Good Fortune (9781416998631) (27 page)

We had been traveling for almost two days. At the first house where we stopped, Daniel, or Pete, wasn't welcome in the home and I couldn't even show my face. Mr. McCarthy said it would be safer if I just stayed hidden. So I remained locked in my coffin until we stopped later that evening. Daniel pulled me out of the carriage and sneaked me into the servants' cabin, where we would stay the night. Mr. McCarthy brought barely enough food for the both of us, apologizing as he left. We began our journey again as the first signs of dawn competed with the waning night.

On what would be the last day of our journey, I had been allowed to escape my hiding place for the last two hours because we had seen no one as we rode down a quiet road. But eventually we heard carriage wheels approaching in the distance.

“Quick, get back down!” But I had already retreated into my hiding place.

As the other carriage neared, I heard Mr. McCarthy whispering to Daniel, though I couldn't catch the words. Not long afterward, Daniel pulled the reins to stop the horses.

“Where you headed, sir?” My heart began pounding with fear as I listened to the stranger speak.

“Dayton,” Mr. McCarthy responded.

“Where you comin' from?”

“Just a bit south of here,” he said just as assuredly.

“Who's this?” The voice sounded testy.

“My servant boy,” Mr. McCarthy said with no hint of nervousness.

“You know, there's a few slave ads out, sir,” another stranger said, joining in the conversation. “On one of them, there's a boy, 'bout this one here's age.” I could feel my heart jump into my mouth! Was this the end of our long, hard journey?

“This is my servant, sir. He's been working for me. I don't know what fugitive you have in your ads, but this here is my servant boy,” Mr. McCarthy repeated, taking on the persona of a man who knew how to keep his servants in their place. I heard one of the strangers grunt sarcastically. There were only two of them, as far as I could tell. I continued listening to their conversation.

“How old is he?” the stranger asked, resuming their line of questioning.

“Around seventeen or eighteen, I assume. He could be twenty,” Mr. McCarthy replied evenly.

“Your master gave you freedom, boy?”

“He doesn't have to answer your questions if I don't tell him to,” Mr. McCarthy said defiantly.

“Excuse me, sir, but I'm talking to this boy here. He'll answer me if he knows what's best for him,” the stranger
answered arrogantly. “Boy, did your master give you your freedom?”

There was a pause that seemed to last an eternity. Our future rested on Daniel's lips. One wrong word or gesture and the men could wreak havoc on us. I could imagine Daniel looking toward Mr. McCarthy for permission to speak. Obviously, Mr. McCarthy granted it.

“Naw, sah, I was born free.” I had expected Daniel's voice to waver, but it was just as strong and direct as Mr. McCarthy's.

“Where's your parents, then?” the stranger spat back.

“My papa got shot, sah, long time ago, an' my mama died at childbirth. She was young, an' Mr. McCarthy here . . .”

Where was Daniel getting all of this? I was amazed at the control and maturity Daniel maintained.

“What's your name, boy?”

“Pete, sah.”

Pete what? In my head, I could hear them asking that, but they never did. Instead, everything was quiet again until they mentioned something about the back of the carriage. I held my breath as I prayed to God I had hidden myself well enough.

“You got anyone else riding with you?”

“No, sir, I don't. But we are in a hurry.”

“What for?”

“My wife, sir. She came down with some sort of fever, God help her, and we had to come all the way up here to Dayton to get that medicine for her. Know it's a small
town, but they should have what we need,” Mr. McCarthy answered.

The silence lasted too long. I waited for the slave hunters to throw the hay from my body and snatch me back into bondage.

Then I heard, “All right, let's go. Be sure to tell us if you hear about any of them runaways, sir, especially those three separate slave gals in the ad. It shouldn't be hard to catch a slave wench.” The strangers laughed at their own words.

“I'll let you know if I do.”

“Good man,” they responded.

I listened with a light heart as the sound of horse hooves disappeared behind me. Just like that, they were gone. We were off again, but this time I stayed under the hay without the agitation I had before. The stuffiness and foul smells didn't seem so bad anymore. We were now headed toward a dream, a dream called freedom.

CHAPTER
 
27 

Q
UICKLY ENOUGH, WE REACHED
D
AYTON, A CITY IN
M
ONTGOMERY
County, Ohio. Mr. McCarthy carefully directed Daniel down streets and through busy crowds. I heard so many people moving about on the streets that I felt certain someone would notice me. But it seemed that no one did.

From what I could hear, this wasn't anything like the country roads or the plantations that we had just left. I could hear other carriages and wagons riding by us frequently, and the loud chatter of people caught me off guard.

