The Freedom Star Part 26

A horse galloped to a halt outside and a voice yelled for Joseph to come tend to the animal. Shortly, boots clumped across the wooden floors.

"Florence, I'm starving," Patrick shouted. He rounded the corner, halting in doorway as he surveyed the gathering, then he pointed to their father. "He should be in bed, and I thought I told you not to be wasting our money on those useless contraptions."

"We will discuss that later," Ella replied, glaring at Patrick. "Have you not noticed? Your brother has returned from the war." "Henry? Yes, of course." Patrick looked surprised. "Welcome home, brother." In two strides he was beside Henry's chair, clasping him by the shoulders. "Good to see you in one piece." He pointed to the bandage. "More or less . . ."

"A minor wound," Henry said. "Just a few headaches every now and again. Jeff Davis says I should be back to winning the war in a few weeks-as soon as I've checked up on things here. The tobacco's looking good . . ."

Patrick slid into his chair and unfolded his napkin. "If the weather holds, we'll cut better than eleven hundred pounds an acre. Prices are steady, though the federal blockade is putting pressure on. I hear rumors the English are looking to buy foreign tobacco. If they do, it will destroy our profits."

"Patrick, we were just finishing, but I'm sure Florence has saved some for you." Ella turned and called to the rear of the house. "Florence, have Tempie bring Patrick his supper."

Tempie set a plate in front of Patrick loaded with chicken, snap beans, and biscuits. He took a bite, wagging the drumstick as he spoke. "You know that nigra of yours run off."

"What are you talking about?" Henry said. "Who?"

"That boy of yours, Isaac. You said he wasn't a runner. Well, about a month ago he took off. I had to pay forty-five dollars to the fellas that captured him up by Richmond."

The strange reunion with Isaac flashed through Henry's mind.

"And Abraham's been sold too," Polly blurted.

"I believe Patrick described it as a means of reducing our risk." Ella folded her hands in her lap and smiled at Patrick.

"He was helping runaways," Patrick said, "so was Isaac. I needed to teach all of them a lesson." He spoke matter-of-factly between bites of chicken. "I plan to sell Isaac too, if he doesn't settle down."

Henry's fist tightened. The pounding suddenly flared inside his head. Morgan's gaze met his. Was that a nod, some recognition? He seemed to be saying what Henry had already decided-this wasn't the time, not now. "Mother, dinner was wonderful. Please excuse me. I have some things to tend to." He folded his napkin and placed it beside his plate.

Chapter Thirty-six.

June 1862 From beyond the horizon, the sun's lingering rays gilded evening clouds as Isaac settled on a log beside the crackling fire. On the far side of the fire ring, Lilly basted a catfish nailed to a plank and propped up facing the fire. Banjo wandered over and pulled up a stump. He sat and began quietly strumming the rough-hewn instrument for which he'd been named. He was soon joined by a slave named Jacob.

"I seen Ma.s.sa Henry today," Jacob said. "Did he go and get his self shot in that war?"

"I reckon," Isaac replied, stirring the coals. "He ain't said."

"Boy, you's mighty quiet tonight," Lilly said. "Something bothering you?" She pointed to the planked fish. "How's about some of this here catfish?"

Isaac shook his head. "I ain't all that hungry, Aunt Lilly."

He looked up as a figure stumbled through the brush next to the lane and stepped into the firelight. Slaves stopped whatever they were doing. A few pointed. The clearing grew silent, then Mamma Rose stepped from her cabin doorway and waved. "Ma.s.sa Henry! Welcome home, sir. You's coming to visit?"

"'Evening, Mamma Rose," Henry said. "I'm looking for Isaac."

She nodded toward the fire ring.

"Isaac, grab your pole," Henry called. "We need to catch us some fish."

"You want a taste of this'n?" Lilly pointed to the catfish tacked on the board in front of the fire. "It's good as you's gonna find in these parts." Her broad smile reflected the glow of the campfire.

