Elm Creek Quilts [04] The Runaway Quilt (35 page)

I made it only as far as the top of the stairs; from there I spied Hans sprawled unconscious on the floor, and Anneke kneeling by his side, weeping. Led by their dogs, the two slave catchers who had plagued us in the past were running up the stairs toward me, followed closely by two men from town I recognized but did not know by name.

I tried to block their way, but they easily shoved me aside and ran past me, down the hall and into the sewing room. I heard the sewing machine moved aside, then the cracking of plaster, and then the shout of triumph: “We’ve got ourselves a n——, boys!”

White-hot fury burned away my fear. I did not think; I ran into the sewing room and found those hateful men with their hands upon Joanna, and I lashed out at them with all the strength in my body. I do not know how I managed it, but somehow I freed her. “Run, Joanna,” I screamed, but then a fist swung out and struck me hard in the face, and I collapsed.

Groggy, I watched as the men dragged Joanna from the room. Even now, when I close my eyes against my tears, I hear her low moan of despair, and my heart is rent once more, always in the same place, so no scar will ever form.

I gasped in pain as a boot connected with my side. “Got any more n——s here?” demanded the second slave catcher. I said nothing and rolled over to get away from him. “You answer me when I ask you a question, b——!” He kicked me again, harder, and I heard a rib crack.

I watched as he hastily searched the room, then stormed out. I heard him enter the vacant room next door and ransack it; by the time I stumbled into the hallway, he had moved on to the room Anneke and Hans shared. My instinct was
to snatch Joanna’s baby from his hiding place and flee into the woods, but I knew I would never make it. Instead, gasping from pain, I descended the staircase, praying that the little boy would be as still and silent as stone. My only hope came from knowing that the slave catchers’ dogs could not have been given the baby’s scent.

Behind me, the slave catcher entered my room with his dog at the ready, but I refused to watch, lest he become suspicious and search it more thoroughly. I forced myself to continue taking each stair one painful step at a time, until I reached the first floor. Dazed, I watched Anneke cradling Hans’s head in her lap. Through the front door, I saw the other slave catcher bind Joanna’s wrists and lash the other end of the rope to the pommel of his saddle.

He dug his heels into the horse’s side, and as he pulled Joanna into a stumbling run, her head flung back and her eyes met mine. A desperate, silent plea passed between us, and then she was gone, yanked out of sight by the trotting horse.

Hans groaned and sat up, and the two men from town immediately dragged him to his feet. At that moment, the second slave catcher came downstairs, muttering curses. “That’s the only one here now, but I swear they had others,” he told his companions.

“One is enough to break the law,” said one of the townsmen. With that, he declared that my brother was under arrest. As he took Hans’s arm to lead him away, the other man placed his hands upon me.

Anneke followed us outside as my brother and I were taken into custody. “You were only supposed to take the runaway,” said she, weeping. “Mr. Pearson promised me they would not be punished.”

My captor made some retort about how Anneke ought to be grateful she was allowed to remain free, and if not for their kind hearts and her infant son, they might have acted
otherwise. But I hardly heard him for the ringing in my ears.

Anneke had betrayed us.

Hans stared bleakly at her as we were forced onto the men’s wagon and taken away.

They took us to the city courthouse, where, to my amazement, Dorothea and Thomas Nelson were already imprisoned. Dorothea’s face was ashen, and Thomas’s face was bruised and bleeding. A second posse of slave catchers and local lawmen had descended upon them at the same time we were assaulted; two runaways, a husband and wife, had been discovered hiding in their cellar. Not long after our arrival, another wagon brought Mr. Abel Wright—the colored farmer who had warned us about the Underground Railroad quilt pattern—his wife, Constance, and their two sons. The younger clutched his arm to his side, gritting his teeth from the pain. Later we learned it had been broken in two places.

They left us in a cell for hours with no food or water, and not a word about the charges against us. Perhaps they thought our crime so evident that the normal rules of law need not be followed. We spoke in hushed voices about what we ought to do when they finally did address us; Dorothea led us in prayer. And still we waited.

