Redfield Farm: A Novel of the Underground Railroad

by Judith Redline Coopey

  It was quiet in the house, except for the baby’s lusty cries. Relieved to have the birthing over, I was keenly aware of the silence that greeted my son’s birth. Hannah took the child downstairs and bathed him in the presence of his awestruck grandfather and uncles.

  Rebecca ministered to my needs and sought to comfort me. “Now I understand a lot of things,” she told me, tucking a blanket around my legs.

  “I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t make myself.”

  “No need. The heart has its reasons.”

  “I’m relieved it’s over. I know there will be those who look down on him and me, but I hope not you.”

  “Don’t worry, Sister. Not I.”

  Abby carried the baby back upstairs after his bath, and, true to her nature, talked when no one else would. “Well, ain’t he a strong one! Just look at the grip he has on my finger! He’s a cute little feller. Don’t look nothin’ like his mama, though, does he?”

  Amos and the boys followed her into my room. My father looked at my baby, wrapped in a warm blanket. His face revealed nothing. “Healthy one,” he stated. “You?”

  “I’m fine, Papa. Rebecca’s a good nurse.”

  Hannah looked at the baby with curiosity. “So that’s where you came from!” she smiled, looking into his bright eyes. He was undeniably beautiful and full of life. “What could one do, but love such a bundle as you?”

  Jesse took the child and inspected him closely, while Nathaniel looked over his shoulder. Neither knew what to say. Whatever his origins, the baby fairly glowed with health and strength. He opened his mouth and yawned widely at his two dumbfounded uncles.

  So came into the world Samuel Redfield Colton. He would not take the last name until later, but I kept it for him. He suckled aggressively and thrived from his first day. I couldn’t help but smile at his strong survival instinct.

  “You’ve come to the right place, my son,” I whispered in his tiny ear. “Here you will be cared for and nurtured. Here you will grow to be a man and make your mother proud.” Words more full of hope than assurance.

  Jesse took Rebecca and Hannah home, returning around midnight. Before retiring, he mounted the parlor stairs to my room to check on me. I was awake and spoke to him. “Now do you know why I couldn’t tell you who the father was?”

  “Josiah. But why, Ann?”

  “Why, Jesse? Who knows why? He touched me when I needed touching…”

  “But he took advantage!”

  “No, Jesse. I went willingly. I’m not sorry, nor should you be.”

  “I don’t want you to be sorry. Sam is beautiful. But your life—and his—will be hard.”

  “I don’t pray for an easy life. I pray for the courage to endure what comes. Sam and I will be just fine.”

  “I have no doubt of it, Sister. Good night.”

  He rose and went through the low door into Nathaniel’s room and on into his own. I lay in the darkness thinking about my baby and his father. I wished Josiah could know about him. Now, more than ever, I was filled with a mixture of joy and fear. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.

  Chapter 14

  1856

  After Sam’s birth, life returned to something close to normal. A healthy, happy baby, he brought joy with his smiles, gurgles, and outright belly laughs. Even the normally taciturn Amos talked to him and tickled him under the chin. Jesse and Nathaniel took turns bouncing him on their knees, and Abby picked him up and cuddled him at the least whimper. As my strength returned, I was more than up to the task of motherhood.

  Outside Redfield Farm, the world was not so kind. Among the Quakers, Sam was an oddity, viewed from afar and without comment. New babies were cause for celebration and an excuse for visits from far and wide. No one came to see Sam except Aunt Alice Grainger, and when I took him to Meeting, people didn’t fuss over him as they did other babies. It wasn’t that they intended to be mean, it was just that they found his existence perplexing. It forced them to face the true meaning of equality, which they did, slowly and thoughtfully. After a time, they came around, one by one, speaking to me, asking about Sam, and then talking directly to him. His smile won them over, and he was soon a favorite with the dowagers. It wasn’t the Quakers I feared. I knew they would be good to Sam, whatever they thought of me.

