Chasing Freedom (7 page)

Twelve

A
FRIGID COLD SWALLOWED UP THE COOL AUTUMN
weather. The lakes froze as hard as iron. Snow was in the air. Everywhere the hustle and bustle in Birchtown heightened as the settlers prepared for the long winter. They were hoarding everything they could get, from heavy clothing, especially coats that could substitute for warm blankets, to food: flour, corn, molasses, potatoes and salt meat or fish, as well as ammunition and firewood.

It was early evening, the second Friday in November. The cold crept into the cabin through cracks and openings forcing the lumping on of heavy sweaters. The canvas window coverings fluttered from the draft. Sarah sat bundled in a blanket sewing the ties on an apron she made from scraps. The cabin filled with stinging smoke as Grandmother stoked the slow fire and added two blocks of dry wood to get it blazing. She checked the partridges bubbling in the kettle over the fire pit and set about preparing potatoes and carrots for the pot. She was thinking about the long winter ahead and with such scarcity how they would make it through. The heavy rapping on the door startled her.

Grandmother opened the door to a brisk wind and a tall man in a Pioneer jacket with a stuffed black satchel spread across his chest. She examined the stranger from head to toe. She was taken aback at first, cautious, and then she rolled out a loud turkey chuckle followed by a deafening squeal. “Sweet chariots. Is that you Fortune?” she shrieked. “Can it really be you, Fortune Isaiah Redmond? Come in. Come in.” She grabbed the man and pulled him into her chest with a hard thrust, holding him so close he could barely breathe. Then the tears came, rolling, rolling down her cheeks and into his coat.

Sarah dropped the apron and turned to the door. Every memorable detail floated back—the earthy-brown skin, the tight curl of black hair, the moon-shaped scar on his left cheek. He was lean and drawn, but there was no mistaking his crooked smile. She ran and threw her arms around him.

The three entangled in a ball of confusion, Lydia with her arms wrapped around Fortune from the front and Sarah from behind. All were delirious and talking at once. They wept with no let-up until Fortune pulled them away and wiped their eyes with his hands. He was lost for words at first. When he came to himself, he said, “This is a day of miracles. Yes it is.”

“Oh, my, I can't believe my eyes. I never dreamed this day would come. I never dared dream. The Lord is good.” Lydia sat at the table now, holding her head in her hands. “There can't be anything better than seeing you, Fortune, except maybe seeing the Lord.” Grandmother wiped her dress sleeve across her face several times. “We got a little place to lay our heads. I prayed every day for you to join us.”

“You did good, Mama. It took courage for you and Sarah to leave Carolina. You make me happy and proud.” Fortune turned and looked at Sarah for a full minute.

“You have grown, Babygirl. You are a woman now and as pretty as a magnolia.” He looked closely at Sarah. “My, that's a pretty dress you have on.”

“Thank you, Papa. I made it myself. Sewing helps to pass the time. I like turning something old into something new.”

“I suspect you'll be looking to get out soon.”

Grandmother jumped in. “Hush now, Fortune. There is no need for her to get out yet. Missy Cunningham is looking to indenture her. There's little else for a young girl here.”

Sarah ignored the old woman's barb. She began singing one of the songs from the camp meeting: “Glory, glory, hallelujah. I feel better. So much better, since I laid my burden down. Feel like shouting, ‘Hallelujah,' since I laid my burden down.”

“Keep singing, chile. I got one less burden: one child has come home to roost.”

The table filled with biscuits, tea and the watery stew. Grandmother told Fortune about the events that brought them to Port Roseway, of her resolve to make the best out of being in Nova Scotia. She told him about Beulah having not one but two babies who were fighting bravely to stay in the world. And the sad news also of the fever that had taken his brother, Prince.

“I wish I had gotten here sooner.” Then, after a long silence, “Twins. Well, well. How is Beulah doing? It's been years since I laid eyes on her.”

