Chasing Freedom (8 page)

“Yes he does. To that, I say Amen, Fortune.”

Thirteen

B
EULAH GREETED FORTUNE WITH AN EERIE SMILE. IT
was early morning and another snowy December day. She neither acknowledged nor commented on Fortune's return. She turned with just a quick hello and went to the bunk where Prince Junior lay crying, picked him up and gently pressed him to her breast. The child made ghastly sounds and sucked so hard, Fortune wondered if he was getting any nourishment at all.

He chatted with Fibby, who came by just twice a week now, to give Sarah a break. She was all talk. “Yes, Fortune,” Fibby said. “I delivered the twins all by myself. It was a hard labour, but I pulled her through, not once, but twice. Yes, yes. It takes a good midwife to do that for two days.” She beamed with pride.

“Yes, it takes a skilled hand,” he agreed, stealing a glance at Beulah. She looked small inside the big blue dress. He was baffled by her strange reaction to him. This place had stolen her joy, he thought, for her eyes were as blank as a clear sky and her spirit was numb.

“You don't recognize your brother-in-law?” he said jokingly.

Beulah glimpsed quickly at Fortune, a solemn expression on her frail face. She clung to Prince Junior and kept patting the back of his head. She did not reply.

“Is she alright?” he asked Fibby.

“She's frail and heartsick over losing Prince. She's a broken woman.”

Fortune looked at the broken woman closely. Beulah Thomkins came to the plantation in chains, one of the new arrivals, in the back of Boll weevil's cart. She walked to the quarters, not bent over like the others, but tall and upright in a dress that was stiff with dry blood. She was broken then, beaten bad to take the running out of her. However, beyond the rags and blood there was beauty—a face golden-brown like fresh molasses and eyes that mesmerized all the young slaves. She took chances that often brought her trouble. It was all gone now.

He shifted in the chair and broke the morbid silence by humming. When Beulah put Prince down, he approached her, reaching out his hand. “Don't be afraid, Beulah. You can't give up now. We survived worse times, didn't we?” He waited, but she did not answer. “You are a good woman. Do not lock yourself away from life. Let yourself feel again.” He stuttered now saying, “Please, Beulah. Let me help you.” He fumbled for comforting words. “I'll help you. Come on now and cheer up. Things will get better.”

She leaned into him and placed her head on his chest. She wept without any explanation. He held her tight and hummed again. Fortune understood her silent grief, knew it was difficult for her to connect rightly to her feelings. She had trained herself to hold emotions back because crying was a sign of weakness. A weak slave made good sport for an overseer. Patience, he thought. A little kindness would help bring her around.

“You look a lot like Prince,” she said finally.

“So they say.”

A long silence swallowed the room. Fortune thought about the revolution, how it had displaced thousands. How it had separated men from their women, children from parents, slaves from masters. The reality was that no matter what happened, you had to march to the beat. If you lost step, you would fall down and get left behind. And no one would care. You had to hold on. You had to believe and trust that if you fell, God would find you. His mother had said it a thousand times: “Blessings will find you if you let them.” He looked at Beulah. She needed his help to get in step and march. She was scared and lost and broken, sure. He quietly stroked her hair. His voice was protective: “It's going to be all right.”

“I'm not myself, Fortune. I don't know what's come over me. Sarah and Fibby have been such a help, but there is so much to do. I'm tired and there's no money and so little food.”

Fortune looked around the shack. If ever there was misery, he thought, it found its way here. How were any of them going to survive in this squalor? He looked at Beulah. Could she care for herself, let alone the twins? He looked at the two babies curled up tightly to each other. Their tiny faces looked ashen. He bent and picked up the smaller of the two. Destiny was frail and listless. She was not much bigger than a large melon and weighed barely as much.

“I promise to help,” he said, “starting with fixing up this place and building up the wood pile to heat it.”

Fibby chimed in saying, “That will be good, but she needs food and a tonic, Fortune. That's what she needs to get her strength back. Cecil carries tonic at the store.” She nodded her head. “And a little meat would be good. It's been a long time since we had meat.”

“I'll see what I can do,” he said as he headed to the door. “I'll be back.”

