Chapter Twenty-Four
“Miss Carrie! There be a letter here for you.”
Carrie looked at her mother to make sure she was still sleeping and then ran quietly down the stairs. “A letter, Sam?” Her heart pounded with excitement. Could it be from Robert? She hadn’t heard from him since he had written her a note in Philadelphia saying he hoped her time with Matthew was beneficial. The note had arrived shortly before she had left to come home. There had been no opportunity to think of a reply since then.
“Yes, Miss Carrie.” Sam handed the letter to her. Then he frowned. “You need to get out more, Miss Carrie.”
Carrie patted his arm. “I’m fine.” He had already commented on her drawn, pale face. She knew he was worried. She had barely left her mother’s side since she had gotten home. Rose brought meals up to her, which she would have ignored except for Rose’s insistence she eat. Her burden was compounded now by illness down in the quarters. When she felt it was safe, she would slip away from the house to care for the sick slaves.
Her mother had just dropped off to sleep, so Carrie took the letter and carried it out to the front porch. She settled down on the swing and allowed her eyes to roam across the expansive lawn. It was nearing the end of August. She could hardly believe she had been home more than a month. She shook her head and tore open the thick envelope she was holding in her hand.
“Aunt Abby!” she exclaimed. With a smile of delight she settled back against the swing.
Dear Carrie,
I received your letter with great dismay. I am so sorry to hear of your mother’s illness. I understand your deep concern for her. Please know my prayers are with you, and that I anxiously await more news of how she is doing. I am so glad she has you there with her.
My dear, I know your heart is there with your mother. I also know you must grieve your lost opportunity to visit Philadelphia. Please know it is not lost. For whatever reasons, it has simply been postponed. You are always welcome here, and I look forward to the day when you return. The time to spread your wings will come. God will use what you are going through now to prepare you for what lies ahead.
I am sending you some information I have recently acquired. After careful inquiry, I have discovered the Pennsylvania School of Medicine is not open to women at this time. Don’t lose heart, however. There is another institution that would welcome you—the Female Medical College of Pennsylvania. I wish I had time to write the brave stories of women like Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, Dr. Emily Blackwell, and Dr. Harriet Hunt. Their pioneering efforts have begun to swing the doors of the medical profession open to women. True, it is still a mighty battle, but you have warriors who have gone before. It can be done. I know you have what it takes to add your name to the list of women who have fought for their dreams. From one dreamer to another, live each day as if you are making history. You probably are!
I fear what is happening in our country. As the summer continues, the political battle rages hotter. I am almost certain Lincoln will win. Most Northerners are convinced the South’s threats to secede are nothing but empty words. I remember your words on the balcony, and I fear you are right.
Circumstances keep us apart for now, but however slow the mail system, it is still a way to stay connected and in touch. I would love to know what is going on in your life—what you are thinking, feeling. Please feel free to write me.
God Bless You,
Aunt Abby
Carrie raised a hand to wipe the tears from her eyes and tucked the enclosed brochure in her pocket to read later. The arrival of Aunt Abby’s letter couldn’t have been better timing. Her words were like fresh spring air to her assaulted senses. She had begun to lose sight of the fact that there was a whole world out there. Her very existence centered on her mother’s bedside. Today was the first day she had thought about the political situation in the country since she had arrived home. Abby’s letter was a hand of friendship reaching out to connect her to someone who believed in her.
Carrie stayed out on the porch for a long time. Gradually, the time alone and the beauty of the day released her from the self-imposed prison she had erected. It dawned on her that she had been laboring under the belief that her mother’s illness was her fault. If she had been at home being a good daughter like she was supposed to be, she would have been here when her mother had gotten sick. She would have been able to control the fever, and it would not have ravaged her mother’s body so severely. Abby’s words reached across the miles and somehow made her realize it was not her fault. It was no one’s fault. It had simply happened. Carrie leaned back with a sigh. She would do everything she could to make her mother well, but she would no longer do it with the burden of guilt.
“Can I get you something, Miss Carrie?”
Carrie looked up with a smile. “Yes, thank you, Sam. Could I please have some cold lemonade? Some bread and cold chicken would be wonderful, as well.”
