Lost and Found

Albinia felt nothing was the same. Her world was changing around her, unbidden. Spring beckoned, and should have been a time of joy. This year, it seemed as though in her world, things died before they bloomed. Julia was gone. David was gone. Her father and Will were seldom home, and increasingly distant from one another. She noticed Will morosely and mechanically going about his tasks, without his usual energy and drive. His break with Jenny seemed to make him a pale shadow. For the people in her life, it seemed like a spring where the plants did not come up and decided to remain in the ground. All the month of March, and into April, she felt as though an impending storm was about to break. It would come lashing and drowning all she held dear. The apprehension was wearing. Her secrets and constant dissembling erected unseen walls between her and her family, but she didn’t know how to stop it. There had been no Underground Railroad activity for a few weeks now.

She walked out along the paths to the fields with Lydia running ahead. Only little Lydia, growing up but still blissfully unaware of tensions, provided a bright spot in each day. Albinia made a morning walk part of their routine, enjoying her sister’s childish delight in a flower, or a bird, to relieve the void in her own heart. She pondered her situation, her reverie interrupted occasionally by some exclamation from Lydia or a tug at her hand.

During the early part of the year, she spent more time with Joe, but now, as spring came, she felt a choice pressing in upon her. She’d avoided the Valentine’s box social. The previous social she’d attended with him felt awkward. Yet he persisted, showing up at the shop, leaving tokens and gifts, even inviting her to Sunday dinner at the parson’s house. She wanted to be loyal to David, yet, in some ways, Joe did attract her. He was sweet, attentive, and handsome. His family was prominent. He was a Union sympathizer, staunchly against slavery. Her father approved of him. Many girls would love to have his attentions. Moreover, he was present, right here, not hundreds of miles away. So what was it that held her to David? Joe was … safe. And maybe … maybe that was the problem. All her girlhood, she had been the good little girl who followed the rules, worked for the family, tried to be proper, never stepping outside the boundaries. With David, a new exciting world opened. She was helping people, making a difference. It would be easy to settle down with Joe, follow convention and raise a family, rest in economic security. Yet Joe’s father was a slave owner, and his brother drilled with the Rifles. She supposed she shouldn’t hold that against him—after all, her own brother Will was in the Rifles, despite attempts from almost everyone to dissuade him. So was it David or the exciting life he represented that pulled her heart?

She and Lydia were nearing the cabin on their return walk, when they heard the rattle of buggy wheels approaching. Neither Will nor her father were at home. Sara emerged from the cabin with Will’s rifle in her hands. Rustler barked loudly, dancing around the buggy as it came to a halt in front of the cabin in a cloud of dust. Her mother put the gun down and beckoned her.

“Come on, Lyddie. Looks like we’re wanted. Better hurry!” In answer, Lydia began skipping along toward the cabin. Albinia picked up her skirts and walked faster. The Clay crest was on the buggy, and a familiar Negro slave talked to her mother. She recognized Jackson, from Ashland.

“Yes’m, Miz Crump. Miss Lucy she say bring Miss Albinia right away, if she can come. I’m to wait for her answer.”

“No’m. Not exakly. She fell, tryin’ to come down de stairs by hersef. You know how she can be.” Albinia laughed, then sobered.

“Jes a sprained ankle, I think. Makes it harder for her to walk, and she’s more ornery. She upset that she ripped her dress, too. Auntie May, she offer to fix it. But Miss Lucy, she say only you can do it so it don’t show.”

“All right, Jackson. Mama, I’m sorry to leave you with Lyddie again. Let me get my things.” She moved toward the cabin.

Lydia hopped from one foot to the other and said, “Could I come? I’ve never seen Ashland. Lucy likes me at church, maybe I could cheer her up.”

Sara smiled. Albinia still wasn’t sure. “I don’t know how long I’ll be. It’s a longer drive than just to church. What if I have to stay overnight?”

“Oh, goody!” said Lydia. “I’ve never stayed with anyone! Please, Mama?”

Sara seemed to debate, and then said, “All right. If your sister doesn’t mind. But you have to be on your best manners, and don’t touch anything without permission. The Clays have many fine, breakable things.”

