Billy Boy (20 page)

Elijah's lips curled into a smile. “Billy, suh, you been gone a long time. You didn't get in no trouble?” he asked as Billy crawled underneath the staircase.

“Naw.” Billy slipped off the jacket, handed it to Elijah, and lay down on the hard ground.

“You find where Fifth Street be?”

“Yeah. We're right close.”

“Real good, Billy, suh.” Elijah blew warm air onto his hands and pushed them into the pockets of his jacket. “Now, we just stay under these stairs 'til it be dark.”

As the moon rolled over the spires of the courtyard church, the pair left their hiding place.

“Moon all misty-lookin', Billy, suh.”

“It's them yellow rings around it. Pa says rings mean it's gonna snow.”

“I heard of snow, but I never seen any. How your Pa know that?”

“Seen it lots of times afore.” Billy cupped his hands, blowing hot breath over his fingers. “Wish we had us some food. I'm starved.”

“We find Fifth Street now. Mr. Still, he take care of us.”

They moved quietly down the near-vacant street, Billy motioning the way silently to Elijah.

They walked several blocks, finally turning right on a treelined street, past elegant two-story brick colonials and ornate verandahs, clusters of trailing ivy spilling over wrought-iron
fences. Oil lamps glowed in the pane windows, and chimney smoke billowed dusty gray.

It was ear-tingling cold. Flakes of snow fell silently from the darkness. Elijah shivered and raised his collar as the snow trickled down his neck. He stopped for a moment under a gaslight, staring in wonderment at the specks of white powder shimmering beneath his feet.

“You thinkin' this might be Fifth Street?” Billy scrunched his nose, and brushed the white wetness away from his face.

“No, suh. Nigguh folk don't live in these fancy houses.”

“Ain't supposed to be sayin' that.”

“Coloreds.”

“We lost, you thinkin'?”

“Just keep walkin', Billy, suh. Elijah find the colored folks.”

As the long rows of stately homes faded into a business district, Elijah stared at an endless stretch of storefronts, dark and uninviting, snow falling undisturbed on the cobbled street. Discouraged, he guided Billy around the next corner, only to discover another street of imposing homes. Where were the huts for colored folk?

Elijah led Billy down several blocks, turning at last into a darkened district far away from the fancy houses of the white folks' neighborhood. At the next corner he stopped suddenly.

A hauntingly familiar song wafted through the snowy darkness.
Hold your light, brother Robert, hold your light on Canaan's shore
…

Was he dreaming? Elijah grabbed Billy's arm. “Billy, suh, you hear music?”

“Yeah, sounds like a hym—hymninal.”

“Elijah know this song! Elijah sing it when he dyin' by the creek.”

Elijah ran into the middle of the street. He spun around and ran to the sidewalk on the opposite side, making slushy footprints in the new snow. He followed the strains of music, now stumbling, his eyes blinded by the wetness splashing his face.

Then he saw it. A church. The music was coming from inside the church. He heard the rush of footsteps behind him, and turned an excited face to Billy.

“Billy, suh, the Lord, he go and lead us here,” he said pointing to the church doors.

The church vibrated with the mantra of the sweet melody. Rows of colored people swayed to the music, their hands clasped across the pews. Elijah stood in the vestibule and gazed in disbelief. Billy stomped the snow from his boots and brushed the flakes from his coat.

At the pulpit, a gray-haired preacher stared back at them with a startled expression. Then he stepped away from the pulpit and whispered to a man standing in the front row.

Elijah was awash with emotion. Was it finally over? Was he free? He bowed his head, whispered into his folded hands, his body shaking uncontrollably. He was only slightly aware of Billy's arm around his shoulder.

“Elijah,” Billy whispered. “Preacher and another fella comin' down the aisle.”

Slowly, Elijah raised his head and stared into the faces of the preacher and the man walking beside him, a colored man in a wide-lapel suit and bright white shirt. Never had he seen such finery on a colored man.

The man reached out his hand, asking, “Are you Elijah?”

Elijah flashed a questioning glance at Billy. He looked nervously around the room. The singing had stopped; everyone was staring at him. He turned to the man in front of him.

