Redfield Farm: A Novel of the Underground Railroad by Judith Redline Coopey

Hartleys always snooping around. Fine end to things if they catch wind of it.”
    “I think he may be almost whole, but we can’t chance sending him on with this weather and the possibility of getting caught,” he replied between bites of pie. “The roads are full of slave catchers who’d sell their firstborn for a few dollars. We’re breaking the law, Ann, and there are many, including some of our neighbors, who’d be glad of a chance to enforce it.”
    I shuddered, remembering Charlie Marsh and Rad Hartley promising to help those two poor slaves and then turning them over to the slave catcher for a paltry twenty dollars. The act had brought scorn upon them, and nobody mourned when Charlie was shot a few years later in a fight over a woman. Rad was still around, drunk most of the time and disrespected to the point of poverty. Much good his twenty dollars had done him.
    “But Jesse, we can’t keep him here all winter!”
    “We can if we have to. To send him out now would be murder. We’ll hide him as long as we must.”
    I fretted over keeping Josiah a secret. He hid under the eaves when anyone came, but had the freedom of the house the rest of the time, as long as he stayed away from the windows. Still, it was uncomfortable for me.
    “What if someone comes along suddenly? Someone on foot?”
    “He can stay close to the stairs and a make quick getaway. It isn’t fun, but it’s safe enough. Just watch what you say. Don’t let anything slip.” Jesse took it all in stride. Nothing bothered him.
    The Quaker settlement was close-knit, especially in winter. People visited almost daily, often staying the night if the weather got bad. On those nights, Josiah was confined to his tiny hideout. We kept to our routines, so not even best friends knew the workings of the Railroad, but it troubled me. I ducked inside when I saw anyone coming and longed for a return to normal when I could visit with a neighbor without a care.
    In spite of this tension, Josiah proved amiable company. He took his meals with us, sitting at the end of the table nearest the stairs, always ready for a quick escape. I even mentally practiced removing the extra plate before opening the door when someone knocked. Josiah tried to help with whatever work there was, inside or out. Of course, he couldn’t help outside during the day, but after dark he often went to the barn to help Jesse and Nathaniel milk, feed and bed down the animals. He was generally cheerful, though not much given to idle talk.
    His curiosity about Pennsylvania and Quaker beliefs led to a lot of questions. I think he found us a little strange but was too polite to say so.
    “Ma’am?” he asked one morning as he dried the breakfast dishes. “Could you teach me to read?”
    “Why, yes. I’m sure I could, and it’ll help you pass the time. We can start right away.” I paused. “Please don’t call me ‘ma’am’. My name is Ann, and I’m younger than you.”
    He smiled and nodded. “Miss Ann.”
    “No. Just Ann.”
    We started daily lessons on a roof slate with a slate shard for a pen. Josiah carefully formed his letters, biting his tongue as he painstakingly followed my models. Busy though I was, I was glad to encourage his desire to learn.
    “Nobody I knew could read and write, ’cept white folks,” he observed, his brow furrowing as he put a flourish on the last of a line of ‘L’s.
    “No. They wouldn’t want to know that their slaves might be more capable even than they,” I said, with an edge to my voice. “That would make it hard to perpetuate the myth of the Negro as a simple child in need of a white man’s care.”
    Josiah nodded. “You the only white woman I ever met who talk so plain. You different from other white women,” he remarked.
    “Not so different from other Quaker women, Josiah. We believe in educating everybody. It makes us better people.” I handed him a cloth to erase his ‘L’s.
    “You strong an’ tough. You knows more’n some