Albinia knew when to give up. “You can come then. I don’t want to hear you complain about the long ride. You mustn’t pester Lucy with too many questions. If she seems too tired, you’ll need to go find Sukie or her brothers to play with. Can you do that?”

Albinia suppressed a grin, thinking of the fine china dolls and toys the Clay children had. “Sukie likes to draw, so maybe you can do that with her.”

In a few minutes, they gathered Albinia’s sewing things and overnight items, in case of need, and departed, Sara waving after them.

The ride was anything but boring, with Jackson entertaining Lydia with jokes, stories, and songs. Lydia fairly bounced in time to the bumps. Albinia marveled at how easily Jackson entertained her sister, kept the horses moving, and eyed their surroundings all at the same time. As they arrived at Ashland, Jackson stiffened and assumed a more formal attitude toward the ladies.

“You must settle down now, Lyddie. Put your lady manners on. Don’t get Jackson into trouble,” said Albinia.

“No time to explain now. Just do as I say.” They got down and went inside, going up the spiral stairs to a bedroom on the left, where Lucy lay in bed waiting for them.

“Good afternoon, Albinia! I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you! You brought Lydia! How are you?”

“Yes, like blazes! I’m trying to ignore it. Phoebe here has been keeping ice on it,” referring to her maid who hovered near the foot of the bed. “I’m not sure which is worse: the pain or the annoyance of not being able to move!”

“Good afternoon, Miss Lucy!” said Lydia, remembering her “lady” manners for a moment. “I wanted to come and cheer you up! See?” She displayed a few straggly flowers she picked from the front of the house when Albinia wasn’t looking.

“Nonsense,” said Lucy, smiling. “Our gardener may be vexed, but I am not. You cheer me up already, dear.”

Encouraged, Lydia said, “But Miss Lucy, where’s your mama? Why isn’t she taking care of you? That’s what my mama does when I’m sick.”

“No, it’s all right, Albinia. Lydia, my mother is a great lady. She has many servants and a whole household to manage. Especially with my father traveling so much. Phoebe is my maid, and taking care of me is her job.”

Turning to Phoebe, Lydia said, “Do you like your job? Do you like being a slave for Miss Lucy? I like Jackson. And I like that other man, Luther.”

Appalled, Albinia sternly reprimanded her, “Lydia Dorsey Crump! Didn’t I tell you not to bother Miss Lucy with a lot of fool questions?”

Just then, Lucy’s mother, Susan Clay, came in. She took in the situation and turned to Phoebe. “That will be all, Phoebe. Take Miss Lydia to the nursery. I believe Sukie is playing there. I will call if you are needed.”

“I was just saying I apologize for my sister. We did think she might cheer Lucy up. She doesn’t really understand about slaves, especially Luther.”

Susan looked angry. “I’ll thank you not to mention his name in this house. Ungrateful wretch! We took him in, treated him well, gave him privileges. We trusted him with our daughter and you. And how did he reward us? Running away! Stealing slaves from Mr. Jameson! My husband gave him every consideration. We’ll see what happens when he is caught!”

“You gave him everything … except his freedom, his mother and sisters. Every consideration but that,” said Albinia. Lucy looked shocked.

Susan’s face turned scarlet. “If you’re quite finished, Miss Crump, I intend to secure the services of Mr. George Alberti, a renowned slave catcher from Philadelphia. If anyone can find my property, it would be him. When you’ve completed the repairs to my daughter’s gown, my butler will see you are paid and Jackson will drive you home. I trust the repairs will not take long.”

“Whatever possessed you to speak to my mother so?” Lucy demanded. “She’s never been anything but kind to you and your family.”

“I … I … I don’t know. I’m sorry, Lucy. I didn’t mean to anger her. It’s just … well, I’ve learned to see slaves differently. As people.”

“What do you mean, people? Of course, they’re people. You’ve seen them for years—here, in town, everywhere. Why, a fifth of the population of Lexington are slaves!”

