Authors: Katherine Ayres
Miss Aurelia’s words stir my heart to action. It feels good to know that I am not the only one who fumes and rages.
T
HURSDAY
, F
EBRUARY
27, 1851
Hope is a week old today. I wish I felt like celebrating.
F
RIDAY
, F
EBRUARY
28, 1851
Will has returned with a plan and supplies for our journey. He also recited a list of cautions as long as my arm, from Mama and Papa. Mama offered to make the
trip herself in my place, but Papa convinced her that my youth and innocence will make our story seem more true.
Mama sent me Grandmother’s gold ring to wear in imitation of a married woman. I hope we aren’t stopped and that we don’t need to playact, but I will ride easier with my parents’ blessings and that worn golden circle on my finger. I doubt Mama and Papa would even consider letting me make this trip if it weren’t for my brother Will and his well-traveled wagon, so I am many times blessed.
We leave for Ravenna at dawn tomorrow. I like it that our journey will begin on the first day of March. February has brought gray skies and sadness. Good riddance!
S
ATURDAY
, M
ARCH
1, 1851
L
ATE AFTERNOON
A
bitter and chill darkness sits upon my heart this day, for all our brave, bright beginnings. William and I did as planned. Our story was good enough, or so we thought. I was a young wife and had gone home to Mama to bear my child. My brother carried me north, back to my pretend husband.
We traveled well all day, making quick work of the miles between Atwater and Ravenna. Hope slept the journey
away, for I’d dosed her with paregoric Mama sent. We reached Ravenna before dark. Will pulled up in front of a largish inn and unloaded my trunk and our food on the porch.
“You get us signed in and feed that baby. I’ll tend the horses,” he said. “Somebody from the inn will help with the carrying.”
He pulled away. I entered the inn and sniffed the rich smell of beef roasting. My mouth watered. I turned to find the innkeeper when something blocked my path.
“Is that you, Lucinda Spencer? What the dickens are you doing here? And what do you have in your arms?”
My breath caught. I turned and looked straight into the face of that old slippery snake of a deputy, Levi Bowen. And worse, behind him stood the man whose child I carried: Clayton Roberts.
Levi Bowen grabbed my arm. “This looks mighty suspicious, missy. You ain’t going nowhere till we get some answers.”
Clayton Roberts eased Levi aside as though he were no more substantial than a lace window curtain. “We do require answers,” he said, smiling at me. “But there’s no need to be uncivilized.”
My skin crawled. How dare he talk about being civilized? As the two men led me to a table I realized the depth of my difficulty. We’d designed a story for strangers, not for someone who knew us. I’d have to think of something to tell them, and quickly.
Will walked in. I nodded and blinked in warning. He caught my meaning and backed out of sight.
My mind sped through my choices as I sat, hugging Hope for dear life. But everything narrowed to one question. What must I do to prevent them from taking the baby back to slavery?
The innkeeper greeted us and promised coffee.
“Lucinda,” Levi Bowen began, “explain about the child.”
Papa always says to look at people directly, so I did. I took a deep breath. “She’s my child. Her name is Hope.”
“I’ll see the babe,” Clayton Roberts said. “If you don’t mind.”
Of course I minded, but what could I do? I laid Hope on the tabletop and loosened her blankets. Once my hands were free, I slipped the ring from my finger and into my skirt pocket, for our intended story would only cause more suspicion now.
Roberts pulled off Hope’s cap and exposed a soft tangle of dark curls. “She looks like a colored child,” he said. “I have experience with such people, you understand. How could a young lady such as yourself come to have a colored child?”
How indeed? “She is half colored and half white,” I replied with a shaking voice.
“Damnation,” Levi Bowen shouted. “You expect us to believe this hogwash? You’re a sheltered young girl, Lucinda, from a good Christian family. You ain’t about to fornicate with no black man. I say she’s a slave child.” He glared at me. “I’ll lock you up, girl, if you’re harboring a runaway.”
“It looks rather likely,” Clayton Roberts said.
My heart galloped faster than a team of horses. I looked into Hope’s tiny face for inspiration but found none. All I could do was make a story up as I went along.
“I was trying to get out of town. Up to Cleveland, where nobody knows me. It’s a big town. I could raise the child in secret.”
