and one, a small child, had died from the venomous bite.

  Finally, she reached the slave compound, where three dozen or more tiny wooden shacks circled a clearing. The dilapidated porches were clustered with curiously staring children—pickaninnies, Zachary derisively referred to them. She knew most of them had to be less than five years old. Zachary sent children older than that into the fields to do whatever work their strength allowed.

  She knew which shack was Rosa’s. She had been there so many times in younger years to play with Letty. Back then, she hadn’t paid any attention to the pitiful way the slaves lived. Now it leaped out at her like a cat after a field mouse, to painfully grab all her senses. She saw the shabbiness—rough-hewn log shacks, the roofs speckled with bits of trash and rags that had been stuffed into holes to try and keep out the rain. Doors hung open to give as much air as possible in the sweltering heat, because there were few windows—Zachary’s only offering for insulation against winter chill. As she approached Rosa’s cabin, it was impossible to tell where outside ended and inside began, for the floor was just dirt, a coarse, yellow, sandy kind of soil.

  As she walked in, she was blasted by the heat of the open hearth. Rosa, trying to focus on something besides her troubles, was busy checking a stewing opossum. The heavy air was pungent with the smell of smoke and melting animal fat.

  Hearing her come in, Rosa swung around to cry, “Did you find out where he took her, where he sold my baby girl?”

  “No, I didn’t,” she responded quickly, wanting to just get it over with, “because it looks like Letty escaped.”

  At that, Rosa fell to her knees and began to offer up a prayer of thanksgiving. A few women who had gathered outside when they saw Erin come into the compound heard and quickly rushed in to join the frenzy.

  Erin stared in wonder, unable to figure out what they were so happy about. Didn’t they realize the perils Letty now faced as a runaway slave? Not only was Zachary organizing a hunt, there were also ruthless vigilantes about, who made a living tracking down the fugitives, using trained dogs to flush them out of hiding. Letty wouldn’t know who to trust, because informers were generously rewarded by enraged slave owners. She had no money, no friends, only the clothes on her back, and she was out there somewhere in the wilderness between Virginia and North Carolina, scared, hungry, and lost.

  To be captured, Erin had heard, was even worse. Some runaways were punished by having a portion of one foot brutally hacked off with an ax, and, at the very least, were mercilessly whipped. Yet, despite all the grimness, the women were rejoicing.

  In the middle of it all, Ben came running in to pull Rosa to her feet and give her a big bear hug in shared jubilation. He was barefooted and shirtless, his baggy, ragged pants tied about his narrow waist with a piece of rope. Unlike other plant
ation owners who made an effort to keep their slaves in adequate clothes and shoes, Zachary didn’t care. The women wore clothes made from burlap feed bags, and many of the children just ran around naked in the summer months, like the ones now gathered in the doorway, curious as to why all the grownups were shouting and crying.

  Ben’s face, still pitifully swollen, spread into a relieved grin as he called to Erin, “It’s God’s blessin’, Miz Erin. Oh, thank Jesus, she was able to get away.”

  Before she could ask why on earth they were all celebrating, Tulwah appeared, as he had a habit of doing at odd times and places. He was a free Negro, much to the dismay of people like Zachary, and had the papers to prove it. Despite the heat, he was attired in his usual purple-and-red woven robe. His feet were bare, but he wore gold rings around his toes. A leather thong around his neck held tiny bags of foul-smelling herbs and weird-shaped charms. Erin thought she saw a dried chicken foot among them and shuddered.

  He looked about suspiciously, and when he saw Erin, he frowned. Ben was quick to assure him, “It’s all right, Tulwah. Miz Erin won’t say nothin’. She’s the one what brought us the news about Letty.”

  Tulwah remained skeptical, crossed the tiny cabin to put an arm about Rosa and whisper something in her ear. She nodded, looked pleased over whatever he’d said. Then, with another wary look at Erin, he left as quietly and quickly as he came.

