Chasing Freedom (5 page)

Eight

O
NE OF THE FIRST LOYALIST HOMES BUILT IN PORT
Roseway belonged to Captain William and Margaret Cunningham. It stood one and a half stories with a gabled roof and two brick chimneys. Outside it was framed in timber with white clapboard siding and blue trim. Inside, it had paneled walls of plane boards with a chair rail and wainscoting. At the rear was a barn for cattle, sheep and two horses. Beside the barn, smaller buildings housed chickens and pigs. Along the walled walk, flowers drooped from the heavy frost. There were several black men in the fields behind the house. Simon, a middle-aged black man, was tilling the remains of the meagre garden to the left of the house, which had produced oats, barley, flax, gooseberries, raspberries and strawberries. Two tortoiseshell cats wandered about like miniature guard dogs.

Exhausted from the long walk, Lydia and Sarah proceeded to the back, the usual entrance for servants, and rapped on the porch door. A stout Negro woman opened the door saying, “Oh Lord, it's you. Good to see you,” her head bobbing from side to side. “I'll take that laundry. You sure can do a bright wash. Missy Cunningham will see you in the parlour. She's got something to speak on. She said to bring the girl along as well.”

The pair followed her down a long hallway. “The streets are quiet today, Fanny,” Lydia said.

“Yes, yes. This place had been in a roar for a week, it being the king's birthday and Governor Parr arriving in his sloop to appoint the new justices. Oh, the noise with all the gun salutes booming from his ship and the cannons goin' off every half hour down by the shore.”

“I suppose there were fancy suppers and balls. This lot knows how to entertain, but work, that's another rag.”

Fanny let out a hoot. “You speakin' the truth on that,” she snorted. “There has been no work here for days, just the drinking. Oh my, the drinking. Shameful! And every night the bonfires, dancing and fighting.”

“They do love a good time to act the fool.”

“Have you heard? The governor has renamed this hell-hole, calling it Shelburne. Well, Mr. Cunningham, oh Lord, that man, he's bitter for namin' the place after the prime minister of Britain, the man who signed away their rights to their country and their property to the Patriots. I heard him say he wasn't calling this place anything but Port Roseway.”

“And right he is.”

Off from the hall to their right was a small library and a tiny room with a spinning wheel and piles of fleece and yarn on the floor. To their left was the dining area and a large kitchen. Ahead, at the end of the hall, lay the parlour. When they reached it, Fanny said, “Ma'am, the Redmonds are here to see you.”

Mrs. Cunningham was a wisp of a woman with long black hair pinned under a white cap. Her smile was broad and her face so golden it looked like fresh butter. From her chair by the window, she called, “Come and sit, Lydia. We have time to talk since no one is hurrying about today.”

The splendour of the parlour reminded Sarah of the Big House. There were long velvet drapes, red velvet chairs, a rug, candle stands and a small table with graceful legs holding a glass decanter with six gold-rimmed glasses. Along the back wall was a china cabinet with glass doors filled with the heavy porcelain dishes she had washed so many times before. It was all so lovely, except that the size of the rooms and the low ceilings paled in comparison to the Big House. Of course it made the little hut in Birchtown feel even more like a shack. Sarah stood by the doorway, her thoughts drifting as she amused herself by thinking that one day she might have a few nice things to call her own.

Sarah's absence of mind prompted Mrs. Cunningham to ask, “Is Sarah feeling alright?”

“She's just taken with your place, that's all. Please excuse her, Ma'am.”

“Excused,” she laughed, then said, “Lydia, I wish you would call me Margaret. The time when you couldn't call us by our names has passed.” She went to Lydia and placed her arm around the woman's shoulder.

“I know you don't see harm in it, but, oh Lord, it could lead to being careless with someone else. I could find myself locked up or whipped. Some things never change. No, Ma'am. I can't start bad habits, for your sake as well as my own.”

“I'm so sorry, Lydia. Of course, you are right.” She removed her arm. “The world is a shameless place for the way you are treated.”

Sarah was looking about the parlour now and enjoying the warmth from the long yellow flames in the fireplace. A large blue and white jar, delicately crowned with a black wooden lid, caught her eye. “It's beautiful,” she said. “I'm sure I saw one like it at the Big House.”

“It's a Double Happiness Jar, a favourite. It's the same jar, a gift from William when we were courting. He found it in a little market off the Thames River in England. I'm so grateful Father had most of our possessions taken away in time.”

“It would have been terrible to have such beautiful things destroyed,” Sarah said.

Grandmother was beside herself. “Mind your manners, Girlie. You have no right to be asking questions and going around Missy's things.”

Sarah, so distracted, did not respond, forgetting about the rules for servants.

“She's all right, Lydia. Let her look.”

