Point of No Return (21 page)

Matt felt like a fool for not realizing it sooner.

Hank laughed from the buckboard seat at the front of the wagon. “Well, now, I guess this is your Judgment Day—eh, Clarence?”

Boss, who had been on a horse ahead, whistled for Sonny to pick up their speed and follow him. Still north of town, they suddenly turned left onto a smaller road. A canopy of tree branches formed a natural tunnel that led to a large, white, two-storied mansion with pillars along the front, tall windows, and large balconies. Matt was reminded of a famous old film called
Gone with the Wind
.

They drove around to the right of the house and followed a smaller path that took them into a compound of stables, workhouses, shacks, and, farther beyond toward the fields, a cluster of log houses.

“That's where we live,” Eveline said, with a catch in her throat.

Boss dismounted and walked up to the back door of the mansion. He shuffled from foot to foot as he rang the bell and waited. After a minute, the door opened, and a black servant appeared. Matt couldn't hear what Boss said to him, but the servant suddenly looked at the wagon, put his hand to his mouth with surprise, then disappeared into the house. Boss strolled back to the wagon.

“Well?” Sonny asked, crawling down from the buckboard seat and rubbing his rear. Hank did likewise.

“He's coming,” Boss replied.

The door slammed, and Matt looked up in time to see a short man with a chiseled, white face and billowing housecoat race down the walkway.

“Boss! What're you doing here at this ungodly hour on a Sunday morning? Don't you know that—” He stopped himself when he saw Clarence and Eveline in the back of the wagon. “Good heavens, look at that!”

“I thought you'd be wanting your property back, Mr. Ramsay,” Boss said.

Ramsay glared at Clarence and Eveline. “As a matter of interest, no. I
don't
want my property back. And it's taking every ounce of strength to keep from grabbing a horsewhip and driving these two troublemakers into the next county!”

Clarence refused to look at Ramsay in the eyes. Eveline kept her gaze locked on her hands, which were neatly folded in her lap. Matt felt like throwing up.

“Wait, now, Mr. Ramsay,” Sonny gulped. “You say you don't want them back? But you put out a reward! You said you—”

“Oh, don't start sniveling. That doesn't mean you won't get money for them. Come into the kitchen, Boss. I have a proposition for you.”

Boss followed Ramsay back up to the door, and the two of them went inside.

“This better not be some kind of trick,” Hank snarled. He pointed a finger at Clarence. “If we don't get what's coming to us, I swear I'll skin you alive.”

Fifteen minutes later Boss returned to the wagon. Sonny and Hank watched him expectantly as he ran his fingers through his greasy hair, then put his hat on. “He doesn't want them. He said they're too much trouble, trying to run away every chance they get. It's bad for the other slaves. Doesn't even want the boy.”

Matt wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or insulted.

“So what's he want to do with them?” Hank asked.

“He's selling them to us.”

“Us!” Sonny complained. “We don't have that kind of money.”

“No—but we might in Huntsville. He wants us to sell them, and in return we'll give him part of what we make. I think it's a fair deal. We stand to make more from that than we would've just with the reward money.”

“I'm not sure I like it,” Hank said. “But I reckon we don't have much of a choice.”

Sonny scratched his nose thoughtfully and said, “It suits me.”

Boss came alongside the wagon and peered in at his three packages. “Did you get all that?”

Clarence and Eveline nodded. Matt looked perplexed. “I don't understand. What're you going to do with us?”

“I'm selling you, boy,” Boss said earnestly. “Tomorrow you're gonna be on the auction block.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

S
UNDAY
W
AS A SLAVE'S
day off for rest or to go to church or to visit nearby relatives. Since Clarence and Eveline were runaways, the overseer—a man named Watson who was in charge of the slaves—locked them up in an empty storeroom. Matt wasn't considered a threat and Watson waved his hand at him in dismissal.

“But I have to talk to you,” Matt said.

“You can go on,” Watson scowled as he locked the door on Clarence and Eveline. “Go play or something.”

“But I don't want to go play. I need to talk to somebody in charge. There's been a big mistake!”

