Morning Star

by Judith Plaxton

  “A man should be paid for his work, not have to depend on others for the necessities of life. All men are equal unto the Lord.”

  “Ma! That man that’s speaking…it sounds like Mr. Pemberton. Maybe he’s going to help us.” Cleo lowered her head and shook it side to side.

  The shouting outside grew louder and angrier. “We don’t want any interference! Get down from there and be on your way.”

  “I’m here to help you—to bring a message, to lead you on the path of righteousness.”

  “We can find our own way, thank you very much.”

  “Put your trust in the Lord and his messenger.”

  Flower noted the repetition of the word “message” and felt sure it was meant for their ears more than for the sullen crowd outside. “Listen, Ma. Listen to what he’s saying. I think he’s saying it to us.” Cleo stopped rocking and leaned forward. Flower whispered to her father, “Pa, Mr. Pemberton is outside. He’s talking to those bad people, but his words are meant for us to hear.”

  Eldon rolled onto his back, then, with effort, pushed himself upright into a sitting position. His eyes remained closed, the left one swollen shut. The three of them sat motionless, listening hard.

  “We don’t need some know-it-all sticking his nose into our business.”

  “We’re doing what’s legally right.”

  “Yeah!”

  “Stop for a moment and consider the Golden Rule, to do unto others as you would want done to you, to live a life of kindness and consideration.” Noah Pemberton continued, his voice rising dramatically, “There is a door open for thee, following in the footsteps of goodness, through the dark pathway of evil, into the light.”

  Flower stood at the bars, looked out of the cell, and peered at the doorway beside the cupboard; it was slightly ajar, and there was darkness in the passageway beyond. Eldon followed her glance. The marshal and his deputy slept on. Cleo started to rock again, then stopped.

  “You’re interfering with our business. You’ve no right. The marshal’s here to make sure things are done true to the law of the land.”

  “You can follow a larger law, a law that follows the path of morality. There will come a time when you must answer to a higher power. What will that answer be?”

  “You can be a righteous person and still have slaves.”

  “I think not.” Now there was silence. “There is a key to the kingdom of heaven, and that key lies within every human heart. That is my message. The key is the instrument to free you from the burden of sin; it opens the door to the passage, leading to salvation.”

  Flower brought her hand from her apron pocket and held up the key for her father to see.

  CHAPTER 42

  Felicia

  ASHLEY ARRIVED late to the lunchtime rehearsal. She swept into the auditorium and up onto center stage. Mr. Butler’s head swung around looking for Josh.

  “We still have time for the Thanksgiving duet. Where’s Mayor Thomas?”

  “Sorry, gotta go,” answered Josh. “I promised Miss Peabody I’d help set up a science experiment for our class.”

  “That’s just an excuse,” said Ashley. “He never wants to practice.”

  “Who’s been here for twenty minutes already?” asked Josh.

  Mr. Butler intervened. “Come now. It only takes three minutes. Let’s have a quick run-through.”

  Josh reluctantly left his group of friends. “Don’t listen,” he muttered to them as he walked by. On stage, he stood with seeming indifference beside Ashley. Mr. Butler counted, “A one and a two…,” and the pair began to sing. Josh’s effort was calm and straightforward; in contrast, Ashley “emoted” with gusto. As they finished the song, she opened her arms wide and accidentally whacked Josh in the chest. He staggered back and clutched his shirt.

  Mr. Butler glowered. “This is not a comedy. It’s a serious effort to bring to life our historical heritage. And furthermore, we present this play in two weeks, just before the holidays. There’s no time for foolishness. Do I make myself clear?”

  “It’s Josh that’s being gross, not me,” said Ashley.

  “Gotta go,” Josh said, as he bounded down the steps of the stage, up the aisle, and out into the hall.

  “Are the four singing pioneer women ready?” shouted Mr. Butler.

  “That’s us. We’re up,” said Renate.

  “Let’s go, pioneer women,” said Dodie.

  “I don’t feel like a pioneer woman,” said Felicia.

  “You don’t look like one, either,” said Ashley, as she took a seat.

  “What did she say?” asked Sophie.

  “She said I don’t look like a pioneer woman.”

  “That’s probably a good thing.”

  The four girls stepped onto the stage. Mr. Butler pointed out the marks on the floor. “Look for these white stars. They tell you where to stand. Mrs. Brody is going to accompany you. We’ll have a full rehearsal next week.” Mr. Butler turned to the piano player who raised her hands over the keyboard and, at his signal, began to pound out the music. The girls sang along.

  After, they sat with their sandwiches and watched the rehearsal proceed.

  “Matt is a natural as the parson.”

  “You can tell, though, he’s just bursting to say something funny.”

  “Poor Josh has to sing with Ashley.”

  “I’d rather have the flu.”

  Delia and Florence sat after supper and sipped their tea. Felicia brought books to the table.

  “Ready to start your homework?”

  “I’ve been reading these books Mr. Allenby gave me. Thought I’d let you have a look at them before I take them back to the library.”

