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In 1839, Elizabeth Beeson, passes for white. She has psychic abilities to see ghosts and the darkest secrets of the living. She uses her gift to fight for love and justice as she navigates through a raging storm of deceit, slave bounty hunters, and attacks from an angry ghost named Malachai. When a betrayal sends her running into New York's dangerous Five Points, she emerges with a gypsy's mystical secret to free herself. Now she must make a difficult decision. Should she give up her Negro roots to gain her freedom, or use the mystical secret to save her people, who already distrust and despise her because of the color of her skin?
The Oracle Files: Escape is now published in print and ebook under My Portalstar Publishing.
You may Purchase your PRINT or EBOOK copy after the excerpt.
The Oracle Files: Escape is now published in print and ebook under My Portalstar Publishing.
You may Purchase your PRINT or EBOOK copy after the excerpt.
THE ORACLE FILES: ESCAPE
THE ROOT
1528
He could still see her head. A round dark circle moving through tall green Elephant grasses. The glint of Gambian sun reflecting off the Portuguese soldier’s metal helmet guided him to the direction to which they were running. He prayed his sister, Nyima, would keep her captor in the open grasses.
Like a gazelle he cut through the grasses mined with elephant dung. Tsetse flies joined the chase clinging and pricking his body hungry for his blood. The drum pounding sound of his heart blended with the distant clanging of the armored Portuguese soldiers that chased him. He was thankful their bodies were slowed by the weight of their metal chests and helmeted heads. The laden squad of soldiers moved like a slow herd of water cows. Their heavy armor, tall grasses, and the hot sun allowed him to widen the distance.
His eyes stayed focused on Nyima as she was pulled through the grasses. He gripped his spear. When he got close enough, he would send it into the heart of Nyima’s captor. He had no doubt the iron tip of his spear and his perfected throw would be strong enough to go through the soldier’s metal chest, but he needed to be closer. He had only one chance to free them both, and escape before the other metal soldiers caught up with them.
Nyima looked back. He caught a glimpse of her eyes. Her head turned back as she continued running forward, faster. Her free arm pointed to the left. She and the soldier disappeared into a dense brush, which immediately slowed them down. He took his last strides through the grasses and then ducked into the dense brush so he could run parallel with them. The coolness of the shade energized him. His eyes quickly adjusted to the shaded darkness, and his ears listened for their movement. In front, to his left, he heard them pushing and fighting their way through the entanglement of thick vegetation.
The pungent stench of lion urine punched his nose. But it wasn’t an ordinary lion. It was Jatoo Jinoo, an oversize lion that had terrorized their village since he could remember. Jatoo Jinoo had a distinguishable roar and his urine an unbearable stench. Jatoo Jinoo’s spray of urine covered the brush around him forcing him to freeze. His eyes scanned the surrounding brush. He could not see Jatoo Jinoo, but he could still hear their movement. Nyima was moving further away.
“Aaaaaeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiii!” Deemaa! Deemaa!” Nyima’s voice cried upward into the canopy of trees. Her voice was punctuated by the grunt, grunt, growling of Jatoo Jinoo. Without thinking he rushed through the jungle with his spear raised in the air. He had only one shot to save Nyima. The grunts of the Jatoo Jinoo grew stronger, which meant it was preparing to attack. As he ran, his foot was pierced by sharp rocks and broken stems and branches.
He saw the silvery chest of the soldier. The soldier’s sword was drawn. Nyima was pressed behind the soldier. His eyes spotted a massive bulk of brown fur just feet away. He had only one shot to make, and only one target to choose: Jatoo Jinoo or the soldier. Jatoo Jinoo lowered its body and then pushed off into a leap. His arm drew back and with all his soul he launched his spear into the air.
Thoomp! Thump! Jatoo Jinoo’s speared body fell to the ground within a foot of Nyima and the soldier.
Bang! Craaaaccck!
A single blast from a gun exploded into the air.
"Malachai!” Nyima screamed.
Malachai turned and saw a flash of white light coming at him. It appeared to come from the metal chests of the soldiers. The moment the light reached him his body trembled.
What kind of weapon is this?
Malachai jumped back out of the light and then bolted into the darkness of the jungle to hide until it was safe to come out.
ELIZABETH
Chapter 1
The shadow of a large black bird flew over Elizabeth’s head and landed on a branch of a bare ash tree. Elizabeth’s eyes studied the branch as it bounced gently from the weight of the bird like it was waving goodbye. Black birds always appeared whenever something good happened to her. It was a good omen they would make it to Canada. The wagon jolted making Elizabeth’s bottom bang hard against the buckboard seat. Its rear right wheel hit a rock that was camouflaged by a pile of horse manure. Elizabeth gripped the side railing to keep herself on her seat and then twisted her upper body around to eye Belinda and her baby.
“How they doin’?” Simon asked. His eyes did a continuous scan from one side of the road to the other, and then scrutinized the road up ahead.
“Baby sleeping?” Elizabeth softly called back to Belinda.
“He be just fine. Willie is taking to me good,” Belinda spoke softly but just loud enough to be heard over the clomping of the horse and the creaking of the buckboard.
It was important for Belinda to get Willie to attach to her breast and keep him quiet like a tick on a dog. The last thing they needed was a crying baby calling attention to their movement. Although Elizabeth was not comfortable with the separation, it was a necessary part of their plan.
Elizabeth pulled on the sides of her woolen cape. The cool October night air was scented with the damp fragrance of the surrounding pine trees along Ferry Road. Seeing the vapor of her breath against the moonlit sky warned her that their journey tonight would be a cold one. She wanted to put on her gloves but decided her butter cream skin against her dark grey wool cape needed to be obvious and recognizable. She wished she had brought the baby’s heavier bunting, but Simon said slave babies don’t have buntings, just lots of wrappings. Willie needed to play his role like the rest of them.
