Passion's Joy (19 page)

How vainly my efforts to secure a position are received. You know I have posted hundreds of letters, answered every ad and to naught! I rarely get a reply in return. This, I am told oft enough, is owing to my unmarried status, my age and lack of experience. So desperate, I would gladly condescend to the menial work of a kitchen maid if my placement in the clerical class did

not strictly forbid such undertakings, and if this work was not already absorbed entirely by the slave class.

As each day passes and we have but a month or so to our name, even I cannot be upset by the desperate shame the Reverend plans as soon this night's run is through.

Tonight is the night...

Unable to rid herself of her worries and turn to the subject of the night's adventure, Joy set her pencil down with a sigh. For long minutes she stared at the hundred or so tiny prisms of raindrops stuck to the window. The warning came unbidden to her mind "A great darkness lies ahead…"

Was this what the old woman meant? Financial ruin? She had given considerable consideration to the strange encounter with the old woman; she even considered going back for a clarification of the strange words, the ominous warning that made absolutely no sense, especially in retrospect. Thinking back, the impression became naught but a jumble in her mind. She realized this as soon as she had left and unexpectedly met Seanessy on her way back. Atop his white stallion, Sean escorted her the entire way home, and as she had tried to relate what had just happened to him, it occurred to her just how little it all made sense. She had then dismissed the whole incident by making fun of it.

Yet, every time her mind unwillingly encountered the warning, it was paired with a small scar, a black patch, the mystery of Ram Barrington. Presently, it was no different and she shook her head, banishing the thought as she returned to the matter at hand.

We leave by noon. Joshua was told I shall be staying the night at the Beauchamp's (who, by the way, I've abandoned all hope of saving, leaving Katie and her good mother in God's knowing hands.) Joshua mercifully greeted the idea without suspicion. How I loathe our deception; but freedom's call, so loud and clear in my heart, demands my rebellion, and I cannot, in good conscience, abandon its cry.

Jim Boy is not an unusual case. Among the multitudes of slaves, he is one of the many who simply refuses to accept fate's bondage, and lured by campfire tales that sing freedom's song, stories of daring Negroes who made it, he had set out on his own twice. Only to discover hope had woven lies into these freedom tales—freedom was not forty miles north past two small towns and

"there it is! The land of milk and honey, where peoples of color is freed! I swear it! I knows 'cause once, I overhear..."

No, freedom is hundreds of miles away, and the only passage to it is on the underground railroad. Since Jim Boy had tried twice on his own, caught within hours each time and whipped twice for it, starved and force to live in the privy pit for a month —so the Reverend said Delilah said—Jim Boy is now branded a perpetual runaway and malcontent. Word has it that Simone's plantation manager going to see him sold next week to the living hell of the turpentine fields. So, now it’s imperative Jim Boy escapes, and the Reverend, Sammy and I myself, with the help of Delilah, our only contact at Garden Court, will see it happen.

I leave you as always my friend, with the fervent hope...

As the rim of the sun touched the horizon, washing the rich land with a splendor of golden colors, the evening horn blew. It came as a long onerous sound but a sound as welcomed as Gabriel's trumpet. Moving as a collective whole, the fifty-three dark-skinned men working the far eastern fields laid down their short handled hoes and straightened slowly to ease the pain of the long day's labor from their backs. Some smiled and sighed, others groaned as they stretched to work out the worst of the dull ache in their backs and shoulders.

The men formed a loose line, and all eyes turned to Massa Cain, the overseer, in wait of his signal to move along. Riding atop a horse, Cain partook in a long draught from a silver rum cask, wiped his thick moustache with a dirty sleeve and then, with a motion of his hand yelled, "All right, boys, move it!"

The long two miles march back to the slave quarters began. Talk and laughter, more than one complaint sprang up and down the long line as each man looked forward to the two or so hours before sleep as their own, a precious time filled with camp talk, songs and of course the evening meal.

For long weeks after the last whipping, Jim Boy could hardly pass words with anyone. There was less than a week left until the day he would be sold. Terror claimed him. No one, not even his long time friend Peter, who tried the hardest, could engage him in anything. He walked to the fields alone, walked back alone and was the last in line for everything. Tonight was no different.

