Redfield Farm: A Novel of the Underground Railroad (22 page)

“That’s an advantage. Anyway, Abby can talk her way out of anything. She’ll be all right,” I assured him.

Jesse nodded, but he was restless all afternoon—sitting down, standing up, pacing. Watching him, I thought about all the times I’d done the same, worrying about him. Changing places gave a person pause – made them realize what others went through. That was a good thing.

When Abby returned, all excited and pleased with herself, she recounted her trip. “I rode real slow, kept looking over my shoulder to keep track of them. Couldn’t see them very well for the leaves.”

She was breathless with the telling. “I kept riding ‘til I got to the edge of Osterburg. Then I held the mare back for a few minutes in case they’d fallen behind. Mary was right surprised to see me.”

Listening to Abby’s story, Jesse smiled. He was happy with her performance.

“I went right up to her and asked if her man was around and she sent one of her daughters for Noah on the run.”

Abby watched Jesse’s face as she continued. “Noah Poole came round and I told him what was going on. He wanted to know where they was now, so I told him they was still up in the woods. Told him they wouldn’t come down until dark. Told Mary to hang a bedsheet over the upstairs porch railing when it was safe to come down.”

Abby wasn’t given to pride, but I could tell she felt good to have an important role in the Railroad work.

“Mr. Noah Poole was very nice,” she said. “Mary gave me supper, and they invited us over for a visit soon. They said one of their neighbors could move the Negroes on to Hollidaysburg without any trouble. They were glad to help. Mary’s real worried about you, Jesse. She said to tell you to give your shoulder all the time it needs to heal.”

Jesse smiled, shaking his head. “It’s a close network. When you’re among Friends, you’re among friends.”

Abby prattled on, filling us in on every detail of her adventure. “I met the Conleys on the way to Pavia. I told them I was on an errand for Rebecca. I’ll fix it with her when I take the mare back, so she’ll know what to say.”

Jesse and I listened with measured pride to Abby’s ramblings. “Abby,” Jesse told her, “you did a fine job today. I’d trust you with anything I own.”

The girl smiled and shuffled, her eyes downcast, clearly delighted to have Jesse’s respect.

“She’s a rare gem,” he told me when Abby’d left to take the mare back. “No bigger’n a minute, but full of the fire.”

Ï

Ever since my disownment, I’d felt detached, though the Friends hadn’t entirely abandoned me. I still attended Meetings, and sat silent through the Business Meeting. It was different, though. The knowledge that my actions had brought shame on my family burdened me. I needed spiritual growth, communion with other souls. I wanted to belong in the full and complete way I’d belonged before, so in late September, I decided to ask for reinstatement. It had been eight months since my disownment, and I hated the prospect of a long, cold winter without the full fellowship of Friends. So I sat down at my writing desk and composed a carefully worded letter acknowledging my error and asking for reinstatement. When I finished, I sealed the letter and left it on my desk for a few days to see how I felt about it in the passage of time. When Papa and the boys left for Meeting the next First Day, I begged off but asked Jesse to hand the letter to the Women’s Business Meeting.

Late October brought the Meeting’s response: ‘Ann Redfield may resume her place as a member of the Meeting in good standing.’ My relief was surprising, even to me. I’d no idea how important it was to be readmitted to the community of Friends.

A
s the leaves turned and temperatures dropped, I looked for ways to lose myself in preparations for winter, still grieving for Sam.
I canned, pickled, dried corn, made apple butter, and helped with the hog butchering. Work eased my grief, or numbed it. Hard work brings weariness, and sleep comes to the weary, or so I hoped. Abby kept up with me, sighing occasionally, and asking only once how much dried corn five people could eat in one winter. As Sam’s birthday approached, the emptiness forced me out and away from the house. So I made the rounds of family and friends with preserves, pickles and compotes. Rebecca saw what drove me when I stopped there on my way back from visiting Betsy one October afternoon.

“I’m hoping the Lord will see fit to send me just one this time,” she mused. “He must know I’m stretched to my limit around here. If it weren’t for Deborah, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“She and Abby are worth ten hired girls,” I agreed. “What a piece of luck, getting these two.” I shot a glance at Abby, helping Deborah shake out the bedding. Redfield Farm agreed with her, and she with us. She was almost a little sister.

Rebecca picked up one of the twins and sniffed his britches as he struggled to get free. “Have you seen Melissa Finley lately?”

“No. She hasn’t been to Meeting in months.”

“Ben says Elias is worried about her. She doesn’t take to motherhood very well. Says the baby is a burden and wants Elias to take her home to Chambersburg for the winter.”

Rebecca wasn’t given to idle gossip, especially about family, so I took the situation to be serious.

“Maybe Abby and I should stop by and see her. She’s probably lonely, Rebecca.”

“I expect she is. She used to come often, but not since Lucy was born. I send Deborah and Jane over to visit sometimes. But I worry about her with winter coming. Elias may have trouble on his hands.”

“I’ve some preserves left over. We’ll stop and see her this afternoon, before we go home.”

“Yes. She’d like that.”

I left Ben’s dooryard, turned right, and drove the short half mile to Elias Finley’s house. The door opened as we approached, and Abby and I were greeted by a disheveled Melissa, holding a squalling, soiled baby.

“Hello, Melissa. We brought you some pickles and preserves.” I forced a smile, struggling to keep the dismay out of my voice.