1846 Bucks County Pennsylvania was crawling with slave bounty hunters who made their living from kidnapping escaped and free Negroes and dragging them down south where they would be returned to their owners for a price or sold into slavery.
Elizabeth’s Quaker father, Jonathan Beeson, warned her not to stray from the confines of their community, especially with Simon Carter. Although he was free, Simon was obviously Negro to the eye. But in Elizabeth’s eyes, Simon had beautiful dark raisin skin. Seeing sweat glisten on his back or bead up on his forehead was a sensual vision. One she did not think her Quaker family could ever understand. Simon had rugged good looks and was smart and industrious. He had everything she wanted in a man, and he was everything she was not allowed to be, Negro.
Loving Simon was like loving a part of herself she was forbidden to acknowledge. How could she ever stay away from Simon? She loved raisins. Elizabeth watched Simon’s head sway to and fro with the rhythm of the wagon’s wheels. In just a few days travel they would reach Canada where she would become Mrs. Simon Carter and then be able to claim Willie officially as her son. There would be no pretending. In Canada she would be able to carry her baby in her own arms.
“Beth, you’ve got to sit up straight, hold your nose up, and look your part,” Simon quietly reminded her. “Remember White women carry themselves in such a way, like they’re flowers that grow above the earth.”
Elizabeth stiffened her back and lifted her chin. But the jarring banging of the buckboard seat against her tailbone made her hunch slightly to absorb the pits from the rocky and rutted road.
They rounded a bend on Ferry Road as they neared the end of Amos’ cornfield. Elizabeth looked over her right shoulder over the tops of the corn stalks to have a final look at plumes of chimney smoke billowing into the night sky. One of those plumes belonged to a place she had called home for the last six and a half years. From across the field, she could see the amber eyes of lit windows glowing back at them. She bolted upright on the board and slapped her hand over her mouth.
“Uh uh, don’t look back Beth. That wasn’t your home. It was just a stopping station,” Simon said softly.
“Simon, there are red lanterns in my windows.”
“Red lanterns?” Simon said as his hands gripped the reins. They looked at each other.
“Beth? Who did you tell?” He asked. The whites of his eyes darted back and forth between her and the road.
Guilt pricked at Elizabeth’s heart. If it were not for Jonathan Beeson, she would have never had the freedom to meet Simon, experience love, and have their son. She owed Jonathan a modicum of respect. The rocking rhythm of the wagon lulled her into a confession.
“I told Emma. I am sorry. I thought someone should know where I was. But Emma promised not to say a word until five days had passed. I didn’t want Poppa to worry...After everything he did for me…” Elizabeth’s explanation came to an abrupt halt, as Simon gripped the reins and pulled back.
The silhouette of four men armed with rifles were spread across the road blocking their escape.
“Simon are they real people or am I seeing spirits?”
“I see ‘em too,” Simon responded with a shaky voice.
“Why we stoppin’?” Belinda asked in a hushed whisper.
“Belinda hold my baby like you birthed him,” Elizabeth warned under her breath.
“Do like we practiced,” Simon cautioned through his teeth, and dropped his head. The biggest of the four shadows approached Elizabeth’s side of the wagon. Elizabeth sat up, gripped her crocheted linen bag, and smiled nervously.
“Where you headin’ Miss?” The large shadow’s voice was deep and sounded as though it was loaded with road gravel. The cold vapors of his breath reeked of whiskey.
“I’m going to see my dying father, James Clinton in Clearfield. Why did you stop my wagon?” Elizabeth asked nervously.
“Watcha doin’ rollin’ through these parts at night with slaves? This is Quaker country. They ain’t partial to slave owners.”
“I told you I’m en route to see my dying father in Clearfield. These are my father’s slaves. I have been travelling since sunup. Perhaps you can tell me if there is an Inn for me and a barn for my slaves along this route. I don’t think it’s safe for me to stay on the road for much longer.”
“Grady, bring the lantern,” the large man called over his shoulder. One of the shadows lowered his rifle and stepped forward. The large man lit the lantern and then swung his finger in the air to direct Grady to examine the back of the wagon.
“I only have two slaves-and their baby,” Elizabeth declared.
“It’s just like she says boss. There’s just a female and her young’un in the back and a couple of satchels. Nothin’ else.”
“Your slaves got papers?”
“Of course.” Her hand shook as she opened her crocheted purse and removed a thick fold of papers. The large man snatched them before she could hand them to him. Simon nonchalantly lifted his chin to signal Elizabeth. She sat up straight and lifted her nose to the night sky. “I think you’ll find my papers to your satisfaction,” she said with a haughty air.
Grady held the light for the larger man to read through the papers. The light revealed a gun holstered on the large man’s right hip. On his waist, on the left, the handle of a smaller pistol was wedged and partially concealed between his pants and belt. Both firearms were easy draws. When the large man was done, he took the lantern and held it up to Elizabeth’s face. She thrust her face in his.
“Take that light out of my face and give me my papers back please. I’d like to get to Clearfield before my father dies.” Elizabeth hoped her impatient tone would get the large man to obey her. Their horse whinnied and danced for a moment.
“You don’t have papers for that baby,” The larger man said.
How could she and Simon forget about Willie! Willie was the reason they were making their dangerous escape to Canada. Their own freedom had bewitched them into a false sense of reality. They believed their child was immune to the chains of slavery. Elizabeth’s heart pounded in her chest so loud she could not hear her own words.
