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“You’re so intelligent—so dignified, and yet your race isn’t known for . . . ”

  His expression darkened again. “Not by whites. Slaves have they code ’bout how to act ’round white folk. We don’t show ourselfs. No sense in that. They jus’ get suspicious. Gets you watched, whipped or sold. Black folks carry their dignity inside. Save it for each other.”

  “But you’ve shown me your dignity.”

  “I trust you.”

  I turned and settled in with my back against his chest. The awkward intimacy satisfied a hunger, even as my brain struggled with inhibition. “Tell me more about your life.”

  “Not much to tell. A slave’s life goes on—one day about like the last. I love horses, and Massa see I have a way with them. So he give me responsibility for his horses. I train ’em, break ’em, breed ’em, tend ’em when they sick. I make Massa plenty of money breeding and training horses.” His speech quickened with pride.

  “That’s what my brother Ben does. He and Elias are partners.” Elias again.

  “I live in the first cabin on the row, closest to the big house with cook ’til I was twenty. Cook, she thump me on the head with a wooden spoon, I get out of line. Massa not nice to me, but not mean either. Missus full of hate, and I know why. It’s not my fault, but I can’t help her. I just stay out of her way.” I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.

  “The girls nice enough. They like to ride, and I keep their horses for them. Groom ’em. Exercise ’em. Massa trust me to pick out good horses for them.” He propped his cheek on the palm of his hand.

  “Massa give me quarters in the stable. Three rooms. Nicer than most slave quarters. Some of them jealous. They know I Massa’s son, but talk is, I ain’t the only one. I don’t know about that. Massa, he never tell no slave nothing.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Frederick Colton.”

  “That’s your name, too, you know.”

  “I guess so. Folks say a free man got to have two names, so I guess I’m Josiah Colton.”

  “When did you get married?”

  “You mean jump the broom? Two year ago. Lettie, she beautiful. Make a man’s loins weak, she so beautiful. I sorry to leave her — long for her every night. Maybe never see her again.” He lifted his hand from his knee and brushed away a tear.

  There it was again—intimacy I’d never shared with another man. The deep emotion—hurt, anguish, longing, only shared willingly with a loved one.

  The awareness frightened me. Abruptly, I stood and moved toward the door, left him sitting on the floor. “I’d better see to dinner. The family’ll be home soon.”

  I hurried down the back stairs to the kitchen, pulled on my boots, and went around to the root cellar for potatoes, carrots and an onion. The cold air on my face wakened me as from a dream, and I breathed so deeply it hurt my lungs. Back in the kitchen, I pared the vegetables for a meat pie, made pastry and rolled it out. I shredded the meat, mixed the vegetables, and added a few spices, covered it with the pastry, and set the dish to bake.

  I worked with supreme effort to keep my thoughts away from the man upstairs. All the while I wrestled with my old angels—anger, jealousy, hatred—and some new ones: fear, desire, lust.

  Chapter 8

  1855

  After dinner, the men retired to the parlor, where a roaring fire warmed the room and those above it. Betsy and I cleaned up the kitchen and talked about the weather. A storm was coming, bright as the morning had been. As we wiped the dishes, I questioned Betsy about what was uppermost in my mind.

  “What happened at Meeting?”

  “Same as always.” Betsy was unforthcoming.

  “And Elias?”

  “He was there, introduced his new wife. People smiled and nodded, and that was that.”

  “Did anyone ask after me?” I prodded.

  “Becky did. She’s worried about you. After all, he is her brother and Ben’s partner.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Oh, Aunt Alice Grainger wanted a recipe of Mother’s. She thought you might have it.”

  The talk was unsatisfactory. I couldn’t conceive of going along as though nothing had happened. Surely, people understood the sky had fallen on my head. Well, maybe it was better if they didn’t. Maybe I could hide it more easily than I’d thought.