Sounded credible to me, and it explained why I traveled this road with my trunk.
“Now, Miss Spencer,” Clayton Roberts began, as if I were six, “a slave of mine escaped. She was expecting a child, and that child would have arrived by now. I have a strong notion that this child is my property.” He looked into the baby’s face and studied it carefully. “I wonder what you did with her mother.”
I took a deep breath to keep from spitting in his face.
“Do I look like the sort of person who would do something with someone’s mother? I’m not a baby-stealer. Hope is my own child. I stayed with Widow Mercer so no one would see my condition. You saw me there. I gave birth to the child at her house. Please, I’ve kept my secret so far—have pity on me and spread the story no further.”
My mind skidded back to the days he’d come to Miss Aurelia’s. I’d worn a long, heavy woolen dress and a big apron both times. Enough clothing to hide a bulging belly? I surely hoped so.
I lowered my head, as if ashamed. “Please, sirs. I’ve made mistakes, but I don’t mean to hurt anybody. I just want to go away where nobody knows me. Where this child and I won’t be scorned.”
Levi Bowen snorted. “Ain’t no place a child like that
won’t make trouble. Even supposing you’re telling the truth.”
Clayton Roberts shook his head. “I have grave doubts about your story,” he said, “but we’ll offer you a chance to prove it. Bowen, who is the preacher at that Presbyterian church?”
“The Atwater church? The Reverend Cummings,” Bowen said. “He’s a good man. Virginian.”
“Married?” Roberts asked. I wondered what he was getting at.
“Yep. Mrs. Cummings is a Virginia gal. Loyal, upstanding folks.”
“Fine. I’ll send for the Reverend’s wife, then. And the local doctor,” Roberts said.
He turned and smiled at me, looking very sure of himself. “The doctor will examine you in the presence of a good and virtuous woman who knows you well. They will certify whether you are or are not the child’s mother. If you are, then you may do as you please, travel to Cleveland or wherever. But if you are not, Mr. Bowen will write out a warrant for your arrest. Until then you’ll be held here under guard. Do we understand each other?”
I nodded. I understood all too well. I had no choice. If I argued or protested my innocence, they’d condemn me as guilty. My future and the future of this tiny child lay in the hands of some strange doctor and Mrs. Cummings. I hugged the baby close to keep from crying out loud.
I couldn’t think of a worse fate.
Levi Bowen arranged for me to be put in a room on the second floor. He and the innkeeper hauled up my
trunk and boxes and nosed into them before they left me alone.
Hope whimpered, and I laid her on the bed to unwrap her from the blankets. I felt like bawling, too, for at least a week, but I had to feed the baby first. I took off my own heavy clothes and dug into a basket for her jug of milk. I poured some into a smaller jar and set it beside the fire to warm. At least I had the comfort of a fire.
As I reached into the basket for the rubber teat to stretch over the mouth of the jar, I felt paper. Will had somehow managed to sneak in a note.
Lucy, you’re in real deep trouble. What should I do? Run for Papa and Jeremiah Strong, or bust you out of here myself? There’s only the two of them right now. We could do it. I heard them say you’d have to stay here for a day or two. But they’ll get more men tomorrow, so we’d best hurry. Hang the baby’s cap in the window so I know which room to watch. Be careful. William
.
Thank God for William. But what could we do? I hung Hope’s cap in the window, as he’d asked, and thought about it as I changed her and fed her from the jar of milk.
If Will and I somehow managed to escape, we wouldn’t get far. They’d watch the roads. Tomorrow Clayton Roberts would set up more men to guard me. And tomorrow Mrs. Cummings would come with some strange doctor. So I didn’t have much time. I had to leave right away. I checked the window. The light was pale, late afternoon. Whatever we did, it would be safer by night. I
tried to think of plans for escape, but instead panic filled my mind.
A thousand-dollar fine. We’d lose the farm. But we’d helped ten people—a ten-thousand-dollar fine! Impossible. Papa, Mama, Miss Aurelia, Mrs. Smith, the Strongs—they’d all be ruined. I’d go to jail. Worst of all, Hope would have to go back to Carolina and live as a slave. I held her tight as she sucked milk from the jar. I either had to escape or convince people that I really was Hope’s mother.
