Chapter 33
“W
here is Colt!” I pleaded, dropping to my knees where Dr. Waverly sat weeping. “Take me to him.”
Dr. Waverly took a deep breath to harness his emotion. He held up one of his hands to show us that all five fingers were broken and snapped in a different direction. He hitched with pain and distress. “We were overrun by rogue patrollers proclaiming themselves to be Southern militia. They had heard Colt and I provided medical assistance to some sympathizers, and damned us as traitors. They viciously beat us and stomped my hand with their filthy boots. As they struggled with Colt, I was able to escape before they mutilated my other hand. In my retreat, I saw Colt knocked unconscious and locked in a pen. His only hope is that they keep him alive for selfish benefit. With no doctors in those secluded hills, they may need him.”
“We will send help immediately,” Aunt Augusta reassured him. “I will go to Mooney and we will organize intervention.”
“It may not be that easy, Augusta. The climate throughout the South is growing fierce. Marauders are riding the countryside, stirring a cloud of suspicion and fear among slaveholders. With growing pressure from the North to emancipate slaves, Southerners are threatening revolt and even state secession. The unrest has plantation owners holding tighter to those they claim as property. Stories of slaves being beaten and killed based on fear of uprising is stoking the volatility between North and South, particularly along the border. The region is a powder keg awaiting the right spark.” Dr. Waverly swayed with his twisted hand pressed against his forehead.
“Let us settle you into a warm bed,” Aunt Augusta said, helping him to his feet. “Winston will drive you to Lows Hollow in the morning.”
“Thank you, Augusta, but I must decline your kind offer. However, if you would be so generous as to let me borrow a horse, I will return home under the cover of night. I fear I may have been followed and would prefer to be on familiar ground.”
Winston saddled a horse for Dr. Waverly. Using his good hand to grip the reins, the distraught man rode out into the night. Winston readied our carriage, knowing Aunt Augusta and I would ride to West Gate at once. When we arrived, several visitors were mounting horses. John Snead, Alexander Moffett, and others known to be active in the vigilance movement nodded as they trotted off. Uncle Mooney stood talking with Colonel Richards when we entered the house.
“Augusta?”
“Mooney, I was not aware of a committee meeting tonight.”
“I must have forgotten to mention it,” Uncle Mooney said, glancing at Colonel Richards, who shuffled uncomfortably. “Accept my sincere apology.”
“It matters not,” Aunt Augusta stated curtly as she led us all into the parlor. She was quick to lay out Colt’s plight and our need to act on his behalf. “Dr. Waverly could not pinpoint the encampment of the marauders, but indicated it was deep in the northwest mountains along the borderland.”
Uncle Mooney stared blankly at Aunt Augusta. “The boy knew the risks.”
“Mooney, he is your son!”
“Yes,” Uncle Mooney said, his face tightening in both anger and anguish. “And when he told me of his plans, I forbade him to go. Colt would not listen to reason, and declared himself at odds with Southern tradition. Perhaps I should have kept a tighter rein on him so he would not have been exposed to wrongful influences.” Uncle Mooney paused, as if punctuating his unspoken accusation. “Colt made his choice. I have no other recourse than to wash my hands of him.”
“You can’t mean that, Mooney!”
“The discussion is closed, Augusta.” Uncle Mooney turned abruptly and left the room.
“Colonel, surely you will help us,” I said with strained hope. “With your connections in the military, a search party can be formed.”
Colonel Richards stood stiff and unmoved. “Colton is a turncoat. He betrayed his family and his roots as a Southern loyalist. I would spit on his rotting corpse before lifting a finger to aid his cause. I advise you to do the same.”
Aunt Augusta took me by the arm and led me out the door toward the carriage. “We are under the veil of suspicion and will find no allies here.” With a jerk of her arm, she halted when she saw Twitch in the doorway of Uncle Mooney’s stable. I was shocked when she pulled me his way.
“Have you lost perspective, Aunt Augusta? Twitch is the last person who will offer assistance.”
