The Seeker by Ann H. Gabhart

lookin’ like you got hold of a sour persimmon. No sir. Best to keep on grinnin’ cause that’s what ever’body wants to see.”
    “Your smile’s looking pretty genuine this morning, Redmon. Is it because Mr. Gilbey’s gone?”
    “You done tryin’ to get me in trouble, Mr. Sir. But no sir, I’ve known Massah Edwin since he was in knickers. Taught him to ride a horse. Now that was a task, let me tell you.” Redmon chuckled a little. “Young Massah Edwin was some timid as a boy. But he done seems to be growin’ out of it. What with wantin’ to learn them Shaker twirls and spins.”
    “I met him last night, and to tell the truth he didn’t look like the dancing type.” Adam looked up at the black man and then quickly back down as he sketched his hand on the horse’s bridle. The man’s fingers were bony but strong.
    “You got that right. But them Shaker dances is different. We’s all hopin’ he might take to them.”
    “Oh, why’s that?” Adam had the sketch done, but he added a little shading here and there just to keep the man talking. “Them Shakers set a ton of store by their folks keepin’ their rules. Not marryin’ fer one, but they got another one that matters more to us’n around here. No ownin’ nobody. We’s thinkin’ on breathing some free air.”
    “What would you do, Redmon?” Adam glanced up at him. “Join up with the Shakers too?”
    “I ain’t thinkin’ on that. No sense tradin’ one massah for another no matter how kindly they might be. And I wouldn’t be wantin’ to give up my Mattie. We jumped the broom long time back.” He looked off to the north. “No sir. Me and Mattie, we’d go north. They say a man like me can get a job up there holdin’ horses and such.”
    “You could get a job here too, couldn’t you? As a free man.”
    Redmon looked down at the ground. “It ain’t all that easy. They has this law about freed slaves leaving the state or so I been told. Besides, around here, some scalawag might grab my free papers away from me and make him some money sellin’ me south. That kind a thing wouldn’t be worth noticin’ here, but they tell me it’s different in the North.” The man peered up at Adam and his smile faded away. “You sound Northern. Is it true we’re gonna go to war? The North agin the South?”
    “It looks that way.”
    The black man shook his head. “We best pray the good Lord has mercy on us all.”
    “Guess I’ll have to depend on your prayers, Redmon. I’ve never been much of a praying man,” Adam admitted with a smile.
    “Ever’ man is a prayin’ man if times is bad enough, and could be times is gonna be bad enough for a bunch of folks soon if shots start firin’.”
    “You could be right.” Adam turned the pad around for Redmon to see, and the man’s smile came back.
    “I do declare, Mr. Sir, you done grabbed old Redmon’s face and put it down on that paper. And the horse ain’t bad neither. My Mattie ain’t gonna be believin’ it.”
    Adam turned the pad back around and scribbled Phoebe’s address on the bottom of the drawing. She owed him after pushing him into the unwelcome task of painting Selena Vance’s portrait. He tore off the drawing and held it out to the black man. “Here. You take this and show Mattie. Then she’ll believe you.”
    “Oh no sir, Mr. Sir. I couldn’t take that from you.” Redmon held up his free hand with his palm toward Adam and stepped back a couple of paces. The horse danced backward with him.
    “Sure you can, Redmon. I’m giving it to you. Just fold it up and put it in your pocket.” He pointed to the address he’d scribbled on the bottom of it. “And if you get your free papers and go north as far as Boston, you go to that address there and show them this picture. They’ll hire you on to handle horses just like you do here. That’s a promise.”
    Adam folded the drawing a couple of times and handed it to Redmon, who took it from him as though he thought the paper might