“I mean as individuals—people with feelings, hopes, and dreams. Take Phoebe, for example. What do you really know about her? What she thinks, what she feels, what she wants?”

“Why should I bother? She’s a good maid, she does what she’s told. I treat her fairly. My father provides for her. She’s a great deal better off here than at Jameson’s, from what I’ve heard.”

Albinia turned away. There was truth in what Lucy said. She took the torn gown and her sewing bag, and began to work.

After a few minutes, she spoke again. “But you act like those are the only options. Being here or at Jameson’s. What if she wanted to be somewhere else, be someone else?”

“She can’t. I own her. Besides, you’ve seen her. Sometimes she can barely get my hair ribbons right. How could she manage at something else? She’s lucky to be a house slave.”

“That’s just it. You own her. She has no choices. What if you had been born a slave?”

Albinia finished the stitching and tied it off. She came to the bed, took Lucy’s hands, and looked her in the eye. “You are my dear friend, Lucy. I so enjoy the times we have together. Don’t let’s quarrel. I would be ever so sad. I just want to share the joy I’ve found with you, to open your eyes. Mr. Lincoln, he’s from Kentucky, like us. He says, ‘No man is good enough to govern another without his consent.’ Not even you. We all mistreat each other at times. If someone is mean to me I can protest, or I can get away from him or her. I could even retaliate, though that’s not right. Phoebe dares not say a word. Jesus wants us to treat everyone as we would like to be treated. How would you want to be treated if you were Phoebe? For our friendship, think on it. Now I’ll fetch Lydia, and we can do something fun before I go home if you like.” She hurried away to get Lydia from across the hall.

Luther’s days passed swiftly. For the first time in his life, he knew contentment. He learned from Ned, and was well on his way to becoming a competent blacksmith. He learned to make tools, shoe horses, and sharpen knives. The work and good food built his muscles. He was at an age where he grew rapidly. When he made mistakes at the forge, there was no threat of whipping or days without food. Ned gently corrected and showed him how to do the task, again. Olivia blossomed, pitching in to help around the livery and the cabin. Clara ran and played, enjoying all the childish things denied her before. All three of the ladies were learning their letters. He heard Jemima exclaim, “Oh, to read de word of the Lawd!! Mah blessin’ just done overflowed!”

He also studied at night, learning to read and write. Ned said that often orders came in on paper, and there were too many to remember anyway. Reading and writing were necessary skills for business. Luther could see the sense of needing these skills to stay free. The community here was friendly and accepting. No one asked about where he came from. They welcomed him as a new member of their community. From time to time, John Parker, who had sheltered them, came by. Occasionally he wondered what had become of Albinia, to whom he was now very grateful. He supposed he might never see her again.

He stretched, and thought he’d take a break from the forge. It was nearing noon, anyway. Most likely Katy would have lunch for all of them. As he emerged from the barn, Ruth came from behind the cabin, taking clothes down off the line. He walked over just as she was finishing, admiring her as she stooped and rose. She bent to pick up the basket of clothes.

She smiled. “All right, Mr. Strong Man. But you watch out! Soon I’ll be getting you to hang ‘em on the line, too!”

Luther took her teasing in stride. “And I’ll be getting you to shoe de horses!” He thought Ruth was one of the prettiest and smartest girls he’d ever met. She was another reason he was working on reading. It embarrassed him that she could read newspapers and books, while he struggled with simple sentences. He was determined to fix that. They walked toward the cabin, laughing and chatting. Luther concentrated on Ruth, not noticing Sam come up behind him, or that he stuck a foot out in front of him, under the laundry basket.

Luther tripped. Some of the clean clothes went flying into the mud from last night’s rain.

Sam stood back and laughed, then picked up the basket from where Luther dropped it. “Looks like you folks might need some help,” Sam guffawed. “Seems like Luther here ain’t used to Ohio mud. Needs to get more friendly like wid it. How ‘bout I help you with these, Ruth? I bet I can get to de cabin without falling over my own feet.”

