“We’ve got to warn Ezra.”
“Could be the constable already has.”
“Is Ezra a known conductor?” I asked.
“No. He just took the man in out of pity.”
“Then no one would know to warn him. We’d better do it, Jesse.”
He stood rooted before me, a pained expression on his face. “I hope we’re not too late.”
I understood his chagrin. It was one thing when he was in danger. He chose the path. But it was something else entirely when others were at risk. The prospect of anyone getting hurt had always daunted him. I reached for my coat, handing Jesse his. Together we hurried to the barn with a lantern.
Jesse stopped me at the barn door. “I’ll go alone. It’ll be faster on horseback,” he said. “No telling what I might find.”
“I can’t sit here waiting. Saddle Nate’s mare for me. I’ll hike my skirts.”
We rode through the night toward the tiny village of Spring Hope, south of Fishertown. It was only about ten o’clock, but there was no light in the farmhouses we passed. When we reached Ezra Warner’s farm, it, too, was dark. No one answered Jesse’s knock. He pounded on the door hard enough to rattle the windows, but no one answered. He came back down the steps.
“I’m going to look in the barn.”
I climbed down from my horse to follow him. Jesse found a lantern on a peg and lit it. We looked around the barn floor, moving toward the hay mow. Then I noticed feed sacks spread over some barrels and motioned to Jesse to have a look. I held the lantern high, and Jesse yanked the sack off one of the larger barrels. Inside, hands clasped over his head, crouched a black man.
“‘Don’t take me back. Please, Massa,” he pleaded. “Please don’t take me back. I’ll do anything. Please, Massa!”
“Where is the Warner family?” Jesse demanded.
“Gone away. Say to stay here. They be back tomorrow. Send me on then. Please, Massa. Don’t send me back. I’s cold an’ hungry, but I’s free.”
His pleadings sounded sincere, but I puzzled over the whole Warner family being gone.
“Where did you come from?” Jesse asked.
“North Carolina. Halifax County. Been runnin’ two weeks now, tryin’ to find the Railroad. Some folks help me, but they don’t know how to hook up. Mr. Warner say he know a real conductor.”
“Which way did you come up from Maryland?”
“’Long Wills Creek. Through Hyndman and up to Mann’s Choice.”
“That where you were this morning?” There was skepticism in Jesse’s voice.
“Yassuh.”
“How did you get here from there?” He spoke sharply, watching the man’s every move with suspicion.
“Just kept the morning sun on my right and kept walkin’. Kept to the woods mostly. Mr. Warner, he workin’ in the field. I ask him do he know the Railroad. He say yes. Bring me here. Say he got to go to town tonight—something about his wife’s father sick. Say he fix things and be back for me in the morning.”
I nodded. Ezra Warner’s wife was a Baldwin. Aaron Baldwin’s daughter. They lived in Schellsburg, and the old man was on his deathbed. I knew that.
“All right,” I said to the black man. “Stay here. Help will come tomorrow. Don’t move or make a sound until either Ezra or Jesse, here, comes for you.”
We re-covered the barrel and put out the light. Outside, we mounted the horses and turned toward home.
“If he came up through Hyndman, he can’t be the one who did the damage at Chaneysville,” I offered.
“If he came up through Hyndman,” Jesse countered.
“I’m inclined to believe him.”
“I don’t know. He could be the lost soul he claims to be, in which case he really needs our help. Or he could be a wily criminal who knows the geography well enough to take us for a walk in the woods.”
“You don’t think he’s hurt Ezra and his family, do you?”
“No. That part sounds right. He’d be gone already if he’d hurt them.”
We rode toward home in silence, wondering what to do next.
Jesse was thinking out loud. “I’ll get up early and go see Ezra. Between us we can decide if this one’s lying or not. If he’s not, we need to move him on tomorrow night. There’s no room to fool around, what with Cooper Hartley watching our every move.”
The next morning Jesse was gone before sunup and back in time for a late breakfast. He seemed confident, after talking to Ezra, that this was a runaway in need, not a criminal. He’d promised to return that night to move the man on.
