Redfield Farm: A Novel of the Underground Railroad (30 page)

“Good-bye, Ann,” he said softly. Pulling me to him, he gave me an awkward hug. “I’ll miss you.”

Unable to speak, I stood encircled by his arms until he let me go. Then I turned and hugged Abby.

“I love you like a sister, Ann,” she said, holding back her own tears. “I know how much Jesse means to you. I’ll take good care of him.”

They stepped aboard the train, and we watched them settle in. Jesse opened the window and talked to us as they waited to pull out. I found myself wishing the train would just go. It was a full five minutes before it rumbled out of the station, building up steam for the long haul up the Alleghenies. I looked away as the rest watched it disappear. In need of distraction, I tucked Baby John’s blanket around him and took little Ellen’s hand. When I saw Amos wipe a tear from his eye, I reached out with my other hand and took his arm. It felt small and weak. He looked, suddenly, like an old man.

We said goodbye to Rachel and the children around ten o’clock and drove south out of the city toward Bedford. Nate tried to distract Amos with farm talk, but got only mumbled responses. I stared at the road ahead, afraid to speak lest my emotions overflow.

At home, Nate put up the horses and I tied on my apron to prepare supper. I looked around at the empty house, tomb-like in its silence. So much of life had happened here, and now, it seemed, it was gone for good. Suddenly, I missed Sam and Josiah overwhelmingly, so much that I had to find a way to see them.

Sam was almost five now and, according to reports from Josiah, was growing tall, handsome, and smart. Hearing about him in letters was better than not, but I needed to see him. Urgently. I wondered how Lettie would take to a visit from me. For a few days. To satisfy the longing.

That evening I wrote to Josiah by lamplight:

Dear Josiah,

I take my pen in hand to write to you, hoping

these lines find you in good health. Jesse

and Abby are now man and wife. They left this

morning for Indiana. I find myself alone and

in need of distraction. To be direct, I wish to

come visit you and especially Sam. Do you

think Lettie could forbear such an intrusion?

Please speak to her for me. I await your

response.

Yours, Ann Redfield

The next day, without waiting for the letter to be posted, I asked Nate to arrange for some of my money to be made available. I laid out my itinerary, following the same route I’d taken with Lettie and Sam four years earlier, only this time there was a train between Pittsburgh and Erie, so the trip wouldn’t take as long.

Josiah’s response was two weeks in coming:

Dear Ann,

I am overjoyed to hear of your wish to visit

us. Of course you are welcome. Lettie is

delighted and looks forward to seeing you. She

can’t wait to show off our home and family.

Please, by all means, confirm your plans and

advise us when to expect you.

Yours, Josiah

I marveled at Lettie’s forbearance and resolved to convey to her my deep appreciation. I wrote to her that very night, trying to put into words what I had held so long in my heart.

Her response to me put the matter to rest for all time.

The next day, when I told Nate and Papa of my plans, Amos responded, “Say hello to my grandson for me.” It was his way of saying he forgave me my trespasses.

Ï

The travel was almost as long, jolting, and dusty as the first time, with the addition of a plague of motion sickness from the lake crossing. I arrived at Port Stanley, Ontario, weary and travel-worn. There was no coach to Dresden. The only option was to take a coach to London, a train to Chatham and hire a driver to take me and my trunk the rest of the way.

I arrived in the little Canadian town just after six o’clock the next day. It was a tiny hamlet, so it took only two queries to find Josiah Colton’s house. I was dropped off at a neat cottage, fenced and trellised, with a new coat of paint, a thriving vegetable garden, and flowers in every available space. I smiled my approval, paid my driver, and directed him to carry my trunk to the door.

I was greeted by Lettie, smiling, a child on her hip and another clinging to her skirt. Her warm welcome erased any fears I had about lingering hurt or jealousy. I was graciously gathered into their home without reservation.

“Sam! Sam! Come here, boy! There’s someone here to see you!” Lettie beamed in anticipation of showing off my son to me.

A tall, sturdy, light-skinned child stepped out of one of the bedrooms. “Good evening, Ma’am.” He extended his hand.

I took his hand in both of mine, fighting the urge to sweep him up in my arms. “Good evening, Sam. I’m Ann Redfield, a friend of your family. I’m so happy to meet you.”

I smiled, still holding Sam’s hand. He stepped toward me, laying his head on my hip. “I’m sorry, Miss Ann Redfield,” he said. “But I hope you did bring me something.”

I knelt and looked into my son’s face, where I saw traces of Josiah, and traces of Jesse, but his curly black hair and deep brown eyes shifted the balance in favor of his father. Three quarters white, his skin was pale in comparison to Lettie’s and Josiah’s. I found him extremely handsome and wished Papa and the rest could see him.

