Chapter Twenty-Three
“Mama!” Carrie cried as soon as she reached her parents’ bedroom door. She knew without entering the room that her mother was seriously ill. Nothing else could have imprinted the deep fear in her father’s eyes.
“Shh...” Rose raised her finger to her lips. “She’s finally sleeping.” She handed the huge peacock feather to another house servant standing close by and walked over to where Carrie stood staring at her mother. The house servant immediately began fanning the sleeping woman.
Carrie allowed Rose to lead her from the room and back down the stairs. Her father was still standing on the porch where she had left him. As soon as she saw him, she broke away from Rose and ran to him. “Father! What is wrong with Mother?” she demanded.
Thomas turned weary eyes to her. “We don’t know yet. The doctor has been called, but he hasn’t been able to get here. I hear a lot of people are sick.”
“How long has she been like this?” Carrie asked.
“Four days.”
“Four days? And the doctor hasn’t been here yet?” Carrie fought to think clearly. She knew her father wasn’t good with medical emergencies. He seemed to fall apart when those he loved became ill. That was why she and her mother had always taken care of the medical needs on the plantation. She laid her hand gently on her father’s arm. “How did this start?” she asked Rose.
“Your mama complained of a bad headache a few days ago.”
Carrie frowned. For all her genteel ways, her mother could endure a great deal of suffering without complaint. She must have been in intense pain to have complained.
“She was helping some of the house servants cut out dresses for some of the children in the quarters,” Rose continued, “but she laid everything down and went up to her room. I was worried about her, so I went to look in on her an hour or so later. She had fallen across the bed without getting under the covers and was burning up with a fever. Later, she started mumbling to herself and thrashing around.” Rose had fear in her eyes when she looked up at Carrie. “I’ve done everything I can, Miss Carrie. All the things I’ve seen you and your mama do when one of us is sick. I can’t get the fever to come down.”
Carrie nodded and started back up the stairs. “How soon was the doctor called?”
“We sent Miles to Richmond that very first day,” Thomas answered.
Carrie whirled around to stare at her father. “Miles knew? He didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you until you got home.”
Carrie groaned. “I could have perhaps found the doctor in Richmond. At least I could have brought back some kind of medicine.” She opened her mouth to say more, but the pain in her father’s eyes stopped her. She bit back any more words, climbed the stairs, and entered the sick room. She moved closer to her mother’s still form and laid a hand on her burning forehead. Her heart sank. “She’s had a fever like this for four days?”
Rose nodded solemnly. “I’ve tried to get her to drink, but she mostly just thrashes around and knocks it out of my hand. I haven’t been able to get much into her.” She paused. “Miss Carrie, I’m glad you’re home. I’m real worried about your mama.”
Carrie turned to Rose with a faint smile. “I’m glad I’m home, too, Rose.” She wrapped her arms around her friend and gave her a hug. She needed Rose’s strength. Then she straightened and started barking orders.
In short order she had a tub full of chopped ice brought up from the ice house. Buckets of cold water drawn from the well were poured into it. Great strips of sheeting were torn and brought to the room. Only then did Carrie begin to work, ordering everyone but Rose out of the room.
“Your father wants to know if you want his help.”
Carrie shook her head firmly at Sam, who had suddenly appeared at the door. “Tell him I’ll keep him posted.” She didn’t add that he would just be in the way. Sam nodded and pulled the door shut.
Carrie moved over and pulled all the covers off her mother. The first thing she had to do was bring the fever down. She pulled the soaked nightgown off and directed Rose to drench the sheet strips and wring them out. As Rose passed them to her, she carefully wrapped all parts of her mother’s body with the cold cloths. She worked relentlessly, stopping only long enough to wipe the sweat dripping from her own forehead. As soon as she finished wrapping her mother’s body, she would start all over again, replacing hot cloths with new cold ones. She lost all track of time.
The evening wore on as she continued her battle. As darkness fell, she imagined that the sheets weren’t getting hot quite as fast, but by now she was too tired to really tell. Her movements were automatic. Wrap. Unwrap. Wrap. Unwrap.
It was past midnight when Abigail opened her eyes. “Thomas?” she said weakly.
