The Freedom Star Part 36

Henry coughed and opened his eyes. He glanced around. "Throat hurts," he whispered. "Where are we?"

"A friend has taken thee in." Hannah held the tea to his mouth. "Sip this, it will soothe thy throat." She stroked his forehead.

The farmer rose from his rocker and climbed the stairs. Moments later he returned, his arms filled with blankets that he tossed on the sofa. "I'd best be turning in. Y'all should be warm enough with these. Holler if you need anything." He started up the stairway, then froze when an urgent knock came at the door.

The farmer's face turned ashen. He hobbled down the steps.

Isaac sidestepped to the hearth and planted his foot on the loose panel. As he pushed, the panel snapped into place.

The farmer raised the latch and opened the front door a crack. "It's late. What do you want?"

The door flew open, knocking the farmer back. Two bearded men in wide brimmed hats and floor length dusters pushed into the room. The shorter of the two held a double-barreled shotgun in the crook of his arm. The taller man s.n.a.t.c.hed off his hat and made a slight bow when he noticed Hannah. "Begging your pardon ma'am."

He turned to the farmer. "Sam, there's runaways here about and folks is saying you's had some mighty curious visitations. What's you knowing about that?"

The farmer rubbed his beard and scowled. "You tell old lady Crutchfield to keep her guldurned nose out of my business. The only visitations up here's been this here Confederate boy." He pointed to Henry. "He was wounded at Sharpsburg he was, and on his way home to his mother. This here good woman's been caring for him, and he'll be mending a mite quicker without you holding that durned door wide open and chilling his bones."

"Sorry, ma'am." The leader of the patrol nodded toward Hannah and closed the door. "What about him, Sam?" He pointed to Isaac. "You ain't got no slaves. Where'd the n.i.g.g.e.r come from?"

"He belongs to me." Hannah spoke up. "Isaac is my houseboy, and he is helping me take my brother home, that is if he survives. As if his wound was not enough, he is now down with the fever."

"Sorry ma'am. I . . . I didn't know. We's just on the lookout for runaways. Didn't mean to cause you no concern."

"And I appreciate that," Hannah said. "Now, if you will excuse me, my brother is weak, he needs his sleep."

"Yes ma'am." The man bowed and retreated to the door.

The farmer reached for the latch. "You tell that busybody old hag we'll all be sleeping better if'n she'd tend to her own affairs and leave us loyal, G.o.d-fearing southern folks alone."

"Sorry, Sam. Don't take it personal. We didn't mean you no harm." The intruder pulled the door closed behind him.

"I don't trust *em none at all." The farmer bolted the door. Outside, the pounding of horse's hoofs trailed away.

"Why would they be looking here for runaway slaves?" Hannah raised her eyebrows and stared at the farmer.

"I's just a durned farmer minding my own business. Some old busybody thinks she can cause me trouble by getting them patrols riled up. d.a.m.n *em anyway." The farmer stomped up the stairs.

Hannah turned to Isaac with a questioning look.

"You takes the sofa, Miss Hannah. I'll put my blanket here, next to Henry."

_____.

"Looks to be a good day. The sun'll bake out that cough," Isaac said. "You'll be mending good and proper, now that we's dry." Isaac tucked the blanket under Henry and placed two loaves of warm bread and a side of ham in the back of the wagon. "You's mighty generous. We thanks you kindly, sir." He waved to the old farmer on the porch.

The farmer pointed toward the rising sun. "Follow that road due east. You'll be over the Blue Ridge by nightfall, then turn south. The patrols shouldn't give you no trouble."

"Yes, thee has been kind to share thy hearth and thy food," Hannah said. "We are most thankful." She smiled as she settled onto the wagon seat.

Isaac finished making Henry as comfortable as he could, then he jumped from the wagon and walked to the porch. "Ma.s.sa Sam," he whispered. "You's a good man. I hopes we didn't bring no trouble down on you or your flock." He nodded toward the house.

"Best thing could of happened, you being here," the farmer replied. "Folks was getting ideas. Ol' man Tillman there, the fella what done all the talking last night, he'd a tore up this place if'n that reb of yours hadn't a been here. You bought me some time, but I reckon I'd best take that quilt down for now, let things settle."

"Thank you again, sir." Isaac held out his hand.

The farmer stared at the hand. "A white man ought not be seen shaking hands with no nigra. Can't say who might be watching." He turned and walked to the door.

Isaac brushed his hand across his britches and started down the steps.

The farmer opened the door to go in the house, then turned toward Isaac. "G.o.d go with you, son."

Chapter Forty-seven.

October 1862 "Ho! Ho there, mule." Isaac stomped on the long handled brake. "We'll be headed down that road soon enough. Grab a mouthful o' sweet gra.s.s while Isaac sets here a spell." He doffed his hat, using it to s.h.i.+eld his eyes from the glare of the setting sun. Shadows stretched across the dry Virginia fields in the valley below. To the west, remnants of a split rail fence tumbled along the edge of an overgrown field of summer wheat.

The mule continued pulling against his harness. Isaac held the reins, wiping sweat from his brow with the worn sleeve of his gray sh.e.l.l jacket.

A breeze lifted a hint of wood smoke up from the valley. To the southeast, tall oaks reached over the dark waters of Bennett's Creek where he and Henry had splashed away the summers of their youth. On a rise a half-mile further south, the weathered old cookhouse nestled behind the green roofs of the big house.

"Thee is remembering?"

Isaac set his hat on his head and nodded. "And considering. I ain't had much time to learn about being free, but down yonder, I'll be right back into them shackles."