“We have no options,” she stately flatly. “No Southerner will help us under the circumstances, but perhaps this unscrupulous wolf will respond if we dangle the right bait.”
Twitch gleamed at us as we approached. “Well, now, what brings the almighty Augusta Reynolds to my doorstep?”
“I will not insult you with the farce of flowery words, Twitchell. I have a business proposition that will pay handsomely. Colt has been detained by patrollers in the northwest mountains. I suspect you may be privy to some of these encampments and may even be acquainted with men who can provide information on Colt’s whereabouts. I am well aware you hold no feelings for Colt, but I will reward you for his swift return. Name your price, and I will pay half up front and the balance when he is delivered to me.”
Twitch eyed Aunt Augusta carefully and tongued a plug of tobacco in his cheek. “All right, Augusta,” he said, enticed by her offer. “One thousand dollars. Have five hundred ready for me at daybreak tomorrow. I will take pleasure in trackin’ down the dirty dog and draggin’ him home by the tail.”
The thought of putting our hope and trust in Twitch chilled me to the core.
There must be some other way.
True to his word, Twitch arrived at Hillcrest with the cry of the rooster. I watched as Aunt Augusta handed over the ransom and relayed what little information Dr. Waverly had told us about the area of the encampment. As Twitch left, I prayed his greed would ensure Colt’s salvation, but my hopes were quickly dashed when Winston came to us within minutes of Twitch’s departure. Elijah stood by his father, his eyes wide with fright.
“Winston, you look distressed,” Aunt Augusta said. “What is it?”
“Well, now, Miz ’Gusta, we all know Marse ain’t never done a bit o’ good in his life, and he ain’t about to start now.” Winston nudged Elijah toward us. “Go on, boy, and tell ’em what you heard Marse say.”
“I was haulin’ oats to the stable when Marse and another white man rode up and tied dere horses near the road. I never see’d this white man before, and he looked meaner than a badger, so I laid low so they couldn’t set eyes on me. When Marse came out o’ the house and saddled up, the man said, ‘What you tell her?’ and Marse jes’ laughed and said, ‘I tol’ her don’t worry; I’ll fetch Colt home.’ Then Marse spit out his chaw of dirty tobacc’y and showed his muddy teeth. He said to the man, ‘But you can be damn sure that Purebred brother o’ mine ain’t never leavin’ that camp alive. I’ll see to it myself, and have five hundred dollars for the pleasure of it.’ Then he smacked that man on the back and said, ‘Where did you dump Doc Waverly?’ and the man said, ‘He is at the bottom o’ the Horse’s Bend, right where a no-good jackass belongs.’ Then they rode off, laughin’ all the way.”
“Oh no,” I sputtered as my heart thumped fast and heavy in my chest. “No, no.”
I could barely breathe. Winston reached to steady me, but my panic did not ease. “Aunt Augusta, we must go to Cumberland Gap to enlist the help of your associates.”
Aunt Augusta braced herself against the back of a chair. “Coming forward would require them to reveal their activity and allegiance, with great consequence to them and their families. They cannot step from the shadows. Unfortunately, not one among them is familiar with the remote mountains of the borderland. Locating Colt will be nearly impossible. We need someone who knows the back hills.”
We were stunned by the death blow, until hope sprang alive in a fleeting thought. “I know someone who can traverse those mountains as naturally as a deer. There is not a hidden pass or vale untouched by his footsteps.”
Perplexed, Aunt Augusta and Winston searched my eyes for an answer. “Who, my dear?”
I lifted my chin with certainty. “His name is Marcus.”
Chapter 34
“M
arcus?”
“Yes. Livie’s brother, Marcus.” I nodded. “He has made several freedom runs through those mountains. If I can get to him, he will help.”
Aunt Augusta came across the room to me. “Traveling northward would be difficult and far too perilous. Bless you for your intention, but there is no guarantee of finding Marcus.”
“His devotion to Livie is steadfast. If at all possible, he will find his way to her. There is no doubt in my mind, following Livie’s path to freedom will lead me to Marcus. I must do this for Colt.”