Carrie spun from where she was kneeling next to the tub. “Mama!” Leaping up, she flew to her mother’s side and laid a hand on her forehead. “Your fever has broken,” she whispered joyfully, her fatigue forgotten.
Abigail stared at her uncomprehendingly. “I’ve been sick, haven’t I?” She closed her eyes for a moment, and opened them again with effort.
“Yes, Mama. You’ve been sick,” Carrie confirmed, “but you’re going to be okay now.” She wondered at the truth of her own words. She had seen what a fever like her mother’s could do to a person. She had brought it down, but had she done so soon enough?
Her mother spoke again, her words slow and halting. “You’re home. I’m glad.”
“I’m home,” Carrie agreed. “You need to drink some water, Mama.” She reached out and took the glass Rose was holding out to her. She controlled her shudder when she lifted her mother’s shoulders to steady her. How had she become so frail and thin in just four days? Her heart was heavy when she gently lowered her mother back down on the bed. The fever had already done a lot of damage. How much would have to wait to be seen.
“Your father is outside, Carrie. Sam went to get him.”
Carrie nodded and went to open the door. “The fever has broken, Father.”
Tears filled Thomas’ eyes. “I knew everything would be okay as soon as you got home, Carrie.”
Carrie said nothing about her misgivings. Words would not change the situation. Only time would tell. “She needs rest, Father.”
Thomas nodded. “I’ll only stay a few minutes.”
Carrie stepped back. “I’m going down to get some fresh air. When I come back I’m going to see if she can drink a little broth. She has lost a lot of strength.”
Carrie stayed on the porch just a few minutes, gulping in the cool night air. She could hardly believe she had arrived home that afternoon. She gave one long look north and then turned to re-enter the house.
Rose glanced up at the light still shining from the Cromwells’ bedroom, before she slipped soundlessly into the woods. Carrie had been home for two days. During that time, she had rarely left her mother’s side. The fever had tried to creep back several times, but her determined friend had fought it off. Her mother was eating a little, but her tiny frame had begun to look emaciated. She knew Carrie was deeply concerned. Rose shook off her thoughts as she walked quietly through the woods. There were other people who were depending on her. She prayed Carrie would not call for her and find her missing.
“That you, Rose?”
“Yes, Moses,” Rose whispered back. She smiled when his towering form appeared by her side. Just his being there made her feel more confident. She waited until they were deep in the woods before she spoke again. “Are the others in place?”
Moses nodded. “They’ll be only a few minutes behind us. They’re all meetin’ in the school ravine. They’ll wait there for us.”
Rose smiled in the darkness. Moses had been working so hard. He had mastered reading in only a few weeks and devoured everything she could get to him. It wasn’t much, but she did the best she could. He also made sure she corrected him on his speech. In only a few months he hardly resembled the defeated man who was brought to Cromwell from the slave auction. Rose had grown to depend on him, but he had never spoken his heart again after the night Jamison had come. She was content with what they had.
Her face grew more serious as the two slowed their pace and crept quietly toward the road. Moses had insisted they come early. “In case it’s a trap,” he had said. “I trust Jamison, but it never hurts to be careful.” He figured if a trap was going to be laid, it would be done just before the slaves were supposed to meet the wagon on the road. They intended to be there to watch.
They peered out of the bushes, scanning the road and the surrounding brush. Great banks of clouds obscured any moonlight that would betray their actions. Flashes of heat lightning competed with the luminescent flashes of lightning bugs. Rose forced herself not to slap at the mosquitoes leaving their mark on the exposed parts of her body. The night, still simmering with the heat of the day, wrapped itself around her like a wet cloak. She fought to control the nervous pounding of her heart. Finally, she tugged at Moses’ arm. They had to go get the others.
Moses nodded. He seemed satisfied. No one was waiting in the murky blackness. If their friends were going to escape, tonight would be the night. He held Rose’s hand as they walked back through the night. He knew the wooded trails as well as she did now.
When they broke into the school clearing, eight sets of frightened yet determined eyes met them.