“She's holding up. There's not much to the poor soul. We try to help her as much as we can. We keep praying for her and the babies. I fear for them in the cold and the lack of rations makes life hard.” Grandmother looked away to the fire. “I better warn you that Boll weevil Carter from Carolina is on the prowl, on the lookout for runaway slaves, always looking to make money off us. It seems it doesn't matter to him whether or not you have your freedom papers.” She stopped talking and rested her chins in her hands.

Fortune shook his head. “That man will always be a crook. I guess you have all been tested. I suppose the good Lord only wants strong people up in Glory.”
He laughed, looked at his mother and winked, “I guess there's no one stronger than you.” He turned to Sarah and asked, “Do you have plans, young Miss?”

“Yes, Papa, I do. I plan to make my mark in this colony, to be my own person. I will not spend my life being a servant.”

“Slow down, Sarah. Those are big dreams for a Negro woman.”

“A Negro woman has never had an easy life. She never had a man to depend on. Her life is what she makes it. Freedom lets us have dreams.”

Fortune's face tightened. It would not do any good to try to change her runaway ideas, not with her being young and not with her being Dahlia's child. “And marriage?” he asked. “What of that?”

Sarah retreated for a minute to think about Reece and the idea of marriage. Girls as young as twelve or thirteen married in order to have earnings, inheritance and property. By the age of eighteen or twenty, an unmarried woman was called a spinster. But that was white folks. Those girls had something to gain. Marriage brought few benefits to a young Negro girl.

She smiled. “Everyone's anxious to jump the broom and they are mating like flies. There's been lots of weddings in the clearing. Marriage,” she finally said, “perhaps in time.”

Sarah cleared the table and refilled the mugs with weak tea. Fortune began telling tales of his adventures. “War is insanity,” he said in his loud tenor. “The first thing the British did was to assign me to the Black Pioneers. We were not treated like the white soldiers.” He looked down at the floor. “They used us to clear lines, tend to the wounded, cook and act as spies. We built bridges and made roads for the equipment and white soldiers, but not a rifle did we get.”

Sarah sat back in her chair, unnerved by her father's unfamiliar tone. She fastened her eyes on him as she clung to his every word.

Fortune's mood grew heavy as his tone mellowed. “The Pioneers were falling everywhere, some got shot, others died from infection or disease.” After a deep breath, he continued, “I heard a white lieutenant say us Negroes were no more than second-class citizens. Well, it was just as much our war,” he drawled. “The cry was all about loyalty, liberty and money. We wanted the same and proved ourselves capable soldiers, but they drew the line at race, keeping the praise and rewards for themselves.”

“Yes, yes. That they did,” Lydia said.

Sarah sat still. She understood his anger. She pitied him. War could change a man's nature.

Fortune took a chew of tobacco. “Oh no, I did not intend to be a lame duck. I got myself a sweet pistol. Oh yes, and I killed me a few Patriot soldiers.” His fist struck the table. The table bounced. “Lord, Mama, I didn't want to kill nobody.” Tears rolled down his face and his words stalled. Fortune pulled a rag from his pocket and dabbed the sweat from his face. “All I got was the uniform on my back, passage to this colony and a head full of promises. We will see how they honour their word.” He pushed his cup forward and his chair back from the table. “I want my land, my rations and supplies. Is it too much to ask after risking my life? Where are the rewards?”

Sarah piped up. “We were rewarded, Papa. We got freedom.”

Fortune stared at Sarah. His nostrils flared as he gritted his teeth. “I want you to listen good, Babygirl. Did they promise the white man freedom or was he promised rewards?” His eyes blazed. “What would you call titles, honour and glory and large land grants? We are at the end of the line, getting the crumbs, if there are any left.” He waved his finger at her and said, “It is your right to have rewards if you put your hand to the load. Don't think that the colour of your skin makes you less deserving. You are worthy.” Then his voice softened, but remained firm. “Freedom is not a reward, Sarah. Freedom is a right. Never forget that.”