We slept as best we could on the cold stone floor and were awakened before dawn by a constable offering us water and bread. Later that morning, the chief of police arrived in an indignant fury, having heard of our arrests only upon his arrival. He had us brought a decent meal and separated Dorothea, Constance, and me from the men, thinking this nod to our modesty another act of kindness, though we would have preferred to remain with the others.

As afternoon turned into evening, Dorothea urged us to take courage. Her friends in the Abolitionist movement would see to it that we had the best lawyers to plead our case, and
surely no jury would punish us harshly for disobeying the Fugitive Slave Law so reviled in the Northern states. “The worst they can do to us is break our spirits,” said she. “And we will not allow that.”

I nodded, but at that moment I believed my spirit had already been shattered. In my mind’s eye I saw Joanna, her hands bound, being pulled behind the slave catcher’s horse. I thought I heard her baby’s muffled cries as he lay hidden in my closet beneath the quilt and my scattered dresses. Surely Anneke would have searched for him, knowing that he had not departed with his mother—but what would she have done upon finding him? Anneke, who would betray her own husband—what would she do with Joanna’s child?

What, I wondered, would become of Joanna now?

My heart was filled with despair, despite Dorothea’s attempts to comfort me.

In the evening, Jonathan was finally permitted to see us. Never had I seen him so angry, though outwardly he remained calm and promised us that everything possible was being done to arrange our release. It was through Jonathan we learned that Mr. Pearson had arranged the raids on all our homes, having enlisted the aid of powerful friends in the local government sympathetic to the Southern cause. But they were in the minority, Jonathan assured us; our allies included most of Creek’s Crossing, including the chief of police and the judge who would most likely preside over our arraignment, should one occur. Even now the Nelsons’ solicitor, a friend of Jonathan’s from university, was demanding we be charged or released immediately, and he promised to bring to justice all who had violated our rights.

Dorothea seemed greatly reassured, and she asked about the men. Jonathan hesitated before responding. Thomas was fine, though angry and worried about his wife. Jonathan had set the youngest Wright son’s broken arm and had persuaded the
chief to release him into Jonathan’s custody so that he might recuperate in better surroundings, but he might yet be compelled to return to prison. Jonathan paused and gave his sister a look that she immediately understood, for she put an arm around Constance to lend her friend strength.

Only then did Jonathan tell us worse news than we could have imagined: One of the slave catchers had declared that the Wright men were runaway slaves recently escaped from his employer’s plantation.

“But Abel has been free all his life,” cried Constance. “Both of my sons were born right here in Pennsylvania.”

We knew, of course, that the Fugitive Slave Law rendered the truth irrelevant. The slave catcher’s sworn testimony alone was sufficient to detain the Wright men, and once his employer corroborated the lie, the Wright men would be condemned to slavery.

“We cannot allow Abel and his sons to be put in chains,” said Dorothea. “We cannot.”

“We won’t,” said Jonathan. “They aren’t allowed to testify for themselves, but there are people enough in this town who will speak up for them.”

“People enough?” echoed Constance bitterly. “What people? My people? Since when does the law listen to my people? Or do you mean white people? Which white people do you mean? Which white people in this town are going to risk themselves for my family?”

Dorothea and Jonathan exchanged a glance, and Dorothea said, “You do have friends, Constance. White as well as colored.”

“You will also have documented evidence even Cyrus Pearson cannot refute,” said Jonathan. “I will have certified birth records at hand before the week is out, as well as an affidavit from the doctor who delivered your
sons. Do not fear, Constance. They can threaten you all they want, but their lie will not persist.”

Constance seemed little reassured by their words, perhaps because history had taught her to put more faith in actions, but there was a glint of resolve in her eye that told me the slave catchers would not take the Wright family without a fight.

We comforted Constance as best we could, then I remembered my brother and asked Jonathan how he fared. Hans had asked about me and about Anneke, Jonathan said, but otherwise he sat apart from the others, brooding in silence, his disbelief and shock impossible to conceal.

“I promised to send him word about you,” said Jonathan to me. “What should I tell him?”