Sam’s face almost split with his wide grin. “You got the light back in your eyes, Miss Carrie. I sure be glad to see it. That must have been a real good letter.”
Carrie nodded. “It was a good letter from a very good friend,” she said softly.
She was still moving gently in the swing when her father climbed up the porch stairs to join her. She moved over to make room.
“I’m glad to see you outside, Carrie. How is your mother?”
“She’s resting. Other than that, she is the same. She is still very weak and has very little appetite. It’s been days since her fever has been high, but she constantly runs a low fever, and she still says her head hurts.”
Thomas sighed. “I know you’re doing everything you can.”
Carrie nodded. “I’m going to go down and visit Sarah in the quarters. None of the medicines sent from the doctors in town seem to be doing any good.”
“You think old Sarah can help?” Her father’s tone was skeptical.
Carrie shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m willing to try anything. Slaves know remedies that I’ve never heard of. Many of them work.” She tried to sound hopeful.
Thomas nodded and lapsed into deep thought. His face was creased with deep lines as he stared out over the plantation. Carrie watched Granite grazing in the field. She had not been on him since she had been home. She hadn’t even been near him. It wasn’t only that she couldn’t get away to ride him, it was that being in the stables reminded her Miles was no longer there. She missed the man who had taught her so much.
“Adams hasn’t found the escaped slaves,” her father said. Carrie remained silent. “Those slaves are worth close to nine thousand dollars.” Thomas shook his head. “Slave hunters are on their trail, but they keep missing them,” he said, bitterness creeping into his voice. “I still can’t believe Miles ran away. Why, he’s lived here all his life. I thought he was happy running the stables. Horses have always been his life. Why would he run away?” His tone reflected complete bewilderment.
Carrie looked at her father. She had grown to accept that her father honestly thought slavery was the best thing for blacks. She couldn’t say she agreed with him, but her love for him had in no way diminished. “Maybe being free was more important to him,” she murmured.
Thomas shook his head. “What will freedom do for him?” he protested. “He’ll probably never have another horse to care for. He’ll live somewhere barely scraping by and be looking over his shoulder for slave hunters the rest of his life.”
Carrie said nothing more. She knew it would do no good. She just looked at her father.
“What’s wrong with you, Carrie? Did you get hooked up with some of those abolitionists while you were in Philadelphia? You’ve been different ever since you got home. You don’t even seem sorry that Miles and the other slaves are gone,” he said.
“I’m sorry you think I seem different, Father. I miss Miles and the others very much. I am sorry they are gone.” She didn’t add that she hoped they wouldn’t be caught. She paused, trying to decide how to answer his other questions, but Sam saved her.
“Miss Carrie. Your mama be calling you.”
“Thank you, Sam.” Rising, she breathed a sigh of relief and hurried into the house. Sooner or later she would have to decide completely where she stood, but not now. There was too much else going on.
Jamison cracked open the front door and peered out into the night. If all was as he hoped, this would be his last night on the road before he passed the slaves off to another conductor in Philadelphia. The last weeks were beginning to show on him. There had been many close calls as Adams and his two hired slave hunters dogged their trail. He had managed to stay one step ahead of them, but he was tired and his business was surely suffering from the extended absence. He had known the risks when he started, but he would be glad to pass the slaves off to someone else. At the same time, he knew he would miss them. He had grown genuinely fond of his brave, uncomplaining charges—especially Miles. The man was thoughtful and intelligent. Time and time again he had helped put their suffering into perspective for the other slaves. He always ended with, “We gonna be free. Ain’t nothing mean more than that!” Many were the times it had bolstered Jamison’s spirits as well.
Satisfied no one lurked outside, he shut the door and turned to the only other inhabitant of the house. “I’m moving them tonight.”
Cartwright nodded. “You only have thirty more miles. I believe you can make it tonight if you push hard.” Anson Cartwright was used to these late-night moves. His house had been a station for the Underground Railroad for ten years. It was secluded enough that people rarely visited. His barn had housed hundreds of slaves making their way to freedom. By day he worked the lumber mill, and by night he assisted slaves intent on escaping tyranny.