It was no different except for a bright red ribbon on Delilah's hat recently passed to her from the Reverend. Staring blankly at his huge hands holding his supper bowl, Jim boy did not at first see it. A long handled cup poured the slop into his bowl. He glanced up, saw the ribbon and stared in shock. His hands started trembling before he even heard the words.

“Tonight's de night, Jim Boy," Delilah said. "Get on to de main road. Wait. A cart'll stop and take you'se away. Take you'se to freedom, boy—an' dis time you'se gonna make hit."

Jim Boy stared for a long moment. The old woman might not have passed a word. She stirred the big pot, wiped her thick fingers on her worn apron and started fussing with the baked loaves nearby. He realized abruptly the pounding in his ears was his heart.

"Don' be so skeered." Delilah whispered, "Mercy boy, ain't lak you'se got somethin' to lose no how."

He stared blankly ahead; the tremble in his hands revealed the violence of his emotions. It was not true. He had his life to lose. The God given gift had always meant something to him; a good deal more than it did to others, for it was in truth, all he ever had.

He knew enough to pretend everything was normal; although his heart pounded like a savage drum, breathing felt labored and his food was as edible as wood, certainly that hard to swallow. The overseers rotated night watch and through the encroaching darkness and the dim light of the campfire, he saw it was Massa Cain and Lockhorn on watch. Good. They could both be counted on to get half a heat on by the time the fire died.

Cain and Lockhorn stood a dozen paces away, talking and listening to the supper time chatter. No one liked the slop tonight. Tasteless, watery broth.

"Hey, how's that distillery of yours coming?" Cain asked, working the tobacco into a chew. Lockhorn chuckled, spit. "Hell, just about done. Know what I found inside this morning?"

He didn't wait for a reply. "A god damn rabbit." "Geez." Cain laughed.

"Can't figure on how it got up top, but hell, it took one whiff of my moonshine, done died and went to heaven."

The two men laughed until Cain suggested Lockhorn fetch some to pass the night away. "It's a bit early, but like women, I like it hot just fine."

"Hot? Hell, it's liable to burn right through our innards! But I am game, my man."

Overhearing this, Jim Boy could not believe his luck. The two hour wait until lights out felt like a whole season's passing, slow as a snail's crossing. Finally, he lay on the mat, listening with heightened sensitivity to the sounds of the night. Snoring rose from all sides, ole man Hoss the loudest. A night owl screeched in the distance. Crickets sounded in a thunderous roar. He could hear the creek in the distance. Cain and Lockhorn had settled round the dying embers of the fire. He heard the slosh of the jug passed back and forth, their distant talk grew progressively louder, filled with white man's humor—horse stories and whores, that was it.

Minutes ticked on, collecting into an hour. He no longer heard Lockhorn, and Cain took to singing a song about the sea. Finally that died, too. Now was the time. Jim Boy sat up, arranged the bed covers and stalked silently to the door.

Thus, his longest night began.

"For a moment there, I thought Mrs. Beauchamp was going to force me to stay the night by locking me in a room," Joy complained.

'"Aye, she did everything but cough up the crown jewels," the Reverend replied. They had just dropped some apples off at the Beauchamp's for the Church charity bake. Charles Simone had been kind enough to provide the apples, while unknowingly providing the opportunity to get word to Jim Boy. It had been hard to get away from him as well. Seems Madame Beauchamp wasn't the only one who wanted the lass, the Reverend sighed.

The cart now headed back south, toward the city, and the next stop was to pick up Jim Boy as they passed the Simone plantation again. It was night now; the moonless night offered the security of darkness. The lanterns, swinging on each side of the driver's seat, cast queer eerie shadows onto the woods surrounding the northern river road. It seemed unnaturally quiet, too, as though night creatures and insects alike stood on the sidelines watching in mute horror the daring of the mission.

Joy shivered despite the warmth of the late spring night. Nerve wracking business to be sure, but as always, her major fear was that Joshua would find out. There would be no getting out of it this time. It would take years of sweet talk before he forgave her, if then.