  The afternoon passed quietly. Jesse and Nathaniel took the sled down to Uncle Sammy Grainger’s. Will McKitrick and Betsy left soon after dinner for a visit with Mary in Osterburg. Amos fell to snoring by the iron stove in the parlor, and I took up my needlework.

  I thought of Josiah, alone up in Jesse’s room, and, overcoming my shyness over our morning encounter, I called to him.

  “Josiah, come down in the kitchen where it’s warm.”

  He came, smiling, appreciative of the warmth and the company, but watched me carefully.

  ”Sure wish I could get outside,” he mused, standing by the window that looked out toward the creek. “I ain’t never seen so much snow before. Virginny don’t get hardly much snow, and it ain’t never this cold.”

  “You’d better get used to the cold, Josiah. You’re going to have more of it, and snow, too, in Canada.”

  “How far Canada?”

  “Not so far. Only a few hundred miles as the crow flies. But it’ll take some time to get there because the Railroad doesn’t go straight, and there are still dangers along the way.”

  “Wish I could go on now,” he said. “Can’t hardly stand no more of this.”

  “I know it’s hard, staying inside, hiding all the time.”

  “Yes’m. I’m nigh crazy with hiding out. Worry about how I’m gonna do when I get there.”

  “There are Friends there, too, and other free Negroes. Whole communities of them. They’ll help you get settled.”

  “What they do? Farmin’? What they grow in Canada?”

  “No tobacco or cotton. They grow grain—wheat, oats, some corn. They keep animals, gardens, orchards.”

  Josiah smiled. “You think I can get a horse of my own?”

  “Certainly. You’ll probably have more than one. You’ll be settled in and prospering in no time.”

  “Then I find a way to get Lettie.”

  The mention of his wife jarred me. Why? Why shouldn’t he talk about his wife?

  “You will. The Free Blacks have a whole network for helping others get to Canada.”

  Josiah’s face lit up. He was serious most of the time, but his smile, when it came, was simply brilliant. I caught myself thinking of him as a man again but pulled back, frightened by my own vulnerability.

  “Would you like some more bread pudding?”

  “Yes, please, ma’am. You sure good cook.”

  I was flattered. Jesse was the only one who praised my cooking. The others took it for granted.

  “You the rock in this family,” he continued. “You the one they all depend on.”

  Now I was embarrassed. It seem puffed up to think of myself so.

  “I just do what needs to be done,” I protested, dishing out the bread pudding.

  “Where they be without you? When Miss Betsy gone, you be alone with all the work.”

  “They work hard, too, Josiah.”

  “Mr. Jesse and Mr. ’Thaniel need theyselfs a wife.”

  “Well, I’m sure, in due time. That’ll leave me alone to take care of Papa. Then what?”

  There was a sudden stomping on the back porch. Someone had come up on foot! Josiah moved, cat-like, for the stairs. He was up in Jesse’s room before Ben came through the door.

  “Good day, Sister,” he said, brushing snow from his sleeves. “Missed you at Meeting.”

  “Hello, Ben. Yes, I was feeling low.”

  “Wouldn’t have anything to do with my partner, would it?”

  I looked down. “No. No, nothing like that.”

  Why couldn’t I just own up to it? Say ‘yes, as a matter of fact it does’. Why this pretense when both of us knew what Ben said was true? He wasn
’t an enemy. He was my brother. Why couldn’t I be honest with him? There it was: another angel to wrestle. Pride.

  “Well, Becky and I think it was wrong. He should have at least written to you. He had to know you were waiting for him. We all did.”

  His words brought me close to tears again. Turning away, I asked, “Eat a bowl of bread pudding, Ben?”

  “No, thanks. I came over to talk to Pa. Where is he?”

  “Right here.” Amos stood in the parlor doorway in his stocking feet, his gray hair tousled.

  “I’ve got a horse down. Can’t seem to get her up. Could you come over and take a look?”

  Amos nodded and sat down to pull on his boots. Ben watched, still talking about his horse.

  “Where’s Elias? Can’t he give you a hand?” Amos asked.