Jesse’s confidence was enough for me. Relieved that the Warners were all right and comfortable with Jesse’s plan, I went about my chores with little thought.
What was on my mind was the idea of Jesse’s going west. A sister has to expect to lose a brother, some time or other. I was lucky to have kept him this long. That was true, but it didn’t help. My heart was still heavy.
As soon as supper was over, Nate and Jesse went to the barn to hitch up the team. I gathered food and blankets, and tied on my bonnet.
“Where are you off to?” Amos asked.
“Making a delivery to Giestown.”
“Hope it’s not that killer one,” Abby piped up.
“It’s not, Abby,” I replied with more confidence than I felt. “Besides, nobody got killed.”
“Oh, no. Excuse me. Just beaten and robbed,” Abby replied.
“All right, Abby. That’s enough.”
“I’m going with you,” she said.
“Why?”
“So there’s somebody there with some sense. Somebody who doesn’t necessarily think the whole world is filled with good people. Or that all fugitive slaves are kind and benevolent. Honestly, Ann, just because they’ve been slaves doesn’t make them all saints.”
“Thank you for enlightening me, Abby. Now, if you think Jesse and I aren’t up to the task—in need of your protection—get your bonnet.”
Amos smiled behind his newspaper.
We set out through a night warmer then the last, made our pickup in Spring Hope, and backtracked through Fishertown to Alum Bank, then on over the mountain toward Geistown. After cresting the mountain, Jesse stopped to let the horses catch their wind. There was a rap on the false wagon floor, and Jesse stepped back to lift the trap. As he peered down into the darkness a huge, swift, black fist slammed into his face. Caught unawares, he was thrown over the side of the wagon to the ground.
Abby screamed and jumped down to Jesse’s side, leaving me face to face with the man, now standing in the wagon bed, reaching for my arm.
“Two!” he yelled. “I get two white asses in one night!” With a loud, grating laugh, he grabbed my hands, held my back against him and shoved me down under the false bed. He slammed the trap back in place and jumped down to grab Abby’s arm before she could run. He yanked her back up into the wagon and slammed her down on the floor so hard she lost consciousness. Then he lifted the false floor and dumped her in on top of me. I lay there, too dazed to think. I could hear him panting, smell his sweat. He sat down in the driver’s seat, took the reins and drove the startled horses on down the mountain toward Ogletown.
Under the false bed, I felt feverishly for any means of escape or defense. All I found was one square horseshoe nail. It had to be enough. I lay on my back, Abby still groggy at my side, and waited.
After about a mile, the wagon jolted as the horses veered off the road to a stop. The man stepped into the wagon bed and lifted the trap, leering at us, helpless and barely conscious under the floor. Staring at the menacing silhouette above me, I felt for Abby, found her hand and squeezed it. The nail tucked into the waist of my apron was all that stood between us and savage rape.
Our tormenter slammed back the trap and crawled down into the wagon bed, opening his pants. Panting and moaning grotesquely, he looked from one of us to the other, trying to decide which to do first. I struggled to stand up; it was enough to make me his choice. He grabbed my arms an
d pinned them beneath me, wrestled me to the false floor and lay on top of me, slapping and punching my face with his free hand. I struggled, but his strength was too much for me. As I lay helpless under his weight he reached down and pulled up my skirts, wrestling himself between my legs. Suddenly, Abby jumped on his back, grabbing at his face from behind. He rolled over on her, releasing his grip on me, and I reached for the nail. I raked it over his face, digging and tearing at the flesh, trying to rip it into his eyes. He grabbed my wrist with an iron grip, but Abby reached around again from behind and grabbed one of his nostrils, holding and tearing as though possessed. He thrashed at the two of us, knocking us heavily against the sides of the wagon, but still we fought him. The horses, spooked by the terrible noise, circled and ran headlong back up the track the way they had come.