"Just around this bend, darlin'," he said in a hushed whisper, feeling on edge, too, despite his normally cool reserve. Joy focused on the darkness that was the road ahead. The Reverend took

up a whistle as though Jim Boy, wherever he was, needed more sound than the racket of the cart to know they were coming.

Jim Boy pressed his muscled frame against the tree so hard he scraped his skin. The terror of his wait could not be imagined. A thousand times he convinced himself he should turn back.

There was no cart, no Reverend, no freedom. It was all some cruel trick by the master or God to catch him again. Then his mind would snap and he'd hear Cain and Lockhorn comin' after him, sober as the night was long and ready to shoot, only to realize the stomping, so loud in his mind, was but a small unseen night creature scurrying over the dark road.

Relief swept over him in hot sweat.

When he first heard the distant sound of the cart, he thought he was mad. The steady sound grew progressively louder and louder still, and he never knew he was crying, that choked sobs shook his chest and his throat. He only knew he was saved.

Saved Lord! He was saved!

Jim Boy stepped into the dead center of the road, appearing suddenly in the light, and Joy and the Reverend started, instinctively grasping one another as the horses reared and neighed. The cart came to an abrupt halt. The Reverend jumped down, and without even taking a moment to look around, he moved into action.

"We got nearly twenty miles to the ship. We'll be stopping in about an hour to disguise ourselves and the wagon. That's it. Won't stop again till daybreak, if then. You ready?"

In the wavering lamp light, the Reverend discerned the shadow of tears, and he stared in an unusual moment of reflection. This was not a scam, not some game created to swindle folk from what never really belonged to them in the first place. No, the stakes were higher, much higher...

The Reverend smiled wide, gave the young man a reassuring pat on the back and helped him inside the hidden compartment.

An hour or more passed uneventfully as the cart moved steadily south until finally they came to the narrow, shallow creek crossing over the road on its way to the Mississippi. This was their meeting place. Sammy waited a few paces off the road, already decked out in his field hand garb, powdered light skin and wig, holding Libertine's reins. The Reverend forced the cart off the road. The lanterns were extinguished as whispered greetings were exchanged.

Sammy had already brought up the peddler wagon disguise left hidden nearby for over a month now. As he quickly set about arranging it onto the cart, Joy grabbed her sack of clothes and slipped into the darkness to change.

The entire operation took less than fifteen minutes. The lanterns were lit again. All in their respective seats, the Reverend cracked the whip lightly over the nags' backs, and the cart lurched forward and then around, clumsily and noisily rolling over wood boards placed over the muddied creek for all carriages to pass.

"How long do you think before we reach the city?" Joy asked.

"Oh, about three-and-a-half, maybe four hours." He patted his lap. "You can try to sleep if you want."

"As likely as a leprechaun's song on a moonless night!"

A cry broke the night time peace in the field hand quarters. There came a sputtering, a sick gasping sound, and then as old man Hoss sucked in his last breath, he released it in a scream. Not just any scream but one Peter, like everyone else, woke to and swore was straight from the bowels of hell.

Peter, who always took matters in hand, rose and was the first at old man Hoss's bedside.

Others followed. For a while they remained mute, staring dumfounded.

"You all right ole man?" Peter asked cautiously. No answer. He placed his hand on the old man's chest, and when he felt nothing, his hand moved to the old man's ridiculously wide open mouth.

"Lawd have mercy! De ole man up and died on us." He stared for a moment with the others before turning to one of the boys. "Hey you—go rouse Cain up! And you,"— he pointed to another

—"get some torch light in here."

Within the next half-hour's confusion, close to a dozen men knew Jim Boy had run. No one said a word. They just, each in turn, wandered to the bunk and felt the pile of bedclothes to verify the reality of the rumor. With all the hustle and bustle to get the dead man out and buried in the middle of the night, Cain and Lockhorn might not have noticed anything amiss or anyone gone, except that Jim Boy was the only soul managing to sleep through the ruckus.

"Hey, look at that." Lockhorn pointed to the mat. "How the hell can that boy sleep through this ruckus." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Wager that boy there's got himself—" Lockhorn stopped, suddenly catching two nearby men's nervous shift of gaze.