Storm Clouds Rolling In Page 33

  I am sending you some information I have recently acquired. After careful inquiry I have discovered the Pennsylvania School of Medicine is not open to women at this time. Don’t lose heart, however. There is another institution that would welcome you - the Female Medical College of Pennsylvania. I wish I had time to write the brave stories of women like Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, Dr. Emily Blackwell, and Dr. Harriet Hunt. Their pioneering efforts have begun to swing the doors of the medical profession open to women. True, it is still a mighty battle, but you have warriors who have gone before. It can be done! I know you have what it takes to add your name to the list of women who have fought for their dreams. From one dreamer to another... Live each day as if you are making history. You probably are!

  I fear for what is happening in our country. As the summer continues, the political battle rages hotter. I am almost certain Lincoln will win. Most Northerners are convinced the South’s threats to secede are nothing but empty words. I remember your words on the balcony. I fear you are right.

  Circumstances keep us apart for now, but however slow the mail system, it is still a way to stay connected and in touch. I would love to know what is going on in your life - what you are thinking - feeling. Please feel free to write me.

  God Bless You!

  Aunt Abby

  Carrie raised a hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. Then she tucked the brochure in her pocket. She would read it later. The arrival of Aunt Abby’s letter couldn’t have been better timing. Her words were like fresh spring air to her assaulted senses. She had begun to lose sight of the fact there was a whole world out there. Her very existence centered around her mother’s bedside. Today was the first day she had thought about the political situation in the country since she had arrived home. Abby’s letter was a hand of friendship reaching out to connect her to someone who believed in her.

  Carrie stayed out on the porch for a long time. Gradually, the time alone and the beauty of the day released her from the self-imposed prison she had erected. Slowly, it dawned on her that she had been laboring under the belief her mother’s illness was her fault. If she had been home being a good plantation owner’s daughter like she was supposed to, she would have been here when her mother had gotten so sick. She would have been able to control the fever and it would not have ravaged her mother’s body so severely. Abby’s words reached across the miles and somehow made her realize it was not her fault. It was no one’s fault. It had simply happened. Carrie leaned back with a sigh. She would do everything she could to make her mother well, but she would no longer do it with the burden of guilt.

  “Can I get you something, Miss Carrie?”

  Carrie looked up with a smile. “Yes, thank you, Sam. Could I please have some cold lemonade? Some bread and cold chicken would be wonderful, as well.”

  Sam’s face almost split with his wide grin. “You got the light back in your eyes, Miss Carrie. I sure be glad to see it. That must have been a real good letter.”

  Carrie nodded. “It was a good letter from a very good friend,” she said softly.

  She was still moving gently in the swing when her father climbed heavily up the stairs to join her. She moved over to make room for him.

  “I’m glad to see you outside, Carrie. How is your mother?”

  “She’s resting. Other than that, she is the same. She is still very weak and has very little appetite. It’s been days since her fever has been high, but she constantly runs a low fever, and she still says her head hurts.”

  Thomas sighed. “I know you’re doing everything you can.”

  Carrie nodded. “I’m going to go down and visit Sarah in the Quarters. None of the medicines sent from the doctors in town seem to be doing any good.”

  “You think old Sarah can help?” Her father’s tone was skeptical.

  Carrie shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m willing to try anything. Slaves know remedies that I’ve never heard of. A lot of them work.” She tried to sound hopeful.

  Thomas nodded and lapsed into deep thought. His face was creased with deep lines as he stared out over the plantation. Carrie watched Granite as he grazed in the field. She had not been on him since she had been home. She hadn’t even been near him. It wasn’t just that she couldn’t get away to ride him. Being in the stables reminded her that Miles was no longer there. She missed the man who had taught her so much.

  “Adams hasn’t found the escaped slaves,” her father said abruptly. Carrie remained silent. “Those slaves are worth close to nine thousand dollars.” Thomas shook his head. “Slave hunters are on their trail but they keep missing them,” he said bitterly, and then looked at Carrie. “I still can’t believe Miles ran away. Why, he’s lived here all his life. I thought he was happy running the stables. Horses have always been his life. Why would he run away?” His tone reflected his complete bewilderment.