  “What are they about?”

  “The Underground Railroad.”

  “Interesting?”

  “Very. Here’s one on quilts, Nana.”

  “Oh, let me see that. I used to enjoy stitching before my fingers got old.”

  “There’s a theory that they used quilts to signal each other,” said Felicia. “They’d hang them over a fence or something, and the people who were running away got the message.”

  “What message?”

  “There were a lot of different messages, I guess.” Felicia flipped through the illustrations. “They think different patterns meant different things. This one’s called the ‘monkey wrench’—it meant get organized with the tools you’ll need. This one is a wagon wheel. That’s obvious. My favorite is the ‘bear’s paw.’ They were supposed to follow the bear’s paw print in the ground ’cause the bear would find water to drink and berries to eat.”

  “I’m not sure I’d want to follow a bear,” said Delia.

  Felicia turned another page. “This is so pretty, the star. You know they were supposed to follow the North Star. I looked up at the sky the other night, and I couldn’t tell which one was which. I don’t know how they did.”

  “Practice, I guess.”

  “It was dangerous,” said Florence. You could go to jail, or worse, for helping a slave escape. You’d have to be a really strong person to do that.”

  “Except look at this.” Flower picked up another book and leafed through until she found the page she wanted. “Here’s a lady called Harriet Tubman. She helped hundreds of people escape.”

  “Right, I know all about her. And she was no bigger than a minute, you know,” said Florence.

  “Exactly. And, this is kind of funny, it shows how tough she was. She was taking these people north, and one person got scared and said he was going to go back to the plantation where he was a slave.”

  “Changed his mind,” said Delia.

  “So this little Harriet—” Felicia sta
rted to laugh. “I can just picture it. She takes out her gun and says, ‘Dead men don’t talk.’ She’s going to shoot him unless he keeps going, so he does.”

  Florence shook her head.

  Delia said, “I can picture the drama of the escape, but then what happened when they got here? What did they do?”

  “The book talks about two settlements,” said Felicia. “One was called the Elgin and the other was the Dawn. They both had schools for the children, and the adults were taught how to do things. One had a sawmill and a gristmill. What’s that?”

  “That’s where they ground up grain,” said Delia.

  “Nana, I was wondering.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Do you think our family, early on, might have lived in one of those settlements? You said someone was a blacksmith and someone else made furniture. Do you think they might have learned how to do that in one of those places?”

  “Might have. Of course, I have no way of knowing for sure. You’re talking about a long time ago.”

  “I wonder,” said Felicia, “what happened to those communities? Where did the people go?”

  “People usually don’t stay in one place,” said Delia. “They look for work or schooling. Cities are a draw. Most of them must have moved on. Lord knows where you’ll live when you’re grown up.”

  “I hope I’ll be close enough to you and Nana so we can still see each other.”

  “I hope so too.”

  “So many separations.” Florence sighed. “Hold fast to your family. If you learn one thing from all this reading, it should be that. Loyalty to each other is the mainstay of our heritage.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Flower

  NOAH PEMBERTON'S voice continued, insistent, hectoring, and urgent, riding up and down on opposing waves of persuasion and condemnation. The marshal and his deputy still slept soundly.

  Flower held up the key, motioned for her father to come to the cell door. He struggled to his feet, holding on to her shoulder. Flower pointed at the far door with the dark hallway beyond. She reached through the bars, lengthening her arm as far as she could, then bending it at the elbow so that the key could be brought toward the opening of the lock. She couldn’t see properly to insert it, so she thrust her other hand through to touch the outline where the key should fit. Her fingers felt stiff and awkward with nervousness, and, with a sudden clatter, the key dropped to the floor.

  The lawmen slept on. The key lay on the floor, too far away for Flower to reach it. Eldon’s large arm would not fit through the bars. He motioned for Cleo, who knelt down and stretched to retrieve it. She tried to place the key in the lock, but her arm was too long and the angle was awkward, so she handed the key back to her daughter. Flower took a deep breath and tried again. This time, with a scrape and a click, the key turned in its slot, and the door opened.

  Flower led the way. On tiptoe, they left the cell, creeping past the men sleeping at the desk, through the doorway, into the dark hall. Her mother eased the door shut behind them. They descended down and down, the hall becoming a tunnel. There was no light, only inky blackness. Flower held her fingertips against the damp, stony wall for guidance. Something squeaked and scampered past her feet. She flinched but kept going, her father’s hand on her shoulder.

  Just when she thought there was no end to this journey, Flower saw a faint trace of light ahead, outlining the base of a doorway. The family bumped into each other as they came to a stop before it. They could hear Noah’s voice once more, although they couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  Her father’s hands brushed against the door, but it was Flower’s hand that found the handle. The latch lifted and the door creaked open, letting in a sliver of light. She peered out from behind its edge. There was no angry mob, just a wagon with a tethered horse standing sleepily, slack reins held by the driver. He turned his head at the sound and looked straight at her. She shrank from his burning gaze, closed the door, and slid the latch back into place.