“Fortune, you are right, but hush now and put that anger away. It will wear you down. Tonight calls for joy because you found us. You did us proud and because of your courage, you got your freedom. We are not worrying about anything else tonight. We got you back and we can work together to survive in Scotia. We got to look to ourselves as best we can.”

“I guess it was the Lord's will that it happened the way it did. I went to war because I felt it was the right thing to do for my family. I did not do it for greed.”

“You hush, now. The Lord will show the way, if we take the time to listen. We can help each other and stand up for our rights.” She looked at Fortune with an inquisitive face. “How did you get to Scotia, son?”

“That's a long story,” he growled as he took small sips of cold tea.

“We got nothing but time. Come on Fortune, finish the yarn.” She loved a good story and besides, it would keep him from talking about the war. Her voice was sharp. “I know you been through a lot son, but come on now, tell us about your journey.”

“That's a yarn to tell, but I'll make it short. Save some for another day.”

“Just start at the beginning, son.”

“Well, it was
1781
when I joined the British. I watched the surrender of Charles Town to the American rebels in '
82
. After that, my unit headed to New York and stayed for a year. We boarded the ship
Adventure
. She took us to Saint John, New Brunswick.”

“All this time we wondered if you had made it.”

“I got myself a little work, but it was not long before I got discouraged. I was worrying about you. Then, the strangest thing happened. One day down on the dock in Saint John I come across a long, lean fellow by the name of Hercules.”

“Hercules is a funny name, Papa. Was that his real name?”

“Aye, that's his name and he was an odd man to go with it.” Fortune stretched back in his chair. He grinned for the first time. His voice quieted and he began to laugh. “He was a slave hell-bent on getting freedom from his master. He had one eye and one ear and a back so ridged with scars that it looked like a ploughed field. Ol' Hercules just laughed off his misfortunes. He liked putting us to shame by saying it proved he had courage. It made him a man, not like the rest of us. He was always asking us, ‘Where your scars be, you jellyfish?'”

“You don't have to wear your scars on the outside,” Grandmother interjected.

Fortune nodded in agreement. “So true, Mama, so true. As I was saying, Hercules came to Saint John from Port Roseway. We got to talking about the settlement in Birchtown.”

“That be a rag. Oh, Lord.” Lydia chuckled.

“He said that he got separated from his woman and he searched this colony high and low, but could not find her. That Hercules. He came right out and said that he was glad to be rid of her. Said that woman was nothing but trouble. She had a split tongue like a snake, always speaking out of both sides of her mouth.” Fortune hissed. “Ol' Hercules couldn't believe a word she said.”

“A sinner, she was,” chimed Grandmother. “There are plenty of them.”

“Well now,” Fortune grinned and added, “Then he mentioned an old lady and a girl in Birchtown.”

“Did you figure it was us, Papa? What did he say?”

“Oh Lord, Sarah,” Grandmother said. “How would your father know it was us?”

Fortune laughed hard. “Hercules said the old woman was as hard as a coconut shell. Everyone minded his manners around her. Who else could it be, but you, Mama?”

Grandmother sucked on her pipe with such a ferocious drag, she choked.

“I said that sounds like Lydia Redmond, all right. Well, he jumped up saying, ‘That be the name.'” Fortune's laugh was long and hardy and it infected them. He looked at Sarah. “And the girl, well, Hercules said that she was as pretty as a field of peach blossoms.”

Sarah's face beamed. This was the old Papa, always with a bit of mischief in his words and such a laugh.

“Fortune, how did you get by in Saint John?”

“I worked in the woods marking trees with the king's broad arrow … only the best and the straightest trees for the masts on British ships. I got me some money and took a lumber boat across the Bay of Fundy to Digby. After that, I hitched a ride to Yarmouth on a fishing boat, then on another to Port Roseway.”

“That was a trip. It surely was.”

“In Roseway, I came across a fellow playing the spoons at the wharf by the name of Cato. He gave me directions to Birchtown. I swear he knew the name and background of everyone here. He rhymed off names and places I never heard of. I never thought it would be that easy to find you. Sometimes a man gets favoured with a little luck.”