“Yes, suh.”

“Praise the Lord!”

The preacher walked over to Elijah. “You are among friends here.” With a slight bow, the preacher clasped Elijah's hands and said softly, “Thank you, Almighty Father, for delivering these young men safely into our hands.”

“This be Fifth Street? And you Mistah Still?” Elijah asked, addressing the finely dressed man who stood next to the preacher.

“No, this is Lombard Street. It's between Fifth and Sixth streets, but it seems you found me, anyway.” A wide smile flashed across the man's face. “Yes, I am William Still.”

“Then you know Miss Anna?” Billy said, scanning the room.

“Indeed. I'll send a carriage for Anna at once. We have been looking for you all day. She is most distressed. I heard what happened at the train station. Fortunately, Anna escaped the provost marshal's attention when he pursued you both.”

William Still whispered to the preacher, who nodded and pointed to the vestry.

“You boys must be hungry,” Still said. “I am only a guest at this church. It is their night of prayer and praise, but the preacher has invited you to share in the food that has been prepared. Come, follow me.” He placed an arm on Elijah's shoulder, nodded his head at Billy, and led them to a small room near the back of the church.

The room was plain, the worn floorboards pocked with hobnails. Billy glanced at the ceiling, puzzled at the long timbers scarred black. Long woolen capes and coats hung on iron spikes protruding from the walls, and a ring of rusty horseshoes framed the door. But the plain room felt warm and inviting. Billy smelled coffee, and he glanced at the barrel-shaped
woodstove, taking in its warmth and welcome smells. On the long trestle table against the wall, a buffet of smoked ham, boiled chicken, deviled eggs, bread, and pickles lay on the checkered cloth.

William Still fixed them each a heaping plate.

“What's this church?” asked Billy, wiping his mouth on his shirtsleeve.

Still smiled. “It's the Mother Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church. This room is part of the original building—a blacksmith's shop that Richard Allen, the church's founder, bought in 1787. The church has grown considerably since then, but the members like to preserve the symbols of its early history—such as the horseshoes you see on the wall.”

Still cut into another loaf of bread and piled thick dark slices onto Elijah's plate. Then he turned to Billy and sliced more.

“I'm anxious to hear your story, Elijah. And you will have the chance to tell me more about it tomorrow, when you meet with the Vigilance Committee—the one that Anna spoke to you about.”

“Why Elijah talkin' to this vigilance?”

“What we do is interview—ask questions of—all the runaway slaves that we help. It's important to keep detailed information about them, because sometimes we are able to find their family members or loved ones they have been separated from for many years. We also like to keep a record of the slave's experiences, how they were treated, and so on.”

“You help slave folk find each other?”

“Sometimes, yes. My older brother Peter was separated from our mother as a child. Eventually, he escaped from his slaveholder in Alabama and found his way to the Society's door.
Our mama had not seen him in forty years,” Still said with great emotion in his voice.

Billy dropped a piece of bread from his hands. “Maybe you can find Elijah's pa!”

“Elijah ain't gon' see Pappy again, no suh. He far away now.”

“It's hard to know, Elijah.”

“I'm wantin' Elijah to live with me,” Billy said with a questioning glance at Still.

“Why Elijah got to go to Canada, Mistah Still?” Elijah asked.

“Until this war is over, and unless the Union army wins, Canada is the only place where he will be free. The slaveholders or their agents are most always in the cities. Even in Philadelphia there are many slave hunters about the streets. You are young and strong, Elijah, and no doubt worth a great deal of money to your master. He owns you still. That is why the only thing you can do is escape to Canada.”

“And you, my friend,” Still said, turning his attention to Billy. “Anna tells me you ran away from the army?”

Billy frowned and stirred nervously in his chair. “Didn't want to be there is all.”

“So you just walked away?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you volunteer?”

“Yes, sir, with my friends.”

“Were you in any trouble?”

Billy held a slice of bread to his mouth, pulled it away, and set it on his lap. “Sergeant Noyes sent me to artillery—take care of the horses getting all spooked on account of them big guns and all. Took me away from my friends—other fellas poke fun at me …”

“Poke fun?”