  Ben looked sidelong at me and colored. “Honeymooning, I expect.”

  Amos nodded. He rose, pulled on his coat, and stepped out with Ben into the January afternoon.

  I stood with my hands pressed against the table behind me, my mind racing. I imagined Elias and Melissa in each other’s arms. The image of the newlyweds, snug and happy in Elias’s little house, making love, made me sick. I stood alone in the kitchen, fighting nausea. Then I remembered the fine wool stockings I’d knitted Elias for Christmas. They were upstairs in my trunk, still wrapped in colored paper from the mercantile in Bedford. I put down my spoon and mounted the stairs.

  “Josiah!” I called.

  His muffled reply told me he was in his hideout. Reaching quickly into the trunk, I retrieved the stockings and crossed the room, ripping away the wrapping. Through the low door, down the steps, I walked resolutely into Jesse’s room where I stopped by the wall under the eaves.

  “Josiah, it’s all right. Ben came over to get Papa to help him with a horse. I have a present for you.”

  He opened the panel and looked out. On my knees beside the hideout, I gave him the stockings.

  “Here. You’ll need these in Canada.”

  Josiah took them. He knew who they were meant for. He’d seen me knitting them in December. His eyes searched my face.

  Then he reached out, took my arms, and gently pulled me into his private world. It was tiny, but surprisingly warm; light from one candle gave it a soft glow. I went willingly, eagerly into his arms. He cradled me there, murmuring softly, “Oh, Annie. Annie. He should not have hurt you so.”

  For the second time that day, I cried softly into his chest. “I hate him, Josiah. I hate him beyond hate.”

  “Hate a good thing to get out, Miss Ann. Let it go. Let it go, now. Scream it out like you did in the barn.”

  He’d heard. Well, so be it. I had nothing left to hide. I screamed into the hard flesh of his shoulder. The strength of his arms rendered me helpless, and I cried. Long, hard sobs, until I was spent, lying weak in Josiah’s arms.

  He took up the corner of a quilt and wiped my tears. I lay against him until I stopped shuddering and drifted toward sleep. I was awakened by his kiss, tentative at first, then softly yearning. When I opened my eyes, I saw a tear in his. Oh, Josiah.

  Our coupling was slow and gentle, full of tenderness and love. Yes, love. Love born of sadness, loss and loneliness, but love more real than any I had known. I gave myself willingly. When it was done, we lay in each other’s arms listening to the wind play against the roof.

  “Josiah?” Softly.

  “Ann?”

  “Whatever else happens, let’s never regret this. No one else will understand how it was.”

  “No regrets. Now or ever,” he promised.

  Sleigh bells in the distance signaled Jesse and Nathaniel’s return. I knew I had time while they unhitched the horses, fed them and put them up for the night.

  I knelt before Josiah and dressed, watching the candle light play on his dark, muscular body. The word magnificent occurred to me. It was not a word a Quaker woman used, but I was glad to have occasion to know what it meant.

  I kissed him lingeringly, gathered my skirts, and crawled out of the hiding place. Josiah reached out and touched my hand as I straightened up and stepped into the room.

  In my own room I brushed back my hair and wiped my face with a cold cloth. But for that, I looked the same in my tiny mirror. Papa didn’t approve of mirrors, but I had one, given to me by Cousin Eva Blackburn. What Papa didn’t know, Papa didn’t know. I studied my face, my eyes, my mouth. Strange how unchanged I was. Then I tucked the mirror away in a drawer, adjusted my skirts and went down to the parlor just as Jesse and Nathaniel entered the kitchen.

  “Where’s Pa?” Jesse asked.

  “Over at Ben’s. He’s got a horse down.”

  “It’s getting dark. I’ll go walk home with him,”

  “I’ll go with you,” Nathaniel offered.

  “Go by the road. The snow’s too deep in the fields. We’ll eat in about an hour, so don’t dawdle.” They were gone again in a moment, and I was alone. I wondered again at the way things went on unchanged.

