Redfield Farm: A Novel of the Underground Railroad (15 page)

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I kept up my correspondence with Rachel, Mary, other Friends and relatives, and, of course, Josiah. He wrote about once a month, his writing improving with each letter. He was now teaching other ex-slaves and their children to read. He asked me to recommend books for him, and I did so gladly, even sending him a copy of
Uncle Tom’s Cabin
, a book passed from hand to hand among the Quakers and often discussed after Meeting. The fact that it was written by a woman made it more meaningful for me.

Josiah’s letters were full of the joy of freedom and the loneliness of his solitary life. Once or twice he mentioned meeting someone who had passed through our hands, for ex-slaves loved to share the stories of their escapes. The connection gave us both joy. He asked after my health, and Jesse’s, ever mindful of his debt to us, ever grateful for the gifts of life, freedom, and literacy.

I walked the half mile to Ben’s house at least twice a week to visit Rebecca. Ben had built on last summer; they needed more space to house five children. The house was now simply two log cabins joined by a large kitchen. There was much finishing to do, and Ben worked on it as he had time. Rebecca was delighted with it and proud of the five sturdy children who filled it.

Visiting Rebecca was awkward because she, like everybody else, wondered when and by whom I’d gotten pregnant. But, true to her nature, she waited for me to open up. I couldn’t bring myself to talk about Josiah, even to her.

Elias built a house about a half mile on the other side of Ben’s, and Melissa, being a stranger to the area, also relied on Rebecca for friendship and advice. At first it was awkward when the three of us chanced to come together—mostly for me—but after two or three meetings, we settled into a comfortable, if not intimate, friendship.

Melissa was only twenty, far from all that was familiar, and much in love with Elias. A naïve girl, she didn’t suspect my earlier devotion to her husband. I liked her more than I thought I could, given the circumstances.

One day in mid-October, while Rebecca and I had our heads together over a quilt, the door opened and Melissa entered, unannounced. “Brrrrr! I think Bedford County is colder than Franklin County.” She unwrapped a scarf from around her bonnet, smiling at us. “I’ve wonderful news,” she revealed. “I’m going to have a baby!”

Rebecca made a great fuss, congratulating her and promising to pass along baby clothes and a cradle, while I forced a smile and a hug. Melissa, full of chatter, sat down to quilt. She talked almost without ceasing, mostly about Elias, giving personal and intimate details that made me squirm. Yet she was so innocent and trusting that even I had to like her in spite of everything.

“Oh, Annie, our babies will be friends! They’ll play together, grow up together. And who knows? Maybe even marry!”

I cringed at being called Annie, but I smiled and nodded at Melissa’s innocent speculation. She was so child-like, I understood how Elias fell in love with her, even though the wound still hurt.

After a short time, I rose and called to Abby, visiting in the kitchen with Deborah, and we started back through Ben’s newly planted orchard for home. All the way, I was quiet, thinking about Elias and what might have been. I knew I didn’t love him anymore. Knew the infatuation had died abruptly in January, but I still longed for the fullness of life that included a husband, a father for my child, more children, and a home of my own. None of that was possible now. No man would want me.

We arrived home to find Papa and the boys in a political discussion with Will McKitrick, who’d stopped for a visit on his way home from Alum Bank.

“I tell you, war is coming,” Will was saying. “The South isn’t going to give up their slaves, and the North won’t stand by and let them spread slavery to the new territories. Sooner or later we’ll fight.”

“The South will see the light before that,” Amos assured him. “They’re losing property daily. They can’t continue with a system so flawed.”

“It depends on what the western states do,” Jesse added, “if they come into the Union for slavery or free.”

“I think Will’s right,” Nathaniel asserted. “All three of us could end up fighting.”

“Quakers are pacifists!” Amos thundered. “No son of mine will take up arms! Mark my words. If war comes,
thee will not go!
”

“No. I was going to send her some, but it sounds like she has plenty. Tell her Pru Hartley’s in a bad way. She could probably use some if you have extra.”

Standing in the middle of the kitchen, I was suddenly doubled over by a long, contracting pain. I reached for the table to steady myself, trying to look normal. I fooled no one. Jesse jumped up.

Abby was out the door before I finished. I clung to Jesse’s arm, and when the pain subsided, I climbed the stairs alone. Jesse followed, just in case. He helped me sit down on my bed, watching intently for signs of more pain.

“Ann,” he whispered desperately, “Please tell me who the father is. I’ll go get him, whoever or wherever he is. He should be here.”

“Never mind, Jesse. There’s nothing you can do. Just leave me now. I’ll get myself into bed.”

Reluctantly he went back downstairs. I changed into my nightgown and crawled heavily into bed. I had no idea how long this would take. I only knew that I needed help and wanted it to be over. They would know soon enough who the father was.

Then Abby was back with Rebecca, who pulled up a chair by my bed, held my hand, and spoke softly to me.

“You’ll be fine, Sister. I’m here to repay your services, hoping this delivery will be free of constables and slave catchers!”

I laughed. Rebecca had no idea of the irony of it. I labored through the afternoon, Abby and Rebecca hovering close. At about five o’clock, Rebecca called down to Jesse to go for the midwife. By the time he returned more than an hour later, things were progressing rapidly.

Hannah took charge, and with the help of Abby and Rebecca, delivered me of a strong, healthy son with lots of black hair and broad features. His skin, light at birth, darkened somewhat, but, being three quarters white, remained a soft creamy beige.

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.

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?”

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.

A
fter 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.