  Exasperated, she asked of no one in particular, “Will somebody please tell me what’s happening here? Why are you all so excited? Don’t you realize what Letty has done? She’s now a fugitive, the same as an outlaw, and they can shoot her if they want to, and—”

  “They always could, Miz Erin,” Ben interrupted. “Don’t you know that nobody cares if a slave gets killed? But what you got to understand now is that Letty has a chance to be free. Once she gets in touch with the Free Soil workers, and…” His voice trailed off at the admonishing gasps exploding all around him in the tiny one-room shack.

  “Ben, you say too much!” one woman cried.

  Rosa was quick to defend him. “No, it’s all right. Miz Erin can be trusted. She’s our friend. I speak for her.”

  There were some disgruntled mumblings, and Ben waved everyone out. When the three of them were alone, he exchanged an affirming nod with Rosa, took a deep breath, and proceeded to tell Erin why they were all so relieved. “I guess it’s all right for me to tell you, ’cause you’ve sure let us know you ain’t like them other white folks, the ones what don’t think of us no better than a hound dog.”

  “Go on,” she urged, anxious to learn finally what was going on.

  “There’s a secret group callin’ themselves ‘Free Soilers,’ that’s helpin’ runaways. It’s made up of free blacks and runaways, and they’re in every community along the way north. Letty will be fine once she makes her way to one of them, and she’s better off than most runaways, ’cause thanks to you, she’s smarter. You broke the rules and taught her to read and write.

  “I’m gonna tell you somethin’ else, too,” he went on. “Me and Letty had been talkin’ about runnin’ away, ’cause things here are gettin’ so bad”—he paused to flash an accusing look at Rosa—“but she couldn’t talk her mammy into goin’ with us and wouldn’t leave without her.”

  “I’m too old to run,” Rosa said brokenly, wearily.

  He ignored her to continue, “So you see, Letty is on her way now, and she’ll find a way to get word to me where she is, soon as she can.”

  Erin was fascinated, dared to feel hope that maybe there was justification to rejoice. But she wanted to know more about this new group that she was glad to hear existed. “Where do you think she went? Where does this…this underground trail take the runaways?”

  “The free state of—” He hesitated, not sure how to pronounce it. “Penn…suhl…vainyuh. A place called…” He shook his head. He heard only smatterings of what went on up north, and if the words and names and places were unfamiliar, they slipped right over his head.

  “Philadelphia?” she guessed. He nodded. Remembering her geography, she went on to point out, “Pennsylvania would be a likely state. It’s the only one immediately north of the Mason-Dixon line that has an international port—Philadelphia. It would be a natural meeting place for boats traveling north from Virginia, Maryland, and Delaware.”

  Ben wanted to know what the Mason-Dixon line was, and Erin explained that between 1763 and 1767, two Englishmen, Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon, surveyed the two-hundred-thirty-three-mile line to define the long-disputed boundaries of the overlapping land grants of the Penns, proprietors of Pennsylvania, and the Baltimores, proprietors of Maryland. “Actually, it’s considered the dividing line between slave and Free Soil states. That’s obviously where the group helping runaways got their name—the Free Soilers.”

  When he seemed to understand, she prodded, “Do you know what happens to the fugitives once they get there?”

  “Well, I’ve heard there’s a bunch of folks up there called Quakers, and they’re helpin’ set up places where they can live. Like colonies, I heard somebody say.”

  “The Quakers,” she clarified, “are a Christian group, and their church is also known as Friends. I’m not at all surprised to hear they’d oppose slavery. Pennsylvania would also be a perfect state for sanctuary for runaways, because once they cross the rough terrain of the mountains in the south central part, the same mountains will prove to be a natural fortress to protect them from slave-catchers.

  “I’m glad you told me all this, Ben,” she said, satisfied. “Now maybe I can help, too.”

  He and Rosa looked at each other, not understanding. Rosa asked what she was talking about.