"Thee has done more for Henry than any man should ask of another. Thy mission is finished, and honorably so." Hannah squeezed Isaac's hand. "Henry is healing nicely and thee has brought us within sight of his home. I can handle the wagon this final mile."

"Pa used to say, *There be the easy path and there be the right path.' This'n ain't easy, but I reckon I knows what I needs to do." He flicked the reins.

_____.

The sound of hoofs brought Florence to the parlor window. As she drew the curtain, a mule plodded into the barnyard pulling a large wagon. Silhouetted in the fading light were two riders, one small, perhaps a child or a woman, and the other a man wearing a broad brimmed hat. He sat erect, his posture and mannerisms strangely familiar.

"Miss Polly. Miss Polly, we has visitors." Florence released the curtain and stepped behind the wheelchair.

Polly bounded down the front stairs, brus.h.i.+ng back her hair and straightening her dress. A m.u.f.fled knock sounded at the front door. She looked at Florence.

Florence turned Morgan's chair toward the doorway and nodded.

Polly lifted the latch and opened the door.

A tall man entered cradling another man in his arms. His dark face was partially hidden by his slouch hat as he looked down at his burden. A woman in a plain dress followed quietly.

Florence gasped "Lordy, can it be?" Her hand came slowly to her mouth. "Isaac? Is that really you?"

Isaac laid Henry on the sofa, then straightened and removed his hat. "Evening, Mama."

Florence trembled. Tears streaked her cheeks. "You's hurt . . ." She touched the scar on the side of his head.

"Ain't nothing, Mama." He placed his hands on her shoulders.

Florence gazed up at him, then threw her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. "Dear Lord, you did hear my prayers thank you, thank you . . ."

Thwack!

Florence turned quickly.

Morgan held his hand above the arm of his wheelchair and brought it down again. Thwack!

"Ma.s.sa McConnell?" Florence wiped her eyes.

He waved her closer and whispered. "What of Henry?"

"Took a bayonet at Sharpsburg," Isaac said. "But he's mending good. This here's Miss Hannah." He motioned toward Hannah. "She's been tending to him."

"Good evening." Hannah said with a smile.

"h.e.l.lo, Hannah. My name is Polly. I'm the lady of the house, at least while my mother is in Richmond." She curtsied. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Henry!" The raspy voice seemed insistent.

Florence pushed the wheelchair next to the sofa and Polly placed Henry's hand in Morgan's.

"h.e.l.lo, Papa," Henry said.

Tears welled in Morgan's eyes. He looked at Isaac. "Thank you," he mouthed.

"Hannah, will you stay with us awhile?" Polly took Hannah by the arm and escorted her into the parlor. "Mother's in Richmond, don't know when she's ever coming home, and I do so wish for the company of another woman."

"If thee does not mind. I had hoped to see Henry through his convalescence."

"Thee?" Polly c.o.c.ked her head.

"Quaker-and a right good doctor." Henry winked.

"I declare, I can't tell which of you sounds worse." Florence placed her hand on Henry's as it rested in Morgan's grasp. "Ain't neither one of you talking above a cat's whisper." She smiled at Hannah. "It'll be good having another body around to help with the nursing."

"Where's Joseph?" Isaac glanced about the room.

Florence shook her head and smiled. "That boy spends most of his evenings down by the quarters these days."

"And Tempie?" Isaac asked. "She had that baby yet?"

She swallowed hard. Of course she'd have to tell him, but couldn't it have waited? Florence lowered her voice. "Miss Polly, Miss Hannah, will you two tend these here sick ones?" She pointed toward Henry and Morgan.

Hannah quickly nodded.

"Come," Florence said, taking Isaac by the arm. "Walk with me."

_____.

"But Mama, she was just a child. It weren't her time." Isaac wiped his eyes as they strolled down the lane toward the quarters. The waning moon cast a silver glow over the harvested fields. It couldn't be true, not his sister, not Tempie . . .

"The Lord said it was her time. She went peaceable; didn't feel no pain."

"The baby?"

"Weren't meant to be," Florence said. "The Lord took that child so's Tempie could have an angel with her in heaven."

"That d.a.m.ned Cato-this is his fault . . ." Isaac turned toward Florence.

"Hush." She grabbed Isaac's arm. "Ain't no child of mine gonna be cussing like no Yankee peddler."

"But Mama, he kilt my sister." Isaac punched his fist into the palm of his hand. "I'll whup him so's he won't never forget the evil he done."

"Whupping ain't bringing your sister back." Florence patted his arm. "Leave it be."

Isaac pulled away. "Weren't no call for what he done to her. I'll cut him good." He wielded an imaginary knife.

"Isaac. Listen." Florence grabbed both of his arms. "It weren't Cato."

He drew back. "How you know?"

She took his hands and slowly raised her head, starring into Isaac's eyes. "The baby was white."

Isaac stammered as he began to speak.

Florence put a finger to his lips. "I reckon we won't never know the daddy. I prays it weren't n.o.body on this farm, and I prays he didn't hurt her much."

Isaac let out a breath. His shoulders sagged. "She knew. She knew and she didn't tell n.o.body?"

"I expect she had her reasons. It be in the Lord's hands now."

Isaac wrapped his arms around Florence and pulled her close. "I wish Pa was here."

_____.

"Morning Miss Hannah." Isaac set a cup of sa.s.safras tea on the table beside the chair in the front parlor. "This here's all we got. Coffee's been hard to come by since the war begun."

"Tea will be fine." She seemed to hesitate, then turned toward him. "Polly told me of thy sister. I prayed for thee last night-and thy mother too."

Isaac lowered his head. "It don't seem right. I goes off to war-Mana.s.sas, Harpers Ferry, Sharpsburg-and I comes home in one piece, but Tempie . . ."