Jasmine, carrying nothing but a small bundle of clothing, rose to greet them. “Is everythin’ all right?” she asked anxiously. Then she looked closely at Rose. “Where be your other clothes? Mr. Jamison done told us we could bring some extra, didn’t he?” she asked with a worried frown.
“Yes, Jasmine.” She took a deep breath. “I have something to tell all of you,” she said softly. “I...I won’t...” She gulped for air. Now that the time had come, the pain of being left behind was almost unbearable. “I won’t be coming with you,” she finally forced out in a barely discernible whisper.
A shocked silence fell on the group of soon-to-be fugitives. Jasmine was the first to speak. “What you talkin’ bout, Miss Rose? What do you mean you ain’t comin’ with us?”
“Rose can’t leave her mama.” Miles spoke in a soft voice that expressed admiration and understanding of her pain at the same time.
Rose turned to him with a grateful smile. “Miles is right. My mama needs me. I can’t leave her now. But it’s all right,” she said, summoning a brave smile. “My turn will come sometime.”
Sadie’s troubled voice broke into the stillness of the night. “You be knowin’ this all along, Rose?”
Rose nodded. “I thought it would make it easier for all of you if you thought I was going to escape with you. You’re doing the right thing,” she said earnestly. “Jamison can be trusted. I will be back here praying and believing for you.”
The little group gazed around at each other in concern. They had counted on Rose being with them.
Miles was the first to speak. “So be it,” he said firmly. He turned to Rose. “We’ll miss you, girl, but I know you’re makin’ the decision best for you.” He turned to the others. “We have to git goin’. This is our chance to be free. We can’t do nothin’ to mess it up. We’s going to be free!”
The strength of his words flowed into the rest of the group. Their backs straightened, and one by one, they all nodded.
“You’ll always be right smack in the center of our hearts, Rose.” Sadie spoke for all of them. “You done taught us how to read and write. Cause of you we can do somethin’ wid our lives when we make it to Canada. Thank you.”
Rose made no effort to hide the tears running down her face. She hugged each one and then stepped back. “We need to be going.” She turned and led the way back down the trail.
“She’s better isn’t she, Carrie?”
Carrie looked up at her father standing next to the bed where his wife had just drifted back to sleep. “She’s better,” she agreed. She would not burden her father with her fear.
“The doctor said you worked a miracle bringing her temperature down.”
Carrie frowned. “He couldn’t tell me what caused it.” Actually, the visiting doctor had deeply frustrated her. His examination had been perfunctory, and he seemed stymied by his patient’s sudden onset of sickness. His manner had been brusque and uncaring. She had tried to justify his behavior by saying he was tired and overworked, but still it had grated on her. Her desire to be a doctor had risen steadily while she watched him work.
Thomas continued to stare down at his wife. “How long before she is back to normal?”
“I don’t know, Father.” Carrie didn’t know what else to say. She knew from all of her reading in the medical journals that a high fever sustained for as long as her mother’s could be very serious. She reached out a hand and patted his arm. “I’ll do everything I can.”
“What did the doctor say to do?”
Carrie shrugged. “Nothing,” she admitted. That had been the hardest thing. The doctor had offered no word of hope and given no clear instructions on what she could do to help her mother. He has simply shaken his head, closed his bag, and walked from the room. She had been so glad her father hadn’t been there to see it. He still had hope.
Rose could hear the low rumble of a wagon coming down the road when the group had almost reached the edge of the woods. Jamison—if it was Jamison—was right on time. She held her finger to her lips and crouched down behind the surrounding brush. Everyone followed her example. Not a sound betrayed their presence.
Slowly, the wagon approached and stopped. Rose peered out into the darkness. She would wait for the signal.
“I am a friend.”
Rose sighed with relief and moved out into the road. “Hello, Mr. Jamison.”
“Hello, Rose. It’s good to see you again.” Jamison’s voice was calm, but his eyes never stopped moving.
“I have eight people waiting to join you.” Rose answered his next question before he asked it. “It’s Saturday night, and Adams is off on a drinking binge. He won’t come near the quarters until Monday morning. And Mrs. Cromwell is sick, so no one will be missed until Adams raises the alarm.”