Ignoring the old woman, Sarah bent to look at the jar. “I'd give anything to have such a thing.” She wanted to hold the delicate object, study the detailing up close. Without thinking, she reached for the jar.

Grandmother swallowed and her anger erupted with a shout, “Leave that, Girlie! That is not your concern. Come back and stand here beside me.”

In an instant, Sarah straightened. In turning to face Grandmother, her hand dusted the jar with a soft sweep, knocking it from the table. Abominable silence. All eyes focused on the jar, forever falling down, down, down. Sarah's heart pumped fast as she watched the jar land … in one piece … on the thick rug where it rested. The old woman's eyes rejoined their sockets.

Sarah, ever so gently, returned the jar to its coveted place. “I'm sorry, Ma'am, for being so careless.” She hung her head and waited for Mrs. Cunningham to haul off and slap her, or say that she would have her charged with some offence.

A composed Mrs. Cunningham leaned forward and embraced Sarah, saying, “There, there. You meant no harm, Sarah. It was an accident. It's a reminder to move the jar to a safer place.” Turning to Lydia, she said, “Do not be afraid, Lydia, the jar is fine.”

Fanny, who had been standing inside the doorway to announce the meal, slowly came to herself and sputtered, “Your lunch is ready, Ma'am.”

“Come along,” Mrs. Cunningham said in a kind voice, extending her hand to the kitchen.

Sarah was silent. Her eyes twitched with confusion. Why such unusual kindness towards Grandmother, inviting them to her table when the custom was for servants to eat separately? And such mercy and understanding when she nearly broke a precious object as the vase? There were Negroes serving time in jail for the careless handling of property.

In the kitchen, fresh bread and large bowls of corn chowder made with new potatoes, fresh onions, corn and bits of bacon awaited. Blueberry-gooseberry pie and tea followed. After the meal, Mrs. Cunningham reached into a green jar on the window ledge and placed two shillings in Sarah's hand, then handed two crowns to Lydia. “You both are a godsend. I've never forgotten the promise I made to mother to look after you, Lydia.”

“We are grateful for your kindness, Ma'am.”

“I never dreamed our lives would come to this, that we would have to leave our southern homes and start over in a foreign place. The war was a wicked display of hatred and unjust for those of us who wanted nothing more than to support the king.”

“Oh, Lord, I worried for you when the soldiers came. I saw you looking back from the carriage. It was a terrible time.”

“We tried to be brave, but with William away at sea and Father's death, we were defenceless. Then Mother passed away during the trip here … The strain was too much for her.” She reached out with both arms and hugged the old woman. “I was so happy to see old friends after I arrived. It's a challenging place, this Roseway. These settlers are a quarrelsome lot. Tempers are hot. Everyone is worrying about class and privilege, not fully understanding the hard work and grit needed in a place like this. Now with the laws in the colonies forgiving us and returning Loyalist property, many are giving up and leaving. I believe things will improve.”

“All of our lives have changed, Ma'am. Nothing will ever be the same no matter what anyone decides. I appreciate all you and the mister do for us. I sure do.”

“There is no need for that.” She extended her gaze to Sarah and then back to Lydia. “I must get to the point. I have an offer to make. Sarah is grown now. It is time to send her to work. Poor Fanny has such pain in her joints and back, she says she will not be able to work much longer. Perhaps I could indenture Sarah. I will speak to William about this when he returns and get him to draw up an agreement. Fanny works for her room and board. However, Sarah might be happy to work for wages. Two years sounds reasonable. Times are hard, but we will do what we can for her.”

“The girl is a good worker.”

“Yes she is. I was always fond of her.”

Grandmother excused herself from the table and nodded to Sarah to do the same.

“There's another bag of laundry waiting to be done by the porch door, Lydia,” Mrs. Cunningham said. “By the way, I hear Mr. Carter is here in Nova Scotia working as a slave hunter. You must always have your certificates with you. Please be careful.”

“Yes Ma'am.” Grandmother patted the rag purse. “I aim to be safe.”

They took their time going back to Birchtown. Sarah poked along, understanding that work was scarce and positions hard to come by, but somehow becoming indentured was not what she had imagined for herself. While the thought made her sad, her mouth produced a smile — she had to admit she liked this little woman, though the way she treated them was so peculiar.

Nine

S
ARAH WORE HER FAVOURITE CREATION, A BUTTERY-YELLOW
gown with frilled sleeves over a white petticoat, a brown wool cloak and a green bonnet. She held her head high and strutted down the path carrying a small basket of apples. It felt good to be on her way to the Methodist camp meeting in the clearing. Throughout the colony, worship services were being held in every corner. There were plenty of ministers coming to Birchtown to preach to the desperate souls. Together, they agreed to build a meeting house, but until it was completed, they met in a valley between the hills in a place they called the clearing.