The cold December wind caught Fortune's back and pushed him along the trail. He wondered about Beulah and thought about his future. He was thirty-seven. Sarah was grown and the old woman was getting along in years. Time was sliding along. It was time to settle down. Beulah was a good person. Behind her sad eyes, he knew there was a woman capable of finding herself again. The tonic would help. When she was feeling better, he would test fate.

After Fortune crossed the frozen brook, he came upon some Pioneers warming themselves around a roaring fire. He recognized Bill Abbot and Jake Whalen. He joined them with a yarn about his journey to Birchtown. They made small talk about the war and the weather, discussed the plans for a new church and talked about folks having to leave Birchtown to find work. When all that was out of the way, Bill said, “A lot of folks are getting picked up and shipped south.”

Jake interrupted, “So I hear. That Boll weevil tried it with Lydia.”

“What do you mean?” Fortune asked.

“Boll weevil is up to his tricks,” Jake said.

“What's he done?”

“I was putting in a half day with Ramsey Lewis, the livery man, when I heard him say that Boll weevil rented his cart to collect runaways and that he tried to pick up Lydia and the girl.”

“I heard it as well and that the old woman pulled a fast one,” Bill spurted.

“A fast one?” Fortune asked.

Jake laughed so hard he took a pain in his side. “She faked dropping dead on the road.”

“Yes. Boll weevil left her there on the side of the road for dead with her granddaughter. Lydia always has a trick in her pocket. She fooled him,” Bill said.

“Well, I know this much, she's not dead,” Fortune frowned.

“That Lydia,” Jake said, still laughing. “She's a fox all right. And a clever one.”

The news left Fortune unnerved. With Boll weevil lurking about, any one of them could disappear without a trace. He wondered why Boll weevil was after his mother and Sarah. He thought about his army pistol stored away in his bedroll. He would carry it from now on.

CECIL MACLEOD KEPT ONE EYE ON FORTUNE AND THE OTHER
on the barrel of salt pork he was stirring. Fortune flipped the coins in his pocket and looked about the store. He could feel Cecil's eyes. He recognized him as soon as he saw him. Not wishing to be disrespectful, he spoke first. “Good morning to you, Sir.”

“Good morning.” The tone was condescending. “And who might ye be?” Cecil looked him over from head to toe. He tried to keep up on all the newcomers, if not by name, then by face. This one was new, yet there was something familiar about him.

“Name's Fortune Redmond.”

“Redmond? One of Lydia's tribe, are you?”

Fortune bristled at the word “tribe.” “Yes, Sir. Lydia's son.”

“Well, well. Her boy has come home. She must be happy.”

“Yes sir. She is happy to have the help.”

Cecil made no reply. He kept his eyes on Fortune as he milled about. The missing slave. Another Redmond. One of his shameful offspring. This was certainly more than he had bargained for.

Fortune, aware of being studied, kept looking among the strange bottles. It would have been easier for him to find the tonic if he could read, but it was not long before he found a bottle of the right shape and colour.

“How much, Mr. MacLeod?”

“One crown,” Cecil sneered. “I suppose Lydia sent you. Not feeling herself these days? Or, is she too busy to come by?”

“I don't know, sir. Folks can't get out and about in the cold.”

Cecil swept his hand over his bald head. He squirmed and discharged a loud belch, leaving his face beet purple. He sized the boy up.

Fortune put the tonic on the counter. He was feeling uneasy and acutely aware of Cecil's eyes on him as he walked about, adding a small keg of milk, a half dozen salt herring and a small cut of chewing tobacco to his pile. He calculated the total and then reached into his pocket and placed the exact amount on the counter. Dahlia had taught him enough not to get cheated.

After Fortune departed, it dawned on Cecil that Lydia's Certificates of Freedom were still in the pot. He removed the prized papers and placed them inside the pocket of his thick, woollen vest. Later, when things quieted down, he would find a hiding place upstairs in the loft. For the present, he would work on his plan for Lydia. “Soon,” he mumbled. “Soon, I too shall be free.” His sarcasm produced a wide smile and his one tooth rested on his bottom lip.

When Fortune arrived back at Beulah's, Beulah was mumbling, holding her head in her hands at the table. Fortune placed his bundle on the table beside her, but she did not look up. He looked at Fibby, who was sitting on the cot holding a small bundle tightly wrapped in rags. Her eyes were grey with tears and her sobbing was long and sharp, like a child's whining.

“What has happened?” Fortune asked, already knowing the answer.