And if I did that? Then what? Last year a hired girl south of town had a baby without a husband. People acted real ugly, and her baby was white. The baby I claimed was half colored. People would call me a sinner and worse. They’d want to know who the father was, and they’d go after him with tar and feathers or else a hanging rope. They’d come after me. They’d blame Mama and Papa for my sins, punish my brothers and sister.
Fools! Their eyes would pop if I told who the real father was. That vile Clayton Roberts. His face appeared before my eyes, handsome and sure of himself and so slick. It made me mad, mad enough to stop feeling sorry for myself. I would escape from that man’s reach! I would save this baby!
And I realized, suddenly, that I had nearly everything I needed to get away. I might just pull it off.
Without stopping to burp Hope, I laid her on the bed and scribbled a note to my brother. I stood beside the window and watched. Nothing moved. I opened the window. It creaked slightly. Below me the shadows stirred.
“Will?” I whispered.
“Lucy. Quick.”
I dropped the note and stepped away from the window. I quickly scribbled another note for Mama and Papa.
1
March
Dear Mama and Papa
,
You were so right to worry about my journey. We are caught! Clayton Roberts was staying at the inn in Ravenna. I bumped into him this afternoon as we arrived and he discovered the child. Oh, Papa! Does nothing ever go according to plan? Is God truly on our side in this, or does He forget us?
My only hope lies in William, who was tending to the horses when I was discovered. Will ducked into the barn and hid. Now we have a plan of sorts. It’s risky but, I think, the only way. Once Will has carried me where I need to go, he will return to warn all of you. Do as he asks, please. Go along with my story
.
Someone must take responsibility for what has happened. I am that someone. Will, Tom, and Miranda are young. They still need you. They need our home. I’m grown and can manage a life on my own, at least for a while. I was nearing the time when I’d begin my life as a woman, anyway. But Mama, in all the times we talked about it, I never suspected that I’d have to leave you all behind
.
I can’t write any more, for I will lose my courage, whatever is left of it. Keep us ever in your prayers
.
Love
,
Lucinda
Now all I can do is wait for nightfall and pray for deliverance. Someone knocks at the door. I must hide this deep in my trunk and see who it is.
S
ATURDAY
, M
ARCH
1, 1851
L
ATER
The sun is at the horizon and I am ready at last, but the waiting still jangles my nerves. How long now? An hour, perhaps? Can I endure it? I must, for I have endured worse this day.
Bah on both my visitors! They each made me quite sick.
Clayton Roberts knocked at my door first. He didn’t even wait for me to invite him in, just strode across the room as though he owned it. “Miss Spencer. May I call you Lucinda?”
I turned and glared at him.
He stood quite close to me, and I could smell spirits on his breath. “My dear. This is quite a tangle for a young girl such as yourself. Perhaps we can arrive at some compromise.” He took my chin in his hand and turned my face toward his.
“You are quite lovely, you know. And if you have given yourself to a colored man, or even if you have thought of doing such a thing, perhaps a man such as myself won’t displease you. I’ve been told I’m not hard to look at.” His blue eyes glittered.
I wanted to pull away, but I didn’t dare. He could yank Hope from the bed and take her south in a blink. “Please, sir …”
“If you were to tell me the whereabouts of my property, Lucinda dear,”—he brushed my cheek with his fingers—“and if you were to assist me in finding all that I own, I might be inclined to forgo punishment, drop all complaints. If you were to ask me sweetly … and offer me some other reward for my forgiveness.”
What was he asking? That I lead him to Abraham and Emma? And then what? Lie with him? Never!
My mind scrambled for an answer, then hit on words I’d heard from Mrs. Smith at the birthing. I stepped away. “Please, sir. I’ve just borne a child. My condition is tender.…”
“Dinner for you, miss.”
Bless her, whoever she was. A woman with a tray. She was stout and not very tall and she scowled at me. “They said we was to feed you.” She glared past me at the baby, sleeping sweet as a lamb on the bed, and then at Clayton Roberts.
“We’ll speak again, Lucinda,” he said. “I’ll leave you to your meal.”
He left, and I caught my breath.
“If I had my way, I’d make it bread and water for a shameless hussy like you.” The woman passed me the tray, then stomped down the hall.