Redfield Farm: A Novel of the Underground Railroad (3 page)

Some of the Hartleys always showed up, looking for a free meal for little labor. Pru’s brothers all had names for trades: Smith, Weaver, Miller, Cooper and Sawyer, and the sisters all had names like Faith, Charity, Honesty and Truth. Jesse called them the virtue sisters. Said the whole family ought to live up to their names instead of always looking around for something to steal. I didn’t like it when the Hartleys showed up. Especially Pru. Her eyes followed me wherever I went. Nothing I did escaped her notice.

The chance to get together with family and friends balanced the heavy toil. At haying, Ben and Rebecca were the butt of many a good natured joke, but they just looked at each other and smiled. I took advantage of such gatherings for the chance to be near Elias Finley. I was always first to go round with a bucket and dipper to offer a drink to the workers, and I saw to it that Elias got his share of whatever was being served—and a double helping of shortcake, pie or cobbler for dessert.

Elias understood my intentions and discouraged me not at all. He was just twenty-one, hard working and serious. Not silly or dumb like Jesse could be at times. A little shy perhaps, and slow to move, but to my mind, a fine catch. I was careful not to let my feelings show, and most folks barely noticed, but Pru Hartley got that knowing look in her eyes when she saw us together.

Ben’s wedding day dawned warm and sunny at the end of June. The hay was in, and there was rest from the heavy labor. Jesse acknowledged this to Ben with a wink. Ben reddened.

I’d sewn him a wedding shirt that he wore under his new grey suit, made by a tailor from Menallen Monthly Meeting. I thought he was handsome without being prideful, tall and slender, with thick brown hair and friendly blue eyes.

He rode to the meeting house on Webster, his fine black riding horse. The family followed in the wagon. At Dunning’s Creek Meeting, we met the Finley family, mother and children in a sturdy wagon and Rebecca seated sideways behind her father on his best horse. She, too, seemed beautiful to me. Red-haired and brown-eyed, her face was young and alive. I scanned the crowded wagon for Elias. Then I saw him riding up behind on a spirited chestnut stallion. It did make my heart flutter to see him sitting tall on such a fine animal.

The Meeting House was cold, damp, and smelled of old wood in spite of the fine weather. At the end of the Monthly Meeting, Ben and Rebecca stood before the congregation, hands clasped, looking shy and uncertain. Ben vowed to “take this, my friend, Rebecca Finley, to be my wife, promising with the Lord’s assistance to be unto her a loving and faithful husband until death separate us.” Rebecca’s vows were accented by a cough and the creaking of wooden benches. The couple then signed the certificate, first the groom, then the bride, using her married name: Benjamin Redfield—Rebecca Redfield.

After their signatures came those of all who attended, family members signing on the right. The paper was stiff and the pen scratchy. I signed below Elias Finley: Ann Redfield—briefly allowing myself to dream that someday I would be writing Ann Finley—then I handed the pen to Rachel.

The celebration at the Finley home was joyful as only a Quaker celebration could be: no music, no dancing, no drinking, no loud or unseemly conduct, but food, goodwill and fellowship in abundance. Ben was attentive to his bride, forsaking all of the “horse talk” and quietly accepting the congratulations of Friends.

Jesse and Elias were not quite so staid. Elias fell to bragging about his chestnut stallion, and Jesse never could let a challenge go by. They were soon arranging a race, discreetly away from the wedding celebration but known to all but the elders of the company, who would have cast a stern eye on such goings on.

Jesse, Elias and most of the young men drifted off in the direction of Dunning’s Creek, where there was a great flat field with a quarter mile track down one side, known among the youth of the community as “Saratoga.” Horse races, though strongly frowned upon by our elders, were often held accomplished here.

Jesse had no horse of his own, but that slowed him down not a whit. If Elias could brag, he, Jesse, was determined to “slow him down to a walk.” Ben’s horse, Webster, stood patiently by, grazing, awaiting his master. Jesse quietly took hold of his bridle and led him off some distance before mounting. Elias cantered casually ahead. They were followed, in ones and twos, by the unmarried young men of Dunning’s Creek Meeting, bound for “Saratoga,” bent on having some fun.

In those days I missed little that concerned my brother and nothing that concerned Elias Finley, so I took due note of their departure. I loved a good race myself, unseemly as that might have been, but I couldn’t conceive of a good excuse to slip away. So I stayed at the party, refilling the dishes and helping the Finley girls (there were four others besides Rebecca) keep the food coming.

I saw Smith, Weaver and Miller Hartley, who had missed the wedding but not the feed, wander off after the young men. They were quick to gamble, so I was sure they’d be taking bets. As I brought out another platter of chicken, I noticed Pru standing near the barn, watching the goings on. Gathering gossip, I’d bet. She smiled and waved almost gaily to me, though I couldn’t see what she was so joyful about. She wasn’t even invited.

About forty-five minutes later, quietly, almost abashedly, the boys were back, but there was no shouting, taunting or celebrating. Something had happened. I watched Jesse whisper to Uncle Sammy Grainger. I couldn’t hear what he said, but I knew it was serious.

I stood by, waiting for Jesse to notice me, but he didn’t. He went from Uncle Sammy to Papa, spoke softly to him, and walked back to where the horses were tied. Ben’s Webster was the only riding horse in the family, and he would be needed to carry the bridal couple home, so Jesse climbed into Papa’s wagon and drove the team quietly out of the yard. Consumed with curiosity, I hitched up my skirts and ran alongside.

“Jesse! What is it?”

“Go back to the wedding, Ann. This doesn’t concern you.”

His firm countenance discouraged me, so I slowed my pace and turned back toward the party. As I walked in front of the tethered horses, Elias Finley stepped down from his mount and flipped the reins over the rail fence.

