The Freedom Star Part 9

"Tomorrow's Christmas. Get yourself cleaned up-and you be on time for a change-don't go breaking your mother's heart by disappearing again."

"Yes, sir." Henry started up the stairs.

"Henry . . ."

He turned.

"I reckon Florence won't mind having Isaac here for a few days. You can take him back to Milton before you head up to West Point next week."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, Papa."

"Get on, now, and have Tempie pour you a bath." Morgan shooed him away. "You smell worse than a week old possum carca.s.s."

_____.

Sunlight sparkled on the frost covered lawn. Henry dressed quickly and bounded down the stairs to the front parlor. The family was gathered around a Christmas tree bedecked with strings of popped corn, garlands of colored paper, and candied fruits. Polly, Tempie, and Joseph sat on the floor. Isaac, Abraham, and Florence stood in the archway leading to the dining room. Patrick took a seat on the sofa. Morgan was in his usual chair.

"Good morning, Henry. Merry Christmas!" Ella smiled from her rocker.

"Here, this is for you, Henry." Polly handed him a package.

He took a seat beside his brother and unwrapped the box.

"For the cold New York winter," Polly explained.

Henry smiled, holding up a pair of woolen stockings. "Thank you, sister. My toes will remember your kindness."

Morgan opened a present from Ella, a pair of chamois-skin riding gauntlets embroidered in red silk with his monogram.

Gifts pa.s.sed from hand to hand. Tempie seemed delighted with a hand-me-down dress from Polly. She held it in front of her, turning for all to admire. Joseph excitedly accepted the wooden top that had pa.s.sed from Patrick to Henry, then to Polly. Now it was his. The string had been replaced and the paint was faded, but otherwise it was in fine condition. Patrick got on the floor and showed him how to make it work. Everyone clapped when Joseph pulled the string, spinning the top across the wooden floor.

Henry offered Polly a small box. With a questioning look she opened the package. Inside was a pale yellow stationary with a single flower in the upper right corner of every sheet.

"So you can keep me posted on happenings around here while I'm out in the Indian territories with my cavalry troop," Henry said.

Polly smiled. "You always think of the nicest gifts. I'll write you every month *til the stationary runs out. You'll know it's from me by these pretty yellow envelopes."

Abraham stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Uh, Miss Ella? I done fixed you up a shelf for your tea service." He reached behind the archway and pulled out a honey pine shelf with a plate groove cut across the top. "If'n you likes, it can be hanging in the dining room before dinner."

"Oh, Abraham, it is lovely!" Ella clasped her hands together. "Yes, yes, go put it up right now. I would dearly love to see my teacups and saucers on display when we sit down to our Christmas dinner."

"No university educated gentleman should be without a proper ledger set," Henry said, handing his brother a dark mahogany box with bra.s.s hinges. Patrick opened the lid, revealing styluses, an ink well, extra nibs, and a supply of paper.

"I'm not looking for letters, dear brother," Henry said with a smile, "just an accurate accounting of our tobacco sales."

"Like you'd know if the figures were close by even ten acres worth," Patrick chided him.

"That's a mighty fine gift," Morgan said, pointing to the lap desk. "Is the army giving you an extra allowance these days?"

Henry smiled. "A cadet from Boston wagered that desk against my riding boots that he could out-jump me on horseback. He figured himself a better horseman than any Yankee I've ever seen."

Morgan and Patrick laughed.

"Quiet! All of you!" Ella stared at Henry. "You know I don't hold with gambling. It's the devil's play."

Patrick slapped Henry on the shoulder. "It ain't gambling, Mother, not if there's no chance of losing."

Her face turned crimson as the room filled with laughter. "You hush, Patrick McConnell. You're encouraging your brother's bad habits. Now all of you, go get ready for breakfast." She turned to Florence. "We will be seated within the quarter hour. Kindly finish the preparations."

_____.

The afternoon sun caught the tops of the bare trees in its fading light. Slaves sang as they returned to the quarters carrying bundles of new clothes, shoes, and sacks of flour and sugar--all gifts from their owners. Henry stood in the doorway. "Good Christmas, don't you reckon?"

Isaac nodded as he sat, dangling his legs over the side of the porch. Being home had made it special.

"Got something for you," Henry said as sat down beside Isaac. "Didn't want to give it to you this morning in front of everybody. Anyway, figured you were tired of those children's books, so . . ." He handed him a sack.

Isaac reached in the bag and withdrew a clothbound book. On its cover was a man dressed in rags wearing a broad-brimmed gra.s.s hat.

