The House Girl (28 page)

May 27, 1848

Dear Kate,

Pastor Shaw’s body has been found dead, his eyes gouged out. He lay in the woods near Juniper peak, found by Hiram Birch who had gone hunting squirrels. Surely none of our neighbors could be capable of such a vicious, blasphemous act? To kill a man of God? The talk is that Pastor Shaw was once a Quaker & Negro lover & that he had no place in Charlotte County & it was God Himself who smote him down. This I heard Liza Broadmoor whisper in town yesterday at Taylor’s. A whole gaggle of girls surrounded her. I could not bear to stay long within their company & ran to find Mother again at the counter. I did not tell her what I had heard
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Sheriff Roy spoke harshly of the act, & told the congregation that he would use all methods to ascertain what befell the Pastor. But in truth he seems little inclined to search out the truth. Father saw him yesterday exiting the tavern quite merrily, and not yet even 3 o’clock
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This cruel event makes me fear even more for Father’s work & for our family’s safety. Were Father to be discovered, what would become of us?

Yours as always,

Dorothea            

June 12, 1848

Dearest Kate,

Mrs. Broadmoor is unwell, & yesterday Mother & I brought her some cooked dinner & a jar of strawberries. Justin and the horrid Eliza were out, I am thankful to report. A house slave showed us in, a young man, the poor fellow was shackled about the ankles, he could scarcely walk. Mrs. Broadmoor saw our distaste, and explained that the boy Louis had attempted escape once and would henceforth be shackled and work in the house so that she might watch closely over him. Only when she was satisfied that all thoughts of escape were driven from his mind would she remove the chains—be it one week or ten years, she said, made no difference to her. Mother & I set about attending to Mrs. Broadmoor but my mind would not remain on the tasks at hand—again & again it strayed to the particulars of the life that boy must lead. What if it were I in such a position? To go about in iron shackles? And my studies, what would become of those? If I were not permitted to learn even the most basic of lessons, even to read, Kate, can you imagine how intolerable daily life would become? I longed to tell him that the means of escape were before his very eyes, that there exist good & honorable people in Charlotte County who might lead him to safety. But of course I held my tongue
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I bent my head to Mrs. Broadmoor & fed her soup as Louis moved about the room, sweeping and so forth. It was this sound that finally proved intolerable to me, the scratch scratch of the broom & deep, ugly clatter of his chains. I felt as though the walls moved towards me, that the room became smaller & the sound louder in that confined space. I leapt up just as Mrs. Broadmoor swallowed the last of the soup & I hastened from the room. Mother looked at me most strangely but she did not follow. I stood outside for a good while, gulping in deep breaths of air & walking along the riverbank until my heart calmed. Mother found me there, she had bid our good-byes to Mrs. Broadmoor alone & she said not a word of my fit as we walked the road towards home
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I am troubled greatly by what I see every day & feel a true abolitionist, yes Kate, is rising within me. Father is reluctant to involve me in his activities, but my heart & mind are increasingly committed. He thinks I am still a child & my fervor is a child’s passion for something she cannot understand, but he misjudges me. I only seek to assist him, to further this most worthy of goals
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Your loving sister,

Dot                      

June 22, 1848

Dearest Kate,

Today brought the first sermon of our new Pastor Preston Hoady. He preached on the Will of God & the Order of All Things & it required no great effort to hear in his words a reproof to that last oration delivered by Pastor Shaw. His voice is strong & fiery & his person upon the pulpit inspires the congregation. When I stole a look round at those assembled, I saw faces transfixed. Scarcely a person moved or sneezed, no babies cried, but all directed their full attention to Pastor Hoady’s swaying form. Even Samuel sat slack-jawed & quiet, his heels miraculously ceased their knocking on the back bench for the duration of the sermon. I believe I alone was not so moved. True, there is something in the Pastor’s manner that invites inspection & I listened most attentively to the words he spoke. I am troubled now as I write this, recalling the nodding heads & Hallelujahs of our neighbors as his sermon rained down. He seems to offer himself up as a sort of antidote to Pastor Shaw, that we all are infected & now must be healed
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Father continues to reject my offers of assistance. I fear now that he sees how increased are the dangers, as Pastor Hoady stokes our neighbors’ sense of outrage & righteousness. I have heard stories of abolitionists run out of towns even north of the Ohio, of men tarred & feathered, whipped, hanged. Father must feel sharply the weight of responsibility in the double life he leads
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Yours,
     