“Destiny,” wailed Fibby. “Shortly after you left. Peaceful it be, in her sleep.”

“Oh Fortune, my Destiny's gone,” Beulah moaned. “She's gone. My child has passed on. She's gone to be with her daddy.”

Fortune put his arms around Beulah. “Life will be good again. This grief will pass.” After holding her for a few minutes, he started for the door and said, “I'll tell Mama the news.”

The following day, the Redmonds stood huddled with their backs against the cold December wind. The frozen ground behind Beulah's shack did not enable a proper burial. Their hearts were as heavy as the stones Fortune managed to pry from his brother's grave. He piled them over Destiny in a spot next to her daddy.

Grandmother's words were brief. “Dear Lord, we commit this baby to your loving care, our child, Destiny Redmond. May she rest in peace. Amen.”

Fourteen

A
N UNRELENTING BLIZZARD ENGULFED THE BIRCHTOWN
settlement bringing a frightful amount of snow, six feet deep in places. Every available hand turned out to shovel.

The sod roof on Reece Johnson's shack had collapsed through the centre. He stretched long poles across the gaping hole and piled the last of the spruce boughs over the poles. When he finished, he sat on a tree stump and finished off a chunk of salt deer meat as he took a much-needed break. He focused on a pair of noisy woodpeckers drilling relentlessly for moth larva. He was thinking how the birds had such a convenient supply of winter food and the tools they needed to find it, unlike many of the Loyalists, who were fending off starvation with little more than their will.

Sarah, who was on her way to Cecil's store, spotted Reece and slowly crept up from behind until she was close enough to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. Reece jumped, then stood and turned about sharply. She giggled and was about to say, “A good wife would make you a nice lunch,” but checked herself, as finding even a morsel these days would be hard. Reece looked into Sarah's sparkling eyes and said, “You should have on a heavier coat. This weather can make you sick if you are not dressed for it.”

“I'm warm enough. I have a ton of clothes piled on.”

“A good thing. So what are you doing out on such a day, Miss Sarah?”

“Cato came by with a message from Mr. MacLeod. He said that Grandmother took a dizzy spell on her way back from Port Roseway. She made it as far as the store and Mr. MacLeod has asked that I come and see that she makes it home safely.” She squatted on a stump opposite Reece. “I only have a minute. I'm worried. Grandmother has never gotten sick, not that I can remember.”

“Why didn't Cato help her back?”

“I didn't ask, but you never know his condition! He always smells of brew.”

“Fortune could have gone.”

“He left early this morning because Cecil asked him to do some carpentry work at the store. Nothing would stop Papa from a day's work. It's too hard to come by.”

“True, but it's a poor day for outside work and a long walk in the cold. It is not safe for you to be out alone. I heard about your run-in with Boll weevil. I'd feel better if I went with you.” He reached inside the door and grabbed a heavy coat.

“Thanks. I don't like being out alone, but I try to be careful. It's the cold I hate more than anything.”

When they had gone some distance, Reece turned to her and said, “It's a bitter winter, just as bad as the first. I was hoping this one would be better. The winters last so long up here … they seem to last forever.”

“I try not to think about it. There's something nice about the snow. It's so pure and fluffy; it reminds me of the cotton fields!” Sarah picked up a handful of snow and threw it at Reece.

“Missed!” he said, ducking fast.

“I hope Grandmother is alright. She's old and she's had a lot of worries lately.”

Reece was quiet. The snow was heavy and walking was difficult. He was thinking that Sarah was strong and determined, like her grandmother. Now that they had settled into a friendship, they were nearly inseparable. He frowned at Sarah's insistence that they keep their friendship from her grandmother, agreeing only because she assured him it was for the best. He supposed there was no need for trouble.

They came to a place where the snow had filled in the path and they climbed over huge banks of snow. Beyond the drifts, they took a shortcut through a part of the arm Sarah had not seen before. A long rock wall stretched for about a mile and there were ruins: dilapidated buildings and piles of rocks outlining foundations where the wind scattered the snow—the homes of the French before their expulsion.

“It's hard to believe people were here before us,” Sarah remarked.

“People move on, but they leave their mark.”

Suddenly, without warning, Sarah let out a loud scream. She found herself sinking down into a wide hole. For a moment, Reece panicked. He approached the hole and managed to pull her out, but Sarah was shaken. She gathered her wits while Reece asked her if she was hurt.

