Chasing Freedom (16 page)

Twenty-seven

I
T WAS MONDAY, JULY 19, 1785, WHEN REECE JOHNSON
stepped off the schooner
Julie Anne
, in Port Roseway. The port was hectic with several schooners tied up and men unloading fish, molasses, dry goods and rum from the West Indies for the King's Bounty and shops. The air smelled of mud flats and fish and rang with loud chatter and laughter. By luck Reece came across Enos loading his cart with fresh cod.

“Are you going to Birchtown?” Reece asked.

“That is where I'm headed, lad.”

“A lift would be much appreciated.”

“Hop aboard. Just one more barrel to fill. You come from afar, did you?”

“All the way from Carolina.”

“I believe I've seen you before.”

“No doubt. I have a little place in Birchtown.”

“Yes, yes.” What is your name again?”

“Reece Johnson.”

“Well, well. Carolina you say. It sure must have changed since the war.”

“The name has changed from Charles Town to Charleston. They are rebuilding parts of the city and plantations. It is a far busier place, for sure, than when we left.”

“Folks can't leave anything alone, always changing everything,” Enos said. “Port Roseway is called Shelburne now, but most of the people refuse to call it that. Stuck on the old name, I guess.” He climbed up on his make-shift bench in the wagon. “I'm through here. Giddy-up, Doris,” he shouted, then continued, “Did the war change anything in those parts?”

“Not much, Sir. The land still sweats its tobacco, rice, indigo and cotton. The port was busy with the hustle and bustle of merchants, planters and slaves, all making it a wealthy place. There's nothing but a sea of black with so many Negro slaves. They say they are equal to the population of the white folks or greater. There's a growing concern over the slaves.”

“I knew that was coming. What are they fired up about now?”

“There's a lot of talk about creating new laws, the Slave Codes of South Carolina. That much has not changed as far as I could tell—how to control the Negro, keep him as chattel with no rights, keep him from mixing with them and now fearing them as rivals for jobs.”

“Oh yes. Fear is the rich man's tool all right. The war set many of the slaves free. Surely those who are free have it easier.”

“It's dangerous for free Negroes and worse for the slaves. There is no real freedom yet, though the air was thick with talk. You know the war got everyone talking about slavery. The newcomers from Europe need to work. The abolitionists do not see the jobs as just slave's work. Nor do they approve of selling the Negro against his will. Their ideas are met with hatred.”

“Oh, slavery will die in time. Birchtowners talk about having their freedom, but a Negro still has to fear the laws and the hateful conduct and attitudes. Be careful, lad. Free is a double-edged sword. The slave catchers followed us here to reclaim lost property. You could be going back before you know it.”

“Ah, Enos, a Negro spends his life trying to avoid the quicksand.”

“And bad women,” Enos laughed.

The cart slowly jogged along the road and headed out to Birchtown. “Which end of Birchtown are you be headed to, lad?”

“Out the road to Lydia Redmond's place.”

“Lydia's place, ah?” He snapped a short whip. “Giddy-up, Doris.”

“I suppose not much has happened since I left in January,” Reece said.

“Well, let me see now. Folks are leaving faster than they are coming in now. It is thinning out. And then there was Fortune Redmond's trial a while back.”

“Trial? What happened?”

“Well, I imagine you knew Cecil MacLeod, the one who owned the store. Murdered. Fortune was a suspect. The judge let him go because they found Boll weevil Carter, the slave catcher, with the knife that killed Cecil. Boll weevil, well, the sheriff had let him go because he seemed a little crazy, and the man skipped town. Folks are still talking 'bout how lucky it was for a Negro to receive that kind of justice. They still cannot believe it. I was there in the courtroom when the case was dis … dis …”

“Dismissed?”

“Yes, that be it. Folks had poor Fortune hanging, but it wasn't to be.”

The cart jogged down a side path lined with thick bushes and trees. The smell of sweet pine and smoke from the shacks blotted away the strong fish odour from the barrels in the wagon. Enos made five stops before saying, “We'll head over to Lydia's now.”

When Enos pulled up beside Lydia's step, he said with sadness, “Lydia's off her feet. She is doing poorly. I hear she ain't got long! I am going to miss the dear ol' soul. There is no one here like Lydia. I'll have to drop by soon.”

Reece took a deep breath, jumped down from the cart and said, “Thanks for the lift, Enos. I'll do you a turn one day.”

