Clockwork Souls (3 page)

The following Firstday dawned bright and clear, as if the
rain had been a dream. Covered buggies stood in a row outside the Meeting
house. Word had spread of the unusual visitor, and it looked as if the entire
Meeting had arrived early to greet him. Friends from neighboring Meetings had
come, too.

Thomas and Hannah alighted from their buggy, then William
and Adam. William went directly inside, but Thomas waited by the door, greeting
others as they entered. Adam stood as stiff as a lightning rod, unrevealing of
any emotion. He wore the shirt Hannah had made for him, plain and uncollared
but of good woolen cloth, with William’s old coat, trousers, and shoes. Hannah
had stitched the skin-like covering on the side of his head so neatly that the
scar barely showed.

The hour for worship
drawing nigh, they all went in. The Meeting house was constructed with facing
benches in the main room, and a divider that could be lowered to
separate the men’s and women’s business meetings.

The Meeting settled into silence. Here and there, a bench
creaked as one person or another adjusted their posture. Thomas centered down,
his breathing growing slower and deeper. First his body would quieten, and then
his mind. He often saw himself like a vessel from which he poured out the cares
of the day, the petty irritations, the thoughts and worries, until all that
remained was an empty place, expectantly waiting. From time to time, his
attention wandered. On one of these occasions, he became aware of a sensation
as if the entire assembly were breathing in unison, even the faint click and
hiss from the automaton.

Thomas felt a gathering. All the colors in the room
gradually became brighter. The silence deepened. Even the little Wilbur boy,
who often found it difficult to hold still through Meeting, sat like one
transfixed.

There came a stirring on the facing bench, where old
Margaret Coffin sat. Most of the time, she was so quiet, Thomas was not sure if
she were awake. Her joints popped when she got to her feet. She stood, head
bowed, hands clasped before her. The feeling of expectancy, of immanence,
heightened.

She lifted her head, and a trick of the sun bathed her face
in light. “If a stranger sojourn with thee in thy land,” she cried out in a
ringing voice, surely too powerful for such a frail body, “thee shall not vex
him; but the stranger that dwelleth with thee shall be as one born amongst
thee, and thee shall love him as thyself.”

For a moment longer she stood. The scriptural reference hung
in the air as if it had been written there in invisible fire. Then she bowed
her head, her back bent under the weight of her years, and lowered herself to
the bench. After that, Thomas sensed the entire room drifting through a mist
infused by sunlight that lifted slowly, sweetly, until everyone realized that
the Meeting had ended.

As was their custom, the men and women divided for their
separate meetings. The women tended to matters of caring for the sick,
marriages and births and the like, and Hannah had been one of the clerks these
last few years. Adam sat beside Thomas in the men’s meeting. If the automaton
understood or was aware of the unifying ministry, he gave no sign. Much of the
time was taken up with a discussion of those Friends who had been convicted and
fined for helping runaway slaves. Two members were selected to receive
donations on their behalf. It seemed to Thomas that Adam listened with
particular attention.

The women had not yet concluded their business when the men
adjourned. This was often the case, and Thomas could never be sure whether the
women had more issues to settle or simply moved more slowly through their
discussions. William took Adam to examine the architecture and construction
details of the Meeting house. While they were gone, Samuel Pusey approached
Thomas.

“Friend, a matter is weighing on my mind concerning the
automaton.”

Thomas nodded encouragingly.

“I think—I cannot be certain, but I
think
I did not reassemble him in exactly the same manner in which
he was originally fabricated.”

“Thee was well favored in thy work, Samuel. Adam appears to
function properly, although we cannot know what he was truly like before he was
damaged.”

Samuel frowned, visibly cogitating. “Thee described him as
dull-witted and stubborn. Does it not seem that he now functions
better
? That he is more articulate, more
spiritually responsive? Or might that be a result of us knowing him better, and
he, us, so that he is more at his ease?”

What Samuel did not say, and what Thomas understood very
well, was the troubling matter of whether Adam possessed a soul, and whether
such a soul had been present when he first appeared in the yard that rainy
night. Was it possible for a being to look like a man and to speak as one, and
yet have no share in redemption? Thomas could not believe it, but the matter
was for Divine, not human, judgment.

Three days later, a party of men trotted into the
Covington farm. The sun had passed overhead two hours ago and the yard was dry,
the air warm. From where they were working in the potato field, Thomas and
William saw the riders turn off the main road. They reached the house just
before the three men. Hannah stood on the porch, drying her hands on her apron.
Adam was not in view, most likely still within the house. The last time Thomas
had seen the automaton, he had been sitting on a bench in the kitchen, slowly
and carefully shelling peas.

The leader was a big-boned man with a thick, ginger-colored
mustache and a distinctive red vest under his open coat. Thomas had never met
the man before, but thought he must be Robert A. Cochoran, the same
slave-catcher named on Adam’s warrant. Cochoran pulled his horse to a halt,
sending the long tails of his coat flapping, but did not dismount.

“Afternoon.” He tipped his hat to Hannah. “Ma’am.”

Thomas stepped forward. “Good afternoon, friend.”

Cochoran sucked air through his teeth. “I’ve come for the
nigger. Don’t give me no story, neither, ’cause I know he come by here.”

“Thee is searching for a runaway slave?”