Winston stepped forward without hesitation. “I’ll take her north, Miz ’Gusta.”
Aunt Augusta frowned at the thought, but she knew we had no time for fretful misgivings. Finally, she nodded in agreement. “You must take your family with you, Winston. We have done all we can here. Our activities are now under suspicion, and if anything happens to me, you may fall into the wrong hands.”
We discussed and organized a plan throughout the day, into night. Aunt Augusta drew up a false bill of sale that detailed my delivery of quilts and some aged tobacco on her behalf. “This will give you some freedom of movement; however, once you ride beyond Cumberland Gap, it may not afford you protection from inquisition. I wish I could go in your place, but I must remain here to intercept any backlash and devise a slow and steady plan to move the remaining Runians to freedom. Perhaps we will use the guise of selling them off a few at a time to settle debts that have mounted in uncertain times.”
Aunt Augusta also signed papers for each member of Winston’s family declaring them free. Winston’s hand trembled as he held them up in the candlelight to watch the ink dry. “Lawd, how is it a simple stroke o’ de pen can make my heart beat so? You been mighty good to us, Miz ’Gusta. I thank you fo’ givin’ us over to ourselves.”
Aunt Augusta curtsied humbly. “It is I who thank all of you. You could have requested this day sooner, but chose instead to remain intact, knowing greater numbers could precede you because of your presence and dedication. I have been honored to have you at my side.”
We readied the coach with the hidden compartment so Esther Mae and Elijah could be smuggled with us. Winston feared Granny Morgan would refuse to go, so we were not surprised when she shook her head stubbornly.
“I been with Miz ’Gusta since de day she was born. I is an ol’ woman and don’t know no different. Go on now and be free. I is gonna be free right here with Miz ’Gusta.” She then tucked her signed papers in her apron and went back to preparing provisions for our trip.
We all gathered on the front porch in the twilight before dawn. Aunt Augusta wanted us clear of Echo Ridge before the morning sun peeked over the horizon. As Winston and his family shed tears with Granny, I leaned into Aunt Augusta, who held her arm around me in a desperate grip. Tears glistened in her eyes as she kissed me good-bye. Although left unspoken, we were numbed by the knowledge that I might not return. I embraced her in a loving hug and whispered in her ear.
“I am so thankful for these few months of knowing you as you really are. You are an amazing woman, and I will be eternally grateful for all you have done for me.”
“Godspeed, child,” she said, squeezing me tight. “I am proud to call you
daughter
, just as your mother and father would be.”
Sobbing, Granny wrapped me in her spongy arms. “You be safe, loved ones. We sho’ is gonna miss you round here.”
“Thank you for being so kind to me, Granny.” I sniffled. “I shall never forget you.”
Before Winston helped me climb inside the carriage, I kissed his cheek. “Please help me remain strong.”
Winston laughed. “Now, miz, you know what happened de last time you asked
please
of me.”
I blushed, remembering the lashing he endured over the word
please
. “I shall always regret that moment, Winston.”
“Nonsense, Miz Hannah.” He smiled. “Good things can come of bad times. It wasn’t de best day fo’ me, but it turned out to be de day you met Livetta. Look how far we all come since then.” He winked in acknowledgment of the secret cooperation we shared.
I leaned from the coach window to wave to Aunt Augusta. She blew me a kiss as the carriage pulled away, knowing she had placed me in good hands.
The trip north was tiresome, although the weather remained clear and mild. Esther Mae and Elijah sat on the floor of the carriage so they would remain unseen by anyone observing us from afar. When wagons passed on the road or we neared a town, they crawled inside the hollow bench seat, and I stacked quilts atop the closed lid as added security. After several days, we rode into Cumberland Gap. Winston directed the coach to the livery, where a smartly dressed man approached us.
“Ah, Winston,” he said, taking a small crate of tobacco leaves offered to him. “I was not expecting a delivery today.”
Winston jumped down and pried open the lid as if allowing the man to inspect the merchandise. Winston did not look directly at the gentleman, but spoke slowly and deliberately. “Miz ’Gusta sent me on urgent business. We got cargo to be delivered to some friends. Takin’ it there myself.”
