The Freedom Star Part 20

"Tell you what?" He spit again.

"About the deal, Pa."

"Been saving that part." Abraham set the shave on his workbench. "It was to be a surprise, but I *spect, what with all that's going on, it's time you knew." He flipped over a wooden bucket with his boot. "Set on down." He lowered his voice. "Deal's just this; I gets paid for the work I do and Ma.s.sa McConnell, he keeps that money, *cept he sets aside some so's I can buy your freedom."

"My freedom? You mean papers, I'll be having papers?" Isaac sat on the edge of his seat. "How soon, Pa?"

"Best I can figure, you's about paid for. Just need to finish up this here job and I has what me and Ma.s.sa agreed to. Tempie comes next-"

"For certain?" Isaac jumped to his feet. "Pa, you know what that means? I can go to Philadelphia. Raleigh, she'll look at me and she won't be seeing no slave." He grabbed Abraham's shirtsleeve. "When's you gonna talk to Ma.s.sa Patrick?"

"I expects I ought to be having that talk real soon," Abraham said, "seeing's how Ma.s.sa McConnell is laid up. I'll let you know. Now, get that drawer finished-it's your ticket on that freedom train."

_____.

"Do tell? Well then, come in, Abraham. Have a seat here next to the bed and tell my father all about that."

Morgan stirred at the commotion. First Patrick's voice, then Abraham came into view beside the bed. He seemed confused.

"I insist," Patrick said. "Have a seat."

Abraham disappeared from sight as he sat.

"Go on, tell him," Patrick said. "Tell him just like you told me."

"Uh, Ma.s.sa McConnell, sir, this here's Abraham. I come to speak with you about our deal. You know, about the money?"

Yes, he remembered. Morgan strained to turn his head.

"Well, sir, after I finishes this last job, I figures I has the money to be buying Isaac's freedom, like we agreed."

Yes, Abraham had been close, very close. But what was Patrick up to?

"Did he answer you?" Patrick said. "Well? Did he say anything about a deal?"

"Ma.s.sa Patrick, he can't . . ."

"Because there is no deal and there never was. See for yourself, Father doesn't acknowledge any such thing. Sounds like you're trying to take advantage of a helpless invalid. Now go finish that job, and be neat about it, and maybe you'll avoid a whipping-this time."

"Ma.s.sa, please, four years I been saving . . ."

"This discussion is over. Get back to work."

No . . . wait. Morgan strained to raise his hand in protest. His fingers bent. The arm trembled. Patrick was wrong . . . What was Abraham to think? He'd given his word, and now his own son mocked the honor of that word. Lord, give him the strength to answer . . .

"And, Abraham, we will not speak of this to anyone. Am I quite clear?"

Sweat beaded on Morgan's brow. His quivering right hand moved slowly across his chest.

_____.

Florence dropped the bread dough on the table and punched it down, her hands cloaked in floury white gloves.

Isaac pulled a stool beside the fire. He lifted the lid on the blackened iron pot and poked at the ribs simmering within. Their aroma filled the cabin. "They're near done, Mama. Might could use a bit more garlic, though. You got any?"

"There, on the table." She pointed with her elbow. "You seen your pa?"

"He mentioned something about talking to Ma.s.sa Patrick on business. Ain't seen him since."

Joseph scurried through the open door, followed by one of the field slaves, a boy around seven. "We caught us a green snake, Mama." He held up the slender green reptile for her to examine.

"Not now, Joseph," Florence said. "I has dinner to fix-and I done told you, don't be bringing critters in here where I'm fixing food, lessen you wants me to cook *em."

Joseph gave Isaac a sly smile, then turned to his companion. "We can find Tempie, or maybe your sister, and scare *em good." The boys disappeared into the barnyard.

"Mama," Isaac said. "Is something bothering Tempie? She's been mighty quiet."

"That child's fine, but you seen how she's filling out? I *spect she's coming of age. That can start a girl to acting peculiar." Florence smiled. "Could be she's working on a heartbreak, too. She ain't seen that Cato boy for many a week."

Heartbreak? Isaac winced. That sure sounded familiar . . .

Abraham walked through the doorway and tossed his hat on the table. He glanced at Isaac.

"Supper be ready in a bit," Florence said. "Did you get your business straightened out with Ma.s.sa Patrick?" She wiped her hands on her ap.r.o.n.

"Some." He turned to Isaac and lowered his voice. "Word is, there's runners coming through tonight."

"How many, Pa?"

"Looks to be two. After supper I'll mosey down by the quarters and round up some vittles for them."

"Anything you need me to get?"

"Gather what you can from here, foodstuffs, mostly-and don't forget the pepper. I'll have Lilly cook up some dodgers."

"Pa," Isaac asked. "Did you talk to Ma.s.sa Patrick?"

Abraham's shoulders sagged. "Come along, I need some help in the barn." Abraham gave Florence a quick kiss and headed out the door. Isaac hurried to catch up. Abraham didn't speak until they rounded the barn.

"I didn't want to say nothing where your mama could hear, she's worried enough about that sister of yours . . ." He pulled Isaac around the corner, then peered into the barnyard, as if to see if they had been followed. Apparently satisfied, Abraham turned Isaac to face him. "There ain't no easy way to say this, boy, so I reckon I gots to tell you straight. Ma.s.sa Patrick said there weren't no deal, never was. I can't prove nothing different since Ma.s.sa McConnell took ill and can't talk no more." He sighed. "It breaks my heart, son. I been praying on your jubilation day from the time you was born. That Ma.s.sa Patrick, he sure enough ain't the man his papa is."

His deal . . . gone? Isaac steadied himself. What about dreams of Raleigh and Philadelphia? He slammed his fist against the barn. "He can't do that, Pa, it ain't fair . . ." He started toward the big house.