I knew of it. There was a lot of talk at meeting about helping escaped slaves. I knew the Friends were involved, but speech was guarded and specifics kept secret. They’d say arrivals were expected on third day or fourth day. Help was needed—someone to make a delivery to Johnstown or Claysburg. Nothing more. So while I knew of it, my knowledge was vague.

“What has Jesse to do with that?” I asked.

Elias shrugged. “Hey, got any more of that sour cream pie?” he asked.

Happy to be the focus of his attention, I led him off in the direction of the dessert table, so delighted to have him all to myself, I was tongue-tied.

“You’re pretty quiet today,” he smiled as he finished his pie, taking my hand in his. I drew my hand away, afraid that Papa might see and consider it unseemly.

“So you and Ben are going to be partners,” I said, finding my tongue.

Elias smiled. “That we are.” He looked around at the crowded party. “Would you like to take a walk?”

My heart fluttered. Of course I’d like to take a walk. We ambled out the lane toward Enos Conley’s woodlot and sat down under a budding oak tree. I watched the gentle breeze ruffle Elias’s hair, sending a thrill through me. I spent most of my time with him trying in vain to think of something to say, but Elias seemed to understand and kept up a stream of comfortable conversation.

“We plan to use my working pair to start a breeding line. Ben will be the caretaker and trainer, and I’ll be the breeder and seller,” he explained.

Elias was so absorbed in the plans for his business ventures, he talked steadily for about an hour. I listened and exclaimed appropriately, truly swept away by the possibilities.

As the shadows lengthened, he rose and helped me to my feet. Taking my hand in both of his, he looked into my eyes.

“I hope this venture with Ben leads to success,” he said, “so I can follow in his footsteps in more ways than one.” Not a specific promise, but all the assurance I needed to set my mind to planning.

“Oh, Elias. I hope so, too.”

As we returned to the wedding party, he tucked my hand over his arm. I basked in the joy of being seen as the object of Elias’s affection, and hoped that someday I would play Rebecca’s role and Elias Ben’s. Our keeping company gave rise among the wedding guests to speculation about another “Redfield-Finley” match, even though we were most likely years from it.

As we rejoined the wedding party I saw Pru Hartley walking off through the woodlot, bold as brass, with a plateful of ham and chicken. Mrs. Finley’d likely never see the plate again, either.

We Redfields hitched a ride home with Uncle Sammy Grainger, since Ben was otherwise occupied, and Jesse wasn’t back yet with the wagon. Evening was upon us and the talk was quiet and sparse. There was no sign of Jesse at the house. Everyone else was bent on retiring, so they didn’t notice me slip out the back door and across the yard to the barn. It was dark, but I could hear the heavy breathing of the horses, so I knew Jesse was back. But where was he?

As I turned to leave, I heard a sound like someone bumping his head on a beam. Thunk. It came from the hay mow, so I slipped across to the ladder and called. “Jesse?”

No reply. But I was sure I’d heard it. I set my foot on the ladder and began to climb. As my head came level with the hay mow floor, I stopped, at eye level with Jesse’s boots.

“Don’t come up here, Ann,” he said firmly.

I couldn’t keep myself from looking around. The mow was almost pitch black, but I sensed a presence. There was someone else there besides Jesse and me. “Jesse, what is it?”

I backed down the ladder, turned and ran toward the doorway, Jesse’s rejection stinging my pride. My heart raced in my chest. Jesse was involved with the Underground Railroad! The realization overwhelmed my other thoughts. I knew it. He was hiding those slaves they’d discovered down by the creek. Pride mingled with fear in my heart. Oh, Jesse. Be careful.

I quietly climbed the stairs and stepped past Nathaniel, already snoring in his bed. In the girls’ room I undressed in the dark. Betsy was asleep, but Rachel whispered, “What were you doing outside, Ann? Mooning over Elias Finley?”

“Yes, something like that.”

The night was quiet, and I drifted in and out of a light sleep. I heard the wagon pull out of the barn after midnight. I heard it return before dawn. At first light, I got up and dressed, quietly so as not to wake the family. I noted Jesse’s empty bed and crept down the stairs. Papa snored loudly in his bed in the back corner of the kitchen. I lifted the latch and stepped out into the morning dew.

Hurrying toward the barn, I vowed to find out what Jesse was up to—how deeply he was involved. This was too dangerous. Let others take the risks. Not my brother.

S
o Jesse was in it.
He worked hard on the farm—made sure he put in his fair share—but his mind was someplace else. Thinking how he could fight the abomination. I worried for him, but he kept his own counsel. Didn’t want any of the rest of us involved. That chafed me. I wanted to know and do and help. Still, life went on as usual at Redfield Farm—to outward appearances, at least.

Amos was not a man given to change. He moved slowly, thought much and acted with deliberation. So it came as a surprise when, one evening in 1854, he announced at dinner that he intended to “build on.”

“Oh.” Jesse understood that meant him. “I see.” It was no secret that Jesse thought about going west, as so many from the Quaker settlement had done. He longed to see what was out there, beyond the Alleghenies.

I smiled to myself, knowing full well Jesse’s need to move on. That was what had so far prevented him from settling down and taking a wife, even at twenty-eight. If Jesse followed his dreams west, maybe, just maybe, Elias Finley and I could marry and live in a fine new house. Heaven knew, Rachel and Betsy would marry any day. Will McKitrick fairly fell over himself to be at Betsy’s side after Meeting, so an announcement would likely come soon. There were suitors aplenty for Rachel, too. She could take her pick if she ever settled down enough to decide. That was Rachel. Too busy being Rachel.