"Rob-robin . . ." Isaac's finger followed the letters as he tried to sound out the words. "Robinson, Robinson Crusoe?" He looked at Henry.

"Yes. It's about a fellow who gets kidnapped by pirates and then he's marooned on an island. He finds himself a native fellow he names, *Friday.' Reminded me of us. Now, don't let Papa or Patrick catch you with it."

"I'll be careful." Isaac tucked the book under his shirt. "I ain't got no present for you."

"Having you home for Christmas was present enough. Now get, before somebody sees you with that book."

_____.

Isaac set his foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle.

"Go on down by the quarters and say your good byes," Henry said. "I'm going to see if your mama has some biscuits I can take along for the ride. I'll catch up."

Isaac waved and turned his horse. "I'll be waiting by the post road."

He rode slowly down the lane, turning into the clearing where a few slaves sat in the morning sun mending tools. Others were busy hanging wash or cooking in large cast iron pots over the campfire.

"Hey there, Banjo," Isaac called out. "Hey, Aunt Lilly. Y'all take care *til I gets back this way."

"You stay safe down there in North Carolina, you hear?" Lilly shook out a quilt as she spoke and hung it across the top rail of the fence.

Isaac studied the quilt's pattern. Embroidered on a four-inch square of cloth toward the top was a star. Through the center a vine made of rags wound its way around the other squares, each with their own unique design. The outer squares added a colorful border. To the white folks, it was a simple bed rug, but to those on the run was a map to the Promised Land.

Isaac cautiously scanned the grounds, then lowered his voice. "Freedom Train running tonight?"

"Sh-h-h. No telling what ears might be listening." Lilly stepped closer. "A feller from over Danville way is running. I's hanging the quilt in case he pa.s.ses this way needing directions. Pattyrollers be out and about too, so you watch yourself."

"Thanks, Aunt Lilly. Henry's riding with me to Milton, so I'll be safe enough. You take care. I'll see you in a month or so."

Lilly patted his knee as Isaac turned his horse. He nudged the animal into a trot, turning to wave as the slave quarters faded into the pines. A short distance later Isaac laid the reins across the horse's neck and entered the grove of trees encircling the small cemetery. He dismounted next to the only fresh grave.

"July, wish I'd a been here for your burying. For me and Tempie and Joseph, you was the grandpa we ain't never had. We's sure gonna miss you. I been praying, asking the Lord to show you that world you ain't never seen when you was just a slave. I know you's in a better place now."

Isaac tossed a handful of dirt on the grave and remounted. He nudged the horse, guiding the animal back onto the trail that led to the post road and then glanced back at the cemetery. How could a man live out all his life on just one farm? Didn't he ever think about running? About freedom?

The la.s.so jerked Isaac from his saddle. He landed hard, knocking the wind out of him. When he struggled to sit up, a boot crashed into his side.

"You one of them McConnell n.i.g.g.e.rs? What're you doing out here by your lonesome, boy? You stealing a horse? Let's see your pa.s.s."

Isaac cleared his head and looked up. Two men stood over him, one holding a shotgun. Isaac didn't know him. The other, whip in hand, was Clancy.

"Ain't got no pa.s.s. Me and Henry's riding to Milton-"

The b.u.t.t of the shotgun caught Isaac on the side of his chin. Hands grabbed him. A hard slap landed across his face.

"I know you ain't speaking of Henry McConnell, *cause that'd be *Master Henry' to you, boy. You don't talk about white folks disrespectful like that." Clancy grabbed Isaac by his collar and yanked him to his feet. "What do you know about that runaway from over Danville? You McConnell n.i.g.g.e.rs got him hidden out somewhere?"

Clancy's fist landed hard to Isaac's stomach. He buckled. Clancy jerked him up by the collar, then flung him back to the ground. Isaac's head slammed against the packed dirt. The world swirled around him. His head pounded as he tried to focus. The pounding grew louder. Hoofs? Horse's hoofs . . .

A shot rang out.

"You! Hold fast or I'll put a ball through your hide."

Isaac rolled over. The sun silhouetted a rider looming above him. Isaac wiped dirt from his eyes. Henry?

Henry leaned forward in the saddle. Smoke curled from the barrel of the pistol in his hand.

"Mr. McConnell," Clancy said, "glad you come along. We just caught this here n.i.g.g.e.r trying to steal one of your horses. We was fixing to truss him up and bring him back to you."

"He wasn't stealing anything, and you got no business here on McConnell land. I'm counting to five, Clancy. If you're still here when I finish, I'll blow your head off."