Ruth turned on him, eyes blazing, hands on her hips. “How ‘bout you pick up all de clothes you just spoiled, and rewash them for me? You think you funny? You got less sense dan de dawg! Or would you rather I go talk to Pa?” She turned, offered Luther a hand up, then seized the basket from Sam. “I can handle these on my own. Luther, you go on get washed up for lunch. I’ll tell Mama Sam ain’t havin’ lunch today, he too busy working.” She walked off into the house.

Luther glared at Sam. “What you think you doin’? Ain’t it enough you spoiled Mr. Jenkins’ tools I was makin’ last week?”

“I cain’t help it if you burned them up,” said Sam innocently. “You got de fire too hot, left ‘em too long.”

“What? How ‘bout you stay away from Ruth and I stay away from your orders? You think you gonna do sumpin’, come on!” said Sam, assuming fighting stance.

Luther knew Sam was too strong for him. In a direct assault he’d stand little chance, though now he’s only about forty pounds lighter and two inches shorter. He also knew Ned did not tolerate fighting, and this position was too important to him to lose. Gritting his teeth and forcing his arms to his sides, he turned away.

Sam laughed and dropped his arms, slapping his knee. “I knew it! Just a plain ol’ coward. Run home to Mama, boy!”

A few days later, Luther saw Ned finish up with a customer. He hurried out of the barn to catch up with him. “Mr. Smith? Can I talk to you?”

Ned scratched his head, puzzled. “Yes, Luther. I’ve been very happy with it. I would’ve let you know otherwise. Why?”

“I just wanted to know if you think I have a future blacksmithing. Because … because I’d like to ask if I might keep company with Ruth. I wouldn’t want you to think I had no way to support her,” Luther said nervously.

Ned laughed. “That doesn’t really come as a surprise. Have you talked to her about it?”

“Well, I think you’ll find she just wonders what took you so long. She and Olivia are becoming good friends, too.” Then more seriously, he said, “I’ve no objection, except … except that you need to realize you are not secure in your life here. A slave catcher could come through any time and steal you and your whole family away. I’ve seen it happen, and I wouldn’t want that heartbreak on my Ruth. I’m sure you can understand.”

“Well, for now, nothing. Let’s keep this between ourselves and see how things develop. When John Parker came through, he said that someone might be able to ask some discreet questions, find out if they’re still looking for you. He promised to pass back what he hears. Let’s wait for that. Meanwhile, you may spend time with her—but just be careful,” he said, his words laced with warning. “Be careful of my daughter’s heart. I am not a man to be crossed.”

Albinia finished at the dress shop and locked up. It was late, near sunset, and summer humidity was beginning to creep into Lexington. She started toward the post office, to pick up the family mail from their box. She was distracted in thought, and almost walked out in front of a horse going down the street. She felt someone pull her arm back. Startled, she was about to grab a hatpin to stab the offender, when she recognized Joe.

“You should be careful, Albinia. Drivers can’t always see well this time of day.”

“Yes … yes, thank you, Joe. I guess I was lost in thought, not watching as I should.”

“What’s so important? I was coming to ask you something, but it can wait.”

“We’ve been going around together for a few months now. I … I really want to formally ask to court you.”

“Why not? I mean, well, if you need more time, I can understand. But we have fun together.”

Albinia felt strangely conflicted. She really did like Joe. It was flattering to have him ask. She strengthened her resolve.

“I know … and I feel bad about refusing. But I simply can’t. That business with Luther … that hasn’t been the only time, Joe. There have been others. I’m deeply involved. I can’t ask you to….”

“I’m not proud of it. But yes. You are a dear sweet friend, and I do enjoy time with you. I … I’m even attracted to you. But I love someone else. Don’t you see? I could never settle into the safe, secure life with the Breckinridge family. I couldn’t be the wife you want, that you deserve.”

“Please, don’t say that. It’s not true, not really. Maybe in the beginning it was. As I’ve gotten to know you, I see what a fine decent man you are. It’s been a struggle for me, really. But it isn’t fair to you to continue. My conscience has bothered me every time I’ve gotten a letter from David and responded. Please don’t hate me. I’ve wanted to tell you the past few weeks. You asking about courting now, well, I just have to say what’s in my heart. It won’t do to hide it any longer. I hope we can be friends. Just not … courting.”