“That’s because she had the baby when we got to my Aunt Sally’s. When I received word of my father’s dire health, I just rushed us out the door. My father’s overseer handles all that paperwork. He should have sent the baby’s papers the moment I sent word she birthed the baby. I’ll have his hide for putting me in this embarrassing inconvenience.”
Elizabeth lifted her nose for effect. She felt the grimy man’s eyes on her. The cool night air transported the layers of his stench. Stale tobacco, eye-stinging liquor, bitter urine, and possibly weeks of an unwashed body assaulted her nostrils from beneath his long coat. Bile clawed the back of her throat begging to be released. She wanted to slap his face with her vomit, but Willie’s whimper reminded her to stay in control. She swallowed hard to push the bitterness of life back down to her stomach.
“Are you going to move your men and let us by, or I shall report you to the law!”
Her mild threat forced him to take a step back. She made him believe she had the upper hand, just like she and Simon practiced. Elizabeth locked eyes with his for extra effect.
“When it comes to slaves, I am the law. No paperwork, no baby. Grady take the baby,” the large man ordered and spat over his shoulder.
“No!” She reached for Willie. Without thinking, Simon immediately touched her arm to stop her from breaking character. The moment Simon’s hand touched Elizabeth’s arm, Grady aimed his rifle at them both.
“Ain’t no real White lady worth her breath would ever allow a slave to touch her, not less she be a slave herself,” the large man growled. Without warning, he grabbed Elizabeth’s right forearm and yanked her down from the wagon.
“Beth!”
“Simon!”
“Grady get the damn baby, and that slave in the back of the wagon. It’s pay day!”
“Jimmy, we got us some easy money!” Grady howled.
Bang! Craaaacccck!
A shot rang out. Elizabeth’s eye caught a fiery flash fly out from the right side of the road. They all froze.
“Let her go!” a man’s voice called out. A large group of men stepped out from the cornfield and swarmed onto the road armed with rifles. They quickly surrounded the bounty hunters. “Put down your rifles. Unlike you and your men, we have plenty of bullets to spare.” Elizabeth thought she recognized the man’s voice, but her ears were still ringing from the first shot.
“You Quakers got no call to be here. These runaways ain’t your business,” Jimmy growled.
“We’re not all peace-loving Quakers,” the leader warned. “No fear of using bullets or losing life.”
Elizabeth tried to break free, but Jimmy yanked her back like a yo-yo. Jimmy pulled his gun from his holster and placed its cold barrel to her cheek.
“Mister, I’m an especially good shot at night with a full moon. I can see there’s just enough space between your eyebrows for one of my bullets. I said put down your rifles and let her go,” the voice said menacingly.
Bang - Craaacccck!
The next shot knocked the hat off Jimmy’s head. Elizabeth’s eyes focused on the man giving the orders. It was Jonathan Beeson, her father. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
“Jimmy, all of them gots revolvers. Best do like he says,” Grady whined and then tossed his rifle onto the road.
“It seems Grady is the only one who has received decent schooling and has retained the basic elements of addition and subtraction. The odds of all of you walking away alive are nil. I suggest you all listen to Grady and lay down your guns. You’re outnumbered.”
The bounty hunters quickly tossed their rifles onto the dirt road. Jimmy lowered his gun with disgust and then tossed it on the road.
“Now let her go.”
Jimmy released his grip on Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth, go to your mother,” Jonathan calmly instructed as he moved toward Jimmy and kicked Jimmy’s gun away from Jimmy’s reach. Patricia stepped out onto the road from the cornfield.
Elizabeth would rather endure the harsh cold winters of Canada than run back to Patricia’s icy stares and cold heart. Elizabeth broke into a run towards Simon, praying her father would understand. Midway Patricia grabbed her by her wrist.
“Elizabeth let’s go! Now!” Patricia gave Elizabeth’s right arm another hard tug.
“No, I’m going with Simon.”
“Horace, Edmund, and Thomas, ride with Simon, Belinda and the baby in the wagon.”
“I’m not leaving without Beth,” Simon protested.
“Simon, I need you to trust me. Stay on the wagon.” Jonathan’s voice remained composed. He kept a steady aim on Jimmy.
“Poppa, you’re letting them leave without me?” Her father would not look at her. He kept his eye on Jimmy.
“Child go home with your mother. Simon and your baby will be safe,” her father said with the same lilt in his voice he used when he requested her to feed the chickens.
“Poppa, that’s my family,” Elizabeth cried.
“Difficult times call for selflessness and sacrifices. Save your baby and the man you claim you love and let them go!” Patricia demanded and pulled Elizabeth toward the cornfield.
“You damn abolitionists put on some fine theeeater,” Jimmy chuckled. “But I didn’t come up North to see no dang show. We all know how the show ends. You peace-loving white worms betray your own kind to protect a bunch of ni…”
The butt of Jonathan’s rifle slammed into Jimmy’s face, knocking him back. Before Jimmy could spit the blood filling his mouth, Jonathan had the barrel of his rifle pressed against the side of Jimmy’s head.
“You of all people should know that word brings nothing but death, but this time it will be yours. I dare you to repeat it. This is the kind of justice I live for,” Jonathan threatened.
Grady’s mouth dropped open.
“I hear tell of only one man who uses those words, and he has a bounty on his head that’s worth more than a wagon load of slaves,” Jimmy declared.
“The Black Bird...” Grady gasped.
A night wind rattled the dying leaves on the surrounding trees. Simon’s horse snorted. The caw of a crow echoed into the night followed by an eerie stillness. The image of Jimmy’s smaller pistol popped in Elizabeth’s mind.
“Poppa he has another...”
Jimmy drew his pistol.
Bang craaack!