Jamison moved over to the table where the other man stood. “Thank you, Cartwright. You’ve been a godsend.” Jamison had planned on being at Cartwright’s house for just one night. They had been holed up here for six. Messages had been passed along warning of the presence of hostile men. He was sure they referred to Adams and whoever was with him. He would not move the slaves until he was sure it was safe and word had come that day saying the men had moved on.
“You realize Adams and his men have probably gone on to Philadelphia, don’t you?” Cartwright asked, puffing thoughtfully on a pipe.
Jamison shrugged without a care. “Getting them to Philadelphia is my worry. Once I’m there, I’m not concerned. I know that city like the back of my hand. There are countless places to hide runaways. Those country yokels don’t stand a chance.” He smiled as if he relished the idea of a good contest. “Goodbye, Cartwright. I hope I see you again sometime.” He shook his hand firmly and slipped outside to listen for several long moments. When nothing but silence met his ears, he headed toward the barn.
Miles was waiting for him just inside. Jamison nodded, and without a word, Miles disappeared into the shadows. Moments later the other seven fugitives were standing next to him. They all looked worn, but the light of freedom still shone brightly in their eyes. Not once had they thought of turning back.
“The wagon is behind the barn,” Jamison whispered.
The fugitives nodded. They knew what to do. Silently, they filed from the barn and took their positions under the hay. The huge mound had served them well. Miles led the horses from the barn and quickly harnessed them to the wagon. Then he, too, crawled under the hay.
Jamison had just taken his place on the seat and picked up the reins when he heard the pounding of hooves coming up the road. He froze on the seat, his mind racing.
Cartwright appeared at his side. “Into the woods. This doesn’t sound good.”
Jamison vaulted from his seat and ran to the back of the wagon. “Everybody out,” he commanded in a low voice. The pounding drew closer as the wagon emptied and he found himself staring into eight sets of frightened eyes. There was no time for explanations. “Follow me.” He turned and ran.
Once they were all concealed, he crept back to see what was happening. Cartwright emerged from the barn when three men rode up on horseback. “Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked.
Ike Adams stared down at him from atop his mare. “Awful late to be out working in your barn,” he sneered.
“Awful late to be calling on folks,” Cartwright responded evenly.
Adams swung from his saddle. His wiry form seemed small next to Cartwright’s bulk. “I hear you been hiding some slaves, Cartwright.”
Cartwright gave a short laugh. “That can be dangerous business nowadays.”
Manson, the older of the two slave hunters, snickered. “Real dangerous business, Cartwright. The courts don’t think none too highly of your activities. Come to think of it, I don’t either.” He fingered his pistol meaningfully.
Cartwright’s voice hardened. “I wouldn’t be making accusations if I were you. You won’t find any fugitive slaves on my property, and I don’t appreciate your tone.”
Adams moved around him arrogantly and peered into his barn. “Mind if we look around in your barn?”
“I don’t reckon you’ve got any business in my barn. I suggest you boys be moving on.”
Manson swung from his horse and walked over to Cartwright. With a menacing grin, he raised his pistol and held it to the man’s head. “It’s been a long month for me, mister. I ain’t in the mood for no games. I got me eight niggers to catch, and then I can go home. You get my meaning?”
Cartwright shrugged his shoulders. “Go ahead and take a look. You won’t be finding anything.”
Jamison slunk back further into the shadows. He was thankful for the rain that had fallen earlier that evening. Wet sticks didn’t crack as easily as dry ones.
Adams emerged from the barn just as Manson walked around the back. “There ain’t no slaves in that barn.”
“Well, looky here!” Manson exclaimed. “What’s this wagon doing behind your barn, Cartwright?”
“Just got back from hauling a load of hay,” Cartwright responded. “I haven’t had time to unhitch the horses and put them away.”
“This hay ain’t even wet,” Manson said in a hard voice.
“The wagon was in a neighbor’s barn during the rain,” Cartwright said sarcastically. “How else do you think it stayed dry?”
Manson flushed with anger. “Look, Cartwright. I know you’re part of that Underground Railroad. If there are any slaves here, I intend to find them. And when I do, you’re going to get the same treatment as them. Nigger-lovers don’t mean scum to me.”
“Like I already said, you won’t find any slaves here,” Cartwright snapped.