  Once supper was under way, I gave in to the need to see Josiah one more time. I crept up the stairs to the hideout, where he sat practicing his writing by candlelight. He smiled when I opened the panel.

  “Just one more kiss,” I told him.

  A half hour later I was back in the kitchen, when my brothers and father returned, noisily stomping snow off their boots. The reason for the noise was soon clear; they weren’t alone. The Bedford Constable, Peter Ackroyd, Smith and Weaver Hartley and two strangers followed them in.

  “You can look all you want,” Jesse said loudly. “You won’t find anything.”

  “What?” I asked. “What is this about?”

  “About a slave, Ma’am,” Constable Ackroyd said. “A fugitive slave I hear tell you’re hidin’.”

  My hand went to my mouth. “A slave? Hiding a slave? Who told you that?” As though I didn’t know the Hartleys had something to do with it.

  “Can’t say, Ma’am. These here two are slave catchers from Virginny. Say there’s a three hundred dollar price on that un’s head.”

  The slave catchers were low-looking men. Unclean, unshaven, ragged, and they smelled. I couldn’t help myself. I sneered at the whole company. “Well, it always does come down to money, and this lot looks like they need some. Perhaps for drink!”

  The constable moved around the kitchen, looking for places a man could hide. He poked here and prodded there, looked behind and under, then nodded to Jesse.

  “You the one they say helps ‘em. On that Underground Railroad. You Quakers is a defiant bunch. Let’s see the rest of the house.”

  Jesse led them into the parlor and took his time lighting a lamp. They clumped through the room, the three Redfields silent while the others touched things and pushed things aside. Then they tramped up the front stairs into my room. My heart was running wild. Josiah had to have heard, and Jesse was giving him plenty of time to get safe, but still panic ruled my mind. I heard them move into Betsy’s room and back out. Then down into Nathaniel’s room. The slave catchers were getting surly now.

  “You nigger-lovers think you can fool us, but you can’t. We got ways ’a knowin’ about you,” one of them growled.

  I could hear them above me now, eight men, standing in Jesse’s little room while Josiah cowered behind the false wall. They stood around for eternal minutes. I heard furniture moved, bumped against the wall. Fear caught me anew, and I pumped water into a basin to distract myself. The racket of the pump outdid the pounding of my heart.

  They clumped down the back stairs, Jesse leading with the lamp, Amos and Nathaniel following our ‘guests’.

  “Now the barn,” the constable growled. It was a cold night, and this was hateful duty. Whether he was for or against slavery, he had to pursue runaways and co-operate with slave catchers because of that miserable Fugitive Slave Law.

  “Sure,” Jesse obliged. “Let me get my coat.”

  In a half hour, when my father and brothers returned, I parted the kitchen curtain
s and watched three shadowy figures ride out of the dooryard. Two others turned down over the hill on foot. They disappeared into the night, but I was haunted by the fear that they would turn around and ask for another look. Jesse stood in the shadows behind me.

  “They’ll be back,” he said. “Maybe tonight. We’ve got work to do.” I awaited his instructions.

  “Wait a while after supper. Then take Josiah over the fields to Ben’s. Watch out for the Hartleys. ”

  “What if the constable comes back and I’m not here?”

  “We’ll tell him it’s Rebecca’s time, and you got called to care for her. The snow’s getting deep, so follow Ben and Pa’s tracks across the field.”

  Two hours later, Josiah and I, wrapped in warm coats, stepped out into the January night. There was no moon, and, grateful for the darkness, we held onto each other and trudged through the deep snow in silence. We watched warily for any sign of the Hartleys or their slave catching friends. Dimly lit, Ben’s house looked as though no one was home when we approached. I knocked softly and tried the door. It opened, and we entered.

  Ben, sitting at the table, rose when he saw the situation. “What do you need?” he asked.

  “Shelter for the night. Jesse will do something else tomorrow.”