Abraham grabbed him by the shoulders. "Boy, ain't nothing fair when you's a slave."

"Henry won't let this happen. He'll fix it." Isaac struggled in his father's grasp.

"Henry ain't here," Abraham said. "It's done. Let it be." He slowly released his grip.

Isaac closed his eyes. His pa was right. Henry couldn't help-and Patrick wouldn't. He took a deep breath. "Guess I'll speak to Henry next time he's home from the war."

"You do that," Abraham said. "And you keep quiet about this-don't be upsetting your mama none. Now, get on and fetch them vittles."

_____.

The moon cast a shimmering veil over the barnyard as Isaac crouched beside the cookhouse. Even the McConnells would look suspiciously on anyone out and about at that hour. He waited for a cloud to drift in front of the moon, then darted to the shadows along the path leading to the slave quarters. Once away from the main house, he hurried down the path until he reached the semicircle of small cabins. The glow of the campfire danced against the rough-hewn walls.

Lilly looked up from her cooking and waved. "Isaac, come set next to your Aunt Lilly." She patted the log.

Isaac settled beside his aunt, tucking his gunnysack between his feet.

"Not so fast, boy. You hold that open. Lilly's got herself a mess of dodgers for them that's running." She pulled a cast iron pot from the fire and dumped its contents into the sack.

The aroma of the freshly baked corn bread filled the air. "My mouth's watering just smelling them," Isaac said, then he pointed toward the river. "Any word?"

She leaned close and whispered, "Wind's from the south. You watch yourself. There's riders down by the creek-pattyrollers, most likely."

"Is Pa around?"

"He come by. Said you's to meet him by the bridge on the post road."

"He say when?"

"Midnight, so it's time you be leaving. You want some *pone?" Lilly pulled a skillet from the fire. She poked at the cornbread, then dropped one of the steaming biscuits into Isaac's outstretched hand. He tossed the bread from hand to hand, letting it cool.

"You hear anything about them runners, Aunt Lilly?"

"Word from Johnston's slaves is there's two, a father and son. They's coming up from North Carolina."

Banjo slipped in beside Isaac, whistling through his teeth as he tried to catch his breath. "Clancy and another one been riding the post road. I seen *em go by twice. Ain't no mistake, they's looking."

"I'd best get out there and warn Pa. He'll be waiting. You figure it's midnight?"

Banjo studied the sky. "Moon's moved a fair piece. I reckon it's close enough."

Isaac grabbed his sack, kissed Lilly on the cheek, then slipped through the fence and headed down the lane.

_____.

"You're helping those runaways, aren't you?" A soft voice whispered from the darkened tree line.

Isaac stepped back and crouched, facing the intruder.

She stepped from the shadows, her head covered in a floppy slouch hat. She wore trousers with the cuffs rolled up above her ankles.

"Miss Polly? Is that you? You oughtn't be out here."

"Hush," she replied. "I'm dressed for the woodlands and I aim to help those who are running."

"What makes you think anybody's running?"

Polly pointed to the gunnysack. "Are you going out to feed the hogs?"

"They's just vittles," Isaac said. "Aunt Lilly fixed *em for me."

"So, your mama's the cook, yet you wander down to the slave quarters in the middle of the night to fetch a sack of vittles?"

"Miss Polly, there's danger here about. You don't know nothing about what's going on. If'n you was to get hurt, Ma.s.sa McConnell, he'd most likely lay the whip on Isaac, maybe worse."

"Papa doesn't hold with whipping our slaves," she said.

"That might be true, Miss Polly," Isaac replied, glancing about for signs of danger. "But his daughter never runned off in the middle of the night before to shepherd no runaways."

"You have to let me help." Polly tugged at Isaac's sleeves. "Please."

"This ain't no game, Miss Polly. Besides, you's a white woman, and a slave owner. Ain't no place for your kind out here."

"I am a white woman, but I do not own slaves, nor do I hold with that practice." She placed her hands on her hips. "I've read the abolitionist pamphlets, and they're correct. No man has the right to own another."

"That's all well and good, Miss Polly," Isaac held up his hands, "but this here is different. There ain't no pamphlets out here and death's waiting on them what ain't careful."

"I insist, and that's that." She folded her arms across her chest.

_____.

Isaac ducked into the woods as two riders galloped past on the farm lane. Cautiously, he peered around the trunk of the tree that shielded them, then held up his hand. "This here's as far as you go, Miss Polly. Can you make like a night owl?"

She lay beside him, dirt smeared across her cheek. "You mean like this?" She cupped her hands. A plaintive moan drifted across the fields.

Isaac recoiled. "Where'd you learn that?"

"You and Henry would be surprised at what I've learned from watching the two of you."

Isaac shook his head. "For sure, you done a heap more sneaking around in these woods than we knowed about. What else you seen?"

Polly smiled and looked away.

Isaac stared at her a moment, then shrugged. "Listen, you stay here and keep hidden. You see them riders, you give that owl call, but not so's you bring no attention to yourself, hear?"

"Yes, just like a sentry." Polly smiled. "I will do that."

"You be careful, Miss Polly."

"And you, Isaac. I'll not let you down."

_____.

Isaac crawled to the edge of the field. No sign of the riders. He cradled the gunny sack in the crook of his arm, took a deep breath, and dashed across the moonlit pasture to the forest on the far side. Safely within the shadows once more, he stopped and caught his breath, then snuck through the tangled thicket to a small stream. He followed the stream to a bridge that crossed the post road, ducked behind a tree, and listened. Then he cupped his hands and whistled. Somewhere to his front, a whippoorwill's call answered. Isaac grabbed his sack and crept to the meeting spot.