The Freedom Star Part 33

One of the soldiers glanced up. "You say something, boy?"

Isaac quickly s.n.a.t.c.hed his hat from his head. "Begging your pardon, sir. Was wondering if'n I could get me a cup of coffee."

"Coffee?" The soldier jerked a thumb in Isaac's direction. "This here darky wants coffee." His companions laughed. "Move along, boy."

Isaac stood still.

The soldier who spoke looked up again. "You still here? I got a mind to haul your a.s.s over to Shepherdstown and sell you to the first slave trader I see."

"Begging your pardon, sir." Isaac bowed. "Where's the road to Philadelphia?"

"Yonder." The soldier pointed behind him. "Now get."

_____.

The deserted road led past Union encampments and along fields untouched by battle. Isaac searched the cloud-filled sky. No stars to guide him, but this was his road north. He walked briskly, rubbing his arms to ward off the night chill. He'd walked roads at night before and he'd run from slavery before, but he'd never been free before. Tonight, Isaac wasn't a runaway. Tonight Isaac walked this road a free man, as free as Henry McConnell, and he'd be walking this freedom road all the way to Raleigh's door.

The pounding of hoofs announced a rider from the direction of the battlefield. Isaac dove behind a low fence and rolled into a tangle of briars. The soldier in Union blue raced past without giving Isaac a glance. No pattyrollers, just army business. Isaac laughed to himself. The closer he got to that Promised Land, the more skittery he'd become. He searched the road as he pulled himself out of the brambles. Maryland was still a slave state. He'd best be alert.

Clouds parted, revealing a scattering of stars to the east. Isaac pushed on. He'd walk at night. He was free, but Maryland slave owners might not see it that way. Would Raleigh be glad to see him? It had been what, a year since he'd seen her? What if she'd found another man? Lord, what if she'd married?

Dawn approached. It was time to hide. Isaac scrambled over a rail fence, slipped through a cornfield, and ducked into the forest beyond. He settled against an old tree and piled leaves around his legs. Maybe he was free, but it was still cold. Soon, he'd be in Philadelphia, a free man, same as Henry . . . He closed his eyes.

Chapter Forty-four.

September 1862 Leaves rustled in the underbrush. Squirrel? Isaac opened his eyes. Sunlight filtered through a tapestry of autumn colors. He sat still, straining to hear. Nothing. He closed his eyes again and leaned against the tree. Just critters. He'd stay put *til nightfall.

A twig snapped.

Isaac twisted, peering around the trunk of the old maple. Was there something behind those bushes? Isaac sprang to his feet, hefting a fallen limb as a club. "Y-you come on out. Don't make me come get you." He crouched, his heart pounding, as he peered into the tangled undergrowth.

"Don't shoot," a meek voice answered. An arm appeared above the bushes, then another. Slowly, a soldier in blue stepped into the clearing.

Just a boy-and scared to beat all. Isaac lowered his club. "I ain't got no gun. I ain't gonna hurt you none."

The soldier trembled, his hands still in the air.

"Come on over here." Isaac waved the soldier toward him. "I ain't gonna hurt you."

Hesitantly, the young soldier lowered his hands and took a step toward Isaac. "Y-you're a Negro . . ."

"It appears that surprises a lot of you Yankees."

"But you're wearing the rebel gray."

Isaac tugged at his gray jacket. "I ain't no Johnny Reb-was a slave though." He settled against the tree and pulled a piece of hardtack from his coat pocket, breaking it in half. "You hungry?"

The boy took the offering, then brushed off some leaves and sat beside him.

Isaac handed him a canteen. "What's you doing out here, so far from the army?"

The boy peered nervously at Isaac, then returned to chewing the hardtack.

Isaac stared into the morning sky. "Me, I's heading to Philadelphia. I has a woman waiting there."

The boy stood and brushed himself off. "T-thanks for the food and the water."

"You can't set a spell? Where's you headed?"

The boy searched left and right, then settled his gaze on Isaac. "I'm from New York."

"You running?"

"Ain't running." He backed away. "It ain't like that." A tear streaked his cheek.