Watson pushed him away. “You wanna talk to Mr. Ramsay? Forget it. Consider yourself fortunate that we're letting you stay here until the auction. It's not as if you belong to us.”

“That's what I mean!” Matt persisted. “I don't belong to
anybody
. I don't belong here. I'm free.”

“Leave me alone,” Watson snapped and walked away.

Matt followed him. “Boss picked me up without having a right to. Don't you have laws against that? Somebody's going to be in big trouble. Understand? I'm
free
!”

“Shut up, boy,” Watson said. “I don't want to know.”

“But you
do
know.”

They rounded the corner of a stable and nearly ran straight into Boss. He was brushing down his horse.

“What's wrong, Watson?” he asked casually.

“This boy says he's free, but you're selling him anyway,” Watson replied.

“I am and you know it!” Matt said.

“Shut up,” Boss said to Matt.

Watson looked at Boss uneasily. “We don't want anything illegal going on here, Boss. Mr. Ramsay won't like it.”

“There's nothing illegal about you putting up
my
slave for the night—as a favor.”

“I'm not your slave!” Matt said.

Boss grabbed Matt by the shirt and yanked him so close to his face that he could smell yesterday's potatoes on his breath. He spoke softly, “You won't be
anybody's
slave if you don't close your mouth. That backhand I once gave you is nothing compared to what I'm willing to do.” He thrust Matt away so hard that Matt fell and hit his head on a post.

“Do you have papers for him?” Watson asked.

Boss smiled. “I might have them around here somewhere. But you don't have to see them.”

“Mr. Ramsay might ask.”

“Only if someone gives him a reason to ask. I won't and this boy won't—how about you?”

“Depends on what it's worth,” Watson said.

Boss nodded, went to his saddle, and pulled out a bag of coins. He fished around until he found an appropriate number and tossed them to Watson. “That should help to keep things quiet.”

Watson considered the money. “I reckon it will.”

Boss threw him another coin. “This is to help make sure the boy keeps quiet, too.”

“Easily done,” Watson said. He walked over to Matt, who was standing up. He put his hand on the leather hand of the whip attached to his belt. “Come on, boy.”

Matt looked at Boss's face, then Watson's, and realized what was going to happen. “No!” he said and tried to run in the opposite direction.

Watson was too quick for him and had him by the collar instantly. Matt shouted. Watson gave him a hard thump on the back of the head with the end of his leather whip handle. Stunned, Matt began to cry. “No, no, no,” he said over and over.

Watson dragged Matt back to the empty storehouse where Clarence and Eveline were held prisoners. He opened the door and shoved Matt inside. “Keep this boy quiet or the three of you won't live to regret it,” he said to Clarence. He closed the door again and locked it.

Splinters of light came through the uneven boards on top of the shack. Matt lay on the ground and continued to cry. All his pent-up emotion had been unleashed and wouldn't be stopped. Eveline leaned down and held him close. “It's all right,” she said gently.

Clarence also knelt down next to him and stroked his back. “Go ahead, Matthew. You go ahead and cry. Cry for all of us.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

J
ACK SAT IN THE STEAM
train's passenger car at the Corinth railway station and stared at the Western Union Telegraph office across the platform. He fidgeted anxiously in the brown cloth seat. What was taking Reverend Andrew so long? he wondered.

It was yet another delay in what seemed like a trip of endless delays. First, they couldn't leave Odyssey until Reverend Andrew found someone to take his pulpit and pastoral responsibilities for a couple of weeks. That raised questions about
why
he was leaving and though Andrew answered discreetly, word got back to the sheriff who warned him not to try any of his “abolitionist” stunts. Jack remembered well how the sheriff had squinted an eye and said, “I promise you, Reverend, that if you intentionally bring any runaways back to this town, there'll be more trouble than either one of us'll know how to handle.”

The reverend politely thanked him for the warning.

Later that day Jack and the reverend rode down to a wharf on the Mississippi and caught a riverboat headed south. Andrew insisted that he and Jack stay in their stateroom for the journey, since Jack's “obvious unfamiliarity with the ways of the riverboat” (he said) would make him stand out in a crowd. Jack suspected that there were things on the riverboat that Andrew didn't approve of. The heavily made-up, perfumed women and the card games were probably two of those things, Jack guessed.