The man nonchalantly held a tobacco leaf to his face and breathed it in as any good businessman would do. “What is it you need from me?”
“Remember the package we dropped here during the cusp between summer and fall?”
“Let me think back. Ah yes, I recall that too was an unexpected delivery. Three packages; one no bigger than a sack of sugar.”
“Yas’sah, that be the one,” Winston said, replacing the lid on the crate. “We need to roll these wheels in the same direction.”
The man stepped back and glanced toward where I sat in the carriage. “Are you sure your instructions are accurate?”
I discreetly reached under my bonnet and tugged my ear to signal confirmation of our plans. The gentleman strolled into his office and returned with a lead pencil and paper. Then, as if on cue, he playacted his part. “Had I known Augusta intended early delivery of her goods, I would have had cash in hand. However, this promissory note will satisfy my debt until her next trip to Cumberland Gap. He scratched a crude drawing of the mountains to the west and a line representing the road from town. He circled a dip in the hastily drawn peaks and whispered, “This is Cutter’s Pass, where a secluded road winds through the mountains. Watch for the signs, and use the flow of a rocky stream to keep you on course. Direct your carriage upstream, remaining at odds with the southern current. This will lead you north. Once through Cutter’s Pass, the path separates in three directions: east toward Philadelphia, far north into Canada, or deeper into Pennsylvania, where some acreage was purchased by a freedman so former slaves can homestead. They say a few maroon settlements have arisen there, deep in the hills. My involvement ends at Cutter’s Pass, so I have no way of knowing where their pilgrimage may have led or if they were intercepted en route.”
He cleared his throat and raised his voice from its hush. “Give my regards to your aunt, miss. I hope she feels better by spring’s end. Assure her I will pay the balance owed to her when next we meet. Have a safe journey.”
I smiled and nodded. “Thank you, kind sir.”
Our carriage rolled from town and across the flatland that stretched toward the mountains standing cold and dark on the distant horizon. We traveled for two long days without seeing another rider or passing through a town. With no more provisions from home, we drank from forest streams and eased our hunger pangs with nuts and berries we foraged along the way. Exhaustion and anxiety kept our interaction to a minimum. As we closed the distance between us and the mountains, the jaded peaks slowly rose in the sky as though postured for battle. Small farms and occasional riders appeared in the foothills. One evening as dusk settled over us, Winston leaned down from his perch on the driver’s seat.
“See de welcome light,” Winston said, pointing at a second-floor window illuminated by three candles standing side by side. “De sign of a friend. We’ll find respite here.”
I was grateful when we found such a place, because it meant an offering of food and shelter even in the most modest of circumstances. We rarely gained access to the house or spoke more than a few words with our secret hosts, and we always approached by the back door. A shadow whispered in the darkness, “Pull your wagon in the barn. You’ll find bread and cheese in a tin on the tool shelf. There’s a goat in the stall that will provide all the milk you need.”
“Thank you, friend.”
“I request you stay no longer than necessary. Patrollers have been kicking up dust from one end of the valley to the other. God be with you when you go.”
At first light, we started again. A distinctive line of trees along a stone-laden brook marked the spot where we turned onto a narrow, grassy road ascending the mountain toward the two high peaks shaped like those on our rudimentary map.
Cutter’s Pass
. I grew quiet and reticent as we navigated the borderland. I thought of Livie and those making the same journey. How could they survive traveling by foot through the night, with both man and nature as their foes? The very thought of it darkened my hope for their safe passage. Harsh reality choked away the fairy-tale ending I had imagined for them.
I dozed briefly in the afternoon warmth until the groan of a gathering thunderstorm stirred me from my slumber. I was surprised to see Esther Mae and Elijah scrambling into the hidden compartment. My stomach twisted with fright when Winston called down to us.
“Looks like paddy rollers!”