We got to our feet, one of us on either side, fighting fiercely. With a wild swipe of his arm, he knocked me out of the wagon. I landed with a thump on my back in the track, seeing stars. Then as the demon lurched to the driver’s seat to stop the terrified horses, Abby jumped out, too.
She ran back toward me, her white apron a blur in the darkness. I stumbled, limping, toward her. We crouched behind a boulder, clinging to each other, trembling. Our hands searched frantically on the ground for anything we could use as a weapon. The fugitive stopped the horses, jumped down and walked back along the track looking for us. We held our breath, watching him.
He lurched past within a few feet of us. “God damn white bitches,” he mumbled as he staggered along in the darkness. Suddenly Abby sprang out behind him and smashed a rock into his skull. I heard the sickening thud. The man grunted and fell forward, blood soaking the back of his head.
“Let’s go,” Abby cried, grabbing me by the arm. We ran blindly up the track and climbed into the wagon. Abby took the reins, and I looked back for the first time. I saw nothing in the blackness, heard nothing but the creaking of the harness and the squeaking wagon springs. We moved slowly through the night, back up to the summit. There lay Jesse, sprawled on the side of the track, looking like death itself. We strained to lift him into the wagon and slapped the reins against the horses’ rumps. Neither of us spoke until we reached home well after midnight.
In the barn, we unhitched the horses and inspected ourselves by lantern light. The damage was ugly but not life threatening. Jesse, on the other hand, was seriously hurt. He lay in the bottom of the wagon, still unconscious.
Abby ran into the house to get Nathaniel, who appeared in his underwear, groggy from sleep. “What’s this?” he asked.
“Jesse’s hurt bad, Nate. Help us get him inside,” I implored.
We carried Jesse into the kitchen and laid him on Amos’ bed, a sad replay of that other night a few years ago. Amos, roused by all the activity, questioned us.
“What happened? What’s wrong with Jesse?”
I pumped water and built up the fire in the stove as we told the tale to Papa and Nate. Abby and I inspected our injuries by lamplight. We looked a fright, but not as bad as Jesse, who lay lifeless on Papa’s bed.
Nate was pale with fear for him. “I’ll go for the doctor at first light.”
The two men retired to the attic rooms while Abby and I bathed. We shed our filthy clothes and washed our aching bodies, trying to remove all evidence of our attacker. When we’d washed every inch of ourselves, even our hair, we put on clean nightgowns and went up the parlor stairs to my room. There, lying in the dark, we held onto each other and cried. I cried because my faith in the goodness of man had been shaken to its roots. Abby cried for Jesse.
Morning had long since broken before either Abby or I awakened. Amos had taken care of the chores while Nate rode to Schellsburg for the doctor. Jesse, though conscious now, still could not move his feet and legs. He said his hands felt numb.
Abby and I each had a black eye and many cuts, bruises, and scrapes. Soreness was setting in with every twist of the back and raise of an arm.
Dr. Telford examined Jesse and found what he thought was the problem. In the fall from the wagon, he’d struck the back of his head, low, near his neck, on a rock. The bruising and swelling put pressure on his spinal cord, causing the paralysis. The doctor hoped it was only temporary, that once the swelling went down, Jesse would be able to walk, but it would take a long time and plenty of bed rest.
“Do you have any ice?” Dr. Telford asked.
“Yes, the ice house is full this time of year,” I replied.
“Good. Chip off pieces and hold them on the back of his head. It’ll numb the pain and reduce the swelling.”
Abby rushed to get the ice, returning in a few minutes with a basin half full. She sat beside Jesse, gently turned him on his side, and applied the ice to his aching head.
“You look like the wrath of God,” he told her.
“It was wrath, but it wasn’t God’s” she replied.
“What happened out there?”
“He tried to rape us.”
Jesse moaned, and tears came to his eyes.
“Rape?” he rasped. “What did you do?”
“We fought him off. I think I killed him.”
“How?”
“I bashed in his skull with a rock.”
