Redfield Farm: A Novel of the Underground Railroad

by Judith Redline Coopey

Jesse’s fever raged for days. He wavered in and out of consciousness while I worried over him, tried to make him comfortable, tried to figure out what ailed him. Out in the barn, the black man lay just as ill. Tending them both was a huge task, but it was clear that no one else should be exposed, both for the risk of disease and the risk of discovery. The sole responsibility fell to me, and my experience with illness was limited. The Redfields were a healthy lot, isolation doing its part to protect us from most things that went around.

  For more reasons than one, I felt it best for Betsy to go stay with Mary for a while, so Amos hitched up the team that first morning and drove her over to Osterburg himself. He returned around noon, solemn faced and looking wary.

  “We’d best leave the man in the barn for now. He seems right sick. He should be passed along tonight, but we don’t have a choice. We’ll have to keep him until he’s well. Anything else would be murder, to him and maybe others.”

  I nodded. I was preoccupied with Jesse, but once I’d done all I could to make him comfortable, I went to the barn with an armload of quilts and a kettle of hot water. I wanted to move the man onto a thicker pile of hay for more warmth and comfort, but he was too sick to move himself and too big for me to move, so I covered him with the quilts and forced some feverfew tea into him.

  Jesse lay deathly ill for days. I feared so for him. Why did he do these things? Get himself into such dire straits? He could just as well mind his own business. Come and go on the farm and to Meeting. Why did he have to go looking for trouble? When his fever finally broke, he was still too weak to get up.

  The slave’s fever raged on. I did my best to make him comfortable in the barn where it was easier to hide him. One never knew when visitors might come to the house, or when Pru Hartley would wander by, watching. Jesse had shivered and shaken quietly, but this one was given to moaning and thrashing. He was too sick to speak, but I felt the fear and helplessness in his eyes as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

  After more than a week, when he was well enough to talk, Jesse asked, “How’s the Negro?”

  “Still awful sick. His fever hasn’t broken. All I can say is, he isn’t dead yet.”

  “Can you get him into the house?” It took about all of his strength to say that little.

  “I don’t know how, if he can’t walk. He’s terrible sick, Jesse. Sicker than you, even.”

  “Get Nathaniel to help you. The nights are too cold in the barn. He needs to be in here.” He laid his head back on the pillow and rested.

  “Where can we put him? I’ll have my hands full keeping him quiet.”

  Jesse nodded weakly toward the storage space he’d built in his bedroom. “Put him in there.”

  I looked at the solid wall on the south side. “Where?”

  Jesse pointed, and I ran my fingers along the wall, until I felt a catch under the molding. I slipped it aside and two of the wide boards swung out, revealing a space large enough for a man to crawl through. The hinges were neatly concealed, and no knob betrayed its presence. So that was the reason for Jesse’s ‘fixing up!’

  After dinner that evening, under cover of darkness, Nathaniel and I went to the barn and told the man we were moving him to the house.

  “I’se grateful,” he mumbled. “It so cold here. You sure it safe?” It was the first time anything sensible had come out of him.

  Nate nodded as we lifted him into a sitting position, then to his knees. He was a strapping young man in his late twenties or early thirties. He leaned heavily on Nathaniel and twice nearly collapsed before I could get my shoulder under his other arm. Together we half carried, half dragged him across the yard and into the house. Truly he was sicker than Jesse.

  Getting him up the narrow, curved staircase and through Nathaniel’s room to Jesse’s was almost more than Nathaniel and I could manage. I’d made a pallet on the floor under the eaves, and when we laid the man down, his heavy breathing filled the room. As long as there was no one around, we kept the passage open for light and heat. I did what I could to make him comfortable, but his condition stayed as it was, wavering between life and death. I feared the move might bring an end to him.

  Jesse stayed in bed for several more days, and I waved off visitors with warnings of the fever. We didn’t know what to name the illness, but we knew it was bad. I felt a little hot and light headed myself, but that was probably because I was so tired.