  Carrie looked at her father. She had grown to accept that her father honestly thought slavery was the best thing for blacks. She couldn’t say she agreed with him, but her love for him had in no way diminished. “Maybe being free was more important to him,” she said softly.

  Thomas shook his head. “What will freedom do for him?” he protested. “He’ll probably never have another horse to care for. He’ll live somewhere barely scraping by and be looking over his shoulder for slave hunters the rest of his life!”

  Carrie said nothing more. She knew it would do no good. She just looked at her father.

  “What’s wrong with you, Carrie? Did you get hooked up with some of those abolitionists while you were in Philadelphia? You’ve been different ever since you got home. You don’t even seem sorry that Miles and the other slaves are gone!” he said angrily.

  “I’m sorry you think I seem different, Father,” Carrie said softly. “I miss Miles and the others very much. I am sorry they are gone.” She didn’t add that she hoped they wouldn’t be caught. She paused, trying to decide how to answer his other questions. Sam saved her.

  “Miss Carrie. Your mama be calling you.”

  “Thank you, Sam.” Rising, she breathed a sigh of relief and hurried into the house. Sooner or later she would have to decide completely where she stood. But not now. There was too much else going on.

  Jamison opened the front door slightly and peered out into the night. If all was as he hoped, this would be his last night on the road before he passed the slaves off to another conductor in Philadelphia. The last month was beginning to tell on him. It had been full of close calls as Adams and his two hired slave hunters had dogged their trail. He had managed to stay just one step ahead of them, but he was tired and he was sure his business was suffering from his extended absence. He had known the risks when he started, but he would be glad to pass the slaves off to someone else. At the same time, he knew he would miss them. He had grown genuinely fond of his brave, uncomplaining charges - especially Miles. The man was thoughtful and intelligent. Time and time again he had helped put their suffering into perspective for the other slaves. He always ended with, “We gonna be free. Ain’t nothing mean more than that!” Many was the time it had bolstered Jamison’s spirits as well.

  Satisfied no one lurked outside, he shut the door and turned to the only other inhabitant of the house. “I’m moving them tonight.”

  Cartwright nodded. “You only have thirty more miles. I believe you can make it tonight if you push hard.” Anson Cartwright was used to these late night moves. His house had been a station for the Underground Railroad for ten years. It was secluded enough that people rarely visited. His barn had housed hundreds of slaves making their way to freedom. By day he worked the lumber mill. By night he assisted slaves intent on escaping their tyranny.

  Jamison moved over to the table where the other man stood. “Thank you, Cartwright. You’ve been a godsend.” Jamison had planned on being at Cartwright’s house for just one night. They had been holed up here for six. Messages had been passed along warning of the presence of hostile men. He was sure they referred to Adams and whoever
he had with him. He would not move the slaves until he was sure it was safe. Word had come that day saying the men had moved on.

  “You realize Adams and his men have probably gone onto Philadelphia, don’t you?” Cartwright asked, puffing thoughtfully on a pipe.

  Jamison shrugged carelessly. “Getting them to Philadelphia is my worry. Once I’m there, I’m not concerned. I know that city like the back of my hand. There are countless places to hide run-away slaves. Those country yokels don’t stand a chance!” He smiled as if he relished the idea of a good contest. Then he sobered. “Good-bye Cartwright. I hope I see you again sometime.” He shook his hand firmly, opened the door, slipped out, and then stopped to listened for several long moments. When nothing but silence met his ears, he headed toward the barn.

  Miles was waiting for him just inside the door. Jamison nodded at him. Without a word, Miles disappeared into the shadows. Moments later the other seven fugitives were standing next to him. They all looked worn, but the light of freedom still shone brightly in their eyes. Not once had they thought of turning back.

  “The wagon is behind the barn,” Jamison whispered.