Sure enough, the rumble of hooves grew steady. I shielded the sun from my eyes and watched six mounted riders with rifles holstered in their saddlebags stampede down the far hillside. “They look troublesome,” I said, hastily stacking layers of quilts over Esther Mae and Elijah before I closed the bench seat. In practiced motion, I arranged four neat piles of folded quilts across the seat to add to their concealment. I smoothed my dress and bonnet as the six men fanned out around the carriage, bringing it to a halt.
An oversized man dressed in a swarthy hip-sole overcoat strode toward me on an ashen horse. His red hair was laced with silver and burst like rusty milkweed from beneath his wide-brimmed hat. Bush-like whiskers climbed his purple cheeks, leaving only his colorless eyes and a thickly veined nose exposed to the lengthening shadows of the day.
“What business do you have in these parts, woman?” he asked with gravelly annoyance.
“Who presumes to ask such a personal question?”
“The name is Shook,” he said, reaching into his pocket to remove a crumpled piece of paper. He shoved it through the window at me to reveal a reward posting. The drawing rendered on the creased handbill was of a man, dark of skin and hair. Although the roughly scribbled beard hid most of his features, I recognized the shape of the eyes and curve of the nose. The fugitive they were seeking was Marcus.
“Have you seen this man on your travels?”
I gave the appearance of careful consideration. “No, Mr. Shook. This man is unknown to me.”
“You sure? He’s a smuggler of the worst kind, and I intend on watching him swing by his neck for his bold crimes.” Shook studied me through squinty eyes. “Go on and take a closer look. He’s got a high price on his head, and we are willing to share the spoils.”
“My eyes do not deceive me, Mr. Shook,” I said, handing the drawing back to him. “My answer will be the same no matter how many times I look at this sketch.”
Perched on his powerful horse, he looked down at me through hard eyes. A wave of uneasiness fluttered over me, and although his rifle remained pointed aimlessly toward the ground, the way it sat wedged in the crook of his elbow reminded me that I was no longer in territory that afforded me the respect and courtesy given a lady of privilege.
“Boss, what about this darky?” One of the patrollers had climbed onto the driver’s bench with Winston. With one blow from the heel of his boot, Winston toppled from the carriage. He struggled onto his knees as Shook’s horse clopped toward him. Shook tossed the handbill down at him.
“No, sah, ain’t never seen the likes o’ him.”
“Well, maybe a few lashes will uncover the truth if you are lying,” Shook growled as the man on the driver’s bench unleashed his whip. I burst from the carriage and stood over Winston, shielding him with my body.
“See here!” I stomped my feet, determined not to wobble against the intimidation. “We have caused you no trouble. I wish you luck in your search for this man, but if you incapacitate my driver, I cannot complete my duties and return home.”
Shook studied me with his haunting eyes. “You never answered my question. What brings a woman like you to the borderland?”
I showed him the bill of sale Aunt Augusta forged for me. “I am delivering quilts on behalf of my stricken aunt. We have arranged a meeting with a merchant who resells them at great profit in the cities to the east.”
“A Northern marketeer?”
“I did not ask where he resides. As long as he pays cash on delivery, it matters not to me. I am of the Reynolds plantation to the south, near Echo Ridge. We are Virginia loyalists and expect to be protected by you, not harassed.”
Shook huffed at my claim, but his posture immediately became less aggressive. However, my entire body froze when the patroller with the whip climbed into the carriage and started to rummage through the quilts. “She’s right, Boss. There’s nothing here except a mess of blankets.”
Shook looked at me with disdain. “Well, miss, since you demand our protection while you are turning a profit, I am sure you won’t mind if we reap some benefit as well.”
The man in the carriage whooped with laughter as he grabbed armfuls of quilts. He tossed them out of the windows to the men on horses positioned around the carriage. “We’ll sleep a little warmer tonight, boys! And sell off enough to fill our bellies with grub and whiskey.”
As he cleared the seat of quilts, his elbow caught the corner of the lid, causing it to bounce with a thud. “Well, look what we have here,” he said, hoisting the lid. My heart dropped as the hidden quilts were now exposed: a thin barrier to the quaking bodies beneath them.