  The Meeting would charge me soon enough. In the meantime I attended regularly and was diligent in my devotion to Quaker truth as my Inner Light gave me to understand it. The day of reckoning came at First Month Business Meeting after Sam’s birth. Alice Heaton rose and placed before the company the matter of Ann Redfield, who, it was obvious to all in attendance, “had committed the sin of fornication with a man who was not her husband, having produced a child out of wedlock.”

  I sat silent in their midst, holding my baby close. I’d heard such charges before. Sometimes the accused rose and begged forgiveness. Sometimes they were absent at this and every other meeting, showing their disdain for the Society. I chose to let the Meeting do what it had to do.

  No one responded to the charge; there was no need to object. All knew my circumstances. Now it was necessary only to appoint a committee. I knew how these things went. I’d sat through enough of them in the past—not fornication, perhaps, but marrying out of the order, or marriage by a ‘priest’ or dressing or behaving in a manner not in keeping with Quaker principles.

  The charges were made and a committee appointed to investigate and report back, after which an appropriate penance was imposed. Most of the time, the penalty for a serious breach like mine was disownment—removal from official membership in the Society of Friends. A disowned Quaker could still attend Meetings, but had no right to speak. I could petition for reinstatement after an appropriate time, and it would be granted if I were perceived to be repentant.

  So while it was humiliating and embarrassing, it was, in all probability, not permanent. I accepted the process as necessary to the good of the order and submitted without protest. I knew no other life and didn’t even consider rebellion. I saw the punishment as deserved, even though I knew, given the same conditions, I would do it again, regardless of the outcome.

  It was wrong to have loved Josiah because he wasn’t my husband, but I knew fear, anguish, and suffering did strange things to the human mind—blurred the boundaries and changed perceptions. I understood the Society’s need for order and the necessity to stand solidly against such behavior. But no human being is all good or all bad; we’re all capable of either or both.

  I was a loyal birthright Quaker, in spite of my error. I loved the order and, even though I’d deviated from its teachings, still held them dear. So I was prepared to pay for my transgression and move on.

  I stayed close to home that winter, taking Sam out only to go to Meeting or to visit Rebecca. One afternoon when I was home alone, there came a knock on the door. I peeked through the window and saw Pru Hartley standing on the porch. Pru usually didn’t knock. She stood in the yard until I noticed her and went out to see what she wanted. Knocking would indicate she wanted to come in. I sighed. Might as well get it over with.

  “Afternoon, Pru.”

  “Afternoon. I was out this way, and thought I’d stop an’ see yer young’un.”

  I knew all she wanted was to confirm the rumors, but I let her in. Pru had no position in the community, but she relished the chance to be first with any tidbit of gossip, as though it gave her a moment’s respect.

  Sam was sleeping in his cradle by the window, and I nodded toward him. Pru was quick to size up the situation.

  “By God, he is a nigger! They said he was, but I never believed it. You, Ann Redfield! You Miss Perfect Quaker Lady! Humph! I might’a knowed. You ain’t as high an’ proper as you claim.”

  I stood dumbfounded. What had I ever done to deserve such venom? I struggled to find my voice. “That’s enough, Pru. You’ve no right to come into my home and berate me.”

  “Oh, excuse me, Miss Perfect Quaker Lady. Did I offend you? I’m so sorry!” she whin
ed.

  “Please leave, Pru. Get on home with you. You’ve no room to talk.”

  She turned and faced me squarely, her eyes bright with spite. “I’ll leave when I’m ready, and not before. You always did think you was better’n anybody. Now we’ll see what your nigger savin’ has got you.”

  I reached behind me for the broom, swung it around to face her. “You will go now. I won’t put up with any more of this. I don’t know why you have to be so mean all the time. I’ve never done anything to you!” I moved toward her.

  She stepped aside and raised her arm as though to parry a blow. I hadn’t thought of actually hitting her. I simply wanted to get rid of her. Now I moved toward her, threatening.