“Good.” Jamison jumped down from the wagon and turned to her. “Have you changed your mind, Rose? It’s not too late to join us.”
Rose shook her head and managed a smile. “No, Mr. Jamison. I will be staying here.”
Jamison frowned slightly but nodded. “I have no way of knowing how long it will take to get them to freedom. It is getting more difficult. As the number of escaping slaves increases, more and more effort is being made to stop them. It took us two months to get a group from Blackwell to Philadelphia. Even then, one of them almost got caught. A young woman managed to delay the slave hunters long enough for us to get away. They are on their way to Canada now, and they should be free soon.”
Rose smiled. “I’m glad,” she murmured.
Jamison nodded and looked toward the woods. “Let’s go, everyone. We have to be at the next station before it starts to get light.” He waved his hand at the wagon piled high with sweet-smelling hay. “Everyone under the hay.” The group of slaves filed silently from the woods, and he smiled encouragingly at each one of them. “My job is to take you to freedom. Thank you for trusting me. I admire your courage.”
Rose knew now that the moment was here they were overwhelmed with their fears of what could happen, but there was no turning back. They had set their faces to freedom and nothing was going to make them turn away. She and Moses watched silently.
Jamison climbed into his seat and stared down at them. “If there is some way to let you know they made it, I will.” Then, without further delay, he picked up his reins and clucked to his team.
Rose watched as the wagon rumbled down the road. Long after it had disappeared, she continued to stand, staring into the blackness.
“Rose?” Moses’ gentle voice and soft touch on her shoulder broke the dam. Sobbing, she turned and pressed her face against his massive chest. He held her close and stroked her hair, staring into the darkness just as she had done.
“Manson back yet?” Ike Adams tipped his glass back and took another long gulp of whiskey. He grinned as the burning liquid flowed down his throat and numbed his mind.
“Nah.” Jennings smirked. “He ain’t gonna find them niggers. Blackwell will probably give him the boot, too. Them slaves were worth thousands of dollars.”
“It weren’t his fault them niggers got away.” Adams protested hotly. “You can’t be with them every second.” He scowled into his drink. “It’s them damn Yankees. They’re coming down here and taking our slaves. I say they need to come down here and fight like real men. Then we’d show ‘em.” He sounded tough, but the other man’s words had awakened an ever-present fear. What would happen to his job if some of the Cromwell slaves managed to escape?
“Manson’s had hunters after them slaves for two months now. I heard he even took off for Philadelphia himself. Something about them slaves maybe being there.” Jennings shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to be him if he has to come back and tell Blackwell he didn’t find nothing.” He pulled an imaginary knife across his throat and grimaced.
Adams jumped up and reached for the whiskey bottle. “It ain’t his fault I tell you!”
Jennings shrugged. “Somebody going to carry the blame.” He squinted his eyes. “What about the Cromwell niggers, Adams? What you gonna do if some of them get away?”
Adams slammed his glass down on the table. “That ain’t gonna happen!” But the fears had started spinning in his brain. Suddenly, there was nothing to do but go to the quarters and satisfy his fears. It didn’t matter that it was after midnight. He threw his glass aside and smiled bitterly as the glass shattered against the wall. Then he turned and stalked away.
Moses and Rose had just reached the wooded edge of the quarters when they heard the sound of a horse galloping in their direction.
“Hurry, Moses! Get back to your cabin.” The sound of a horse could mean nothing but trouble.
Moses hesitated. “You’re going to be okay?”
Rose nodded impatiently and gave him a push. “Hurry!”
Moses looked down at her briefly and then turned and sprinted into the darkness.
Moments later, Adams reined in his horse and glared at the dark cabins. He scowled and reached behind his saddle, pulling out the whip he carried when Cromwell wasn’t around. He uncoiled it and gave it a mighty crack. “All niggers out of the cabins!” The sound of the cracking whip filled the air as slaves stumbled from their beds, sleepy-eyed and confused.
Horrified, Rose watched from her concealed spot. She should go before she was missed in the big house, but her feet were rooted to the ground. What had brought Adams to the quarters on his drinking night? She could do nothing but stare helplessly as Adams slid to the ground and began to inspect the slaves. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Moses’ massive shape line up with the rest of the men. He had made it back in time. Her relief was short-lived, however, when she noticed he still had his shoes on. The rest of the sleepy-eyed men standing in line were all barefoot. God, please!