"None of my business." Isaac waved his hands in front of him. "Ain't none of my never mind."

The boy turned and slipped through the brush toward the road.

Isaac pulled his cap down on his forehead and closed his eyes. That boy was running, sure enough. Sunlight filtered through the treetops warming the September morning. Isaac drifted . . .

_____.

Pounding hoofs and the clatter of sabers on the road above wrested Isaac from his nap. He opened one eye. The young Union soldier stood before him again, glancing cautiously over his shoulder.

"Best to move at night," Isaac said. "Patrols don't see so good then."

The soldier pointed to the ground next to Isaac. "Mind if I sit?"

Isaac shrugged.

The Yankee pointed toward the road as he leaned against the tree. "Mess of folks moving around up there-couriers, patrols, and such. Reckon I'll just sit a spell." He settled beside Isaac. "You running, I mean, you being a slave and all?"

"Ma.s.sa Henry," Isaac said, "he's the man what owned me. He got his self wounded, so now them Yankee doctors is looking out for him. I reckoned it was time for me to mosey on up north and find my freedom."

"I'm heading north too." The soldier nodded. "I'm done with soldiering." He poked the leaves with a stick. "You seen all the fighting back yonder?"

"Sure enough," Isaac replied. "Me and Henry was down on this farm lane with some boys from Mississippi. The fighting was something awful-bodies all piled atop one another, bleeding and dying."

The soldier traced a line in the dirt with his stick. "Me, I was in this here cornfield. Lost most of my company. We pushed them Rebs out, but they come back, hollering and screaming that rebel yell. It liked to curl the hair on my neck. The corn was taller'n a man when we first went in, but them Texacans opened with their cannon and muskets and mowed that field flat." He paused, then looked at Isaac. "I seen men cut in half. My cousin, Johnny Marshall's his name, he got shot clear through his eyeball. His brains splattered all over me." The soldier brushed his jacket. "There weren't no place to hide."

Isaac scanned the woods. "We's safe enough down here. We'll head north, come nightfall. Best get some rest." He lowered his cap over his eyes and propped his chin on his chest.

"I ain't no coward," The Yankee snuffled.

Isaac lifted the brim of his cap and looked at the soldier. "Come night, you can help me find us some food. For now, get some sleep."

_____.

"Sh-h-h. Stay low. Ain't you never stole no chickens up there in New York?" Isaac waved the young soldier toward the shadows. "Wait here. If'n you sees anybody, make like a whippoorwill."

He wiggled through the rail fence and snuck around the corner of the barn. A row of nesting boxes sat under a shed roof, surrounded by a fence of woven twigs. Sleeping birds cooed quietly as Isaac lifted the gate and slipped inside. He cupped his hand over the head of a nesting hen, clamping down on her beak, and snapped her neck. He held the hen close, covering it with his arms, m.u.f.fling the flapping wings. The hen house returned to the soft rhythm of sleeping birds. Isaac crept back to his accomplice.

"Come morning, we'll cook up this here pullet, but for now, we has to put some miles between us and them armies." Isaac hooked the bird's head under his rope belt and clambered through the hedgerow. "Dark as it is, we'll be safe on the road. You got a name? What does they call you?"

The soldier fell in step beside Isaac. "William, William Richardson Brown, but folks up home just calls me Billy."

"Good to meet you, Billy. Folks down home just calls me Isaac." He smiled.

"You ain't gonna tell n.o.body I'm running, is you?" Billy asked.

Isaac glanced at the boy. "n.o.body never said you was running, so how can I tells what I doesn't know?"

Billy nodded. He took several steps before he spoke again. "Your master, he wounded bad?"

"Took a bayonet through his shoulder, but it missed his vitals. Miss Hannah, she's doctoring him, she said he might could live, if'n he gets tended to good."

Billy blew into his hands, then rubbed them together. "I heard tales about them prisons. He ain't gonna find doctoring there."

"What's you saying?"

Billy shoved his hands in his pockets. "Just saying I hears stories; short on food, short on doctoring, wounded don't get better, they just dies."