They made good time on the river until, just south of Cairo, Illinois, they came upon a boat that had hit some river debris and blown up. For that, they were delayed a day getting to Columbus, Kentucky.

At Columbus they took a train deeper into the South. Jack was surprised by the overall sootiness and dinginess of the steam train. The passenger cars were plain and boxlike with seats barely covered in thin fabric for marginal comfort. Jack had complained to Reverend Andrew about it. The reverend then informed him that some of the cars—particularly the ones the blacks were allowed to ride in—had hard wooden seats. “Be grateful for what you have,” he said.

Travel on the train was anything but smooth. There was a great deal of jolting and rocking, noise, and grating screeches. At night, the sparks from the engine flew past the dirty window like wild fireflies. Jack worried that the sparks might land on the wooden cars and turn to flames.

“You don't have to worry about that,” Andrew said as he hooked a thumb toward the stove in the middle of the car. “That'll start a fire long before the sparks will.”

Jack wasn't comforted and didn't sleep much.

According to his plan, Andrew reminded Jack not to call him “Reverend” anymore. Now he was simply Andrew Jamison or, to Jack,
Uncle
Andrew. He had given up his role as a minister and was now an ornithologist—a man who studied birds.

“Isn't that lying?” Jack had asked.

Andrew had smiled and said, “Not at all. Studying birds has been a hobby of mine for years. That I choose to omit the fact that I'm a Northern minister who abhors slavery is no one's business but mine. We'll get onto the plantations to spread the word among the Alabama slaves about the Underground Railroad. Meanwhile, we'll look for your friend in Huntsville.”

The plan seemed terribly simple to Jack. What if Matt wasn't in Huntsville? What if they took him somewhere else? What if they hurt him along the way?

They stopped at the station in Corinth, Mississippi, where they would then catch another train heading east to Huntsville. That's the train Jack was now sitting in. He squirmed in his seat and tugged at the collar of the shirt Andrew had bought for him. It was stiff and uncomfortable. The new, wool trousers also made his legs itch. And the shoes pinched his toes.

Andrew emerged from the telegraph office and leaped onto the train. He sat down across from Jack. “Well, that's done.”

“What did you do, Rev—er,
Uncle
Andrew?” Jack asked.

“I telegraphed ahead to a friend of mine in Huntsville. He'll help us when we arrive.” He smiled and rubbed his hands together. “I'm quite pleased, Jack. If my estimations are correct, those slave hunters will only just be arriving with Clarence, Eveline, and your friend. I believe this excursion will yield much fruit for their freedom—and the freedom of others.”

“Just so we find Matt,” Jack said.

“Don't worry, lad. God is with us. What could go wrong?”

A man in a blue uniform and matching cap opened the door and poked his head into the train. “Sorry, gentlemen, but this train'll be delayed a few hours.”

“What!” Jack responded.

Andrew put a restraining hand on his knee. “What is the problem?” he asked the man.

The man scratched impatiently at his ear. “Train went off the track just outside of Decatur. Awfully messy. Since it's the Sabbath, they can't rally the men they need to get it cleared until morning. Corinth's a nice little place. I'm sure you'll find lodgings.”

“But what about Matt?” Jack asked.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

O
N
M
ONDAY MORNING
, B
OSS
took Matt, Clarence, and Eveline to Huntsville. They had been given fresh clothes to wear, for reasons Matt learned later. After a half hour's drive they made their way past the homes and businesses on the outskirts of town to a cluster of rough, wooden buildings. Several saddle horses were either tied or held by servants as their owners assembled around a building in the rear.

“This is the slave market,” Clarence told Matt. While Boss spoke to a bearded man off to the side, Sonny pulled them off the back of the wagon and led them to a dozen other slaves standing along a wide gate. As they walked, Clarence took Matt's hand in one of his own. He held Eveline's in the other. Matt's heart beat so fast that he thought it might explode.