We soon arrived at the home of Mr. McCarthy's good friend, the doctor. In the privacy of the back of the doctor's house, Daniel helped me out of the carriage and into the home. Mr. McCarthy and his doctor friend stood waiting for us. If I didn't know any better, I would have sworn the stranger was a slave catcher, because of the way he eyed us; that is, until he opened his mouth to speak. His demeanor changed as he relaxed his gaze, and by the time Mr. McCarthy spoke, the man was smiling.

“This, here, is Dr. Billingsworth,” Mr. McCarthy said.

“Come, sit,” Dr. Billingsworth said to us, gesturing to a small table in the back. His accent was nothing like the
doctor's who came by Masta's place to get drunk and talk about us slave gals. It sounded, rather, like Dr. Billingsworth had studied reading and writing and the spoken word for a long while.

“You won't meet too many men of this kind. Dr. Billingsworth buys slaves, then sets them free.” I stared at him, and he chuckled at my surprised expression. Helping runaways to freedom through hospitality and kindness was one thing, but to buy them and set them free was quite another.

Picking up where Mr. McCarthy left off, Dr. Billingsworth said, “That's right. As soon as you two step foot out of my home, you will be just as free as any free black man and woman. But neither Mr. McCarthy nor I can help you then. In fact, it's vital that this meeting here be immediately forgotten upon your departure, if you understand me.” The two of us nodded with a seriousness which confirmed that we understood.

“There are a few black communities not too far from here. Settle, find jobs, and take every opportunity that arises to become landowners. I suspect some of the townsfolk will provide you with housing until you can handle things on your own. Do you understand?”

I nodded in silence, afraid that if I spoke, this dream would turn to dust and blow away with the wind.

“But first,” Dr. Billingsworth continued, “you two must change your names. As of right now, you're my property until we fill out your free passes.”

Unconsciously, I had expected something like this to take
place. I sat silently, but inside, I shook with anticipation. Dr. Billingsworth pulled out two pieces of paper and placed them on the table. He then proceeded to seat himself across from us. Mr. McCarthy chose to stand by the table.

“Do you remember when you escaped?” he asked.

“Sometime after Christmas, sir,” Daniel answered.

Dr. Billingsworth laughed and shook his head.

“Not anymore,” he said as he scribbled something down on the paper. “Let's start with you,” he said, pointing to me.

“I bought you in November of last year, 1821, from Kentucky and freed you on this day, February 17, 1822.”

1822!
I had no idea I had been running that long.

“But—why November?” I asked.

“Well, now, if I bought you on that day, you could not have still been on your old master's plantation. You could not have escaped when you did. You see?” I nodded, and he winked at me.

“Exactly. Now, next is your name. You can't have the same name, so—”

“Anna, sir,” I said, cutting him off midsentence. He looked up, surprised, holding my determined gaze.

“I want my name to be Anna,” I continued confidently.

“Well then, you, dear, shall be named Anna.” He scribbled the name on the papers and the pass.

“Age unknown.” He said more to himself than to me.

“Sah, I do know my age. I'll be fifteen come springtime.”

He brought a finger to his lips in contemplation. “I find
that not many know that. I'm glad that you do.” He smiled while he rose to retrieve another sheet and then resumed writing. A few minutes later, he began to mumble under his breath, steal a few glances in my direction, and make further notes.

“Somewhere between fourteen and seventeen years of age . . . bushy hair . . . black eyes . . . five feet . . .” He finished scribbling for a few seconds more in silence.

“Well, there's your free pass,” he said, finally holding up one sheet, “and your certificate of registration.” He held up the other. “As of 1807, Ohio legislation brought forth a law requiring Negroes to carry free passes and to register with the county clerk nearest to their settlement.”

I frowned. “So, you the county clerk, then, too?” Dr. Billingsworth smiled a tired smile.

“Some questions, Miss Anna, are better unanswered.” With that, he swiftly brought his pen down upon the page once more.

Daniel was next. Dr. Billingsworth explained to us that he bought Daniel in May of last year from some plantation in Mississippi when he was down there on a trip.

“And your name?” the doctor asked.

Daniel turned to me, his eyes asking for my assistance.

“Um, Joe, maybe?” I said. Daniel frowned, unsatisfied.

“What about Paul . . . or Sebastian?” Daniel said, stumbling in an attempt to find a name, something he had never contemplated before. I shrugged my shoulders.

“Yeah, Sebastian,” he said finally, turning back to the doctor, his voice gaining confidence.

“You sure about that?” Mr. McCarthy, who had been silent the entire time, asked Daniel.

“Well, yessah, I assume Sebastian will do me just right fine.”

“What about our last names, sah?” Dr. Billingsworth looked up and smiled at me.

“Well, since I ‘owned' you last, it would be Billingsworth; that's what it is on these free passes. But you two are now free people. You can decide your own last names.”

“We can decide? But what if people ask us, sah? What we s'pose to say about our plantations, or our mastas or . . .” Questions rushed through my mind.

“Slow down a bit there, miss,” he said.