Manson pushed by him and stalked back to the wagon. Pulling out his whip, he cracked it over and over into the back. Wisps of hay flew through the air as the wicked tip of the instrument slashed through it. Once he had satisfied his curiosity and his anger, he turned from the wagon with a scowl.
Adams emerged from the house. “The slaves ain’t in here, either.” Frustration and anger oozed from his words.
Manson cursed and turned to stare into the dark woods. “They’re out there in the woods.” He drew out his pistol and fired several shots into the thick undergrowth. “That should at least make them wet their pants,” he said with a harsh laugh. He wheeled on Cartwright. “Be glad we don’t have our dogs, or I’m pretty sure there would soon be eight caught niggers.” He glared at Cartwright and swung up onto his horse. “I’ll be back. One of these days, I’m going to catch you with some niggers, and you’re going to wish you’d never gotten involved with the Underground Railroad.”
Cursing loudly, the three men galloped back down the dark road. Cartwright raised his hand toward the woods and disappeared into his house.
Jamison had seen enough. Cartwright had done all he could. Using the wagon again was out of the question. Adams was smart enough to wait at the end of the drive until he tried to move the slaves. He turned and moved silently into the woods. Within minutes, he found the fugitives huddled behind some large oaks. He lowered himself next to them. “We’re on our own now,” he said. “We’ll have to make it to Philadelphia on foot. It isn’t that far. It will take us a few days, but we can do it.”
The somber eyes looking back at him never wavered. Miles stood. “Let’s get to it, then. We’s going to be free.”
Carrie and Rose made their way down the path to the slave quarters. It was their first time alone together since Carrie had returned from Philadelphia. It was Sunday, and Thomas was stationed by his wife’s bed. He knew where to find her if Abigail took a turn for the worse.
“Sarah! It’s so good to see you again.” Carrie moved forward to give the old woman a hug.
“Welcome, Miss Carrie. You be a sight for sore eyes. How’s your mama?”
Carrie frowned. “I’m worried, Sarah. Nothing I do seems to make any difference. She’s not getting any worse, but she’s not getting any better either.”
“You thinkin’ that fever done burned the life out of her?”
Carrie gave a slight smile. Sarah always knew what she was thinking. “I’ve read about that happening. The fever wears down the body, and it just doesn’t seem to be able to come back.” She paused, “I’ve come to ask for your help, Sarah.”
Sarah watched her closely. “Go on, child.”
“I know there are remedies the black people use. Ones I have never heard of. Could they help my mama?” She leaned forward and fixed her eyes on Sarah.
Sarah nodded. “They couldn’t hurt none, Miss Carrie. Your mama was awful sick,” she said thoughtfully, “but there ain’t no way to know unless we try.”
“You’ll teach me what they are?” Carrie asked hopefully.
“Yessum, Miss Carrie. I’ll teach you. You be here tomorrow morning ‘fore the sun comes up. And don’t wear no fancy clothes. I’d hate for you to ruin them.”
Carrie was down at Sarah’s cabin as soon as the eastern sky began to glow. Sarah was already waiting outside for her. She handed her a coarse cloth bag and moved toward the woods. Carrie followed quietly.
“Rose be with your mama?”
Carrie nodded.
Satisfied, Sarah continued to plunge deeper into the woods. They walked for several minutes before Sarah stopped and motioned for Carrie to join her on a log. Carrie sat down. She had learned long ago not to question Sarah’s ways. She would explain herself when she was good and ready.
“There be some things you need to know before we keep going,” she started. “Old Sarah is going to teach you the magic of the plants that grow in the earth. God didn’t put his people here without givin’ them some ways to take care of what ails them. My mama taught me the magic, and her mama taught her. The magic gets passed down. The plants here be diff’rent din the ones in Africa, but theys all got magic. You just got to learn it.”
“Who taught you about the plants here in Virginia?” Carrie asked.
“You wouldn’t be remembering Betsy ‘cause you was just a little girl when she died,” Sarah replied. “She lived here on your daddy’s plantation for all her life. She took me under her wing when I’s first got here. She knew the magic better din anyone else. She done taught me.”
“Does Rose know the magic?”