  The fugitives nodded. They knew what to do. Silently, they filed from the barn and took their positions under the hay. The huge mound had served them well. Miles led the horses from the barn and quickly harnessed them to the wagon. Then, he too, crawled under the hay.

  Jamison had just taken his place on the seat and picked up the reins when he heard the pounding of hooves coming up the road. He froze on the seat, his mind racing.

  Cartwright appeared at his side. “Into the woods. This doesn’t sound good.”

  Jamison vaulted from his seat and ran to the back of the wagon. “Everybody out!” he commanded in a low voice. The pounding drew closer as the wagon emptied and he found himself staring into eight sets of frightened eyes. There was no time for explanations. “Follow me.” He turned and ran for the woods.

  Once they were all concealed, he crept back to see what was happening. Cartwright emerged from the barn when three men rode up on horseback. “Can I help you gentleman?” he asked calmly.

  Adams stared down at the fully dressed man. “Awful late to be out working in your barn,” he sneered.

  Cartwright stared back at him. “Awful late to be calling on folks,” he responded evenly.

  Adams cursed and then swung from his saddle. His wiry form seemed small next to Cartwright’s bulk. “I hear you been hiding some slaves, Cartwright.”

  Cartwright gave a short laugh. “That can be dangerous business nowadays.”

  Martin, the older of the two slave hunters, snickered. “Real dangerous business, Cartwright. The courts don’t think none too highly of your activities. Come to think of it - I don’t either.” He fingered his pistol meaningfully.

  Cartwright’s voice hardened. “I wouldn’t be making accusations if I were you, mister. You won’t find any fugitive slaves on my property and I don’t appreciate your tone.”

  Adams moved around him arrogantly and peered into his barn. “Mind if we look around in your barn?”

  “I don’t reckon you’ve got any business in my barn. I suggest you boys just be moving on.”

  Martin swung from his horse slowly and walked over to Cartwright. With a menacing grin, he raised his pistol suddenly and held it to his head. “It’s been a long month for me, mister. I ain’t in the mood for no games. I got me eight niggers to catch and then I can go home. You catch my meaning?”

  Cartwright shrugged his shoulders. “Go ahead and take a look. You won’t be finding anything.”

  Jamison slunk back further into the shadows as Adams stared toward the woods. He was thankful for the rain that had fallen earlier that evening. Wet sticks didn’t crack as easily as dry ones did.

  Adams emerged from the barn just as Martin walked around the back. “There ain’t no slaves in that barn.”

  “Well looky here!” Martin exclaimed. “What’s this wagon doing behind your barn, Cartwright?”

  “Just got back from hauling a load of hay,” Cartwright responded casually. “I hadn’t had time to unhitch the horses and put them away.”

  “This hay ain’t even wet,” Martin said in a hard voice.

  “I put my wagon in a neighbor’s barn during the rain,” Cartwright said sarcastically. “How else do you think it stayed dry?”

  Martin flushed with anger. “Look Cartwright. I know you’re part of that Underground Railroad. If there are any slaves here I intend to find them. And when I do, you’re going to get the same treatment they do. Nigger-lovers don’t mean scum to me.”

  “Like I already said - you won’t find any slaves here,” Cartwright snapped.

  Martin pushed by him and stalked back to the wagon. Pulling out his whip he cracked it over and over into the wagon. Wisps of hay flew through the air as the wicked tip of the instrument slashed through it. Once he had satisfied his curiosity and his anger, he turned from the wagon with a scowl.

  Adams emerged from the house. “The slaves ain’t in here, either.” Frustration and anger oozed from his words.

  Martin cursed and turned to stare into the dark woods. “They’re out there in the woods,” he said coldly. He whipped out his pistol and fired several shots into the thick undergrowth. “That should at least make them wet their pants!” he said with a harsh laugh. Then he wheeled on Cartwright. “Be glad we don’t have our dogs. Or I’m pretty sure there would soon be eight caught niggers.” He glared at Cartwright, then swung up onto his horse. “I’ll be back. And one of these days I’m going to catch you with some niggers. Then you’re going to wish you’d never gotten involved with the Underground Railroad!”