Pftzzzzz! A bullet flew over her head. Something pulled Elizabeth down to the ground. An arm pressed against her chest sending a warm buzzing vibration radiating through her body. The skin on the arm sparkled and flickered like the golden mica stones she and Emma used to find in the stream just beyond Boynton’s farm. Elizabeth’s eyes followed the arm up to a shoulder that belonged to a beautiful Native American woman. The light from behind the woman’s stunning blue green eyes let Elizabeth know that she was a spirit, a good one.
“You must stay down,” she warned.
“Elizabeth, stay down!” her father shouted. Elizabeth looked up to her father and saw him wrestle with Jimmy over his rifle.
Bang! Craaack! Jimmy flew backwards. Thomas Anthony owned the fatal bullet that spared her father from taking human life.
When Elizabeth turned back, the woman was gone. Elizabeth pushed herself up onto her knees to run to Simon. Patricia grabbed her right ankle.
“No! Let them go!”
Elizabeth kicked at Patricia to free herself.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Craccccccck!
"Elizabeth, get down!” Her father screamed.
An explosion of fire from Quaker rifles lit up the road sending Elizabeth back to the ground for cover. Through the blasts of gunfire, she heard her baby wailing, the spastic whinnies of horses, and the quick clacking of their hooves as they did a frantic dance against the rocky road.
Bang! Craccccccck!
Gunfire emerged from a cluster of pine trees, hitting one of her father’s men.
“Two more in the pines!” Thomas Anthony called out.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Craccccccck!
“They’re running! To the pines! To the pines!” Thomas Anthony yelled as he led a charge of men toward the left side of the road.
“Get Simon’s wagon out of here!” Jonathan screamed. “Get them out of here!”
Through the midst of the fiery blasts and smoky clouds, Elizabeth felt life leaving her. Horace pulled Simon into the back of the wagon with Belinda and Willie. Edmund climbed up onto the front bench and grabbed the reins. Simon’s horse reared up and then the wagon took off.
Bang! Craaaacccck! One final shot echoed from the grove of pine trees, followed by a deathly silence.
“All clear!” Thomas Anthony announced from a distance.
Clouds of smoke and the fiery scent of gunpowder filled the air. Elizabeth clawed the earth as she scrambled up from the ground.
“Simon!” Elizabeth screeched. “Simon!” The air, thick with the smell of pungent sulfur from smoldering guns, cut into her nostrils and raked her throat raw. She tried to run after the wagon, but Patricia restrained her arms.
“They’ll be better off without you!” Patricia growled in her ear.
Through the thinning gun smoke Elizabeth saw a fleeting glimpse of her dream. Simon, Belinda, and Willie looked like ghostly shadows floating away. Willie’s final wail was trampled into silence by the rumble of Simon’s fast-moving wagon that disappeared over the hill on Ferry Road.
“Noooo!” Elizabeth cried. How could you take Simon and Willie away from me? They are my family! They are my life!” Elizabeth screamed in Patricia’s face.
“Impudent child, you still have your life!” Patricia blasted in her face. “We can’t say the same for these men, who would still be alive if it wasn’t for your selfishness. Look at what your so-called love has wrought,” Patricia scolded, pointing to the bodies on the road.
Elizabeth saw smoky swirls of gun smoke as it rose from the bullet-riddled bodies of the bounty hunters. Three of her father’s men had leg, arm, and shoulder wounds. Their painful moans, the metallic smell of burning flesh, and the nauseating sweet smell of blood heated by fiery bullets grated her emotions and churned her stomach.
“The smoke that you see is nothing more than their hateful spirits rising up to the heavens to ask for forgiveness. God gifts every being with freewill. It was their choice to die today. They chose death over your freedom. We only honored their choice.” Her father picked up Jimmy’s hat and placed it on Jimmy’s bloody chest. His eloquent words offered her a modicum of consolation that was immediately snatched away.
“You cannot release her from her sins!” Patricia protested.
“Mrs. Beeson, love is not a sin. Is that why you fear it so?”
“I fear only the improper love you have for her.”
“Wife, you have said enough!” Jonathan’s voice shook the leaves on the tree branch above him. The quick burst of vapors from his mouth revealed his labored breathing. In her seven years of living with the Beesons, Elizabeth had never heard her father raise his voice.
“No, I will not be silent! Love is not a romantic potion that makes all the hate in the world go away. The eyes of the world are not ready for Elizabeth and Simon to be husband and wife. Are you so blinded by her wiles you cannot see this massacre? Your gun may be free of their blood, but her selfishness has made us all murderers. This is not our way,” Patricia scolded.
“It is the only way. Don’t worry Mrs. Beeson, these men will receive a proper burial–with scripture.”
“Mrs. Beeson, am I not allowed to love or have love because I am the daughter of a slave? Does the color of my skin forbid me the experience of love? Don’t you love father? Wouldn’t you drive away in the night with him, if there was a law forbidding you to be together?” Elizabeth pleaded through tears.
More men emerged through the cornfield carrying shovels. Two bloodied bodies were carried past Elizabeth and Patricia and were placed respectfully side by side on the edge of the road.
“All I wanted was a child to love,” Patricia pushed through her teeth. “She’ll kill us all!”
Jonathan clutched his heart.
“Poppa!” Elizabeth rushed to him.
“I am fine child.” Jonathan replied with winded breath. One of the men stopped to help Jonathan to a nearby tree stump.
“Shall I run for the doctor?” Elizabeth asked. Her fingers pried his neck scarf open to free his throat. His chest wheezed as it filled with air. He pulled Elizabeth in.
“Love is not always easy,” he confessed.
The bottom of Patricia’s dress flounced in front of them.
“Jonathan Beeson, your weak heart cannot withstand all this turbulence. I am begging you; send her away before she kills you.”