  “Get out! Get out, or so help me, I’ll thrash the life out of you!”

  She edged her way slowly to the door, eyeing me warily. “No call to get so nasty.”

  “Nasty! I’ll show you nasty!” I flew at her as she slid out the door. When I was sure she was gone, I sat down in Papa’s chair in front of the fireplace, head in my hands and cried. Sam, awakened by the commotion, cried, too. I picked him up and held him close, rocked and soothed him, while my own heart pounded. This was just the beginning.

  Ï

  Mrs. Mills and Mrs. Baker, my committee, would counsel me about my error and interview relatives and close associates about my character. Then they would report back to the Monthly Meeting, and my punishment would be pronounced. It was public humiliation, but without malice. Friends would take no joy in it.

  They arrived on Fourth Day, Mrs. Mills driving the buggy with Mrs. Baker at her side. I invited them into the parlor while Abby, on the edge of defiance on my behalf, tended Sam in the kitchen. We three sat facing each other in the parlor.

  Mrs. Mills asked the first question. “Do you affirm or deny the charge of fornicating with a man who was not your husband?”

  “I affirm it,” I said softly.

  “Do you affirm or deny that your child was the result of this liaison?” She looked down at a paper in her hand.

  “I affirm it.”

  “How long did this go on?” Still looking at the paper.

  “Only once. In First Month, a year ago.”

  “Bad luck.” It was the first time Mrs. Baker had spoken.

  I looked directly at her. “No, Ma’am.”

  “Are you saying what you did was right?”

  “No, Ma’am. But you referred to luck. It was neither bad luck to be loved by that man nor to have his child.”

  Mrs. Baker straightened up. “Are you, then, proud of your actions?”

  “Not proud, but not ashamed. Grateful. For the chance to love and have a son.”

  The two women were obviously perplexed. They’d expected contrition, humility, meekness. I displayed none of these. While I acknowledged my error, I refused to disavow Josiah or Sam.

  “Do you intend to part from your past error?”

  “Part from it? How can I part from it? I have a child. It will be with me always.”

  “Do you intend to repeat it?”

  “I do not, nor did I intend it in the first place.”

  “Ann Redfield, your sin was great. You compound it now with arrogance. Pride is as great a sin as adultery,” Mrs. Mills pronounced.

  “That may be,” I replied, “but my transgressions are my own. I don’t blame others nor make excuses. I acknowledge my sin. Now it is for the Society to decide my fate.”

  The two women looked uncomfortable. There seemed little else to say, so they rose and I escorted them to the door.

  “We have yet to question others on your character,” Mrs. Baker reminded me. “That will take a week or more. We will report our findings at the next Monthly Meeting.”

  I nodded. I stood on the front porch and watched them drive out of the dooryard. It occurred to me that I might have been more accommodating, but I dismissed the possibility. Let the process continue to its natural conclusion.

  Abby had been listening at the door and was now barely able to contain her anger. “Who do they think they are?” she fumed. “I’ll bet they’ve done as bad or worse. Wait till they ask me about your character. I’ll give them an earful!”

  “Oh, Abby, calm down. They’re not malicious. They’re just doing their duty as they see it.”

  “Well, I can’t wait till I get a chance to sit on a committee for one of them or their daughters. I’ll teach them about pride!”

  “No doubt you will,” I laughed.

  Abby set the table for lunch. Amos had ridden out to visit Betsy and Will in New Paris, and Nathaniel was in Bedford on business.

  Jesse came in from the barn and stopped to warm his hands by the fire before picking up Sam. The baby smiled and wriggled his delight.

  “I saw your committee come to call,” Jesse observed. “How’d that go?”

  “All right. They have their job to do.”

  “Yes. Well, I’m sorry you have to submit to that.”

  Looking down at the baby in my brother’s arms, I replied, “The world has a long way to go, Jesse. Even Quakers. Sam shouldn’t have to pay for my sins, either, but he will.”