  Almost immediately, there was a rap on the other side of the door. “Come quickly, there’s little time.”

  “Pa?”

  “Open the door,” said Eldon.

  Flower swallowed and did as her father instructed.

  A man stood before her, his hat tilted low over his dark face. “Follow me.” When they hesitated, he said, “Don’t dawdle!” The voice was quiet but insistent. They were led to the back of the wagon. The driver lifted a blanket and swiftly moved two large boxes. Eldon, Cleo, and their baby were directed into the spaces, then covered with the blanket.

  Flower was hoisted up onto the seat beside the driver. He reached behind him and presented her with a bonnet. “Put this on.”

  The ribbons slid through her fingers. “I don’t know how.”

  He released the reins and jammed the hat onto her head, tying the bow roughly under her chin. “Look down,” he commanded, as he clucked the horse forward. They made their way around from the back to the front of the jailhouse, through a sea of men. A fist pounded the sides of the passing wagon. Flower concentrated on keeping her face down and hidden. Staring at her lap, she noticed her brown hands and drew them up into her sleeves.

  Noah’s voice soared over their heads, as if heralding their escape. “Redemption is at hand for those who follow in the footsteps of the good and the righteous.”

  Less respectful voices grumbled. “Go follow your own footsteps.”

  “Yeah, straight to hell.”

  Torches flamed in the darkness, reminding Flower of the night she and her family had survived the river crossing, how they had sat around the fire trying to keep warm. Then Noah Pemberton had appeared suddenly before them, his face like a visiting ghost in the flickering light.

  Now his voice soared over the mob. “Shame! The shame of slavery casts its shadow on so many.”

  Though she didn’t look up, she could picture that face and knew that he was providing a majestic vision to this crowd, few of whom dared to contradict him. As they made their way out of town, his voice softened and receded. He might have been comforting the crowd that he had so chastised, but Flower thought that the words were especially meant for her to hear.

  “Bless you.…”

  CHAPTER 44

  Felicia

  MISS PEABODY LEANED over her desk and checked a list. “Ashley, are you ready to give your presentation?”

  “I guess so. I need a minute to go change.”

  “Change?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, all right, but don’t be too long, please.” The teacher sat at her desk, looked up at the clock, and shuffled papers impatiently.

  Ashley returned wearing a rose silk gown, the flounced skirt brushing the floor. She lifted the skirt a few inches and turned in a pirouette. “Isn’t this dress beautiful? It belonged to my great-great-great-great-aunt. She wore it to special functions.”

  “It’s so pretty. Can I touch it?” asked Lucy.

  Ashley took a step backward. “Of course not. It’s too precious.” The class was silent. Ashley continued, “She had a huge wardrobe, with many, many beautiful clothes: dresses, hats with feathers and ribbons, beaded handbags—”

  “Is that it?” asked Matt.

  “Is that what?” countered Ashley.

  “Your presentation—a closet list?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Please don’t interrupt, Matt. Continue, Ashley,” said Miss Peabody.

  “My mother’s family came from Virginia. They had this big, beautiful house that they lived in, with pillars right up to the roof and flowers everywhere. The
y also had a huge plantation where they grew cotton. They had lots of slaves to pick the cotton and do the work.” Ashley drawled on the word slaves and Felicia felt as if a spotlight had positioned itself right above her head.

  “This project is meant to focus on our Canadian heritage,” emphasized Miss Peabody. “Perhaps you should skip forward a generation or two.”

  “They came to Canada when the Americans got into a fight with the British.”

  “Ah, yes, the American Revolution,” said the teacher. “Your family was loyal to the Crown of England.”

  “Yes, they were United Empire Loyalists. And I think they were friends with the king,” said Ashley.

  “Can you describe what life was like for them during this period?”

  Ashley held up a piece of paper. “My grandma said I could bring this letter to class. It’s one written by my great-great-great—”

  “Yes, how interesting. What does she say?”

  “She was writing to her sister. ‘Yesterday and today, feeling better, enjoyed a rest beneath the garden tree, shaded and cool. The maid there came to me to announce the visitation of the Farrow cousins. We supped tea and shared civil discourse.’ The Farrows were very important people. My family knew a lot of important people. They were invited to fancy dress balls and parties. When my family arrived in Canada, they built another beautiful house. They brought lots of their things with them, even their slaves. They were good to their slaves, and they let them be servants.”

  Sophie said, “Maybe the slaves didn’t want to be servants. Maybe they just wanted to be free.”

  “They were free, but they needed to be looked after, so my family kept them and looked after them.”

  “Excuse me.” Felicia was on her feet. She hesitated with all eyes upon her but then said, “I think you’re wrong, Ashley.”

  “What about?”

  “They didn’t need to be ‘looked after.’ You think that every black person was a slave or a servant, but that’s not true. There’s a whole history you don’t know about.”