Sarah frowned and shook her head. “She knows a little, but she seems to think she don’t need to know it. She puts a lot of stock in other tings. Not that they ain’t important,” she hastened to add, “but she’s letting go of somethin’ rich. I always figured God wants us to use whatever we got to use. If we find somethin’ new, it don’t mean the old ain’t good no more. It just means that the new makes the old better. All of it is still good. And sometimes the new ain’t as good as the old. If you throw the old out, you ain’t got nothin’.”
Carrie nodded. As usual, the old woman made good sense. “I want to learn the magic, Sarah.”
Sarah stared into her eyes. “You got the healin’ touch, Miss Carrie. I been watchin’ you a long time. You for sho got the healin’ touch.”
“I want to, Sarah. Oh, how I want to.”
“Trust me, girl. You got it.” Having delivered her final words, Sarah rose and began to walk further into the woods.
Carrie followed, gazing around her at the lush undergrowth. Ferns, nestled in the shady nooks of protective trees, waved their fronds in the early morning stillness. Summer wildflowers raised their heads and drank in the early morning dew. “Do you know what all the plants are, Sarah?”
“I be knowin’ most of them.”
“What kind of tree is this?” Carrie asked as she tipped her head back to get a good look at the tree towering over her.
Sarah moved back to join her. “That be a maple tree,” Sarah said with a smile. “It be one of my favorite trees. In the spring, it sends down little whirligigs for the chilun to play with. In the fall, it blazes with a color that makes you ache inside. God done made that tree a real special one.”
“I want to learn all the plants, too, Sarah.” Carrie was very glad to be out in the woods away from the confines of the house.
“Good,” Sarah said. “That’s what we be out here for. By the time we get done out here in these woods, you’re gonna be knowin’ all the growin’ things. But you got to know more than just what they be. You gots to know the right time to pick what you be lookin’ for. You gots to know how to take care of it. You gots to know what to do with it. You got a passel of learnin’ to do, Miss Carrie.”
Carrie continued to follow Sarah. Finally, they broke out into a wild field lush with growth, and Carrie came up beside her.
“This here be the yarrow plant, Miss Carrie. Get a good look at it.”
Carrie bent close to examine the plant. The stem was covered with a sort of staircase of blue-green leaves split up into many teeth like a comb. Its flowers were clustered together into little white parasols.
“Sometimes them flowers be pink. The thin’ to look for is them leaves. You’ll know it ever’ time that way. Some of the healers call it thousand-leaf. You got it in your head, girl?”
Carrie nodded. “I think so.”
“Good, but just knowin’ how to find it ain’t gonna do you no good. To most folks it just be a pretty flower. That be because they don’t know its magic.” Sarah’s eyes glowed.
Carrie stared at the plant and waited for her to continue. It certainly didn’t look magic.
“This plant here be good for a lot of thin’s. We’s goin’ to take some back for yo mama ‘cause it be good to fight that fever she got. Fever be awful hard on the body and the heart. This here little plant be good for the heart.”
Carrie looked at the yarrow with increased interest. “What do you do with it?”
“Not so fast!” Sarah chided. “You still gots to know what it does.”
“It does more?”
Sarah nodded. “Them thin’s I told you, they just be the extras. The yarrow really shines when it comes to stoppin’ bleedin’. It stops bleedin’ better than any plant there is—least ways, any plant I know ‘bout.” She reached out and took hold of the flowering plant. “This plant be too far along for it to do any good. Yous got to find it when the flowers ain’t opened up yet.” She scanned the area around her and moved to a patch a little farther on. “These ones here. They be perfect. See how the flowers be just startin’ to open? Now’s the time to pick the leaves and the big flower tops.”
“How did you learn all this, Sarah?” Carrie asked with wonder.
Old Sarah shrugged. “The magic gets passed on,” she said again. She reached forward, snapped the tops off several plants, and picked a large handful of leaves. “Put these in your bag, Miss Carrie. You can learn what to do with them later.”
Carrie did as she was directed, enthralled by what she was learning. She did have doubts about the plants actually working, but the medicine the doctors were sending her was doing nothing. She was willing to try.