"Them Yankees ain't gonna doctor Ma.s.sa Henry?" Isaac asked.

"Maybe exchange him, if he's lucky."

Isaac c.o.c.ked his head. "Exchange him?"

"Trade him for Union soldiers that were captured by your rebs. I seen them exchanging prisoners the day after the battle, up by that Dunker church on the road to Hagerstown, *cept I reckon they're finished exchanging for now, since your whole reb army hightailed it back across the Potomac."

"Maybe he'll still get his self exchanged. Could be Miss Hannah is setting to work on that right now."

"Maybe, but it don't sound like his chances are good."

"We got a rider coming." Isaac pointed up the road at a figure in the distance silhouetted against the night sky. "Best hop that fence and lay low *til he's past."

They slipped between the fence rails and hid behind a sheaf of corn stalks. The rider approached from the east and pa.s.sed at an easy gait. "Yankee," Isaac whispered as he peered from behind the cover. "Appears to be an officer."

"Weren't no provost patrol. Most likely a courier." Billy dusted off his britches with his cap.

Isaac studied the stars. "We got us two, maybe three hours before daylight. We'd best be moving, then find us a place to hide."

_____.

Sunlight caught the tops of the trees as Isaac slid down a leaf-strewn embankment with his canteen. Billy might be waking soon. Isaac would get a fire started and cook up their bird.

He knelt by the creek. Icy water floated leaves over glistening stones. He uncorked the canteen and held it under. Was Henry going to that prison camp? Billy said it was a bad place . . .

"You, halt!"

Isaac spun around, crouching as he peered through the trees. The voice seemed to come from where he'd left Billy.

"Hands in the air, now!"

Isaac crawled up the bank until he overlooked the small clearing where he and Billy had slept.

Three Yankees surrounded Billy, their muskets at the ready. One soldier wore the chevrons of a sergeant. "A deserter, eh?" He shoved Billy with his musket.

"N-no sir. I ain't deserting, I just got separated from my unit during the fighting."

"And what unit would that be?" The sergeant smiled and glanced at his comrades.

"Twenty-first New York, Patrick's brigade, sir." Billy inched away from the sergeant.

"Now, let me see if I got this right. You fought in that cornfield over yonder -kilt you a pa.s.sel of Johnny Rebs too, I'll wager-then you just happened to find yourself wandering *round miles away from the army on this here road to New York? Is that what you's saying?"

Billy wiped his mouth with his sleeve. His gaze darted from one soldier to another. He retreated. "It ain't like that, I ain't deserting, I just got separated . . ."

The sergeant smashed Billy in the stomach with the b.u.t.t of his musket. "Hog tie this yellow-bellied coward. The Colonel's got a special place for your kind-in front of a firing squad."

The other soldiers grabbed Billy's arms. He tried to pull away. "No, it ain't like that. Please, mister . . ."

"Gag the coward so I don't have to hear his bellyaching," the sergeant commanded.

One of the soldiers stuffed a rag in Billy's mouth.

"Come on, men. We got more of these yellow b.a.s.t.a.r.ds that need catching." The sergeant turned and walked toward the road. The two privates grabbed Billy and dragged him along.

Isaac remained hidden behind a tree until the footfalls faded through the dry leaves and the forest settled once again into the quiet of an autumn morning. He dug into the dirt with his heel. There wasn't anything he could have done. That boy was going off to be shot dead, all because he was scared of getting shot dead. It made no sense. Isaac had been plenty scared too. That sunken road was no place for folks who didn't like getting shot at-and Henry'd be scared too, if he knew about that prison . . .

"Tarnation." Isaac scrambled to his feet. "Ain't no sense being free if I can't do my own deciding." He followed the upturned leaves that marked the path taken by the provost patrol and their young prisoner.

_____.

"'Tis a surprise to see thee again. Henry will be pleased."

"How's he doing, ma'am?" Isaac stared at the still form under the blanket.

"I am concerned. In the days since thy departure he has worsened. I fear the prison camp will be his undoing."