"Not tonight, Lilly," Henry said. "Me and Isaac have some catching to do on our own." He motioned for Isaac to join him.

Isaac hesitated. Why should he spend time fishing with the boss man? Wasn't it enough that he had to work his fields, mend his tools, and chop his wood?

"Come on," Henry said. "What's keeping you?"

Isaac turned to Lilly. "Appears the ma.s.sa be needing me." He rose slowly from his seat by the fire and took up a cane pole that leaned against one of the cabins.

They walked in silence past the slave cemetery, along the edge of the tobacco fields, and down to the creek where the limbs of the old oak stretched over the dark water.

Isaac brushed aside leaves and sat on the bank. He glanced at Henry. "Where's your pole?"

"I didn't bring one," Henry said, settling on the ground beside Isaac. "You do the fishing-but I want some talking too."

"Talking *bout what?"

"How about begin by telling me what the h.e.l.l's going on?"

"Don't know what you mean . . ."

"I mean, this afternoon-that *Master McConnell' stuff-and you running off, and helping other slaves to run away."

"I caught the whip for not saying *ma.s.sa.'"

"We don't whip our slaves. Sean doesn't even carry a whip-"

"And he ain't working here no more, neither."

"What? When-"

"Been a few weeks. Ma.s.sa Patrick sent him packing. Big Jim's your man now."

"Big Jim?" Henry stared into the dark waters as he chewed on a gra.s.s stalk. "That doesn't make any sense . . ." He bit off a nib, spit it out, and tossed the stalk aside.

"You ain't got to pay a nigra like you does Mr. Sean, and if Big Jim ain't hard on us slaves, he'll be back working the fields. Do it make sense now?"

"Did you run away?"

Isaac threaded a grub onto the hook and dropped the line in the creek. He let the bait sink to the bottom, then turned to Henry. "Your pa ever tell you about the deal he had with my pa?"

"No, what deal?" Henry said.

"Your papa, Ma.s.sa McConnell, he held back money from every job Pa worked. He set it aside so's Pa could buy his children, buy us our freedoms."

"Sure sounds like Papa." Henry smiled. "He was partial to Abraham, that's for certain . . ."

"Now Ma.s.sa Patrick's the boss, he says there weren't no deal."

"Figures." Henry nodded. "I'll speak to him. But that ain't reason enough for running, you have all you need right here-"

"Don't have no freedom."

"Freedom? h.e.l.l, you have a good home, we keep you well fed, we give you clothes-"

Isaac jiggled the pole, dancing the bait along the creek bottom. It was time Henry faced the truth, but how to tell him-what were the right words? Isaac took a deep breath and looked at him. "You remember when we was hunting up country and you talked about Virginia boys fighting for their land?"

"Sure," Henry said. "That night in the cave. We enjoyed some of your good possum stew . . ."

"Was rabbit," Isaac replied. "And you's fighting now *cause you has land, you has a home, you has your freedom. Isaac ain't got none of them."

"Sure you do. Your home's here, on McConnell land." Henry took in the landscape with a sweep of his hand. "You're a part of all this, a part of our family."

"Pa's home ain't here. He's off to Mississippi, working the white man's cotton. I won't never see him again." Isaac stared at Henry.

Henry lowered his voice. "That was wrong, sure enough, but it weren't my doing." He clutched his knees to his chest.

"You's a McConnell, right?" Isaac didn't wait for an answer. "You want to know why Isaac runned? I runned *cause I doesn't want to be sold south. *Cause up north I'd be free, free to own my own business, marry the woman I loves, have babies what can't be sold."

"Is that was this is all about?" Henry said. "You want to get down to North Carolina and see that girl of yours? h.e.l.l, I'll write you a pa.s.s-"

Isaac slammed down the fishing pole and jumped to his feet. "Who writes you a pa.s.s, Henry McConnell? Who writes you a pa.s.s when you goes sparking one of your lady friends?"

"What?"

"Who writes you a pa.s.s?" Isaac poked Henry in the chest.