“We had a long yarn, didn't we? Give Lydia my best wishes.”

IT WAS MID-AFTERNOON WHEN SARAH PULLED OUT A
box from under her bed with the intention of sorting through the thread, buttons, ribbons and odd bits of cloth she and Grandmother had been collecting for their quilt. A gentle tapping on the door startled her and thoughts came rushing back of the night her father returned. The tapping came again just as she was making her way around Prince, who was happily rocking on a horse her father had made from wood. “Oh, Lord, my hair,” she drawled and flung a small white bonnet on her head before answering the door.

She cracked the door and stepped back in amazement. He looked much the same, only thinner. She waited before speaking in hopes that her emotions would take hold— force her to cry out his name, fling herself at him, something. She was surprisingly empty and there were no emotions to guide her next words. When they did come, they were not at all with the fervour she had imagined. “Reece. It's good to see you. Come in. It has been a long time,” she said with the excitement of receiving an old friend. Guilt kept her from looking Reece in the face, forced her to deny it was Thomas Cooper she longed to see come through the door.

She had not changed much, perhaps in height and in some places a little weight. Reece noticed more than anything her discomfort, but the cool welcome did not bother him. He expected to find her a little distant—as he was, what with the news he was about to deliver, news that would alter everything. To avoid telling her, he had even thought about staying away for good, but returning was the honourable thing to do. A man kept his word! Besides, his news needed telling to make things right.

The awkward silence was difficult to bear. He watched her scurry about, fussing with Prince and setting the table with a confidence and maturity he had not seen before. He waited until Sarah had bread, scanty vegetable soup and tea in front of him before he said, “Enos told me that Lydia is not well.”

“She has not been herself for awhile. When did you get back?” she asked.

“Today. Enos was at the wharf and gave me a lift. I came straight here.”

“He must have greased the wheels on the cart! There was no squawking today. I'm surprised he and Doris are not deaf from the noise.”

They laughed. The air felt thinner now.

Sarah asked, “Did you find Rose?”

“Yes, eventually. It took a long time to trace through records of slave sales. She was on a large farm in Kentucky.” He looked at Sarah kindly, knowing that his news would come slowly now, piece by piece.

“Did she know you?”

“No, she did not. I was a child when she last saw me. She is old and worn out. The poor old soul had too many babies, one every year and several at a time to suckle. Her memory is not what it used to be. She hobbles along with her stomach, back and feet giving her torment and she still must earn her keep. The one blessing is that there are fewer chores expected of her.”

“Were you able to find out anything about your childhood from her?”

“It took awhile. I had to paint a picture to jog her memory, take her mind back to the Redmond plantation. Take her back to the night she received a baby from Cecil MacLeod to tend. She never forgot the Redmond overseer. That ‘son-of-a-one-toothed demon,' she called him. At first she couldn't remember where the child came from, but then she recalled he mentioned a slave by name.”

“What was the slave's name?”

Reece stared at Sarah. He was silent for a full minute, stalling. He struggled with wanting to tell her the truth, but he had trouble wrapping his tongue around the words. He reached across the table and took her hands.

“Did she tell you the slave's name?” Sarah asked again.

“Yes. Rose said the slave's name was … Lydia.”

“Lydia?” Sarah's mouth fell open. Her mind was galloping so fast she could not keep up with the pace. “My grandmother Lydia?”

“Yes, our Lydia …” he stammered.

“No, Reece.” Sarah bit her lip. “Such a thing cannot be true!” Sarah slumped over the table. “To think,” she said, “you and I could have married. Tell me you are not my uncle. Oh Lord, tell me this cannot be true.” Her eyes dulled with embarrassment and she sat whimpering over such a tragic thing. For surely the hungry gossips would love such a scandal. She could see them gnawing on the news like a bone until there was nothing left but the splinters. It was a moment, if ever there was one, for tears. She kept her head down, waiting for the tears to come, but none did. This family has enough secrets to fill Birchtown Bay, she thought.

Reece withdrew his hands and leaned back in his chair. “Are you all right?” he asked. “It hurts me as much as it does you, having it all come at once and knowing that we can never be together. I know this is difficult, Sarah, but I cannot change it.”

Sarah raised her head and met his gaze. “Reece Johnson, you are Grandmother's son, my uncle,” she said. “There is no choice in the matter.”