“Imagine if someone had said the same about you,” Jonathan fired back.
The hem of Patricia’s dress sprayed his clothes with dirt as she whipped around and disappeared between two rows of corn stalks. Elizabeth heard the snapping of the cornstalks as Patricia angrily plowed her way home. Jonathan pushed himself up off the stump. Elizabeth slipped under his arm to steady him.
"‘Hell, hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ We are about to enter a fire and brimstone that even your devil of a ghost has never seen. Fire and brimstone, fire and brimstone,” Jonathan wheezed.
Like a gazelle he cut through the grasses mined with elephant dung. Tsetse flies joined the chase clinging and pricking his body hungry for his blood. The drum pounding sound of his heart blended with the distant clanging of the armored Portuguese soldiers that chased him. He was thankful their bodies were slowed by the weight of their metal chests and helmeted heads. The laden squad of soldiers moved like a slow herd of water cows. Their heavy armor, tall grasses, and the hot sun allowed him to widen the distance.
His eyes stayed focused on Nyima as she was pulled through the grasses. He gripped his spear. When he got close enough, he would send it into the heart of Nyima’s captor. He had no doubt the iron tip of his spear and his perfected throw would be strong enough to go through the soldier’s metal chest, but he needed to be closer. He had only one chance to free them both, and escape before the other metal soldiers caught up with them.
Nyima looked back. He caught a glimpse of her eyes. Her head turned back as she continued running forward, faster. Her free arm pointed to the left. She and the soldier disappeared into a dense brush, which immediately slowed them down. He took his last strides through the grasses and then ducked into the dense brush so he could run parallel with them. The coolness of the shade energized him. His eyes quickly adjusted to the shaded darkness, and his ears listened for their movement. In front, to his left, he heard them pushing and fighting their way through the entanglement of thick vegetation.
The pungent stench of lion urine punched his nose. But it wasn’t an ordinary lion. It was Jatoo Jinoo, an oversize lion that had terrorized their village since he could remember. Jatoo Jinoo had a distinguishable roar and his urine an unbearable stench. Jatoo Jinoo’s spray of urine covered the brush around him forcing him to freeze. His eyes scanned the surrounding brush. He could not see Jatoo Jinoo, but he could still hear their movement. Nyima was moving further away.
“Aaaaaeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiii!” Deemaa! Deemaa!” Nyima’s voice cried upward into the canopy of trees. Her voice was punctuated by the grunt, grunt, growling of Jatoo Jinoo. Without thinking he rushed through the jungle with his spear raised in the air. He had only one shot to save Nyima. The grunts of the Jatoo Jinoo grew stronger, which meant it was preparing to attack. As he ran, his foot was pierced by sharp rocks and broken stems and branches.
He saw the silvery chest of the soldier. The soldier’s sword was drawn. Nyima was pressed behind the soldier. His eyes spotted a massive bulk of brown fur just feet away. He had only one shot to make, and only one target to choose: Jatoo Jinoo or the soldier. Jatoo Jinoo lowered its body and then pushed off into a leap. His arm drew back and with all his soul he launched his spear into the air.
Thoomp! Thump! Jatoo Jinoo’s speared body fell to the ground within a foot of Nyima and the soldier.
Bang! Craaaaccck!
A single blast from a gun exploded into the air.
"Malachai!” Nyima screamed.
Malachai turned and saw a flash of white light coming at him. It appeared to come from the metal chests of the soldiers. The moment the light reached him his body trembled.
What kind of weapon is this?
Malachai jumped back out of the light and then bolted into the darkness of the jungle to hide until it was safe to come out.
ELIZABETH
Chapter 1
The shadow of a large black bird flew over Elizabeth’s head and landed on a branch of a bare ash tree. Elizabeth’s eyes studied the branch as it bounced gently from the weight of the bird like it was waving goodbye. Black birds always appeared whenever something good happened to her. It was a good omen they would make it to Canada. The wagon jolted making Elizabeth’s bottom bang hard against the buckboard seat. Its rear right wheel hit a rock that was camouflaged by a pile of horse manure. Elizabeth gripped the side railing to keep herself on her seat and then twisted her upper body around to eye Belinda and her baby.
“How they doin’?” Simon asked. His eyes did a continuous scan from one side of the road to the other, and then scrutinized the road up ahead.
“Baby sleeping?” Elizabeth softly called back to Belinda.
“He be just fine. Willie is taking to me good,” Belinda spoke softly but just loud enough to be heard over the clomping of the horse and the creaking of the buckboard.
It was important for Belinda to get Willie to attach to her breast and keep him quiet like a tick on a dog. The last thing they needed was a crying baby calling attention to their movement. Although Elizabeth was not comfortable with the separation, it was a necessary part of their plan.
Elizabeth pulled on the sides of her woolen cape. The cool October night air was scented with the damp fragrance of the surrounding pine trees along Ferry Road. Seeing the vapor of her breath against the moonlit sky warned her that their journey tonight would be a cold one. She wanted to put on her gloves but decided her butter cream skin against her dark grey wool cape needed to be obvious and recognizable. She wished she had brought the baby’s heavier bunting, but Simon said slave babies don’t have buntings, just lots of wrappings. Willie needed to play his role like the rest of them.
1846 Bucks County Pennsylvania was crawling with slave bounty hunters who made their living from kidnapping escaped and free Negroes and dragging them down south where they would be returned to their owners for a price or sold into slavery.