Henry searched Isaac's face. "You're talking crazy. I don't need a d.a.m.n pa.s.s-"

"'Cause you's white? You don't need no pa.s.s *cause you's better than Isaac?"

"No . . .not better, just . . . different. It's how things are supposed to be."

"Ain't how black folk think it's supposed to be."

"d.a.m.n it, Isaac. You're pushing me . . ."

"You's the ones in charge *cause white folks is smarter, right? Seven times thirteen . . ."

"What?"

"Seven times thirteen." Isaac pointed at Henry. "If you's so smart, Henry McConnell, seven times thirteen."

Henry shook his head and shrugged. "You know I ain't good at numbers . . ."

"Ninety-one. You ain't no smarter than me, Henry McConnell, you just holds the power. You say *marry this one, work that job, sleep here, and if'n you runs away to be free, you'll be feeling the whip.'"

Henry jumped to his feet. "Stop this right now. You got no right-"

"No right?" Isaac stared, his face inches from Henry's. "No right, *cause a n.i.g.g.e.r's just property. Isaac ain't got no right-no more'n pigs in the sty nor mules behind your plow. Isaac got no right *cause you and all your white kin is scared-scared that if'n the black man gets rights, you can't be stealing from us no more. If'n the black man gets rights, you can't be laying that whip across our backs."

"d.a.m.n it, Isaac, we don't use the whip-"

Isaac glared, then turned away, pulling his shirt up over his back.

"My G.o.d," Henry whispered, "who did that to you?"

"I's a slave, Henry McConnell." He lowered his shirt and faced Henry again. "I's a McConnell slave."

"I . . . I didn't know." Henry bowed his head. "Things will change . . ."

Isaac started to walk away, then hesitated. He turned and pointed at Henry. "You's a big toad in a little puddle. You thinks you knows everything, but you's just seeing your own little mud hole. It ain't a problem no McConnell is gonna fix. The problem ain't how you white folks is managing your property, the problem is that we is your property."

"Isaac, d.a.m.n it, I . . . I don't have the answers." Henry rubbed the back of his neck. "When Papa used to explain it, it always made sense. Now, I'm not so sure.

"You know what you need?" Henry said. "You need to get away from here, put some miles between you and this farm. Why don't you come with me when I go back to the army? Food's not so good, but you could doctor it a mite-the fellas would sure appreciate that."

"Isaac don't want your army."

Henry stepped forward, his hands extended. "You're more like me than my own brother. I don't know how we got in this mess, not just you and me, I mean all of us, we're all stuck in that same little puddle, and I don't know how to fix what's wrong, but I know this, you're still my friend-"

"Friend?" Isaac spit. "You mean your man Friday kneeling in the dirt with your foot on his black head? Is you disremembering about how you owns me? Isaac ain't no friend, Ma.s.sa McConnell, Isaac's just your property."

Chapter Thirty-seven.

July 1862 "Boy, you's fixing to catch yourself a whupping." Banjo pitched a clod of manure into the wheelbarrow, then leaned on his pitchfork.

"I won't catch nothing," Isaac said, "long as you keeps this barn clean and that woodpile full." He wrapped Lilly's ashcake in his bandanna. "I'll be back before anybody knows I been gone."

Banjo pushed his straw hat back on his head and wiped his brow. "Florence gonna be mad if you runs off. She's still working on Abraham being gone."

Isaac leaned against the barn door and gazed at the paddock. Ma.s.sa McConnell's dapple mare pranced around a puddle, pawing at a gray and white barn cat. What if he had a horse? It was a full day's walk to Milton, then another day or more getting over to see Raleigh. Probably not a good idea. If a horse was missing, someone would notice, but if a nigra was missing, n.o.body would pay no mind-as long as ch.o.r.es got done. He reckoned he'd walk.

He turned to Banjo. "You tell her tonight, but you wait *til after dark, and you tell her not to fret none. I'll be back soon enough. I ain't running, just visiting."