  One frosty morning, as I went to the springhouse, I was caught up quick by the sight of Pru Hartley, bent beneath a load of firewood, walking up the road.

  “Mornin’, Pru,” I said without enthusiasm, hoping she wouldn’t stop to talk. She did. Lowering her load, she looked at me in that sidelong way she had, making me wish I’d slipped into the springhouse unnoticed.

  “Mornin’, Ann. How’s Jesse? I hear tell he’s ailin’.”

  “Getting better now, but it might be catching. Better stay back.”

  “Uh huh.” She stood beside the load of wood, holding her back in a peculiar way. Even under her heavy cloak, I could tell she was with child.

  “Pru, are you expecting another baby?”

  “Looks like it, don’t it?”

  “Shouldn’t someone else be toting that wood for you?”

  “Who would you suggest? One of my brothers? My Pa? Ain’t likely.” She bent down to rearrange the wood. “House is cold. Pa’s drunk. Brothers is gone—sleepin’ wherever they can. No one to do fer ‘em but me.”

  It occurred to me to give her a gentle lecture on the fruits of the choices she’d made, but I decided against it. She wouldn’t listen anyway.

  “You go on home. I’ll send Nathaniel down with a load of wood this afternoon.”

  She brightened. “Now, that’s right neighborly of you. I sure could use the help.” Then, true to her nature, she added, “Not bein’ rich, like you.”

  My budding compassion faded and I stepped into the spring house as Pru lifted her burden and set out for home.

  The Hartleys were part of the landscape of our lives. Rad was a ‘good for nothing’, as Papa said, and he’d sired ten more like himself. His wife had been pretty once, according to Aunt Alice Grainger, but ten children, though they hadn’t killed her, had worn her down. She faded away so gradually, died so quietly, folks hardly noticed, five years ago. Rad went on as before, bingeing and recovering, bingeing and recovering.

  The three oldest boys had places of their own, if you could call them that. Smith, the oldest, lived with his wife’s folks down by the millpond. Weaver survived doing odd jobs and taking care of the Friends Cemetery. He lived in a shack at the edge of the graveyard with his wife and half a houseful of young ones. Even ‘Fallen Away’ Quakers were taken care of by the Friends. Miller Hartley came as close as any of them to being of some account. He boarded with Franklin Adams, working on their farm, and, some said, fixing to marry into the family as soon as Frank’s oldest daughter, Eve, was ripe. The two youngest boys, Cooper and Sawyer, still lived at home and worked out—whatever odd jobs came their way and didn’t disturb their rest.

  Pru was the youngest; all four of her older sisters were married and gone. Truth, Honesty, Faith and Charity were scattered about the county, producing babies at an alarming rate, giving whole communities pause about being overrun with ‘Hartleys’, as the children were known, whatever their last names happened to be.

  I watched Pru’s progress down over the hill with a mixture of pity and discomfort. There was no changing some people, but it was still hard to understand how they could let themselves get so low. I turned back up the path to the house.

  Ï

  “What is this sickness? How did you get it?” I asked Jesse when he was well enough to make any sense.

  “In the last station, the whole family was down with it. They thought to get the Negro out before he caught it, and he seemed all right when we left, but he started to cough almost as soon as we were on the road,” Jesse explained.

  “I got there early in the afternoon t
he day before, so I’d look like a visitor, but some slave catchers were seen in the neighborhood, so I stayed another day. I was afraid of getting sick but more afraid of the slave catchers.” He shook his head.

  “I started feeling sick about two in the morning on the way home, but he was already shaking from the chills. I knew we were in trouble.”

  I felt Jesse’s forehead. “If he doesn’t get well soon, it’ll be too late to send him on. Then what’ll we do?”

  “Whatever we have to do. First, get him well. Then we’ll worry about what’s next.”

  Jesse rallied slowly, staying abed for more than two weeks. One morning, I heard a horse ride up and looked out the window to see Elias Finley dismount. I hurried to the dooryard to head him off.