This was a day of blessings. Sarah felt it in her heart. In no other place could you feel more free or more at home than in the clearing.
Steal away, Steal away to Jesus; Steal away, Steal away home; I ain't got long to stay here
. How sweet the words were! She hummed them repeatedly. It saddened her that Grandmother refused to attend the meeting. She said all the jumping and shouting wouldn't bring her closer to the Lord, but Sarah loved the merriment. She would ask for much needed blessings for her family, especially for her Aunt Beulah, for it was three days since the visit and still the baby was holding back.

Sarah had agonized over the need to look after her aunt. Beulah was family, and hadn't her father insisted she look after the family, keep it strong? In Birchtown, you could easily perish without their love and support. The importance of strong ties was leading folks to marriage—one of the prizes of freedom. Sarah could not help but smile. Like many men, Uncle Prince had married as soon as they arrived. “I can't wait to get myself a wife,” they would say, as if they were earning a medal or some kind of reward, as if getting a woman compared to bringing home a deer. She thought about Reece. There would be lots of time and besides, Beulah's needs would have to come first.

Sarah left the main trail. She could hear the commotion before she reached Big Mama Hagar's shack. Sunday morning didn't make a spot of difference to Big Mama. The cursing and screaming were flying out the windows and the open door. It wasn't long before ol' man Hagar came running out and sped past Sarah, with Big Mama in pursuit, cast iron skillet waving in the air. Her tongue feasted in a trough of vulgar names. Sarah wondered what the old fella had done this time. Sneaking around with the widow Jane again? Sarah chuckled and kept walking.

A large crowd milled about in the clearing. It was the one place where Negroes could legally gather, a place where they were free to let themselves laugh, sing and dance. It seemed all of Birchtown was in this place of healing. The air was full of the sweet scent of hemlock and the clearing dazzled with cheerful colours and laughter.

She found Reece among a group of Black Pioneers. They chatted while Reverend Ringwood delivered the greetings. Old plantation songs,
“
Bringin' in de Sheaves”
and “Hear de Angels Callin,'”
brought the crowd alive. Reverend Ringwood stood atop a wooden box. “Lay your burdens on the Lord,” he screamed. “Lay your sins down, you Lambs of God and repent. You are the children of the Lord and He will give you what you need. Put your trust in Him to heal you, trust in Him to feed you, trust in Him to take away all your sorrow. Rejoice in Him.”

Enthusiasm grew into frenzy as he encouraged the outpouring of hardship and grief. Bodies trembled. Words flowed from the depth of their hearts. Reverend Ringwood held each one with outstretched arms, offered them hope, told them to keep praying, to have faith and look to the Lord for salvation. Slaves who could not read rhymed out scripture word for word. Their moans and hallelujahs rose up to heaven. Then how they danced and sang. This festive rejoicing in the spirit was the one true testimony to gaining freedom.

At last a break came. Sarah took her apples to a large canvas sheet on the ground. It was time for lunch and everyone dove into the abundance of food spread out in the clearing, for all hoarded during the week to bring something and all indulged in the offerings. She ate quickly. “I wish I could stay longer,” Sarah said, “but I promised to meet Grandmother at Aunt Beulah's place. Did you enjoy the service?”

“It sure got me going,” Reese laughed, “and I'm not much on religion. All it does is keep a man down, encouraging him to rely on something other than himself. We have the tools to direct ourselves and a conscience to guide us. Fools have no conscience. That is what accounts for sin. What a man needs to get ahead is not prayers, but a good fight.”

“A fight?” Sarah raised her eyebrows. He was sounding like her Aunt Beulah.

“The slaves believed God helped Moses free the Hebrew slaves. They figured that God would set them free, too. But it took action, a good old rebellion to free us.”

“Well, I never heard it put that way before. I believe that their faith gave them courage.”

“I don't know about that, Sarah. I do not plan to sit still and pray for change. I figure you should fight for it, like the Patriots. That's what a good man does.” He winked at Sarah. “I'm not hanging around waiting for rations and a blessing.” He blew warm breath into his hands. “Can I walk you to the crossroads? Beulah's is just across the field, isn't that right?”

“It is.” Sarah concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. “What do you mean you won't sit still?”

“Miss Sarah, if a man does not work, he will surely die. There is not enough work to go around. It's time for me to move on.” He reached over and slid his fingers along her cheek. “It sure would be nice if I had me a pretty miss to take along. It would be nice to think about more than a job.”

A soft gasp fell from Sarah's mouth.

“Sarah Redmond,” Reece chirped liked a sparrow. “I've been thinking about you a lot. Have you thought about marriage? We can marry here. It's not like before, you know.”