The young woman looked at us, expressionless. “That’s nice” she said dully. “Elias will like that.”

I handed her the basket and stood aside, expecting to be invited in. But Melissa stood silent, the crying child on her hip, studying me. Abby shifted nervously from foot to foot.

Melissa looked from me to Abby and back again. Then she shoved the screaming baby into my arms and closed the door. I held the little one close to stop her crying, then knocked softly. Melissa didn’t respond, so I opened the door and carried the baby inside, followed by an uncomfortable Abby.

The house was dark, the shutters closed. Abby opened them, revealing a scene of complete disarray. The fire was out. Dirty dishes cluttered the table and dry sink. Clothing lay strewn around the furniture and the floor. The baby’s cradle, soiled and smelling foul, was turned on its side, and the jumble of dirty quilts on the bed in the corner looked like a hoorah’s nest.

Wondering how Elias could let things come to such a pass, I started the fire and set Abby to washing dishes while I gave the baby a bath and found clean clothes for her. Lucy was scrawny for six months, and her skin was raw and chafed from lack of bathing. Abby scurried over to Ben’s for a nursing bottle and some goat’s milk, which I warmed and fed to the child. She fell into a contented sleep in my arms, giving me sharp reason to miss Sam again. I lay her down in the clean cradle, and she slept, snug under a crocheted shawl I found tucked away in a cupboard. Melissa lay curled up in bed, facing the wall, oblivious.

We set the house to rights and bundled dirty clothes to take home for washing. We swept the floor, took out the ashes, wiped the windows, and set the kettle on to heat again. Still, Melissa didn’t move or speak. I approached her with caution, anxious not to add to her distress.

When the baby awoke, I sent Abby home with her and sat down to wait for Elias. When he returned, near dusk, I accosted him sharply.

“What can I do, Ann?” he asked helplessly. “I want to do right by her, but she’s in such a black state, she won’t have anything to do with me.”

“Take her home, Elias. Take her back to Chambersburg, where things are familiar. Her mother will know how to handle her. She has sisters, doesn’t she?”

“Yes. Two still at home.”

“Good. They can nurse her, take care of Lucy, whatever is needed. Now go tell Ben, and get yourself ready. Leave in the morning. I’ll let Abby go along to take care of the baby, but you’ll have to send her back right quick.”

He nodded woodenly and turned toward the door. He hesitated, looking around the room, now neat and clean. “Thank you, Ann. I was at my wits’ end, thinking what to do. It’s been a long time since the house was this orderly.”

“Go, Elias. As a matter of fact, stay over at our house tonight. Get a bath and a change of clothes. You look like horror yourself. I’ll stay here and see to Melissa.”

Obediently, he lifted the latch and stepped out into the October evening. When he’d gone, I looked around at the forlorn little house and sighed. All the bright hopes so quickly dashed.

I was hungry, but there was little to eat. I wondered how they’d gotten this far without cooking. They must have survived on dried meat and apples. No wonder the baby was scrawny. What kind of milk could come of dried meat and apples? I picked bugs out of the meal, mixed up some cornbread, and heated water for tea while it baked. When it was done, I ate it with a dollop of my own peach preserves.

Then I awakened Melissa and watched over while she ate and the water warmed for her bath. I spoke softly, reassuringly, to the girl, who stood in dejected silence, head down, allowing herself to be undressed. I bathed her, washed her hair, put a clean night-gown on her, and sat her in a chair by the fire while I stripped the bed. I scoured the house for clean linen and soon had the bed ready. Taking Melissa by the hand, I led her there without protest.

I sat with her until she fell asleep, then set about getting things ready for the trip. First, I found clothes for the three of them. There wasn’t much clean, but I packed what I could. Then I washed the dishes, banked the fire, put out the lamp, and undressed in the dark.

I lay down beside the sleeping girl, wakeful for some time, struck by the irony of this unaccustomed familiarity with Elias Finley’s life. Time was when I would have been all aflutter at the mention of his name. Now I felt sorry for the helpless, inept creature that he was.

The next morning I dressed, fed the fire, and prepared breakfast before awakening Melissa. She’d slept through the night and awoke looking less gaunt. There were still dark circles under her eyes, but her color was better. She even noticed the house was clean. But it wasn’t until Abby and Elias arrived with Lucy that the young mother even realized the child was gone.

“Abby, did you pack a satchel for yourself?” I asked, mindful of trip preparations. I handed a basket of food and a couple of wool blankets to Elias.

He’d brought up the buggy, pulled by his finest team, which gave me to wonder if his desire to be seen driving fine horses outweighed his concern for his frantic wife and poor neglected baby. I pulled Abby aside.

“I’m not sure Elias grasps the weight of the problem even yet. Don’t let him make light of her condition. Make sure her mother knows it’s serious.”

“Yes’m, I will. You can count on me,” Abby assured me, throwing a look of contempt at Elias as he loaded the satchels in the buggy. When Melissa saw Elias, she shrank visibly, hunched over, and pulled her shawl around her. I helped her into the front seat, where she sat, head down, contemplating her hands. Abby took the baby in back. I made sure everyone was tucked up and warm, then stepped aside as the horses pulled out of the yard, down the Fishertown Road.

When they were out of sight, I went back into the house, gathered the soiled linen, put out the fire, and closed the latch. I walked the mile to Redfield Farm, carrying the bundle of laundry on my back.