Elizabeth’s Quaker father, Jonathan Beeson, warned her not to stray from the confines of their community, especially with Simon Carter. Although he was free, Simon was obviously Negro to the eye. But in Elizabeth’s eyes, Simon had beautiful dark raisin skin. Seeing sweat glisten on his back or bead up on his forehead was a sensual vision. One she did not think her Quaker family could ever understand. Simon had rugged good looks and was smart and industrious. He had everything she wanted in a man, and he was everything she was not allowed to be, Negro.
Loving Simon was like loving a part of herself she was forbidden to acknowledge. How could she ever stay away from Simon? She loved raisins. Elizabeth watched Simon’s head sway to and fro with the rhythm of the wagon’s wheels. In just a few days travel they would reach Canada where she would become Mrs. Simon Carter and then be able to claim Willie officially as her son. There would be no pretending. In Canada she would be able to carry her baby in her own arms.
“Beth, you’ve got to sit up straight, hold your nose up, and look your part,” Simon quietly reminded her. “Remember White women carry themselves in such a way, like they’re flowers that grow above the earth.”
Elizabeth stiffened her back and lifted her chin. But the jarring banging of the buckboard seat against her tailbone made her hunch slightly to absorb the pits from the rocky and rutted road.
They rounded a bend on Ferry Road as they neared the end of Amos’ cornfield. Elizabeth looked over her right shoulder over the tops of the corn stalks to have a final look at plumes of chimney smoke billowing into the night sky. One of those plumes belonged to a place she had called home for the last six and a half years. From across the field, she could see the amber eyes of lit windows glowing back at them. She bolted upright on the board and slapped her hand over her mouth.
“Uh uh, don’t look back Beth. That wasn’t your home. It was just a stopping station,” Simon said softly.
“Simon, there are red lanterns in my windows.”
“Red lanterns?” Simon said as his hands gripped the reins. They looked at each other.
“Beth? Who did you tell?” He asked. The whites of his eyes darted back and forth between her and the road.
Guilt pricked at Elizabeth’s heart. If it were not for Jonathan Beeson, she would have never had the freedom to meet Simon, experience love, and have their son. She owed Jonathan a modicum of respect. The rocking rhythm of the wagon lulled her into a confession.
“I told Emma. I am sorry. I thought someone should know where I was. But Emma promised not to say a word until five days had passed. I didn’t want Poppa to worry...After everything he did for me…” Elizabeth’s explanation came to an abrupt halt, as Simon gripped the reins and pulled back.
The silhouette of four men armed with rifles were spread across the road blocking their escape.
“Simon are they real people or am I seeing spirits?”
“I see ‘em too,” Simon responded with a shaky voice.
“Why we stoppin’?” Belinda asked in a hushed whisper.
“Belinda hold my baby like you birthed him,” Elizabeth warned under her breath.
“Do like we practiced,” Simon cautioned through his teeth, and dropped his head. The biggest of the four shadows approached Elizabeth’s side of the wagon. Elizabeth sat up, gripped her crocheted linen bag, and smiled nervously.
“Where you headin’ Miss?” The large shadow’s voice was deep and sounded as though it was loaded with road gravel. The cold vapors of his breath reeked of whiskey.
“I’m going to see my dying father, James Clinton in Clearfield. Why did you stop my wagon?” Elizabeth asked nervously.
“Watcha doin’ rollin’ through these parts at night with slaves? This is Quaker country. They ain’t partial to slave owners.”
“I told you I’m en route to see my dying father in Clearfield. These are my father’s slaves. I have been travelling since sunup. Perhaps you can tell me if there is an Inn for me and a barn for my slaves along this route. I don’t think it’s safe for me to stay on the road for much longer.”
“Grady, bring the lantern,” the large man called over his shoulder. One of the shadows lowered his rifle and stepped forward. The large man lit the lantern and then swung his finger in the air to direct Grady to examine the back of the wagon.
“I only have two slaves-and their baby,” Elizabeth declared.
“It’s just like she says boss. There’s just a female and her young’un in the back and a couple of satchels. Nothin’ else.”
“Your slaves got papers?”
“Of course.” Her hand shook as she opened her crocheted purse and removed a thick fold of papers. The large man snatched them before she could hand them to him. Simon nonchalantly lifted his chin to signal Elizabeth. She sat up straight and lifted her nose to the night sky. “I think you’ll find my papers to your satisfaction,” she said with a haughty air.
Grady held the light for the larger man to read through the papers. The light revealed a gun holstered on the large man’s right hip. On his waist, on the left, the handle of a smaller pistol was wedged and partially concealed between his pants and belt. Both firearms were easy draws. When the large man was done, he took the lantern and held it up to Elizabeth’s face. She thrust her face in his.
“Take that light out of my face and give me my papers back please. I’d like to get to Clearfield before my father dies.” Elizabeth hoped her impatient tone would get the large man to obey her. Their horse whinnied and danced for a moment.
“You don’t have papers for that baby,” The larger man said.
How could she and Simon forget about Willie! Willie was the reason they were making their dangerous escape to Canada. Their own freedom had bewitched them into a false sense of reality. They believed their child was immune to the chains of slavery. Elizabeth’s heart pounded in her chest so loud she could not hear her own words.
“That’s because she had the baby when we got to my Aunt Sally’s. When I received word of my father’s dire health, I just rushed us out the door. My father’s overseer handles all that paperwork. He should have sent the baby’s papers the moment I sent word she birthed the baby. I’ll have his hide for putting me in this embarrassing inconvenience.”
Elizabeth lifted her nose for effect. She felt the grimy man’s eyes on her. The cool night air transported the layers of his stench. Stale tobacco, eye-stinging liquor, bitter urine, and possibly weeks of an unwashed body assaulted her nostrils from beneath his long coat. Bile clawed the back of her throat begging to be released. She wanted to slap his face with her vomit, but Willie’s whimper reminded her to stay in control. She swallowed hard to push the bitterness of life back down to her stomach.