“So you’ve been deceiving everyone? Your father? My parents? Maybe I was wrong … maybe you aren’t the woman I thought you were. I guess I’m lucky to find out now.” Joe turned and walked away, into the gloom of the evening.

The next morning, Albinia stopped at the post office. She’d spent a restless night praying, crying, and second-guessing herself, tossing and turning on the cot at the shop. She couldn’t face Katy, or her mother, who would know something was wrong. She checked with the mail clerk—and there was a letter from David! Her heart soared, but she also wondered if anything was wrong. She hurried back to the shop, locked the front door, and sat down in the back to read.

I apologize for not writing for so long—Mr. Garrison’s schedule has been very demanding, and we have opposition at every turn. Twice we’ve almost been ambushed on the street. I don’t wish to worry you, but please pray for our safety and for God to go before us with the message of freedom.

How I’ve missed you! I pray for your safety daily, and I wish we could do a moonlit ride through the Boston Common, or out to Concord, free of stress and danger.

I often think of you, and long for when we can be together. I love your courage, your smile, and even your unpredictability. I dream of a long happy future together. I will send for you as soon as it is safe.

They were gone. Just gone. Luther couldn’t believe it. He came back to Ned’s shop from getting supplies in Russellville and found the livery, the shop, the cabin deserted. No one seemed to be moving even on the streets of the village here. Where was everyone?

“Mama? Olivia? Anybody here?” called Luther, beginning to panic. And where was Ruth? And Ned? How could they all be gone? Luther quickly unhitched the horses and put them away. He began to run around the cabin and shop area, calling names. He climbed to the loft and called again.

He heard the flat tone in the voice. From under the hay, Sam rose up. “They all gone.”

“De slave catcher come. He surprised Ned, knock him out. He had de dogs, snarlin’ and bitin’. He had guns, and chains, and whips. He and two other men, dey came and took ‘em. Clara, she try to run.”

“I saw ‘em hit Ned. Wasn’t no use me fightin’ three of dem wid guns. So I hid up here, real quiet. I don’ know anymore. ‘Cept I heard dem say dey come back for you.”

“So you just hid? You just let them be taken? Ned, Katy, and Ruth, and the children? My family? Now who’s a coward!” raged Luther.

“I tell you ain’t no use! Dey woulda just got me, like Ned. Katy, she try to tell ‘em we free. We not runaways. Dey jus laugh, hit her wid de butt of de whip.”

“Some, dey got. De rest, dey hide like me. We always hide when de slave catcher come. Free, runaway, don’ make no difference. Some of dem slave catchers, dey kidnap free blacks, sell ‘em into slavery just de same.”

“I don’ know. Dey come right about lunchtime. I gwine to wait for sunset, make sure dey gone. Stay hid till den. But I hear you, I figger dey must be gone, or dey have you squawkin’ like a chased hen.”

“Get up!” Luther grabbed Sam roughly. “Get up! We’re going after them!”

“What! You crazy! You just get yo self caught. You best take one of de horses, ride for Canada, ‘fore dey come back for you.”

“I am not leaving my family in the hands of slave catchers. And not Ruth either. And you’re going to help me or I swear I’ll kill you.” Luther grabbed a pitchfork in the loft, menacing Sam. “We’re going to need help. Knock on doors, get as many men and guns as you can. These people owe Ned some favors. Time to collect. Tell ‘em next time it could be them. We need to fight back, now! Before they’ve gone too far. Maybe they haven’t crossed the river yet.”

Sam stood, doubtfully, but seeing the pitchfork and Luther’s determination, said, “All right. But dey gone.” He backed away from Luther and scrambled down the ladder. Luther didn’t know whether he would actually help or just run. He was determined to go after them, even risking capture or death.

He climbed down and began banging on doors, yelling for people to come out, that the slave catcher was gone. He looked everywhere, every possible hiding place he could think of. Soon he had a gathering of about ten men in front of the livery stable.