"The word's out on you, McConnell." Clancy shook his fist. "Folks is talking. They's saying you's soft on your n.i.g.g.e.rs. Fact is, they's calling you a n.i.g.g.e.r-lover behind your back."

"One . . ." The hammer on the Navy Colt clicked to full c.o.c.k. "Two . . ."

Clancy and his partner clambered aboard their horses and disappeared in a cloud of dust.

"You all right?" Henry asked. He took the reins and steadied Isaac's horse.

"I . . . I's fine, just bruised a might." Isaac staggered to his feet and brushed himself off. He rubbed his neck. Something was missing. He felt again. The rawhide cord-his star. Isaac dropped to his knees, searching the weeds along the path.

"You lose something?"

Isaac clawed at the dried gra.s.s and catbriers.

"Hey, you need help? You want to go back and get some mending before we ride on?"

Isaac shook his head and climbed slowly into the saddle. His hand went to the place where the star had been. "Daylight's a-wasting. We'd best get on to Milton so's you can be back before dark. Them two might not treat you so good if'n they was to find you on the road at night."

"I reckon you're right," Henry said. "Here." He tossed over a small sack. "I was saving these for later, but I expect you could use *em now."

Isaac caught the bag and looked inside.

Gumdrops.

Chapter Thirteen.

February 1861 Sheets of freezing rain turned the road and surrounding fields into dark, formless shadows. Isaac pulled his slicker tightly around his shoulders and hunkered on the wooden seat. The horse plodded, as though in a trance. Isaac twitched the reins. "Hey there, wake up." He chuckled. "Shoot, I'd be sleeping too, if I wasn't so durned cold."

The road turned. Isaac reined to the left but a rear wheel caught the edge of the roadside ditch. He grabbed the seat with one hand while slapping the horse's rump with the slack of the reins. The wagon teetered, then slid sideways down the muddy bank and jarred to a stop.

"Tarnation! First time Mr. Day trusts Isaac to make a delivery and he busts up the wagon." He looped the reins around the brake handle and jumped down.

Rain stung his face as he examined the wheel. The axle looked fine. Nothing appeared broken, but a rear wheel was mired in mud clear to the hub.

Isaac turned to the horse. "We's stuck some. Getting us unstuck is all on you, ol' boy." He stood to the side of the wagon and slapped the horse's rump with the free end of the reins. "Ya-a."

The animal lurched forward. The wagon shuddered, then settled back into the mud.

Isaac put his shoulder against the rear of the wagon and pushed as he flicked the reins again.

Nothing.

"Got to pry that wheel loose. You hold on there." He searched under the tarps in the back of the wagon and retrieved a st.u.r.dy plank. Isaac wedged the board beneath the trapped wheel and flicked the reins again. "Hey! Get on there!" As the horse pulled, Isaac leaned down on the board. The wheel did not budge.

He wedged the board further under the wheel and snapped the reins once more. "Get! Ha!" The horse dug into the slick mud, straining against the harness. Isaac threw his weight against the lever. The wagon shuddered, then suddenly pulled free, dropping Isaac face first into the ditch.

He grabbed his hat from the icy water, wiped mud from his face, and then wrung out the hat, shoved it on his head, and glared at the horse. The horse responded with a bemused look.

"Y'all just hold up on your funning there, mister. If'n you hadn't took that turn so close Isaac wouldn't be in this here mess." He scrambled up the bank and checked the pine dining table lashed in the back of the wagon.

"Ropes held good." Isaac yanked the lines that tied down the load. "Nothing broke. We ain't in no trouble if we gets it delivered tonight." He patted the horse's rump, then climbed back into the driver's seat. "Ain't just your problem, ol' boy. We both missed that turn. I'm hoping when we gets to the Patterson place they'll let ol' Isaac warm some by their fire before we head back to Mr. Day's."

Freezing winds swirled through his drenched clothing, chilling Isaac to the skin. He gripped the reins with frozen hands. He couldn't sleep now. If that horse wasn't gonna watch the road, Isaac had better.

"Mr. Day said the Patterson farm was halfway to Yanceyville, but Isaac ain't never been to Yanceyville, so how's he to know when he's halfway?" He shook the reins. "Hey horse, you know where halfway is?"

The night was late when the wagon rolled up the tree-lined lane to the large two-story farmhouse. A single light shone from a downstairs window. Isaac climbed from the wagon, stretching his tired, stiff body. He looped the reins twice around the hitching rail, then climbed the steps and knocked on the door. Shadows danced across the porch as a light inside moved. The door opened a crack. Light fell across Isaac's face, causing him to blink.

"What do you want this time a night, boy?"