Lord. Lord. The thought of running off with Reece put Sarah's head in a spin and she could not stop grinning. Her mind stirred like a hornet's nest, scattering her thoughts in all directions. He was ready, but that was not the thing. She needed time—time to know him better, to know the kind of man he truly was. She didn't know much, but she knew some men could be kind one minute and brutal the next. “Reece Johnson,” she said, “Such thoughts.”

“It's lonely here without any relatives to count on. I grew up feeling like an orphan. It is hard to explain how a man yearns to connect to his blood. The need and the wondering never go away.”

“I was lucky to have a family, but even mine is broken. I know how that can hurt.”

“A family is your foundation. I used to see free Negro men in Charles Town when Steppin' John took me along to buy supplies. They would walk through the streets with their wives and children, heads held high. The children always looked happy. I want that happiness, too. A slave named Rose cared for me until I was five. Then Mr. MacLeod put me to work with Steppin' John to learn a trade. He was good to me, but he didn't treat me like family.”

“I don't know if you can ever find your true roots when you come from slaves. That part is sometimes a mystery. No telling who or even where you came from most of the time.”

“So true, Miss Sarah. Right now I am thinking of putting down roots with you.”

“Are you?” Sarah gave a wide smile. “That makes me happy, Reece.”

“I can't make any real plans just yet, because a call may come any day to go whaling. Colonel Black has gotten assurances of jobs for several of us. The ship may leave any day, but I want you to know that I care a lot about you. Will you wait for my return?”

Sarah nodded and slipped her hand in his. He raised it to his cheek and kissed it gently. When they reached the crossroads, she said, “No need to worry. I am not going anywhere.”

“Can I see you again, maybe here tomorrow evening? The Birchtowners come here to gamble, to wager away their few belongings and their hard-earned money. The folks in Roseway are so upset by the Negroes gambling they have banned it and sentenced those they catch to the House of Corrections, but out here in the clearing, folks feel safe. I have heard they have dice games like craps, cards and even cock-fighting. I don't play, but we can watch. Will you come?”

Sarah laughed. “I am sure I will see you again before you leave.”

THOUGH IT WAS ANOTHER COLD AND FROSTY MORNING,
Fibby held the door open. “I was expecting you,” she said. “Lydia told me to keep a look-out.” She did not display her usual indifference. Instead, she was bubbly and welcoming. Sarah hoped for good news.

Beulah sat upright on the cot. She turned slowly to face Sarah. Her “good morning” was a long, drawn-out affair. Sarah noticed the change in Beulah's belly and knew the ordeal was over, but where was the baby? Her eyes darted about the room from corner to corner in search of a small bundle. Suddenly, she filled with a familiar pain. The pain that came from losing her mama, from seeing chopped-off limbs, from having loved ones die. It all came in one big ball. It stuck in her throat and she could not speak. She walked to the window and stood, holding back the tears, preparing for the bad news yet hoping she was wrong.

At first, the cry was soft. Then it grew until tiny wails filled the room. Beulah pulled back the grey and blue quilt to reveal not one, but two beautiful, bronze faces. Identical faces, each crowned with thick black curls.

In her excitement Sarah screamed loud enough for all of Birchtown to hear. “Twins! Oh my Lord, twins!”

Beulah said, “A boy and a girl, Sarah.”

“Have you named them yet?”

“I surely have. My girl is Destiny and my boy is Prince the Second. His name means ‘first place' and that's what this place is to us, the first place where we are free after slavery.” She turned to Grandmother and nodded her head.

“The names are beautiful and fitting,” Sarah said.

Grandmother leaned in and stretched out her arms.

Beulah placed a tiny baby on each of Grandmother's palms. The old woman held both babies up, high up into the air.

“Bless this child, Destiny, and this child, Prince. They are born out of slavery. Born here to become a free man and a free woman in Nova Scotia. That is the gift to these children. For this blessing, we give thanks. Amen.” Grandmother put the babies down beside their mama. With a scattering of water from a mug, she sprinkled their foreheads. She grinned proudly and her skin glistened as though the Rapture had caught her up. Sarah wondered what else she would say. She wondered if the old woman would dance—delight in the highest expression of joy.

“We are rich, Beulah. So rich. We got gold, Sarah.” Grandmother sounded almost delirious.

Sarah grabbed the old woman and swung her around gently. “This day has brought wonderful blessings!”

“Will you stay for a bite to eat?” Fibby asked. She brought out the small mugs and filled them with pale yellow tea. “Bread and moose meat,” she said, “The meat is from the Mi'kmaq, Joseph Joe, who camps down by the river. I helped deliver his son awhile back. We sure could use some fixings to go with it, but we will make do.”

After eating, Grandmother snuggled the bundles against her breasts as though she had given birth to the twins herself. Her joy was real, but so were the tiny tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes and the soft moans that surfaced from a place buried deep. But Lydia being Lydia, she veiled her feelings and did what she always did to ease her despair—she belted out another hymn.