  “Morning, Elias.”

  “Morning, Ann. Where’s Jesse? Haven’t seen much of him lately.”

  “Stay back, Elias. Jesse’s sick with a fever. I don’t want you to catch it.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “It is. Cough, chills, aches. Very sick. We missed First Day Meeting the last two weeks, and we’ll miss this week, too, I’m guessing. We don’t want to pass it around.”

  Elias frowned. “No. Guess not.” Then he smiled at me. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

  I returned his smile. “Yes. We sent Betsy out as soon as Jesse fell ill, so I’m the only one to do it all.”

  “You look tired.”

  “I am.”

  “Well, I just came to tell you and Jesse that I’m going to Chambersburg to stay with a friend of my Uncle James for a while. He has a fine horse farm where I can learn something about breeding. Maybe go on a few buying trips with him. Ben and I need some brood mares.”

  “Oh, Elias, that sounds fine! How long will you be?”

  “A couple of months, maybe. I’ll write to you. I should be back before Christmas.” He smiled. “I’ll miss you, Ann.”

  “Me, too. It’s a long time to be away.”

  “I know, but if I get what I hope to, it’ll be worth it.”

  His smile contained a promise—or it was just that I wanted it to? “You take care, Elias. You’ll be in my thoughts and prayers.”

  “Yes, and you in mine.” He stood there, hat in hand, maybe twenty feet away, looking uncomfortable, as though there was something else he wanted to say. “I’d best be going, then.”

  “Yes. Good-bye, Elias. Godspeed. Don’t forget me.” It was a hollow plea, considering how I felt. Empty at the prospect of long days without him.

  He turned, his left foot poised in the stirrup. “I could never forget you, Ann.”

  The words sent a thrill through me. I loved Elias Finley. I always had. He was slow in his ways, but I knew deep inside that he was the man for me. Time was fleeting, but ahead lay the promise of a shared life, a home, babies, maybe even a measure of wealth. I watched him mount his horse, turn and ride out of the dooryard, his shoulders square against the sky. A trickle of joy began in my feet and spread to my face. I felt warm all over..

  Back in the house, I worked in the kitchen, giving myself leave to think about Elias. Sad that he’d be gone so long, but hopeful that his return would bring what I most longed for. I felt like a schoolgirl, all silly and breathless. It was childish, but my dreams overwhelmed me sometimes.

  “Ann!” It was Jesse.

  “Coming!” Lifting my skirts, I climbed the steep, narrow stairs.

  “What is it?”

  “He’s awake. He’s asking for water.”

  I quickly filled a glass from the pitcher and bent down to crawl into the hiding place. The black man stared as though he’d never seen me before.

  “Who you?” he asked.

  “Ann Redfield,” I replied. “Who are you?”

  “Josiah.”

  “Well, Josiah, you’ve been mighty sick. It’s good to hear you speak. Where did you come from?”

  “Virginny. Culpeper County.” He pulled himself up on one elbow and drank the glass dry. “More, please.”

  I struggled out on my knees to refill the glass.

  “Where we at?” Josiah asked, peering around under the eaves.

  “Bedford County, Pennsylvania.” He seemed relieved at that. “That far from Canada?”

  “Yes. Pretty far. But you’re out of slave territory at least.”

  “What day this be?”

  “Friday, September 29, 1854.”

  “September? I disremember September.”

  “You’ve been sick most of the month. When did you leave Culpeper County?”

  “Late July. Saturday night. Wouldn’t be missed ‘til Monday mornin’.” The effort to speak was already taking its toll. He lay back down. Then, feebly, “You Friends?”

  “Yes, Josiah. We’re Friends.”

  He closed his eyes and almost immediately went back to sleep. He slept more than he was awake for the next week, and I was gratified to get nourishment into him. His strength slowly returned to where he could stand on his own.