“You heard right. We can do this the easy way—you hand him
over and we’ll be on our way. Or me and my men can drag him out, and I can’t
guarantee what might get broke in the process.”

“Thee will find no slaves here.”

“You’ll understand if I don’t take your word for it.”
Cochoran lifted one hand to signal his men.

“Friend, thee is in Delaware. We have laws, and thee could
go to prison for breaking into another man’s premises. I assure thee I have
none of thy property here.” Thomas spoke smoothly, having had similar
conversations a number of times.

Hannah came down the steps. “By thy appearance, thee has
traveled a long way. Thee and thy companions must be thirsty as well as tired.
Come in, rest with us, and share our dinner.”

Her words produced the usual effect in those unaccustomed to
the ways of Quakers. The two hands shifted in their saddles, exchanging
glances. Cochoran looked confused, then suspicious, then even more confused. “That’s
kindly of you, ma’am, but my business is tracking down the nigger. I’ll have to
search the house. And the barn.”

“Of course,” she said with her gentle smile, “but thee will
do so with clean hands and a full stomach.”

The slave-catcher wavered visibly. Before he could respond,
however, Adam came out onto the porch. In his plain white shirt and trousers
with suspenders, he looked like any other Quaker. He did not speak, only stood
there. Something in his stillness reminded Thomas of the intent, listening
silence of Meeting.

Cochoran stiffened in the saddle. “Where’s the nigger? Why
ain’t you caught him?”

For a moment, no one answered.

“Well? Get down here!”

Adam did not move. Thomas wondered if this was the first
time Adam had deliberately disobeyed a command. He thought,
Only men may choose to answer the leadings
of the Inward Light, rather than the commands of a worldly authority.

He turned to Cochoran. “I have told thee, friend, there are
no slaves here.”

“Maybe not,” Cochoran
said. “Maybe the nigger’s long gone. But
that
—”
with a jerk of his chin toward the porch where Adam stood, “—that
belongs to my employer, Durham N. Turner. For all your fine words, Pastor, you
are indeed in possession of another man’s property.”

Hannah walked up to Adam and took one of his hands in hers. “Adam,
does thee wish to go with this man?”

Adam’s shoulders hunched. “No, I do not. I do not wish to
catch slaves.”

Her voice was gentle, relentless. “And why is that?”

“Servitude is hateful to me. I will not inflict it on
another.” If it were possible for a mechanical throat to form a sob, that sound
permeated Adam’s response. “If I, who am metal and glass, can comprehend this,
then so much more must a living man, no matter the color of his skin or his
station in life. Even—” and here his gaze returned to the face of Cochoran “—even
thee.”

Hannah nodded, released Adam’s hand, and stepped down off
the porch. She halted an arm’s-length from the horsemen. “Thee has thy answer,”
she said to Cochoran.

“If thee would seize this man—” Thomas took up the argument,
only to be interrupted by Cochoran.

“It’s not a man!”

“Is he not shaped like one?” Thomas demanded. “Does he not
speak as one, with conscience and goodliness?”

“Don’t you go quoting no scripture to me! That there’s one
of those auto-ma-jigs, and I’ve got every lawful right to haul it back—”

“Then thee must return with the sheriff and a warrant for
his arrest, stating what crime he may have committed. Otherwise, I bid thee
depart in peace.”

Cochoran’s free hand moved toward the stock of the rifle, in
its holster tied to the saddle. One of his men glanced pointedly toward Hannah,
as if to say he was not easy about threatening violence against a woman who had
been so hospitable.

The slave-catcher gathered up the reins and wheeled his
horse. “You ain’t heard the last of this!”

Thomas moved to Hannah’s side as they watched the riders
trot back down the road. “No,” he said quietly, “I expect we have not.”

Adam joined them. “Thomas, I fear I have brought thee much
trouble.”

“No. Thee has brought us hope. But thee must not tarry.
William will take thee north to Friends who will see thee safely to
Pennsylvania.”

Adam’s face lacked the mobility of flesh, but Thomas had
learned to read the subtleties in his posture. “I do not want to leave thee,
Friend Thomas, or thee, Friend Hannah. I have so much to learn. I think . . .
I have been pondering the awakening of my spirit, and wondering if Friend
Samuel put me back together in a different way, or if—” Adam stumbled to a
halt. “A thought has come to me, that once I was a man of flesh. Not a . . .
a good man, but one who took delight in chasing a terrified runaway. A man who . . .
I do not want to be. I think it would have been better to let Cochoran take me,
and send me back to be put once more into endless sleep, rather than to
remember.”

Thomas did not know how to answer. If Adam had been human
and a Christian, citing Scripture on redemption and hope would have been
appropriate. But Adam had no such shared knowledge, being so clearly guided by
the Inward Light alone.

In the end, Thomas decided to bring Adam to John Hunn
himself. They went along briskly in the same covered buggy in which Thomas had
driven his family to Meeting. Adam spoke long and earnestly, and as Thomas
listened, he remembered the teachings of George Fox, who had founded the
Religious Society of Friends almost two centuries ago. Thomas wondered how, in
these dark times, Adam or any of them might
walk
cheerfully over the world, answering that of God in everyone.

Two weeks later, Thomas learned that charges had been
brought against him by the former owner of both Nat and Adam, although the
latter was not mentioned by name, only referred to as “a mechanical device.”