  “I know,” he replied. “The Friends will accept him, but there will be many who won’t.”

  I sighed. “A man is a man. None better than the next. What is it in him that needs to create hierarchies?”

  “I don’t know. There’s always a pecking order, though, and man isn’t the only animal that does it. They all pick on the weak or the different.”

  “Yes, but man is supposed to be guided by reason. Yet he gives in to the folly of thinking himself better than others.”

  “Makes you wonder what God had in mind when he planted that seed.”

  Abby listened to our conversation, a frown furrowing her brow. “Well, Sam shouldn’t have to start out that way. He’s as good as any other baby. Wouldn’t it be awful if some of those slave catchers kidnapped him and sold him to be a slave?”

  I hushed her. She gave voice to what we all feared, but saying it made it more terrible.

  Jesse laid the baby in his cradle and sat down at the table. “It won’t ever come to that, Abby. Sam will be safe. We’ll keep him safe.” Listening to Jesse’s words, I wondered how.

  The committee’s work was done by the next Monthly Meeting, and the charge was read to the whole congregation. “Ann Redfield found guilty of fornication by having a child in an unmarried state, and is therefore disowned.”

  Even though I knew it was coming, I was stunned by the pronouncement. I ached in sorrow for my father, brothers and sisters, embarrassed by my public humiliation. Bringing shame on my family was my greatest regret.

  We rode home from Meeting in silence. Amos, Jesse, Nathaniel, and I. Abby snuggled down in back under heavy quilts with Sam. No one spoke, not even Amos, for whom the hurt was greatest. But it was heavy on our minds.

  Chapter 15

  1856 – Late Winter

  “Ann,” Jesse offered when we were home in our kitchen, “would you like to go away until this blows over? Spend a week or so with Mary and maybe some time with Rachel?”

  I considered the idea. It would be good to get away for a while, and I’d enjoy visiting my sisters.

  “Do you think you could get on without me?”

  Jesse nodded, and Abby piped up, “Of course! I could keep house while you’re gone. It’d be fun!”

  So Sam and I went visiting. Jesse took us in the sleigh to Mary’s new, large farmhouse in Osterburg. Full of children and noise, the house was the center of a prospering farm. Mary and Noah Poole had five children, twenty cows, seven hogs, four horses, numerous chickens, and seventy acres of land. Their lives were full, but not too full to welcome Baby Sam and me.

  Kind hearted Mary took to Sam with the same generous love she lavished on her own.

  “Oh, Ann, he’s beautiful,” she exclaimed, taking Sam from my arms. “I’m so glad you came. We’ve had so little time together in the past nine years.”

>   “We’ve a lot to catch up on! What a houseful you have, Mary! How do you keep up with it all?”

  “One day at a time, so Noah tells me,” she said with a smile. Then, looking at Sam, “This little one. Bright as a new penny. He’ll keep you hopping, Sister.”

  I smiled. Sam was beautiful. No argument there.

  “The change of scenery will do me good. Don’t worry, though. I’ll do my share of the work. Company lightens the labor.”

  Mary nodded and nuzzled Sam’s neck.

  Noah Poole, round faced and ruddy, teased and joked with me and his children at every turn. “Do you know, Ann, I love your sister still? But she’s never still!” He laughed as though his joke were new. It was a delight to see Mary so happy with such a good-humored man.

  After a few days in Osterburg, I wrote to Rachel, asking if we could visit her in Altoona. Her response came quickly:

  Dear Ann,

  Jacob and I would love to have you and Sam come for a visit. We miss our dear family. Please try to get Mary and Noah to come along. They could use some time away, and it would such a treat to see them.

  Love, Rachel

  Mary and Noah, delighted by the invitation, arranged for Noah’s brothers to do the chores, and two of his sisters volunteered to care for the children.

  “You see, my dear,” Noah told Mary, “how easy it is to get away? We should do it more often!”