Naturally, I was familiar with Quakers and their anti-slavery views, but in my Philadelphia social circle, they were criticized for so plainly expressing their opinions. Now I could only hope that what I had heard of them was true.
We slipped into the largest of the three barns and sank down behind a stall. It seemed we had only just settled when a woman came into the building. Her face was protected from the early-morning sun by a wide-brimmed bonnet, while her brown dress and dark green apron were cut full enough to accommodate her pregnant abdomen.
She went directly to a bin and scooped out some grain, separated it into two troughs, then went to a large barn door that opened to a pasture. Calling her cows by name, she encouraged them to enter and patted their rumps in greeting as they lumbered toward their stalls. After the Quaker woman settled herself to do the milking, Sukey stood. Startled by the abrupt appearance of Sukey’s face over the partition, the woman gave a sharp cry of alarm, then covered her mouth with her hand.
Sukey looked down at me helplessly, apparently out of ideas on how to continue. I saw no way out and slowly, so as not to scare the woman further, rose to stand beside Sukey. The woman gaped wordlessly.
“I apologize, madam,” I said. “We did not wish to frighten you, but we need your help.”
Still she stared.
“We are being pursued as runaway slaves,” I said, even now sickened at associating myself with the word.
When Pan peeked over to see the Quaker woman, she lost her hesitation. “Come,” she said, and we followed her at a run into the house.
She took us down a wide hallway and into a whitewashed parlor, smaller than another we had passed but still substantial enough to hold a large fireplace, a tall-case clock, and a good number of plain chairs suspended from wall pegs while looking up, Sukey tripped on the gray braided rug, and I caught her just before she fell onto the spinning wheel and the numerous baskets of unspun wool and cotton surrounding it.
Bright light streamed in through the large uncovered window. Now I saw what Sukey had been staring at on the ceiling. Above us hung an enormous quilt suspended by ropes and attached to a huge quilting frame.
The Quaker woman moved quickly and, from a basket, withdrew a large metal ring that she secured into one of the wide floor planks. After grabbing hold of rope and attaching it to the floor ring, she worked a pulley until two wide floorboards creaked and lifted. When she urged us into the dark hole, I dropped down almost three feet, then reached for Pan as Sukey awkwardly slid down on her own. A faraway voice called out, and the three of us sank to the dirt floor as the boards were quickly lowered.
The voice grew louder. “Lillian?”
“Mother?” our hostess called out.
“Yes,” came the reply.
“There are guests.”
“But Joel is not here!” the mother objected.
“They have need,” the daughter replied. “And the patrollers are sure to come.”
“Then a quilting party?” Their conversation was as efficient as their surroundings.
“Yes,” Lillian agreed, and their footsteps receded.
It was dark in our dugout, but there was enough light from gaps in the floorboards to see that the space was wide enough to hold at least four adults. How many had made their way to freedom by hiding out here, and why would Quakers risk their lives like this, I wondered.
It wasn’t long before the floorboards were raised again. We were relieved to see Lillian with some milk and bread as well as three pallets and a chamber pot. They would hide us, she said, until her husband felt it safe for us to leave. Cautioning us to silence, she quickly closed us in again.
We ate wordlessly and rolled out our pallets. Soon both Pan and Sukey fell into a deep sleep. I lay back as well, but sleep would not come. My mind raced, and the space closed in on me. I worked to regulate my breathing in an effort to fight panic. How had I come to this? And how would I find my way out?
I looked at Pan. Asleep, he looked more helpless than ever. As sickly as he was, I wondered if he could survive this journey. Why hadn’t he stayed back? He would have had a better chance that way. I was furious with myself for not refusing him. What if he were to die and this was all for naught? Bitterly, I thought of burying Henry, and of the promise that had brought me to these circumstances.
I glanced at Sukey. When was her baby due? She was the one who knew the route, but her swollen abdomen suggested an imminent birth. What would happen to us then? Surely a newborn would put an end to our flight.
I shut my eyes. Each fear raised another, but what overrode all of them was my most immediate concern. Where was Rankin? Was he already with the patrollers? I knew what would happen if I was found. I would be tried as a Negro for murdering a white man, and my fate would be sealed. I would be hanged.
After hours of torment, it almost felt a relief when a shuffling commotion began above us.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
1830
James
THE PATROLLERS’ HEAVY feet woke Pan and Sukey. We three held our breath as the gathered quilting party above us stitched on the lowered quilt while they greeted the intruders. Their friendly greetings were not returned. When the patrollers shushed everyone and stood to listen, the silence grew almost unbearable. Then a child cried and was joined by another. Soon after, the disgruntled patrollers left, though the women stayed on to stitch while their children settled to play at their feet.
Hours later, all was silent, but that evening, after the clock bonged for the tenth hour, we were brought up from the underbelly of the house. We needed a stool to help Sukey out, and while the husband frowned uncertainly at her pregnancy, there seemed no choice but to lead us away.
The tall Quaker man strode forward, sure and direct on a path that he knew well. Both Pan and Sukey stayed strong, and we traveled wordlessly for much of the night. Just before daybreak, the man stopped to leave us in the shelter of dense woods. He spoke low, going over our directions as he handed us a packet of bread and hard cheese. “Stay to the north.” He pointed. “And stay alert,” he needlessly added before bidding us good luck and farewell.
We found our way through the woods, which opened to an orange sky and fields of cotton that stretched endlessly before us. We all gratefully sank to the ground; within minutes, Pan was asleep beside me. Sukey lay down, and though she was restless, to my relief she did not try to communicate. Finally, by midafternoon, after no sign of human life, I could no longer take the wait. Though we had been advised to stay hidden and to travel only at night, I had seen no one about through the day and thus decided it was safe to leave before nightfall. When Sukey realized my plan, she shook her head in disagreement, but after Pan and I stepped out together, Sukey reluctantly followed.
The sun beat down as we moved through the cotton fields, crouching low to bypass the small farms set back on sloping hills. On occasion we heard the bark of a dog; at the sound, we froze and dropped to the ground, only to rise and move again when reassured that no one was about. Pan was silent, but his energy remained high, while Sukey’s face glistened from the heat. Once or twice she stumbled, but I kept on, relentlessly moving us forward, mindful only of reaching safety.
Our destination was north, where lay the Great Dismal Swamp. Once there, traveling the outskirts, we would come to a cross-canal that cut east, a waterway we would follow inland for ten miles, where it connected to the main canal. Along that canal, we had directions for a safe house where lived a friend of Doc McDougal.
Even as the sun set, it was insufferably hot. I missed my hat, which, along with the gun, I had regrettably left back at the house. What I clung to was my old jacket—counting on the jewels, if necessary, to buy our way to Norfolk.