Sarah straightened her bonnet, brushed herself off and said, “I'm alright.”

“That's a relief. You must have stumbled into an old well. The snow's light, you went right through it.”

“It gave me a fright. We better hope nothing else happens. Grandmother must be worried.”

Sarah looked back at the ghostly ruins. A sudden emptiness and feeling of sadness for lost souls caused her to say, “I don't know what I would do without Grandmother. Death is funny. It comes unexpectedly most times, like a sudden fire alarm. Just go, get out, with little or no warning. I've seen so much of it.”

“Death is hard to deal with, I imagine. I can't say that I've ever had to deal with it, really. I mentioned not knowing my parents. I feel like a ship adrift in the Atlantic. I have no idea who named me Reece. Reece who, I often wonder.”

“Reece is a wonderful name. You told me your name was Reece Johnson.”

“I did. It's funny how that name came about. When the man who was recording names on the Inspection Roll asked for mine, I said ‘Reece.' He asked if I had a surname. I didn't think of myself as a slave or want to take on the Redmond name, so I said ‘Johnson.' It was the first name that came into my head.”

The path was slippery in places. Reece took Sarah's arm. “Careful,” he said, and helped her over a spot of ice.

“You weren't alone. A lot of slaves just had one name.”

“They did, but I named myself! My free name is Reece Johnson.” He let go a roaring laugh that echoed throughout the woods.

“Well, at least you had the freedom to choose. This freedom is not all it was supposed to be. I'm indentured to the Cunninghams for now. Housework does not suit me. It's shameful to trade our freedom and souls for a hand-out and a bite to eat.”

“In these hard times, we do what we have to do.” He squeezed her hand, pulled her to a standstill and looked into her eyes. “I have news. I received my notice to go sea.”

“When are you leaving?” There was sadness in her voice and she bit her lip and looked away, stepping faster, dreading the answer.

“In three days I will be heading up north on
Cape Blomidon
. I can't turn down a job, much less a good-paying one like this.”

“And will you return to Birchtown?”

“I can't say how long I'll be gone for sure, perhaps a month or more. I suppose I'll return here to home port. There's no other place to call home.”

“Grandmother says we have to put down roots. It's the only way to survive,” she said matter-of-factly.

“She's right.” That was all he said, until a crow cawed. “Sometimes I feel like your grandmother is sizing me up. She looks at me in the oddest way …”

“I have my own mind and my own heart.”

“I have no doubt of that, Sarah Redmond. No doubt at all. We are almost there.” Reece grabbed Sarah's hand. “You're a strong and brave woman. I'd work my heart out for someone like you. Honestly, I would.”

Sarah smiled. “And what good would you be to me if you worked your heart out?”

Reece smiled a boyish smile. His eyes met hers. He felt manly now that he had a purpose and hope. He stopped and pulled Sarah forward and brushed the snow from her shoulders. The sound of Ackers Brook making its way under the icy covers filled the air. It was in that spot that Reece stopped and pulled Sarah close. Just as they were engaging in a gentle kiss, the sounds of fierce howling and panting jolted them apart. Suddenly a pack of wild dogs sprang from the woods and bared their sharp teeth. Their growls were vicious and their ribs bulged through their puny sides. Like lightning, Reece broke a spruce branch and waved it with much screaming until the dogs ran off through the thick snow.

Sarah's fright had turned to amusement as she watched. “They're starving,” Sarah said. “There's nothing for them to eat in this snow.”

With that remark, it came to her that she was starving too. As they hurried on, Sarah turned her thoughts inward. What was she starving for? Food? Excitement? Happiness? There was nothing for a lively spirit in this empty place. A picture of New York came into her mind with its tall buildings, hustle and bustle, smells and people going about with purpose. She was tired of the heavy-hearted wayfarers and gloominess of Birchtown. She looked at Reece, another adventurer, and the very idea of getting married felt like a sentence to the House of Corrections. Such thoughts. It was all too much, too complicated on a morning like this.

She had other pressing concerns. She could see the roof of Cecil MacLeod's store in the distance. Upon reaching the store, she and Reece parted company. She watched as he headed back to help other Birchtowners with their repairs. Knowing what had transpired between Mr. MacLeod and Grandmother, her fear of him transformed into a great lump in her stomach.