Just then, Moses looked down and quickly back up. Adams was at the other end of the line. Moving slowly, so as to not draw any attention, Moses carefully eased a shoe off with one big foot, and pushed it back into the shadows of the cabin. He had just pushed the other shoe back into the protecting darkness when Adams broke into a stream of curses.
Moving quickly now, Adams continued his count. Soon the air was thick with his curses and hollering. Rose watched as he grabbed her mama by the arm. “Where are all the niggers, old woman?”
Sarah shook her head calmly. “I wouldn’t be knowing nothin’ ‘bout that.” Adams cursed again and shoved her away. A steadying arm reached out to keep her from falling.
Adams’ glazed eyes focused on Moses. He seemed to grip his whip tighter as he stalked up to him. “Where are the niggers?” he demanded.
Moses shook his head.
His silence made Adams angrier. Pulling back his arm, he let fly with the whip. It barely missed Moses’ head. Moses closed his eyes briefly but never flinched.
Rose groaned. She knew Moses’ heart was with the escaping slaves. The longer Adams stayed there, the farther away they could get.
Somehow that thought must have pierced the befuddled fog of Adams’ brain. He cursed loudly, grabbed his whip, and jumped on his horse. “I’m gonna catch them niggers!” he yelled. “And when I do, they’re gonna be sorry they were ever born!” He kicked his horse savagely and disappeared down the road.
Rose, wiping tears from her eyes, ran through the woods. She had to get back to the house before they discovered she was gone. She ignored the cruel lash of branches as she flew down the path. She must hurry! Adams was stomping up the porch stairs when she reached the edge of the clearing. As the pounding of his heavy fist on the door rang through the night, all Rose could do was watch.
“What in the world is going on?” Thomas Cromwell’s angry voice rang out clearly as he threw the massive door open. Carrie watched from the top of the stairs as her father looked with disgust at his overseer’s drunken condition. “What is it, Adams?” he asked again impatiently. “My wife is very ill! Your pounding has probably awakened her!”
Adams stared at the angry man and drew himself up to his full height. “Some of your slaves are missing, Mr. Cromwell.”
Thomas leaned his head against the doorjamb for a brief moment. “Who is gone, Adams?” he asked sharply.
“Seven of the field hands, sir. Sadie, Jasmine—”
Thomas held up his hand. “Are they all field hands, Adams?”
“I don’t know, sir. I would recommend that you check the house and barn slaves. We need to know who we are going after.”
Thomas nodded his head wearily. The strain of worrying about his wife, combined with sleepless nights, had taken its toll. “Sam?” he called. He waited as Sam took what seemed to be much longer than normal to respond to his call.
The old man’s face was impassive as he joined them at the door. “Yes, sir?”
“I want you to call all the house and barn slaves. Tell them to line up on the porch.”
“Yessuh, Marse Cromwell.” Sam turned and disappeared back into the house.
Thomas rubbed his hand over his eyes. He glanced up the stairs and saw Carrie staring down at him, but she made no move to join him. She needed to stay close enough to her mother to hear her call.
Adams fidgeted impatiently.
One by one, the slaves filed onto the porch. Rose was the last one to take her place in line. Carrie, from her place on the landing, noticed the sheen of sweat and her bright eyes.
Thomas looked them over carefully. Suddenly his face tightened. “Where is Miles?”
Carrie leaned into the support of the railing and stared down with wide eyes.
Sam shrugged, his face still impassive. “He weren’t in his room over the barn, Marse Cromwell.” His tone was expressionless.
Thomas shook his head in disbelief. “Miles ran away?” he asked faintly. “All of you go back to your quarters,” he said. Then he turned to Adams. “Gather some men and go after them. They can’t be far.” He stared at Adams, taking in his drunken state once more. “When was the last time you counted them Adams? How long have they been gone?” he asked.
“Just this afternoon, sir. They can’t be far...”
“Unless?” Thomas peered at him.