“No, none, but cheer up, there's a bright side to what's happened. We will forget this disappointment with time,” Reece said, a smile breaking across his face.

“Yes, I suppose there is. Grandmother will be surprised and so happy to hear the news. She always speaks of her missing son. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it might be you.”

Like with Margaret, they would all have to face the truth. Sarah looked at the fire pit, avoiding Reece's eyes. He was not the only one with news. As she slowly turned and held his eyes, she filled with a small measure of regret, and an overwhelming amount of guilt. “I have a confession to make, Reece,” she said. Her words stretched. “You will hear about it soon enough, so I think it is best if it comes from my lips.”

“What is it?”

“You were away so long … well, things changed. I … I became involved …”

“If you have found someone, I have no right to question it.”

Sarah cut him off. “I was seeing someone, but as is my fate, he has gone away, back to New York. I don't think he'll ever come back to Birchtown.”

“I am sorry, Sarah. Sorry things didn't work out for either of us.”

“I'm not sorry. I found a wonderful friendship, more than anyone could ask for in these times. You and I, Reece, we will always be close because we are family.”

“I know that when folks find out about this, their tongues will feast. I hope their stony comments will not worry you. We will just have to remind folks that any of us could be related, seeing the way families were separated.”

“So true!” she said. “I have Grandmother to think about now. She is not well, Reece. She has taken to her bed. Her last wish was to see all of her children before she passed. You will be surprised to learn that you have more family, not just Papa, but two sisters.”

“Sisters? Here?”

“Yes! Margaret Cunningham in Port Roseway is one of them.”

“Surely you are joking. Margaret Cunningham?”

“It is true and we have sent word to Yarmouth in hopes of finding the other one, Amelia Pinkham. You are the last of Grandmother's lost children.” Sarah smiled and her face lit up as if the sun entered the cabin through the window. “Today has brought us all a blessing. Papa will have a brother and Grandmother will see her lost son. Are you ready to tell her?”

Reece nodded. He followed Sarah into the back room to greet his mother with the news.

Twenty-eight

T
HE HOUSE WAS THE KIND OF QUIET THAT COMES
WITH
grief. Not even young Prince fussed or went about looking for the usual kind of attention or getting into mischief. Sarah's thoughts were in limbo. There were days when she was a hummingbird, going from task to task as though seeking a sweet nectar that would satisfy her. Lydia's illness, Thomas's leaving, Reece's return, the lost children—it was all, for Sarah, a full plate to digest. She turned to filling her life with work and attending to Grandmother. Whether she liked it or not, deep down her loyalty was first to family and then to herself. If only she had known that the pot was being stirred.

For weeks, Thomas Cooper had wandered the muddy streets of Halifax, bags in hand. He found lodging and food wherever he could. He worked at the docks, loading and unloading goods. The pay was good. The ships came and went from the eastern states. He could have boarded any one of them as a hand and returned to New York, but his desire to leave was defenceless against his heart. It was Wednesday, the twenty-sixth of July
1785
, when he boarded a schooner and headed back to Roseway.

The sky bulged with masses of fluffy, luminous clouds. On this bright summer day, with the sun warming his spirits, he knocked on the Redmond door. It was a joyful
tap, tap
! Sarah opened the door and stared in wide-eyed silence. There she stood with doughy hands, in a pale blue dress and her hair a tangled web, and he, all decked out, looking fresh and clean, his smile breathtaking.

“Do I get a hello?” Thomas chuckled.

“Thomas,” she finally whispered.

“May I come in?”

“Yes, of course. I cannot believe my eyes.”

“Have I surprised you?”

“You are supposed to be in New York.” She looked at him again and her heart quivered with joy. “Where are my manners? Come in,” she said. “Let me finish cleaning the table.” Her words were gushing now and she could not stop babbling. “There will be fresh bread soon. I will put the tea on. I must look a fright. Will you excuse me while I freshen up?”

The cabin warmed with the aroma of fresh bread cooking in a heavy black skillet over the fire. Thomas hoped that all would go as planned. He ached for the joy of having her in his arms. He turned his thoughts to Birchtown. It was a cold, hard place, all right. He figured he could settle for the simple joys of life, master the elements with a little preparation and skill. Perhaps his education would lead to a job. And equality, well now that was the never-ending storm for the Negro.

“There,” Sarah said on her return. “I feel better now.”

“Good,” he said. “Seeing you again is pure happiness, with or without the flour,” he laughed.

