Passing To Freedom, Chapter 53: Real Rails…
Working title: Passing to Freedom: Willow and Weems …
a historical novel by D. Antonia Jones, aka Nia or Ni, fka Shira Destinie Jones
Chapter 53
I had urged Mr. Loving’s horse on, fearing that the Senator would turn around and come back for us at any moment. Both of our injuries made it excruciating. With one good arm between the two of us, my right wrist and Anna’s left arm both broken, I wrapped my left arm around her to hold her close to me. She used her right to hold the reins, and we let our horse have his head, using our legs to hold on to both the saddle, and to each other.
Warm tears dripped down on to my left arm, and I knew that Anna was also weeping for our little Tilly, gone far too young. We had no time to mourn her as we fled, nor to mourn for Captain, nor for Courageous Red, also gone too young. Their deaths will not be in vain.
We fled along that path, riding mechanically, without thinking. I suddenly remembered what Old Mary had done when Tilly and I had been spotted along the road to Shrewsbury, and I tapped Anna’s belly with my left hand.
“Yes, Willow dear?”
“I think we should turn off the path here, to our left.”
Anna nodded. Someone would have heard the gunshots. I hoped that they would follow the trail back to find the men responsible for shooting Courageous Red down in cold blood, an act that was undeniably murder in any state, because he was a white man. That should lead the constables to prioritize what was left of Smith’s men, and perhaps even the Senator, rather than looking for us. Tilly, as a slave, was another matter.
No charges but that of property destruction could be leveled for her death, and that only by the now long gone Mr. Tibbet. That was now Farmer Brown’s problem. Without Tilly to bargain with, he would once again be a fugitive, I supposed, but no longer a threat to us.
I hated to have to leave poor Tilly’s mangled body behind, but there was nothing we could do for it. I had heard the Senator’s orders to Mr. Loving, finally understanding the words he had shouted over his shoulder as he had run to chase after Charles Price.
In spite of my warning that he would be ruined should he take me back into his custody, he had chosen to have Mr. Loving bring me back to his rooms at the hotel where he was lodging in Philadelphia. Mr. Loving, fortunately being a far more astute man than the Senator, wanted nothing to do with murder charges, not to mention the insurance fraud and credit problems, that awaited the Senator in Virginia. And I also knew that he did not want to be forced to carry out the punishments which the head overseer Smith would have meted out. Smith having been dismissed, that task now fell to Loving. So he had let us go. And given us the Senator’s horse. Donating this animal to the cause was poetic justice.
The next question was how to find those Porters with whom we were meant to meet up later in the day, after Courageous Red had turned back to go home. The pain in my wrist, and I imagined also in Anna’s arm, was starting to become too difficult to ignore, and so I sat back and pulled a bit on the left rein quickly, before settling my arm more tightly around Anna’s waist. She got the idea, and sat back, too, as she pulled on the bit lightly, and our horse seemed happy enough to come to a walk.
We both looked around as we walked, and I wondered how it was that we had neither seen nor heard anyone yet. Those gunshots must have been heard for miles, and these woods ought to be filled with men investigating the reason, so close to the city.
“Don’t fret, Willow,” Anna squeezed my hand, “we are to be met very soon, by our next Porter, with helpers.”
Just then, we saw our next Conductor.
We went to a Quaker farm in Pennsylvania near the New Jersey border, where we joyously met up again with Dr. H. Now, though living further north, and thus a bit safer than they had been in Maryland, they were still in a delicate position.
They did, however, endow us with even more clothing, papers, money from their insurance settlement upon the house in Maryland, and even a lovely set of pearls, from Mrs. H. More astonishingly for me, the doctor’s wife now gave me her explicit blessing to carry on our Peculiar Ruse, with Anna acting as my body servant if we should be stopped.
A very kind white farmer volunteered to drive our carriage as far as New York City, where we were to meet up with some old friends, and board a train. Brutus and his family had decided to move to Toronto, Canada, and so we would all be able to travel together, if rather loosely. I would travel separately, passing for a white woman of means, thus riding in “the Ladies’ car” or first class, where I was less likely, so far North, to be challenged.
I had been provided with a cover story, and escorted by a white gentleman, pretending to be a distant cousin of mine, and who also pretended to have hired Anna, Brutus, his wife, and two of their children, to act as porters and attendants to both of us in our journey on this marvelous train ride.
I should say that it was marvelous for me, being allowed to sit in the car designated for first class ladies, which allowed only men accompanied by a lady to enter the car. My poor dear Anna, who had forged Free Papers, Brutus, and his family, had to suffer the indignities of riding in the colored section, which they told me was worth it if only to be able to escape more quickly than had ever been possible before, on this new train line directly up to English speaking British North America.
We saw each other whenever the train stopped for water or fuel, and at the few stops we made to allow everyone to get out and stretch their legs, for the journey was only one or two days, and discretion was of the utmost importance. Until we crossed the Niagara Suspension Bridge.
When we finally arrived in Toronto, being met by a kind representative of The Acting Vigilance Committee, we were welcomed to British North America as free residents. Upon hearing these words, Anna and I exchanged a look of gratitude. Then, we set about the task of finding work, making a living, and building a home.
We were finally free.
End of ActIII, draft 3, Passing To Freedom: W & W
The End
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