“I ain't smart like most folks.” Billy stared at his food in silence.

“Billy, it's all right.” Still sipped his coffee. “Please, finish your bread.”

Billy sat quietly as members of the church filed into the room. For a long while he watched curiously as stranger after stranger walked over and warmly greeted Elijah. Many of them turned and smiled at him; some nodded, while others arched their eyebrows, their faces stern or quizzical. But Billy grinned when Mr. Still heaped another slice of ham onto his plate. He looked up when he heard a voice cry out across the room.

“Billy!” Anna stood in the threshold. She ran over and gave him a warm embrace. Then she wrapped her arms around Elijah's neck, too.

“I could not sleep with such worry. I am so proud of thee both, as I know Johanna will be. God's truth shines upon us all tonight.”

“Missus Anna, you save us at the station,” Elijah said.

“It was God's will.” She turned and looked at William Still. “This wonderful man has searched the streets for thee since last night.”

“And may I add that Anna scoured the riverbanks this morning—against my better judgment,” Still said. “Which reminds me how tired we all are. I must leave for home now. Elijah, you will stay with my wife, Letitia, and me tonight. Billy, you will stay with Anna. We will all meet in my office tomorrow afternoon.”

“Mistah Still, can Billy, suh, go with Elijah when you ask him the questions?” Elijah asked.

William glanced at Anna. “Yes, of course. Anna and Billy will be our guests.”

As Still walked into the vestry to gather his coat, Billy's eyes landed on a line of small wooden boxes attached to the wall, each with a peg hole. Above each box hung a framed portrait of a man, and just below the boxes was a small table that held a glass jar filled with colored marbles.

“Why them boxes up there with them peg holes?” Billy asked when William Still returned to the entryway.

“Well, Billy, do you see these portraits? They are members of the church who are running in an election for church trustee. And many people who belong to this congregation do not know how to read or write, so they are given marbles to cast their votes. They place the marble in the peg hole under the portrait of the person they are voting for.”

Billy bit down on his lower lip. “Thing is, I can't read neither—for sure I ain't never voted.”

“I believe there is always a way to work things out for those who are less fortunate, if we just take the time to care.”

“You a preacher, Mr. Still?”

Still looked amused. “No, son, I'm not. What makes you think that?”

“You know things is all—like how folks feel on the inside.”

“Suffering is a great teacher, Billy.”

Nodding his head in parting, William Still placed his arm around Elijah and walked outside into the quietly falling snow.

Chapter 21

E
lijah sat motionless in the straight-backed chair, head bowed to avoid the curious glances of the committee members as they gathered around a long pine table. Only his fingers stirred as he rubbed the yellowed calluses on the palms of his hands. He stole a glance at Mr. Still. The tall man pulled the heavy cotton drapes across the window, the dark blue folds the only color against the wood-slat walls. Then turning to the hearth, William Still reached into the woodbox, picked up a snow-crusted log, and tossed it into the fire. Flames popped and sizzled.

Finally the room quieted as the guests settled into their chairs and faced the committee.

“Elijah,” Still said as he returned to the table and sat down beside him, “before we begin, I want to introduce you to the members of the committee here this evening.

“At the far end of the table is Nathaniel Depee. Beside him, Jacob White, then Charles Wise and Edwin Coates. The other people in this room, including your friend Anna Dickinson, are people who bring runaway slaves to our doorstep. They are our trusted friends—such as Samuel Johnson,” he said, nodding his head toward the bearded man beside Anna. “His house in Germantown is a station on the Underground Railroad.”

Still paused, opened his leather notebook, and glanced at the end of the table. “Nathaniel.”

Nathaniel Depee cleared his throat. “The General Vigilance Committee of the Anti-Slavery Society in the city of Philadelphia is called to order this seventeenth day of November, at seven
o'clock in the evening, in the year 1862.” Depee turned his head and coughed lightly into his hand. “All discussions henceforth will be recorded by William Still, secretary, and will remain in his custody.”