  Cursing loudly, the 3 men galloped back down the dark road. Cartwright raised his hand toward the woods and then disappeared into his house.

  Jamison had seen enough. Cartwright had done all he could. Using the wagon again was out of the question. Adams was smart enough to wait at the end of the drive until he tried to move the slaves. He turned and moved quietly into the woods. Within minutes, he found the fugitives huddled behind some large oaks. He lowered himself next to them. “We’re on our own now,” he said firmly. “We’ll have to make it to Philadelphia on foot. It isn’t that far. It will take us a few days but we can do it.”

  The somber eyes looking back at him never wavered. Miles stood. “Let’s get to it, then. We’s going to be free!”

  Carrie and Rose made their way down the path to the Slave Quarters. It was their first time alone together since Carrie had returned from Philadelphia. It was Sunday, and Thomas was stationed by his wife’s bed. He knew where to find her if Abigail took a turn for the worse.

  “Sarah! It’s so good to see you again.” Carrie moved forward to give the old woman a hug.

  “Welcome, Miss Carrie. You be a sight for sore eyes. How’s your mama?”

  Carrie frowned. “I’m worried, Sarah. Nothing I do seems to make any difference. She’s not getting any worse, but she’s not getting any better either.”

  “You thinkin’ that fever done burned the life out of her?”

  Carrie smiled slightly. Sarah always knew what she was thinking. She nodded. “I’ve read about that happening. The fever wears down the body and then it just doesn’t seem to be able to come back.” She paused, “I’ve come to ask for your help, Sarah.”

  Sarah watched her closely. “Go on, child.”

  “I know there are remedies the black people use. Ones I have never heard of. Could they help my mama?” She leaned forward and fixed her eyes on Sarah.

  Sarah nodded slowly. “They couldn’t hurt none, Miss Carrie. Your mama was awful sick,” she said thoughtfully, “but there ain’t no way to know unless we try.”

  “You’ll teach me what they are?” Carrie asked hopefully.”

  “Yessum, Miss Carrie. I’ll teach you. You be here tomorrow morning ‘fore the sun comes up. And don’t wear no fancy clothes. I’d hate for you to ruin them.”

  Carrie
was down at Sarah’s cabin as soon as the eastern sky had begun to glow softly. Sarah was already waiting outside for her. She handed her a coarse cloth bag and moved toward the woods. Carrie followed quietly.

  “Rose be with your Mama?” Carrie nodded. Satisfied, Sarah continued her plunge into the woods. They walked for several minutes before Sarah stopped and motioned for Carrie to join her on a log. Carrie sat down. She had learned long ago not to question Sarah’s ways. She would explain herself when she was good and ready.

  “There be some things you need to know before we keep going,” she started. “Old Sarah is going to teach you the magic of the plants that grow in the earth. God didn’t put his people on the earth without givin’ them some ways to take care of what ails them. My mama taught me the magic. Her mama taught her. The magic gets passed down. The plants here be diff’rent din the ones in Africa but they’s all got magic. You just got to learn it.”

  “Who taught you the plants here in Virginia?” Carrie asked.

  “You wouldn’t be remembering Betsy cuz you was just a little girl when she died,” Sarah replied. “She lived here on your daddy’s plantation for all her life. She took me under her wing when I’s first got here. She knew the magic better din anyone else. She done taught me.”

  “Does Rose know the magic?”

  Sarah frowned and shook her head. “She knows a little, but she seems to think she don’t need to know it. She puts a lot of stock in readin’ and books. Not that they ain’t important,” she hastened to add, “but she’s letting go of somethin’ rich. I always figured God wants us to use whatever we got to use. If we find somethin’ new, it don’t mean the old ain’t good no more. It just means that the new makes the old better. All of it is still good. And sometimes the new ain’t as good as the old. If you throw the old out - you ain’t got nothin’!”

  Carrie nodded. As usual the old woman made good sense. “I want to learn the magic, Sarah.”