Escape by Night (5 page)

Tommy held his breath. At any moment, Annie was going to tell everything. It would pour out, like rain running off the roof.

“Come on, Samson,” Tommy said. “Sit over here by Annie.”

Samson moved to Annie's side and snuggled in close.

Annie brightened. “I changed my mind. I will read.”

Tommy heaved a sigh of relief.

Annie pranced across the room to the bookshelf. Tommy did not know what caused her to hold her tongue. Perhaps it was the silent prayer he'd said, or maybe just her love of dogs. Whatever the reason, at least now he had more time to think about what to do.

The next day was Sunday. Ever since First Presbyterian Church had been turned into a hospital, the congregation had met at the Baptist church a few blocks away. Tommy decided he would make his decision Sunday morning.

 

Tommy had not slept well. The weight of the situation was growing heavier. He had heard Henry say, “The heaviest burden in the world is a burden carried alone.” Henry was right.

The Baptist church gave Tommy a peaceful feeling. He sat in the pew between Marion and Annie. Their mother sat by Annie. They were waiting for the service to begin when Mrs. Williams marched up. In one long exhaled breath, she said, “Tomorrow they are bringing in more wounded from Atlanta—hundreds of them.”

“Oh, my,” Mrs. McKnight said.

Mrs. Williams lifted her arms into the air like she was asking the congregation to rise. “Where will they put them? Every hospital is packed.”

She turned to Tommy. “I hear there are some Mississippi boys in the group. Maybe your soldier will finally have some friends.”

Tommy felt squeezed, and it had nothing to do with the crowded pew. Between Mrs. Williams, Annie, and the Mississippi soldiers, Red would likely be discovered, and soon.

Reverend McKnight began the service with a reading from Psalms. Everyone stood. Normally, Tommy would have listened. Today he could not concentrate. Questions exploded in his head like fireworks. Should he tell someone about Red? Should he help Red? Should Red go to prison? The enemy was supposed to go to prison. But Red didn't seem like the enemy.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me…,” Reverend McKnight read.

Mercy. That's what Henry had talked about.

Tommy looked back at the slaves' section of the church. Henry was sitting on the front row. He gave Tommy a nod.

Everyone sat down.

Did Red deserve mercy? Mercy was not something you deserved. It was a gift.

Reverend McKnight began the morning prayer. “Gracious Father, we enter into your presence…”

What would God want?
Tommy thought. God was a God of grace and mercy—he'd heard that all his life. Would God want Red to go to prison, or home to his family?

Marion punched Tommy in the side. The congregation was standing to sing. Tommy stood.

What did God expect him to do? What were those three things from the book of Micah? To do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God. Love mercy.

“Streams of merrr-cy, ne-ver ceeea-sing…” The congregation sang, and the words leaped out at Tommy. Streams of mercy, never ceasing. That's what God wanted. Not a little mercy here and there, but streams of it, running on and on like the Savannah River. Suddenly it was clear what he should do.

Tommy looked at his father high up in the pulpit, singing with passion as he always did. The congregation was singing loudly too, and with joy. Tommy felt relief for the first time in two days.

As soon as church ended, Tommy found Henry.

“I know what you mean about mercy,” Tommy said.

Henry smiled. “What you gonna do?”

Tommy hesitated. His decision was a serious one, and he sensed the importance of secrecy. Henry of all people would understand, and even agree, but Tommy held back. “I'll tell you tomorrow.” He added to himself, “If I'm not in jail.”

 

Tommy and Samson entered the sanctuary by the side door. Red was a few rows over, sitting beside an older man, holding his hand. Red spotted Tommy and slipped away to the side door. They stepped outside onto the stone steps, and Red took a deep breath.

“Fresh air smells good,” he said. Then he saw Tommy's face. “What's wrong?”

“There are a lot of soldiers coming in tomorrow, some from Mississippi.”

“I'll leave tonight. We're close to South Carolina, aren't we? I know some people there who'll help me get north.”

Tommy frowned. “You'll have to cross the Savannah River to get to South Carolina, and it's too dangerous to swim.”

“Is there a bridge?”

“Yes, there's a footbridge, but it's upriver and they started guarding it a couple of months ago.”

“What about railroad trestles?”

“There are two. They're covered, so you could cross without being seen, but you have to get to the river first.”

Tommy's heart beat faster. Red would have to cross every main street in Augusta: Greene Street, Broad Street, and Reynolds Street.

“I'll take you,” Tommy said.

“No. I don't want you to get into trouble. It's enough that you're not turning me in.”

“You can't make it by yourself,” Tommy said. “You've never been to Augusta before. It'll be dark. You might run into trouble or get lost.”

“I don't know…,” Red said.

“I know yards to cut through,” Tommy said, feeling more certain than ever. “I can take you as far as Saint Paul's Church. It's right beside the river.”

“I'll need clothes and food.”

“I can bring them,” Tommy offered.

“Can you meet me at eight?”

“Yes. My parents are going out visiting tonight. They'll be gone by then.”

“Good. I'll be waiting.”

A gentle breeze blew by, and for a moment it felt like their problems floated away. Red pulled his commonplace book from his pocket.

“I want to read you two lines from a poem. But first I'll read you the story of the man in the poem.”

Red found the page he was looking for.

“A man, Jonathan Walker, who lived in Florida, moved his family to Massachusetts so his children would not be raised in the poisonous environment of slavery.”

He emphasized the word “poisonous,” and Tommy wondered if Red thought Augusta was a poisonous environment.

“Mr. Walker returned to Florida for a visit, and some slaves he knew, who had been members of his church, asked if they could go back to Massachusetts with him. He consented, and they left in a sailboat.

“They were two weeks out when a Southern ship caught them. Mr. Walker was imprisoned in a dungeon for a year, and the palm of his right hand was branded
SS
for slave stealer.”

Tommy turned his own hands over and stared at the palms.

“The poem is called ‘The Branded Hand,' by John Greenleaf Whittier. These lines are my favorite.

“Then lift that manly right hand,

  
bold ploughman of the wave!

Its branded palm shall prophesy,

  
‘Salvation to the Slave!'”

The story was as compelling as the Covenanters.

“Is he alive?” Tommy asked.

“Yes, and he travels around giving speeches and showing off his hand.”

“Lots of famous people come to Augusta on the train. Do you think he might come here?” Tommy asked.

“I don't think Mr. Walker would be welcomed.” Red lowered his voice. “Someone else is coming with me tonight.”

Tommy felt his pulse quicken.

“Another Yankee?”

He thought back to the soldiers he had seen in the hospital. None of them looked like Yankees, but neither did Red.

“For now, the less you know, the better it is for you. You'll see tonight.”

 

Samson sat alert. All day long he had known something was going on, and he had not left Tommy's side.

Tommy sat on the edge of his bed, staring at a watch he had borrowed from his father's bedroom. Beside him lay a small sack with the things Red needed for the journey. Tommy reviewed the contents: an old shirt of his father's from the mending pile and some food, which had not been easy to get.