“Yes, Sam, I think I can find something for you in my trunk,” I smiled, turning to bring it in the front door. I was met by Josiah, coming up the walk. Smiling broadly, he swept me off my feet and swung me in a circle.

We sat down at the table, the baby in her cradle and Sam and little Ann perched up on boards over chair arms. I couldn’t help but feel pride in my role in getting this family to ‘Freedomland.’

I laughed. I longed to enfold him in my arms, cling to him. He was so beautiful it almost stopped my heart. How had I found the courage to give him away? How would I find it again, to leave him for a second time?

After the meal, I opened my trunk and presented gifts to the whole family, even baby Athena. There were clothes and toys and sweets for everyone. In truth, I had packed very little for myself. When I finished handing out the gifts, the trunk was nearly empty.

I watched Lettie herd the little ones off to bed, grateful for the generosity of her heart, for her being strong enough to stand back and let this be. I wanted nothing more than to watch from afar as my son grew up and to be allowed a small measure of significance to Josiah. Somehow Lettie knew it without being told, and I am forever indebted to her for that.

Calling him ‘our boy’ gave me a turn. To acknowledge our relationship so was a joy to me. “I think he’s a fine, bright, healthy boy in good hands. I think the universe turns on his whim.”

Josiah laughed. “I try not to let him know that.”

“I’m glad I came. It’s good to see you free and happy. I’m not sure how much we’ll have to do with the Railroad now that Jesse’s gone.”

“Even if he were still here, I’d think you’d be a
little
fearful. All of you.”

I turned to him, my chin trembling. “Oh, Josiah! It was awful. So awful to be abused by someone we were trying to help. Abby and I were badly beaten, but Jesse! I was terrified for him. Afraid he’d never walk again.” The tears came and I made no effort to hide them. There was no need. “That’s why I had to come and see you. I had to see the good that’s come of it. Every time I looked at Jesse, I saw the bad.”

Josiah sighed. “Folks want charity to fall on worthy ground. But don’t let one bad time outweigh the good. Don’t let it stop you or even slow you down. Those poor slaves need you now more than ever. Come. Come with me.”

Josiah led me out the garden gate and down the main street of Dresden. Along the way he pointed out the homes of former slaves he’d seen come to Canada and make a good life. He was so sincere, so grateful, so sure of the importance of our work, I took heart and dried my tears.

As we walked along in the gathering twilight, he introduced me to his friends and neighbors, and they responded with joy and gratitude. One old man held my hand in both of his and looked long into my eyes, tears channeling down his wrinkled face. “Freedom be the greatest gift,” he said.

When we returned to his house, Josiah took my hand. “Come inside. I’ve something to show you.”

In the parlor he pulled a book from the shelf, one I had heard of, but never read, Bunyan’s
Pilgrims Progress
. Inside the back cover he showed me a series of tick marks, in groups of five, four uprights and a diagonal.

“These are people I know you’ve helped,” he said. “I took them from your letters. Each time you wrote of a Railroad event, I marked down the number of people you saved. I did this for Sam. I want him to know what his mother did—some day.”

O
ne day in late April, Nate burst in from Alum Bank with the mail, his young face alive with the news he carried.

“War. They’ve gone and started to fight. Down in South Carolina.” Amos and I stared at him. “Well, don’t look so surprised. Tension’s been building for years. I knew it would come, soon as we elected Lincoln.”

More disbelief than surprise. I sat down at the kitchen table to think. Nate added details about the shelling of Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor and Lincoln’s call for troops. Amos sat on a straight chair, rubbing his hands over his thighs, his face red, listening.

“Are they
all
quitting the Union?” I asked.

“All those ones that went after the election. Virginia went, too. Probably the rest’ll follow.”

It felt like someone had died. “I guess we had our part in it, Jesse and I,” I mused. “I don’t regret it, but I hoped it would never come to this. I hate slavery, but I hate war even more.”

Nate stood in the middle of the kitchen, an odd excitement in his eyes. “Guess this’ll shake things up around here.”

“Shake things up! More likely tear us asunder.” Amos warned. “It’s hard enough to keep the Quaker principles without this.”

“Some’ll join up, no matter if they get disowned,” Nate allowed. “Some won’t, even if you promise them a kingdom. And some’ll find a way around taking sides and come through at a profit!”

Amos shook his head. “None of mine. None of mine.”

The next week, Papa rose at Meeting and ranted against the war. No one spoke for it, even though, as Nate said, in their hearts they welcomed an end to the constant bickering and compromise. “Quakers don’t embrace violence!” Amos thundered. “Let the non-Quakers traipse off to Bedford to enlist. We’ll still be here when it’s over.” But, when, early in June, news came of the rout of Union troops at a place in Virginia called Manassas, concern heightened and enlistments increased. More than a few seats on the men’s side of the Meeting house were empty come July.