  Bluntly she declared, “I’ve always been against slavery, and if there’s an organization to help runaways, then I want to be a part of it. I wish you’d told me all this sooner.”

  Ben spoke up to warn, “If Mastah Zachary was to even hear you talkin’ like this, he’d likely drag you through them swamps to that whippin’ post and have old Frank beat you bloody with that rawhide whip, just like he beats us. You is a fine woman, Miz Erin, and me and all my people love you, but you just can’t get messed up in this. It’s too dangerous.”

  She dismissed his fears with an airy wave of her hand. “He’s not going to find out. Now, I’ve got something to share with you two.” She proceeded to confide her plans to marry Ryan Youngblood, sharing her motivation, and her ultimate goal for her mother to be able to leave Zachary. “Once I’m established as mistress of Jasmine Hill,” she predicted, “I’ll have access to Youngblood money. I can help the cause in many ways, and I think I’m smart enough to do it without getting caught.”

  Ben was quick to agree, “You’re smart, all right, Miz Erin. If anybody can do it, you can. We just don’t want you gettin’ in no trouble.”

  Turning to Rosa, she assured her, “I’m going to help you get out of here as soon as possible.”

  “Letty won’t never be happy till she’s got you with her, Rosa,” Ben chimed in.

  “I can’t leave Miz Arlene,” Rosa announced, casting her eyes downward, rubbed at them with the back of her hand as fresh tears stung. “I just can’t leave her.”

  Erin quickly reminded her, “But I told you, I’m going to persuade her to move with me to Jasmine Hill. I’m sure the only reason she’s put up with Zachary’s meanness all these years, anyway, is that she hasn’t had anywhere else to go, and she was also determined to make sure I’d never want for anything. It’s all come together for me these past weeks, don’t you see? She’s wanted to get me married off, so she wouldn’t have to tolerate his abuse. Maybe all along she was hoping she could go with me, and—”

  “That ain’t the only reason, Miz Erin.”

  Erin felt the cold fingers of apprehension twist about her spine. Perhaps, in the back of her own mind, she’d known all along something else was being kept from her. “Tell me.”

  “Your momma ain’t well. It’s nothin’ I know for certain
, now, so don’t you go gettin’ upset and thinkin’ she told me somethin’ she wouldn’t tell you. It ain’t like that at all. It’s just that I’ve known her so long, you see. Mastah Zachary, he bought me right after they got married, remember? While you and her was on the way here for the first time. I’ve known her and loved her all these years, and I’ve seen lately how she’s fadin’ away, gettin’ weak from that awful coughin’. Why, I tol’ Tulwah just the other day about how bad it was gettin’, and he’s got some special syrup brewin’ in his shack down in the swamp right now, just for her.

  “She just ain’t well, Miz Erin,” Rosa repeated as she looked at her with worry etched in her dark face, “and I can’t leave her right now, but you got to, ’cause she tol’ me how powerful bad she wants you to marry Mastah Youngblood. Then you can talk her into goin’ with you, but till then, I can’t leave her, ’cause with you gone, she wouldn’t have nobody.”

  Erin hugged her with gratitude and smiled through her own tears. “Thanks for sharing all this, Rosa, because I’ve been afraid something was wrong, and now that I know for sure, I’m all the more determined to get her moved in safely with me.

  “Then you can be on your way to Letty,” she added with a confident smile. “As for you, Ben…” She turned to him once more. “When do you think you’ll hear something from her?”

  “You didn’t know about Micah. He run away from here just befo’ Christmas, and it wasn’t till two weeks ago we finally heard he’s doin’ fine and livin’ in a colony called Meadville, up in Penn…suhl…vainyuh.” He struggled once more to pronounce the word before he continued. “So we might not hear no news of her for a while. The man who told us about Micah is a secret Free Soiler. He pretends to be a peddler. Sells things like rheumatiz ’lixer from the back of his wagon. Letty will know to get a message to him when she can, ’cause she knows he comes through these parts often.”