“Are you going to move your men and let us by, or I shall report you to the law!”
Her mild threat forced him to take a step back. She made him believe she had the upper hand, just like she and Simon practiced. Elizabeth locked eyes with his for extra effect.
“When it comes to slaves, I am the law. No paperwork, no baby. Grady take the baby,” the large man ordered and spat over his shoulder.
“No!” She reached for Willie. Without thinking, Simon immediately touched her arm to stop her from breaking character. The moment Simon’s hand touched Elizabeth’s arm, Grady aimed his rifle at them both.
“Ain’t no real White lady worth her breath would ever allow a slave to touch her, not less she be a slave herself,” the large man growled. Without warning, he grabbed Elizabeth’s right forearm and yanked her down from the wagon.
“Beth!”
“Simon!”
“Grady get the damn baby, and that slave in the back of the wagon. It’s pay day!”
“Jimmy, we got us some easy money!” Grady howled.
Bang! Craaaacccck!
A shot rang out. Elizabeth’s eye caught a fiery flash fly out from the right side of the road. They all froze.
“Let her go!” a man’s voice called out. A large group of men stepped out from the cornfield and swarmed onto the road armed with rifles. They quickly surrounded the bounty hunters. “Put down your rifles. Unlike you and your men, we have plenty of bullets to spare.” Elizabeth thought she recognized the man’s voice, but her ears were still ringing from the first shot.
“You Quakers got no call to be here. These runaways ain’t your business,” Jimmy growled.
“We’re not all peace-loving Quakers,” the leader warned. “No fear of using bullets or losing life.”
Elizabeth tried to break free, but Jimmy yanked her back like a yo-yo. Jimmy pulled his gun from his holster and placed its cold barrel to her cheek.
“Mister, I’m an especially good shot at night with a full moon. I can see there’s just enough space between your eyebrows for one of my bullets. I said put down your rifles and let her go,” the voice said menacingly.
Bang - Craaacccck!
The next shot knocked the hat off Jimmy’s head. Elizabeth’s eyes focused on the man giving the orders. It was Jonathan Beeson, her father. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
“Jimmy, all of them gots revolvers. Best do like he says,” Grady whined and then tossed his rifle onto the road.
“It seems Grady is the only one who has received decent schooling and has retained the basic elements of addition and subtraction. The odds of all of you walking away alive are nil. I suggest you all listen to Grady and lay down your guns. You’re outnumbered.”
The bounty hunters quickly tossed their rifles onto the dirt road. Jimmy lowered his gun with disgust and then tossed it on the road.
“Now let her go.”
Jimmy released his grip on Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth, go to your mother,” Jonathan calmly instructed as he moved toward Jimmy and kicked Jimmy’s gun away from Jimmy’s reach. Patricia stepped out onto the road from the cornfield.
Elizabeth would rather endure the harsh cold winters of Canada than run back to Patricia’s icy stares and cold heart. Elizabeth broke into a run towards Simon, praying her father would understand. Midway Patricia grabbed her by her wrist.
“Elizabeth let’s go! Now!” Patricia gave Elizabeth’s right arm another hard tug.
“No, I’m going with Simon.”
“Horace, Edmund, and Thomas, ride with Simon, Belinda and the baby in the wagon.”
“I’m not leaving without Beth,” Simon protested.
“Simon, I need you to trust me. Stay on the wagon.” Jonathan’s voice remained composed. He kept a steady aim on Jimmy.
“Poppa, you’re letting them leave without me?” Her father would not look at her. He kept his eye on Jimmy.
“Child go home with your mother. Simon and your baby will be safe,” her father said with the same lilt in his voice he used when he requested her to feed the chickens.
“Poppa, that’s my family,” Elizabeth cried.
“Difficult times call for selflessness and sacrifices. Save your baby and the man you claim you love and let them go!” Patricia demanded and pulled Elizabeth toward the cornfield.
“You damn abolitionists put on some fine theeeater,” Jimmy chuckled. “But I didn’t come up North to see no dang show. We all know how the show ends. You peace-loving white worms betray your own kind to protect a bunch of ni…”
The butt of Jonathan’s rifle slammed into Jimmy’s face, knocking him back. Before Jimmy could spit the blood filling his mouth, Jonathan had the barrel of his rifle pressed against the side of Jimmy’s head.
“You of all people should know that word brings nothing but death, but this time it will be yours. I dare you to repeat it. This is the kind of justice I live for,” Jonathan threatened.
Grady’s mouth dropped open.
“I hear tell of only one man who uses those words, and he has a bounty on his head that’s worth more than a wagon load of slaves,” Jimmy declared.
“The Black Bird...” Grady gasped.
A night wind rattled the dying leaves on the surrounding trees. Simon’s horse snorted. The caw of a crow echoed into the night followed by an eerie stillness. The image of Jimmy’s smaller pistol popped in Elizabeth’s mind.
“Poppa he has another...”
Jimmy drew his pistol.
Bang craaack!
Pftzzzzz! A bullet flew over her head. Something pulled Elizabeth down to the ground. An arm pressed against her chest sending a warm buzzing vibration radiating through her body. The skin on the arm sparkled and flickered like the golden mica stones she and Emma used to find in the stream just beyond Boynton’s farm. Elizabeth’s eyes followed the arm up to a shoulder that belonged to a beautiful Native American woman. The light from behind the woman’s stunning blue green eyes let Elizabeth know that she was a spirit, a good one.
“You must stay down,” she warned.
“Elizabeth, stay down!” her father shouted. Elizabeth looked up to her father and saw him wrestle with Jimmy over his rifle.