“Tell him I am fine.” I was not about to give Hans reason to worry about me; he had enough to occupy his thoughts with Anneke.

“Gerda would not complain, but she is injured,” said Dorothea.

I demurred, but Jonathan insisted upon examining my injuries through the bars separating us, whereupon he discovered my broken rib. If I had thought him angry when he arrived, he was truly furious now. He stormed off down the hallway from whence he had come, and I do not know what he said to the chief of police, but in a few minutes Jonathan returned with a constable, who meekly unlocked the cell and told me I was free to go.

I hardly knew what to think, but when Jonathan put his arm about me, protecting my injured side, I allowed him to lead me away. The constable swung the door shut again with a loud clanging of metal—and Dorothea and Constance still trapped inside. I stopped short. “What about my friends?”

“It’s all right,” said Constance firmly. “We’ll be fine.”

“Let’s go before they change their minds,
” murmured Jonathan.

“No.” I reached through the bars and extended my hands to Dorothea and Constance. “I will not leave you here alone.”

“I only got orders to let you go,” said the constable. “The others stay.”

“Then I stay, too.” I pulled away from Jonathan. “Unlock this cell, or give me the key and let me do it myself.”

“Gerda, this is not necessary,” said Dorothea.

“I said, I’m staying.” I was nearly in tears. Dorothea, Constance, and Jonathan pleaded with me, but I was resolute. Joanna had just been dragged off to face her fate alone. I could not similarly abandon Dorothea and Constance.

Before he left, Jonathan treated my injury as best he could, but I still feel it, even to this day. If I had gone with him as he had entreated me to do, the bone might have knitted properly. For years afterward, whenever I complained of the stiffness, Dorothea would smile gently and remind me that it was my own fault.

The next two days were a blur, fear alternating with boredom, numb disbelief with despair. Sometimes we heard voices shouting outside, too faint for us to make out their words. Jonathan visited us daily, and the Nelsons’ lawyer came once, accompanied by a newspaperman. With grim determination he took down our every word and assured us that once people read his story, there would be such an outcry against our imprisonment that our captors would be wise to change their names and move out West.

On the morning of the third day, Jonathan arrived with mixed news: We women were free to go, but the men must remain in custody. “The people of Creek’s Crossing are outraged that women should be held for so long without any charges brought against them,” said Jonathan.

“They ought to be outraged, not
because we are women, but because we are citizens with the right to due process,” said Dorothea. “A right that has been shamefully denied us.”

I marveled at her composure and strength. The same ordeal that had cowed me had invigorated her, and while I wanted nothing more than to flee to the seclusion of Elm Creek Farm, Dorothea seemed ready to challenge any accuser. Her courage warmed me, and I grew determined to fear no more. Whatever became of us, I was not ashamed of our so-called crime, and I would face the consequences with head held high.

As the constable escorted us from the cell to the common area, the chorus of voices that had been barely audible grew louder. The room where we were discharged had windows facing the main street of Creek’s Crossing, and through them, we beheld a large crowd, men and women alike, milling about and shouting, some with signs bearing slogans. The officer who processed us warned that despite our release, we would in all likelihood be brought to trial, and that we must not attempt to flee the county. As he spoke, he seemed harried by the noise outside and declared that if it were up to him, he would set free the lot of us if it would quiet that crowd.

Dorothea and I exchanged a look, and that was the first moment I realized the commotion was about us.

When we went outside, the deafening cheer of the crowd hit me with such force I might have stumbled if not for Jonathan’s strong arm supporting me. There seemed to be more people in the street than in the whole of Creek’s Crossing.

“They’ve been gathering for days as word spreads,” said Jonathan
. “People have come from several counties around.”

Dorothea gasped and touched my shoulder. “Do you see that?” said she, nodding to a banner in the midst of the crowd.

I could not miss it. In foot-high letters, it demanded:
RELEASE THE CREEK’S CROSSING EIGHT!

“Dear me.” I felt faint.

“It appears the battle is joined,” said Jonathan to his sister, wryly.

“Then we will fight,” declared Dorothea, and she waved to the crowd, both arms stretched high above her head. They responded with a roar of approval.