She stood back and held his flickering brown eyes. Her face glowed as though she had swallowed the sun. She looked at him curiously, thinking of Reece coming and going in and out of her life. Was this going to be more of the same? With hesitation, she asked, “Are you back to stay or are you leaving again?”

“I'm here to stay.” His tone was firm. “No matter what the wind blows in.”

Thomas reached in his pocket and pulled out the case from Murphy's Jewelers. He removed the ring from the case, reached across the table and took her hand. He slipped the ring on her left middle finger. “A gift for a new beginning,” he said.

Sarah's smile broke into a series of giggles and howls. She held up her hand and gazed at the sterling silver ring with a centre emerald surrounded by tiny pearls. Rising from her chair, she threw her arms around Thomas's neck and kissed every inch of his face, uttering a million thanks. “It is the most beautiful gift in the world.”

After lunch, Sarah said, “I want Grandmother to meet you. I want her to see the ring. It will make her happy to see that her family is moving along.”

Two days later, Thomas accompanied Sarah down to Roseway to deliver the laundry to Mrs. Cunningham. Thick grey fog blanketed the settlement, leaving it cold and damp. They skipped over the ruts and hopped over the holes in the muddy streets. As they left Dock Street and cut through a side alley that took them down a hill to Water Street, an abandoned fish hut caught Sarah's eye. She scrutinized it carefully as they passed. She looked at Thomas. “Do you know what I've been thinking?”

“No.” he chuckled, “That's too big of a job for me.”

She gave him a nudge and ignored the remark. “We should be planning our future. And there are things I want to talk to you about.”

“Such as?”

“Getting that shack over there.”

“That bait shack? What on earth for?”

“I have found my calling, Thomas. I want to be a tailor. We could turn that hut into a shop. Nothing fancy, but something useful.” Her face lit up with a warm mahogany glow.

“And what would you sew, Miss Sarah?”

“You're not making fun of me, are you? I am serious.”

“I am curious, that's all.”

“I can do repairs and I can make clothes, plain or fancy dresses for the women of Port Roseway. But, that's not all. I want to make a quilt to retell the story of our journey.”

“I know you're serious. You have that look.”

“Do you think the hut can be saved? Fixed up, I mean.”

“Have you thought about what the reaction will be in Roseway? Have you forgotten why the Negroes live separately in Birchtown?”

“It doesn't matter,” she hissed. “All my life I had to keep thinking about what others wanted. It was you who said that I should see myself the way I wanted to be. I want a shop and if I can find a way to have it, I will. Papa says change comes from a need. If there is a need, nothing else will matter.”

“You will require a licence from the Sessions Court. Are there Negroes here who have been able to get a licence?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then what makes you think you can get one?”

“All I can do is ask, like everyone else. I have enough money for one.”

“And if they turn you down?”

“Then they turn me down. Damn it, Thomas. Whose side are you on?”

“I am just asking, Sarah. I'm not against you, but you have to think ahead … know what you are dealing with. Being prepared is the best way to get things done. No surprises.”

“You sound like Grandmother. Just worry about today, never tomorrow.'”

“She knows what a day can bring. It can bring a lot to handle.”

“How many times have you expected one thing and gotten another? I know what you are trying to say. Every day of my life reminds me of the fact that I am a Negro. It feels like some kind of a death sentence.”

“Stop and think, Sarah. We are charting new ground and anything can happen. Hatred is as thick as the mud here. Try to prepare for all possibilities.”

“Every step forward will be a new step. Should we stop stepping, stand still? Keep using fear as an excuse to do nothing?” She was not prepared to give up, not without trying. Thomas was just being cautious, but her dream to break with the past was too important to be afraid. It was time to get to stepping. Her life would be different, not like her mother's and grandmother's. She would go it alone if she had to, but she would not sit idly by wishing for change and she would not depend on charity.

They walked briskly now that Mrs. Cunningham's was in sight. There was something else to share with Thomas. She told him that Margaret Cunningham was her aunt, and how they had come together as family. “I'll run the subject of the hut by her,” she said. “She can judge how folks will react.”

In the kitchen, Sarah introduced Thomas. Margaret Cunningham smiled pleasantly. “I am pleased to meet you, Thomas.”

“Thank you, Ma'am,” he said.

“Grandmother sends her love. She's holding her own, waiting for Amelia to arrive.”