Bang! Craaack! Jimmy flew backwards. Thomas Anthony owned the fatal bullet that spared her father from taking human life.
When Elizabeth turned back, the woman was gone. Elizabeth pushed herself up onto her knees to run to Simon. Patricia grabbed her right ankle.
“No! Let them go!”
Elizabeth kicked at Patricia to free herself.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Craccccccck!
"Elizabeth, get down!” Her father screamed.
An explosion of fire from Quaker rifles lit up the road sending Elizabeth back to the ground for cover. Through the blasts of gunfire, she heard her baby wailing, the spastic whinnies of horses, and the quick clacking of their hooves as they did a frantic dance against the rocky road.
Bang! Craccccccck!
Gunfire emerged from a cluster of pine trees, hitting one of her father’s men.
“Two more in the pines!” Thomas Anthony called out.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Craccccccck!
“They’re running! To the pines! To the pines!” Thomas Anthony yelled as he led a charge of men toward the left side of the road.
“Get Simon’s wagon out of here!” Jonathan screamed. “Get them out of here!”
Through the midst of the fiery blasts and smoky clouds, Elizabeth felt life leaving her. Horace pulled Simon into the back of the wagon with Belinda and Willie. Edmund climbed up onto the front bench and grabbed the reins. Simon’s horse reared up and then the wagon took off.
Bang! Craaaacccck! One final shot echoed from the grove of pine trees, followed by a deathly silence.
“All clear!” Thomas Anthony announced from a distance.
Clouds of smoke and the fiery scent of gunpowder filled the air. Elizabeth clawed the earth as she scrambled up from the ground.
“Simon!” Elizabeth screeched. “Simon!” The air, thick with the smell of pungent sulfur from smoldering guns, cut into her nostrils and raked her throat raw. She tried to run after the wagon, but Patricia restrained her arms.
“They’ll be better off without you!” Patricia growled in her ear.
Through the thinning gun smoke Elizabeth saw a fleeting glimpse of her dream. Simon, Belinda, and Willie looked like ghostly shadows floating away. Willie’s final wail was trampled into silence by the rumble of Simon’s fast-moving wagon that disappeared over the hill on Ferry Road.
“Noooo!” Elizabeth cried. How could you take Simon and Willie away from me? They are my family! They are my life!” Elizabeth screamed in Patricia’s face.
“Impudent child, you still have your life!” Patricia blasted in her face. “We can’t say the same for these men, who would still be alive if it wasn’t for your selfishness. Look at what your so-called love has wrought,” Patricia scolded, pointing to the bodies on the road.
Elizabeth saw smoky swirls of gun smoke as it rose from the bullet-riddled bodies of the bounty hunters. Three of her father’s men had leg, arm, and shoulder wounds. Their painful moans, the metallic smell of burning flesh, and the nauseating sweet smell of blood heated by fiery bullets grated her emotions and churned her stomach.
“The smoke that you see is nothing more than their hateful spirits rising up to the heavens to ask for forgiveness. God gifts every being with freewill. It was their choice to die today. They chose death over your freedom. We only honored their choice.” Her father picked up Jimmy’s hat and placed it on Jimmy’s bloody chest. His eloquent words offered her a modicum of consolation that was immediately snatched away.
“You cannot release her from her sins!” Patricia protested.
“Mrs. Beeson, love is not a sin. Is that why you fear it so?”
“I fear only the improper love you have for her.”
“Wife, you have said enough!” Jonathan’s voice shook the leaves on the tree branch above him. The quick burst of vapors from his mouth revealed his labored breathing. In her seven years of living with the Beesons, Elizabeth had never heard her father raise his voice.
“No, I will not be silent! Love is not a romantic potion that makes all the hate in the world go away. The eyes of the world are not ready for Elizabeth and Simon to be husband and wife. Are you so blinded by her wiles you cannot see this massacre? Your gun may be free of their blood, but her selfishness has made us all murderers. This is not our way,” Patricia scolded.
“It is the only way. Don’t worry Mrs. Beeson, these men will receive a proper burial–with scripture.”
“Mrs. Beeson, am I not allowed to love or have love because I am the daughter of a slave? Does the color of my skin forbid me the experience of love? Don’t you love father? Wouldn’t you drive away in the night with him, if there was a law forbidding you to be together?” Elizabeth pleaded through tears.
More men emerged through the cornfield carrying shovels. Two bloodied bodies were carried past Elizabeth and Patricia and were placed respectfully side by side on the edge of the road.
“All I wanted was a child to love,” Patricia pushed through her teeth. “She’ll kill us all!”
Jonathan clutched his heart.
“Poppa!” Elizabeth rushed to him.
“I am fine child.” Jonathan replied with winded breath. One of the men stopped to help Jonathan to a nearby tree stump.
“Shall I run for the doctor?” Elizabeth asked. Her fingers pried his neck scarf open to free his throat. His chest wheezed as it filled with air. He pulled Elizabeth in.
“Love is not always easy,” he confessed.
The bottom of Patricia’s dress flounced in front of them.
“Jonathan Beeson, your weak heart cannot withstand all this turbulence. I am begging you; send her away before she kills you.”
“Imagine if someone had said the same about you,” Jonathan fired back.
The hem of Patricia’s dress sprayed his clothes with dirt as she whipped around and disappeared between two rows of corn stalks. Elizabeth heard the snapping of the cornstalks as Patricia angrily plowed her way home. Jonathan pushed himself up off the stump. Elizabeth slipped under his arm to steady him.
"‘Hell, hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ We are about to enter a fire and brimstone that even your devil of a ghost has never seen. Fire and brimstone, fire and brimstone,” Jonathan wheezed.