Sarah was already moving away from her, this time looking up. Carrie followed her example, but had no idea what she was looking for. Finally, Sarah came to a halt under a large tree at the edge of the woods. “There!” Triumphantly, she pointed upward.
Carrie stared. “Mistletoe?” she asked in disbelief.
“Ah, you know ‘bout mistletoe already?”
Carrie laughed. “I know they hang it from doorways at Christmas, and girls wander underneath hoping they will be kissed.”
“Can you get me some?”
Carrie pulled up her skirts and nimbly climbed to the first limb. She had been climbing trees for as long as she could remember. She had decided years ago that she wasn’t going to let long skirts keep her from doing what she wanted to. Straining upward, she was able to grasp a large bunch of mistletoe and yank it loose from its grip on the tree. Face flushed, she jumped down from the tree and handed it to Sarah.
Sarah grinned and held it up like a prize. “This here magic plant needs to be picked before any of its white berries pop out. Now, Miss Carrie, you listen to me careful on this one. Mistletoe be a magic plant for sure, but only for them who knows how to use it. Too much of this plant be poison to a person. Yous has to know how to use it,” she repeated. She pointed to the leaves. “There ain’t no berries here. Them berries—they carry the most poison. You don’t never want to use them berries.”
Carrie nodded, drinking in the words of the older woman. Every part of her mind was alert and keyed in to what she was learning.
Sarah looked at her closely and seemed satisfied she was getting through. “Your mama be having bad headaches. She be havin’ dizzy spells, too?”
Carrie nodded.
“This here mistletoe will help her. Put it in your bag.” Then she was off again.
Carrie’s head was spinning when they got back to the quarters just before noon. From now on, she would take a notebook and pencil out on their expeditions. Never had she tried to cram so much information into her head in such a short amount of time.
“Now we learn what to do with all this,” Sarah said.
Carrie shook her head to clear it and watched as the old lady unloaded their treasures out of the bags. Yarrow, mistletoe, onion, mint, poppy, broom, thistle, dandelion and various other plants came spilling out into a pile on the table.
Sarah looked up. “You be hungry, Miss Carrie?”
Carrie was suddenly aware of how weak and famished she was. She had done no physical exercise since returning from Philadelphia, and her legs ached from their hours of tramping through the woods.
Sarah nodded, eyeing her closely. “You gos and get you a good meal and some rest. Check on your mama. Come back tonight. Then old Sarah will show you how to draw the magic out of these here plants.”
“I think that’s a good idea. I’m pretty tired.”
Sarah, still as fresh as when the morning had started, rose to put a hand on her arm. “You’re a good girl to want to help your mama, but yous got to take care of yo’self, too, Miss Carrie. It ain’t good for you to be cooped up in that house all the time.” She frowned. “Tell you what. Ever’ other mornin’, you meet me here, and we’ll go out into the woods. Ain’t but one way to learn the magic. You got to get out and meet them magic plants.”
Carrie smiled at her old friend. “I would like that Sarah. Thank you.” She turned toward the door. “I’ll be back tonight.”
Sarah nodded and continued to sort through the plants, crooning to them as if they were precious loved ones.
Rose was standing on the porch when Carrie broke out onto the lawn around the house. Carrie sped across the grass. Rose saw the fear on her face and smiled reassuringly. “Your mama is fine. Marse Cromwell came in for a while and wanted to spend some time with her.”
Relieved, Carrie dropped down on the front steps.
Rose laughed at her exhausted expression. “Keeping up with my mama is rather a challenge, isn’t it?”
Carrie smiled. “She is a remarkable woman. My head is swimming with everything I learned today.”
“Do you think those plants are really magic?” Rose asked skeptically.
Carrie shrugged. “I know a lot of people who would turn their nose up at it, but medicine doesn’t have all the answers. I don’t see any reason to throw out all the old just because something new has come along. It’s fascinating,” she said, “and I love learning it.” Briefly she told Rose of Sarah’s plan. “I’m going to do it. Will you sit with my mother?”
“Certainly,” Rose replied. She looked at Carrie closely. “Go sit on the porch swing and I’ll bring you something to eat. You look all done in.”
“Thank you. I guess I am a little tired.”
“Here.” Rose reached int