  The sickness was diphtheria, I learned when I described it to Aunt Alice Grainger at Meeting. Both men were lucky to have survived. I guessed we’d stopped its spread by staying home. Amos wasn’t affected by it. Nathaniel struggled through a mild case, and, if I got it at all, I could barely distinguish it from fatigue.

  When Amos brought Betsy back in mid-October, I was hard pressed to hide my relief. “I’ve been starved for someone to talk to,” I told her, “and for help with the work.”

  Betsy had to be let in on the ‘secret’ because the ‘secret’ was still there roaming the house by day and under the eaves in Jesse’s room by night.

  Her reaction was complete surprise. “You mean we’re part of the Underground Railroad? I knew some Friends did it, but I’d no idea my own family . . . Ann! How long have you known about this?” She looked from Jesse to me in disbelief.

  “For sure since I was nineteen, but I suspected Jesse for quite a while before that,” I said, looking sidelong at him.

  Jesse nodded. “I conducted my first passenger when I was seventeen.” His answer wasn’t prideful. He wasn’t one to brag.

  “Why, I never dreamed!” Betsy exclaimed, her face pale at the thought of such goings on right here in her own house.

  “You’re a pretty heavy sleeper, then, sister,” Jesse laughed. “It’s harder to get things past Ann.”

  “Who else does this?” Betsy wanted to know. “Are the McKitricks in it?”

  “Sorry, Betsy, but the fewer people who know, the better. And the less you know, the better.” He ducked through the doorway and up the stairs to the loft. That was all he would say.

  Betsy, sensible and reliable, took his answer to heart and left the matter at that. Then she took my hand and whispered a new secret to me.

  “Will is going to ask Papa for permission to court,” she confided, giggling.

  “Really? Oh, Betsy! How soon?”

  “First day. After Meeting.” Her face, always open and easy to read, revealed her delight.

  “That means you’ll be marrying soon.” I picked up a ball of yarn and my knitting needles. I couldn’t believe my baby sister was talking about marrying.

  “By spring, I hope.”

  Happy for Betsy, I decided to share as well. “I’ve a secret, too. Elias has gone to Chambersburg to learn breeding and buy some stock. When he comes home, I’m hoping he’ll ask Papa to court, too!”

  “Oh, Ann! We could be getting married at the same time!” Betsy laughed. “Whatever will Papa and the boys do? Who will take care of these three helpless men?”

  “Somebody needs a wife,” I said, loudly enough for Jesse to hear.

  “Who!” came the call from the upstairs room.

  “You!” We chorused together.

  Chapter 5

  1854 – Winter

  Winter came early that year. Strong winds from the northwest blew the leaves off the trees by the end of October. In early November, an unseasonable cold settled in, accompanied b
y gray skies and daily snow flurries. Jesse came in with an all-black wooly-bear caterpillar crawling slowly up his sleeve, signaling a long hard winter.

  Work about the farm continued as usual, but with four men to care for and only Betsy to help, some things went wanting. Skutching flax and spinning happened only after the baking, cooking and washing were done. Cleaning was catch as catch can. Betsy was a help, but I didn’t blame her if her hands followed her heart and led her to fine stitching pillow cases and linens for her trunk when there was other work to be done. I tried to find time to help her, but short days and little light left sparse time for sewing.

  One morning Betsy voiced her regrets. “I’m sorry, Ann. I don’t mean to leave it all to you, but my heart isn’t in it anymore. All I can think of is making a home for Will.” She sat on the floor by her open trunk, fingering a set of fine linen pillow slips she’d made.

  I touched her shoulder. “It’s all right, Sister. I’d feel the same if it were me.” Leaving her there, I stepped into my room, straightened the bed and hustled downstairs to the parlor. A quick survey there added more chores to my list: clean out the stove, trim the wicks, wash the lamp chimneys, sweep the carpet. I sighed. The work was endless.

  In the kitchen, Jesse sat in a chair, feet up, comfortable as a count. “Annie, when you’re sitting around here with nothing to do, could you mend my saddle for me?”