“Oh, Abby!” Jesse’s voice broke. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”
“You didn’t. I volunteered,” she corrected him. “And it’s a good thing I did, because if there hadn’t been three of us, you and Ann might be dead by now.”
Jesse’s face—contorted by a broken nose and two black eyes—looked at Abby’s cut, bruised, and swollen face with gratitude and shame.
“You’re some woman, Abby Hill,” he said.
From then on, Abby took over nursing Jesse. His recovery was slow, aided by Abby’s constant attention. When he could stand, she took him out on the porch and read to him. When he could walk, she took him first to the barn, then over to Ben’s, hovering over him at meals and between. I saw what was developing, but chose not to speak of it. This was their business, not mine. I waited to be told, certain that I would be told.
Nate rode to Bedford to drop a word to the friend of a friend to tell the constable to send somebody over to the summit on the Geistown road to investigate a dead body said to be there. Word came back in a couple of days that there was, indeed, a body. Nothing more was asked or told.
Jesse convalesced through the spring, slowly regaining movement and feeling. I allowed myself to hope that he might shelve his plans to go west at least for a while. But change was in the air.
Chapter 29
1860 – Summer
Jesse put off his departure for the west while he recuperated, but it was soon apparent that he still intended to go. Abby hovered over him, protective as a she-wolf. I moved aside when I saw the unmistakable look of possession her eyes. Jesse was too foggy-headed to read the female maneuvering that went on about him. All he knew was that Abby looked different. Like a woman. By June, he was ready to tell the world. He was going to Indiana and taking Abby as his wife.
Abby and I attended to the inevitable sewing of linens, a wedding dress for her, and a wedding shirt for him. Time rolled by too quickly, try as I would to put the impending departure out of my mind.
Maybe I could get them to take me with them. No. How silly. Papa needs me. Nate can fend for himself or marry, but I can’t abandon Papa. It’s a childish notion anyway. What would Jesse and Abby want with me?
I awoke on the wedding day almost giddy with excitement until I remembered that it was Abby and Jesse getting married and moving on, not me. The whole family, including the bridal couple, boarded Ben’s carriage for the ride to Meeting. There we met Mary and Noah with their shiny-faced brood, hardly able to contain their good natured silliness long enough to sit still for a wedding. Betsy and Will McKitrick arrived with their two boys, already long and tall. Once they saw their Poole and Redfield cousins, there was no containing them. I loved these family gatherings—they happened too seldom. The only one missing was Ra
chel, who had given birth in May to her third child, John Tyler Schilling. She wouldn’t have been allowed to come in any case, but Rachel was in my thoughts that day.
Jesse was clearly eager to get to Indiana and the life he had thus far put off. Abby’s beauty, though late in coming, was in full bloom. She was so deeply in love with Jesse, it shone from her eyes. My own feelings aside, I couldn’t help but be glad—for Abby to have found love, and for Jesse, too. But, oh, the emptiness I faced as a result.
They left the next day to take the cars from Altoona to Pittsburgh, then on to the prairie of central Indiana. I thought them well suited for the adventure they faced. No lack of courage between them.
Nate drove them to Altoona in Ben’s best carriage. Amos and I rode along to stay the night with Rachel and Jacob Schilling. It was the first time Amos had seen Rachel in six years, the first time he had met his three Schilling grandchildren, and the first time in all of his sixty-four years that he slept under any roof but his own.
Jacob was still at work when we arrived. Rachel and the children met us on the porch of their home on 10th street. The three blonde-haired, blue-eyed, solemn faced children eyed us shyly at first but soon warmed up to their Uncle Jesse’s pulling nickels from behind their ears and their Uncle Nate’s horsie rides. Little Ellen was especially attractive to me, being less of a reminder of Sam than the boys.
Abby and I helped Rachel with supper, and the family sat down, nine strong. Rachel beamed. “I’m so glad you came! You’ll never know how much I’ve longed to see all of you. I’m glad not to have missed out on everything.” Her joy was contagious, and we were soon laughing and talking as of old.
Redfield Farm: A Novel of the Underground Railroad Page 22