Luther stood on a hay bale and looked out at them. “Men, you been kind to me and my family. You know Ned Smith. You know how he has helped me. He’s helped many of you as well. If you just stand by and see him sold into slavery, how can you call yourself men? Won’t you just be saying the same as the white men, that we’re just frightened children? I’m not gonna lie—I’m scared. Scared for myself, for what might happen. But I’m even more scared for my mama, for my sisters, for Ned, Ruth, and Katy. I’m goin’ whether any of you come or not. Next time de slave catcher may come for you and your family. Who’s with me?”

Several of the men looked doubtfully at each other, but a few stepped forward. Last of all, Sam moved to join them.

“All right. Now who has guns? We’re gonna need ‘em.” Several hands raised.

“I got two shotguns, for squirrels,” said one. “I got a rifle,” said two others. “I got pistols,” said another.

“Good, good. We ain’t got much time. If dey make it across de river, we gonna have a lot more trouble. Meet back here in five minutes with guns, bullets, powder, and food. Jules, you take a horse from the livery, get word to John Parker.”

The men all moved off. Suddenly the little village was bustling. One of the women took charge to lead the women and children into the woods, into better hiding, in case the slave catchers doubled back, thinking to catch them off guard. In half an hour, the men who volunteered were back. They started following the trail. It wasn’t difficult, with all the people and dogs. The slave catchers did not attempt to hide their trail. They did not expect pursuit.

Fear and anger spurred Luther. About a hundred yards into the woods along the trail, the slave catchers had stopped. On the other side of the clearing, there was a trail of blood. There were marks showing someone being dragged. Cloth flapped in the breeze from a thorn bush. Luther looked at it—it was from Ruth’s dress!

Now Luther trotted along. The trail was easy to follow. From the sign, it looked as though the slave catchers might be an hour ahead of them. Moving so many was slower than the pace that Luther and the other men could manage in the light.

After about two miles, the blood trail seemed to stop. As he approached a clearing, Luther saw bright blue cloth at the edge. Another of the men pointed. Luther went over to it, heart pounding. Clara had worn a bright blue hair ribbon that morning. When he got closer, he screamed, “Noooo!” It was Clara’s body, torn and mangled, ripped by the dogs. She was dead. Luther bent down and scooped up her lifeless form. Her sightless eyes stared at him, bite marks on her face, blood everywhere, her dress torn. Luther sat on a log, holding and rocking her, willing her to come back to life. “My baby, my sister, what dey done to you?” he moaned. Surely, any minute now she would wake.

Sam came over. He touched Luther’s arm. “Luther. She’s gone. If you don’ want de others to be de same, we got to go. Now. I stay behind and bury her if you want, or cover her up wid rocks so we can bury her proper later. But we both know what dat slave catcher gonna do. You and de others, you got to go on. Luther?” he said shaking him gently.

Rising, Luther handed his sister’s body to Sam. “Cover her good, den come. It gonna take all of us,” he said grimly.

Sam gently took her. “I know we had some words. But I’ll take care of her. Den I’ll come. De others, dey need you to lead.”

The men huddled in the clearing. Luther moved toward them. His voice shook with emotion, his slave dialect coming back in his strength of feeling.

“All right! You see? Dey killed my sister! My little eleben year old sister! Now if dey can do dat, dey ain’t got no heart at all. Let’s go!”

Albinia,

Miss you terribly. Cannot come. Needed here. Garrison attacked from all sides. Will you come? Answer soon. Will send bank draft. I love you. David

In twenty-five words, her world turned upside down. What should she do? She had broken with Joe. Her father was disappointed and confused at the breach. Her mother thought she must have lost her mind. They knew nothing of David. If she told them now, what would happen? If she eloped, how could she explain it? The crops were good this year, which was a blessing. Still, how would they manage without her income? What if this was all a mistake? She loved David, but she had compromised her values of honesty and integrity in so many ways since meeting him. If she refused him, their love would be at an end. She prayed. She thought. She wondered what he meant about Garrison being under attack from all sides. She went to Hobson’s store and, under the disapproving eyes of the clerk, bought several newspapers. Some were local, some further away, including The Liberator. There were stories of riots and fiery speeches for and against slavery and secession. The presidential election was drawing closer, and the rhetoric became extreme. One article in the local paper caught her eye as she scanned, and she gasped. It was in the social pages, not normally a section she looked at much. It was an engagement announcement—between Joe Breckinridge and Jenny Morton. It pained her own heart, though she did not like to think on it. Moreover, she could not imagine what it would do to Will when he heard. She read the telegram again and made her decision. Leaving the shop, she locked up, and walked to the telegraph office. She sent a one-word answer.