“Unless the Underground Railroad is helping them. The Blackwell slaves were taken off in a wagon. They ain’t been found yet.”
“Well, get on it, man! I can’t leave. My wife needs me. Find whomever you can to help you. I’ll make sure they’re paid.”
Adams nodded, his mean features twisting with pleasure. “Yes, sir! I’ll have them niggers back soon!”
Carrie shuddered at the thought of Adams catching the runaway slaves. She knew he would show no mercy.
Thomas watched as his overseer strode down the steps and disappeared into the night on his horse. He stared out into the darkness for a long while. Then he turned, looked up at Carrie, and spoke in a low voice. “I don’t trust Adams. I should go after the escaped slaves myself.” He glanced up at the glowing window of his bedroom. “But I can’t leave. I won’t leave! Abigail is my life. I have to be here for her if she needs me.” His voice caught with pain. “All of my slaves could get up and leave. They mean nothing without her.” He turned to glare into the darkness again, his shoulders slumped with fatigue.
Carrie had not moved from her place by the stair railing. It had come to Cromwell Plantation at last, just as her mother had feared. Slaves had run away. An image of Sadie, tossing with fever because of the cut on her foot, rose before her. Miles laughing up at her as he taught her to ride. Jasmine as a little girl playing around Sarah until she had to go to the fields. Who else who had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember was now gone? Her heart constricted, yet she felt relief. Harriet’s tear-streaked face floated back from Philadelphia to stare her in the eyes. I just want to be free! “Carrie…” Her mother’s weak voice reached out to call her back into the present. She turned quickly and hurried to her mother’s side, breathing a quick prayer that the slaves would make their way to freedom.
Adams, thinking clearly now, knew he needed help. He leaned low over Ginger’s neck as she flew down the dark road. Adams was on his way to find Jennings and some of the other men. Jennings had dogs, and the slaves couldn’t be far. Even if they were in a wagon, men on horses could catch up with them easily.
He pulled up to the same house he had left so abruptly earlier that night, vaulted off Ginger, and ran up the stairs. “We got some niggers to catch!” he cried as soon as he entered the dark room that reeked of alcohol.
Jennings peered up at him with red-rimmed, bleary eyes. “Welcome back, Adams,” he slurred. “I saved a bottle for ya.” He lifted the almost empty bottle of whiskey, gave a hard laugh, and raised it to his lips.
Before he could drain the remaining drops, Adams cursed and ripped the bottle from his hands. He slammed it on the table and turned back to the men in the room. “Didn’t you hear me?” he cried angrily. “We got niggers to catch. Eight of the Cromwell niggers have run away. They can’t be far.” He grabbed Jennings by the collar and tried to lift him from the chair. “We need your dogs, man! Get up!” But he knew even as he was yelling that his efforts were futile. The room was full of reeling, drunken men. They would be useless to him until they sobered up. Judging by the number of empty whiskey bottles littering the room, that would take some time. Adams cursed and swung his arm through the remaining bottles on the table. Crashing glass and oozing liquid attracted the room’s attention as Adams turned and raced from the room. He would have to go after the slaves himself. He patted his waistline. The hard metal of his pistol reassured him.
Adams knew, even as he tore out onto the porch, that his mission was senseless without help. He couldn’t even trace the slaves’ escape route without the dogs. They could have gone in any direction through the woods. Common sense told him they would head north eventually, but there was no telling where they would go first. He slammed his fist against the heavy pillar holding the porch and glared helplessly back at the darkened room. He was angry, but he knew he would be no good in the same circumstances. He had been on his way to getting rip-roaring drunk before Jennings’ words had sent him flying back to the quarters. He sank down on the steps and tried to force himself to examine all his options.
With a mighty clap of thunder, the bank of heavy clouds opened up to dump their cargo. Rain poured down from the sky in great sheets as thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. Adams cursed again and shook his head. He knew the futility of even trying to follow the slaves in this weather. The rain would wash away all scent before the dogs would even get a chance to follow it. Slowly, he stood and climbed into his saddle. He couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. He turned Ginger south and began to jog through the pouring rain. He was on his way to find some slave hunters.