“Amelia? My goodness, were you able to find her?”

“Not yet, but Papa sent a letter to Fred Pinkham in Yarmouth to see if he could help us.”

“Yes, that may be just the thing.”

“This is her last child. Hopefully, we will get a reply soon.”

“So much good news. Lydia has found her son, Reece, and now maybe another daughter. It's a lot to take in. Come, this calls for tea.” She brought tea and sweet treats but Sarah's uneasiness stole her appetite. Exhaling, she said, “There is more good news since I last saw you.”

“I can see that something has changed.” She took Sarah's left hand and looked at Thomas. “Well, well! It's a lovely ring. Maybe a wedding soon … something to bring a little cheer.”

Anxious to keep the conversation moving in a certain direction, Sarah said, “You would need a new outfit. I suppose the women of Port Roseway have their pick of dressmakers. I saw two shops.”

“There's only one good tailor in Port Roseway. That would be Martha Lewis. I would not mind engaging her, but oh my, the chatter that woman gets up to … just sinful. I would make my own clothes but my eyes aren't what they used to be.”

“I've been thinking long and hard about something … something I would like to do.”

Margaret looked puzzled.

“I am not complaining about my job, Ma'am, but I long to have something to call my own.” Sarah continued, “I am not a slave or a servant. I am a free woman … free to follow my heart. All I need is a chance.”

“And where is your heart taking you, Sarah?”

“It might sound like a dream …” She looked at Thomas, her eyes narrowed.

“Let me be the judge of that. Whatever it is, I will help in any way I can.”

“Well, Ma'am, I've been thinking about setting up a tailor shop. There is an abandoned hut down on Water Street. It would be big enough to take in some sewing, but, ‘I got de worries,' as the old folks say.”

“Worries? Why you were taught to sew when you were just a girl.”

“It is not about that, Ma'am. I'd have to purchase the hut and I need a licence. That could mean trouble.”

Thomas smiled flatly, wondering what the response would be.

“Sarah, you put that thought out of your head. This nonsense about who is entitled to what has to stop. We are all the same under the skin. I am a witness to that. Let the people decide if they want something made well by a trustworthy person.”

Sarah nodded, watching the way Margaret pulled her mouth to the side in a half grin, not quite a smile or a frown, just like her grandmother.

“We humans are shameful creatures. There is no excuse for us not knowing how to get along together.” She rubbed her head. “But now we must think about this.”

“It could present some problems,” Thomas said.

Margaret glanced at Thomas. “It could, but we won't let that stop us.” She turned and looked deep into Sarah's eyes. “I know who owns that fish hut and I will make you a promise that I will ask about his intentions for it. Do not worry about the licence. In that regard, I have a little influence.”

“I am grateful, Ma'am.”

“You know, Sarah, there's nothing I like better than to remind the good Christians of Roseway of their Christian duties to bring about fairness and justice! Perhaps the ladies of Roseway will come for a special tea to look into ways to stop this hatred.”

“Well, as long as they do not turn on you, Ma'am,” Thomas interjected.

“It is Sarah who will need the protection. Try to have faith and courage. You have to trust me.”

Sarah looked at her aunt and puffed a relieved sigh.

It was one week later, on August
4
,
1785
, when Sarah cut away from Dock Street and manoeuvred down St. Patrick Lane. She was about to turn onto Water Street when she spotted a group milling about the smouldering remains of a building. It was the fish hut. The charred wood and ashes lined her nose with stench. Ordinarily, there would have been a long line of men with water buckets attempting to put out the fire, but it was too late for a rescue. The crowd stood idly by, watching.

“There's the Negra girl who wanted to set up the shop.” A flat-faced man with salt-and-pepper hair and long whiskers pointed in her direction. “Did you ever hear the likes?”

“How do you know this, Ramsey?” someone in the crowd shouted.

“Why that Margaret Cunningham was nosin' around, askin' about the hut. She confided in me missus that the Redmond girl wanted it to do some tailoring. I guess that will not be happening now.” Ramsey Lewis laid his bushy head back. Laughter rained from his bearded mouth.

The taunts and laughter made Sarah's skin crawl. Feeling small, she stood back, not wanting to get near Ramsey. She smelled the group's hatred on the edge of her own fear and tried hard to ignore it, but it stuck like dry bread in her throat. She wanted to lash out.

“Look there, it's Margaret,” Ramsey shouted.