It was near dark when Luther heard the screams. He wanted to charge into the camp, free the captives, and kill the slave catchers, but caution told him to wait. He must not fail. Sam had not caught up with them, and Luther wondered if he’d just gone back to the village. He felt a deep, soul-wrenching pain thinking of Clara. The screams centered his attention again, on what was ahead. He knew that voice. It could only be his mother. Warning the others to silence, he whispered that they should spread out, make a half circle around the camp. When he signaled with the call of a whippoorwill, everyone with a rifle was to fire on a white man target. The rest would charge the camp, to free as many as possible, and kill any opposition. Luther fingered his “good luck knife” that he had carried with him on the road to freedom; it was sharp enough to shave a beard.

In the center, there was a main campfire. Ned and his family were in chains, along with Olivia. A downed tree held their chains fast. Jemima had an iron collar around her neck, attached to a chain thrown over a high branch. The chain suspended her in the air, her feet barely touching the ground. The chain could be raised and lowered to increase her pain, nearly hanging her if they chose. Above her head, a small fire burned in a pan, and over that, a grill sizzled with fat and meat. Whenever her torturer raised her from the ground, she choked, and burning grease and embers fell, scorching her naked body. Her hands were bound behind her in manacles. Luther saw a branding iron heating in the campfire, waiting.

“All right, you black wench! One more time. Who helped you escape? You are sure too stupid to have done it alone. Who helped?” snarled a fat bearded white man. A black felt hat covered his brow, and a pistol was stuck in his belt. He wore a light overcoat and baggy pants. He must be strong, for when Jemima did not answer, he jerked the chain and she rose in the air, off her toes, raining burning embers down on her bare skin.

She screamed again, “Lawd have mercy! Take me home! De Lawd, He help me escape, dat who! Don’ burn me no mo’!” Her feet kicked wildly in the air, in pain.

“Maybe I’ll just feed you to my dogs, like that little pickaninny of yours!” He let her feet touch the ground again. “Or maybe I’ll let you go if you tell me. ‘Course, I might get tired and switch to that other one,” he said, gesturing at Olivia. “Jameson told me he don’t much care about what condition she comes back in, gonna sell her south anyway, down to fever country. Might keep you for amusement, though. Or maybe sell you myself, to one of them black slave owners over in Carolina.” The other white men laughed. “Now, let’s try again. Where’s your son Luther, and who helped you?”

The men were in position. Luther had seen enough. He made the sound of the whippoorwill several times. Shots rang out, but were mostly wild. The fat man jumped to the log where the other captives were, using them and the log as a shield. One of the slave catchers dropped, catching a shotgun blast full in the chest. Another looked toward his fallen companion as Luther rushed in, slicing the man’s gun arm with his knife. He heard a pistol ball whistle near, and then the fat man called out. “I got my revolver on the head of a pretty girl here. If she means anything to you, drop your weapons. I can kill her and that woman hanging there before any of you get me.” Luther had his arm raised to deliver a killing blow to the man underneath him. He hesitated, and the man fought back, knocking his hand against a rock, forcing him to drop the knife. “You have two seconds, and then she’s dead.”

A shot rang out from the forest, a scream of pain, and then a voice. “You’ll be shootin’ no one today, you slave catcher vermin!” John Parker, Sam, and five other men strode into the firelight, guns trained. “Drop your weapons, slave catchers, or we’ll shoot the lot of ye. Stand up!”