Dorothea

June 28, 1848

Dearest Kate,

At long last Father has allowed me to join him. Last night, I had already retired to bed but lay awake, as I so often do now, contemplating the days ahead & what they may hold. I heard muffled sounds, the front door closing softly, low voices, the screech of the barn door & an indignant moo from poor disturbed Molly. I pulled on my coat & boots & ran outside. All was still, the sky clouded & starless, the owls silent. A light blazed in Father’s workshop window & I pulled open the door slowly, expecting to hear Father express anger at my disobedience. But he turned his head towards me with a look of calm acceptance. What a figure I must have made—hair askew, coat buttons open to the wind, boots muddied. “Dot,” he said, “come in & close the door.”

I stepped inside & noticed only then the poor figure who had come for his assistance, a man sitting amidst the sawdust & shavings of the workshop floor, his head resting back against the wall & his eyes closed as though his exhaustion was too great even to meet the light from my lamp. “Fetch a blanket from the house,” Father said. “He will need better covering than what he’s got now.” I cannot tell you Kate how happy those words made me! He uttered them in barely a whisper but it shouted out to me all that I had hoped for
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I hurried to do as Father asked & truthfully Kate the remainder of the night passed as though I walked in a dream. We worked with few words, my eyes straining in the low light. We arranged the fugitive, a Mr. Alfred Joiner, who spoke few words to us but I came to understand had fled the Gilkeson place. He wore homespun pants, no shirt whatsoever, neither any shoes, and his feet were swollen near to bursting. Father sent me to a space behind the barn where most cleverly concealed within the stacked wood was a box and within it all manner of clean clothing, blankets, and such. I collected appropriate attire for Mr. Joiner which he accepted with a glimmer of a smile. He had a wry manner, neither frightened nor brave but seemingly accepting of all that might come to pass, in a way that I suppose was indeed bravery of a type, or wisdom at the least. “The world will do as it pleases,” he said to me. “I ride along best I can.”

Just as dawn light grayed the workshop window, Father fitted the coffin cover atop the man, who lay with eyes closed. We had given him oatcake, & burlap sacks to cover & cushion his person. The instructions to Mr. Joiner were simple: make not a sound throughout the journey & collection will occur at the Philadelphia station, from whence you will be transported to a safe house & from there given advice as to travels further north or other assistance as needs be. He clasped Father’s hand as we lowered him into the casket
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Kate, I sit now at my desk, dressed still in my nightclothes, & write this in a sort of delirium. The man lies within the barn, his casket alongside the others awaiting collection & transport by the coach, due to arrive in a few hours’ time. Father has retired to his bed & I cannot say whether he is pleased or cross at my participation in tonight’s activities. He said scarcely a word to me beyond the orders he gave, items to fetch. I can only trust & hope that he is happy in the knowledge that his daughter is so very happy & that we have together secured the freedom of Mr. Joiner. May the world henceforth treat him well
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Yours,
     

Dorothea

July 2, 1848

Dear Kate,

Jack Harper’s mother has passed on. Jack came today to the house & asked Father to ready a coffin & retrieve her body for laying out. It was mid-morning & Samuel & I were still engaged in lessons with Mother. She sent Samuel out to fetch Father from his workshop & bade Jack come indoors to wait, but he refused. He waited hat in hand outside the door although the day already tended to hot. I brought him a glass of the lemonade Mother makes to such perfection & he thanked me warmly enough but his eyes barely met mine & he did not engage in conversation. I wanted to ask after his brother Caleb. Do you recall Caleb Harper, who went up to Philadelphia some years back? It was quite a shock to his parents when the eldest left the farm & there was some bitterness in the departure, as I recall. I heard talk that he is studying modern medicine at the college there, but that is all that is known of him
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Kate, perhaps you will think this improper but there is something in Jack that held me & I admit that I did linger even after he passed back the empty glass. Father finally arrived from the workshop & shook Jack’s hand. He murmured words of condolence & the two walked off. My eyes followed them & Kate, I felt such a stirring of sympathy for Jack—abandoned by his brother, his Father not right in the head (so Mother says), & left to arrange his dead Mother’s interment. I am glad that Jack came to Father, for he will lend a helping hand & a sympathetic ear
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Yours,
     

Dorothea