December 21, 1858
Macon, Georgia
Ellie decorated her room for Christmas, all the while praying that the blessings of the season would bring to Will and her the mighty gift of freedom. She kissed a small corn angel and set it atop her shabby chest of drawers, and then arranged a small nativity on her night table. Will gave Ellie this hand-me-down nativity set last Christmas, and she cherished it despite its chipped paint and plaster. She was particularly fond of the camel, a creature she had never seen and whose foreign shape and tiny ears fascinated her. A single white candle stood in each of her two windows.
The holiday was helpful in several respects. They were able to shop for the items they needed without drawing unwanted attention. At this time of year, it was not unusual for a slave to enter a tailoring shop and order clothes under the order of his master. Will was able to purchase a fine set of gentleman’s wool clothes that fit her, except for the pants. In the end, Ellie sewed her own trousers by candlelight in the evenings.
They also succeeded in securing a three-day pass from their owners to leave town and visit Ellie’s mother. They would not carry them, because they were not going where the passes indicated. However, having them meant it would be at least three days before they were missed. Three days before the slave hunters grabbed their guns and loosed their hounds for the chase. A three-day head start to run a thousand miles.
Ellie inspected the pass in her hand. Since she could not read, she had no idea what it said. She swore that one of the first things she would do when free was to learn to read and write.
It was close to midnight and the rest of the house was quiet, and, she hoped, asleep.
“It’s time to cut your hair,” said Will.
Ellie nodded and sat down at her vanity, looking at herself in the mirror. It was her only nice piece of furniture because Will made it for her as a wedding present. She hated leaving it behind.
Her hands, she noted with alarm, trembled. How, she scolded herself, would she ever convince anyone she was a free Southern man if she could not keep her hands from shaking?
Will came up behind her, caressed her cheek, and started cutting. She sighed. Of all her features, she liked her hair the most, long, thick and glossy black. Now it fell from her shoulders in bunches as Will carefully trimmed it short.
When he finished, Will laid her clothes on the bed and she put them on. She had trouble with the buttons on the shirt because they were on the opposite side and her fingers still trembled.
They had a three-day head start if they were lucky, she kept thinking. Would it be enough? How long would it take to get to Philadelphia?
Without a word, Will helped to tie her black ascot. That and the starched collar felt strange around her neck. He next helped her on with her dove grey waistcoat and jacket, placed the tall black stovepipe hat on her head and then stood back to look her over. She felt oddly vulnerable under his scrutiny, as though she wore no clothes at all. She kept her eyes averted, frowning, her hands fidgeting with her coat sleeves. After several seconds he smiled broadly and whispered, “Master Johnson, you are one fine looking Southern gentleman.”
“Be serious,” she scolded. “And don’t call me master.”
He took her arm and guided her to the mirror, bringing up the lamp so she could see her image better in the light. “Look at yourself, Ellie. You’re perfect. And I’ve got to start calling you Mister Johnson so I don’t give us away later. From here until we reach Philadelphia, you are Mister Johnson or Master Johnson.”
A stranger gazed back at Ellie from the glass, but was it really a man? She tried to imagine her reflection was a stranger, someone she only just met on the train. Yes, she thought, it could be a man, but the disguise would only work if she could affect the posture, attitude, and voice of a man. Her low voice helped, but she knew she could only fool people if she really believed herself to be a man. Everything depended on it.
“I’m ready to do this” she said. “But I’m worried about my face. It’s smooth, a woman’s face. Won’t people notice?”
“I’ve seen many a young man with a face as delicate and smooth as your own, Mr. Johnson. I swear you could even fool me if I didn’t know you.” He clasped her shoulders with his strong hands. “Wait,” he added, slipping his hand into a coat pocket.
He withdrew a pair of glasses, the lenses tinted green, the kind of glasses invalids sometimes wore to protect their sensitive eyes from the light. “I bought these for you this evening. I almost forgot.” Will slipped them on her face and admired the result. “It’s an amazing transformation, sir,” he said.
She saw his face beaming at her over her right shoulder in the mirror. Clearly, he believed she looked the part and it boosted her confidence.
“The glasses cover your face a bit and they make the smoothness of your cheeks less noticeable. Still, there are plenty of young men who haven’t yet grown beards.”
Ellie nodded, then turned and said soberly, “This is it, Will. Becoming a man is what I need to do to be free. And if I fail? What will we have then?”
Will’s eyes saddened, and he gave her a long kiss that set her heart pounding. He smiled and said, “Our hearts are burning for freedom, Ellie, and that means we must set our doubts behind us. Slavery is wicked and not God’s plan, not the way I understand the will of God. Living without freedom and without one another is not our destiny. You know this.” He clasped his arms around her and held her tight. He raised her face to his with his right hand and looked down into her eyes.
“Kiss me one more time, my beloved Will, and then we’ll pray together and start our journey.”
Will touched his lips gently to Ellie’s, accidentally knocking her hat to the floor.
She sighed and straightened her glasses. “We can do this, can’t we?”
He nodded solemnly. “Yes, we can.”
She gave him the tiniest smile, then stooped to pick up the hat and replace it on her head. She stepped to the mirror one last time to make a few final adjustments to her disguise.
Will bandaged her right hand and placed the arm in a sling.
“Are you ready, Mister Johnson?” Will said from the door.
She sighed. “I am, Billy.” She never called him Billy, but Bill or Billy was a better slave name.
Will looked deep into her eyes, smiling. “I love you sugar, whether you are dressed as a man or a woman. But until we get to Philadelphia, you are Mister Elijah Johnson and no one else.”
Ellie nodded.
Will quietly opened the door. Looking into the hallway, he nodded back to her that the way was clear. She blew out the lamp and one of the window candles. The other she picked up to light the way. She paused at her bedside to take the camel from the nativity set. Holding it in the palm of her hand a moment, she squeezed it with affection and slipped it into her jacket pocket.
I am a man, Ellie thought, and then corrected it. I am a man and my name is Elijah and from now on and I am a “he” even to myself. With that thought, he slipped through the open door into the dark.