Luther stood aside. The fat man stood, holding his shoulder wound. A dog tried to charge one of the men and was shot immediately. Sam came over, carrying a hammer. He handed it to Luther.

“I thought you might need dis,” he said. Grabbing the hammer, he went to the fat man.

“The key. Give me the key, before I bash your skull in,” he said, his voice deadly with rage. He raised the hammer above Alberti’s head, who quickly fished in a pocket and produced a key. Jemima’s feet were on the ground, but the fire still burned above her. Luther put down the hammer and carefully unlocked her shackles, so as not to cause any embers to fall. Then he unlocked Ned and his family, and Olivia. Katy quickly moved to treat Jemima’s burns and gather her discarded dress to cover her. John Parker used their shackles to chain Alberti and the other surviving slaver. Olivia and Ruth took turns embracing Luther. Lying on the ground, Jemima looked at him, her eyes shining in gratitude.

Alberti roared at them. “I’ll see you all in court. You interfere with lawful recovery of property, chaining a white man. You’ll all rot in jail!”

Luther snapped. He ran to the fire, picked out the waiting branding iron, and charged Alberti, yelling “You’ll rot in hell, wid de debble!”

“No, Luther. That’s not the way. You want to hang or end up back in slavery? We can prosecute him for kidnapping free Negroes. His charges won’t stand. But if you try to take revenge, you and your whole family will suffer.”

Jemima spoke from her haze of pain. “You lissen, Mr. Parker, boy. Revenge is mine, I will repay, says de Lawd. Don’ go tryin’ to do His job.”

Katy tried to calm him, but Ned shook her off. He picked up the discarded hammer, and his muscles rippled in the firelight. He advanced menacingly on Sam, who cowered.

“You! You de cause all dis. I saw you—two, three days ago—talkin’ to a white man. You de one tol’ dem dat Luther is here. You nearly get me an’ my family sold down de river!” Ned raised the hammer as if to strike. Sam put his hands over his head.

“Please, Mr. Smith! I just want Luther out of de way. To court Ruth. I nebber thought the slave catcher hurt any free blacks. Please!”

John had loosened his grip on Luther but tightened it again, motioning to one of the other men, who restrained Ned’s arm somewhat. The powerful blacksmith shook with fury.

“If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you or give you to the slave catchers myself! Now—run! Before I change my mind and do something I’ll regret.”

The next day they held a brief service for Clara, burying her in the colored graveyard. Luther wept and cursed himself for the loss of Clara. How could he have been so stupid as to think anywhere, even in the North, was safe? Ned and family, as well as John Parker and the other rescuers, attended. Alberti and the other slaver were behind bars, for the moment, though Parker doubted they would stay there long. As the service concluded, Ruth came and took Luther aside.

“Say the word and I’ll go with you,” she said. “To Canada, or anywhere.”

Another day, Luther would have jumped for joy. His grief and anger overshadowed him.

“I can’t ask you that. Not now. I … I don’t know what to think, how to feel. I have to see my ma and Olivia safe to Canada. Then I don’t know where I’m going. I do know that I care for you. Very much. But there are things I have to do. I’m going to get Sam and my old master. I have to. Without them, none of this would have happened. Will you wait for me?” he asked pleadingly.

She looked deep into his eyes. “Luther, don’t do this! I don’t want to wait. When I see so much anger, it scares me. Whatever you feel you have to do, listen to your mother. Revenge won’t help. If you feel you have to go, yes, I’ll wait for you. If we move, as Papa says we might, I will leave word where with John Parker. Go with God, Luther.” She reached up, encircled his neck with her arms, and kissed his cheek. She turned away, crying.

John packed Luther, Jemima, and Olivia back into the wagon, concealed under hay, the way they had come months before. They headed north, to Oberlin, a town distinctly unfriendly to slave catchers, a kind of sanctuary. Luther knew this was temporary. After talking with John Parker, they decided they would board a ferry steamer to Port Rowan, in Ontario, Canada, beyond the reach of the slave catchers. John said they might go on to Glen Morris. A woolen factory there often hired escaped slaves as lint pickers. It would mean starting over again. This time, though, they would truly be free.