“Yes, miss. I didn’t hear his name. I’d been powerful anxious to get away ever since my husband took out, so I went to the meeting, in our preacher’s house. The man had seen Andrew, my husband, in Canada, and he had sent me some money and word to follow him as soon as I could. Oh, miss, he’s free now, and he’s earning money, his own money, and making a home for us!”
For the first time in the woman’s simple narrative the note of deep feeling broke through her tone and manner of settled, mournful resignation. The childlike wonder in her voice as she uttered her last sentence touched her listener deeply.
“There are no slaves in Canada,” Rhoda said gently. “You’ll be free too and perfectly safe when you get there. What made you and your husband dissatisfied in the first place?” she continued. “Did you have a hard master?”
“No, miss, he’s a right kind man to his slaves, better than his sister. She’ll be married some day, and we all thought the slaves might be divided then and maybe some of us sold down south.” She was silent for a moment, a suspended accent in her voice, and Rhoda waited. “Master was always right good to Andrew. There was a reason—” She checked herself, as if some innate delicacy prevented her from saying more, and went on: “But Miss Emily would have sold him if she could. She didn’t like him.”
“Miss Emily!” Rhoda exclaimed, a catch in her breath.
“Yes, miss, master’s sister, who has a share in the slaves and everything. But Andrew’s free now! He can’t be sold now!” Her voice was full of happy satisfaction.
“But you’ll soon be in Canada, and then you’ll be free too, just as free as he is,” Rhoda told her assuringly, thinking that the slave woman had not yet realized the freedom to which she was fleeing. The girl spoke calmly and compassionately, but at her heart there was a quick throbbing.
“I mean he’s surely free, miss! He’s got his free papers! Master followed him and most caught him, the man told me, and a young lady hid him in a cave. Master Jeff came and she persuaded him to give Andrew his free papers. Oh, miss! I wish I could see that young lady!” At last the refugee’s feeling had broken through her manner of subdued and patient resignation. Her voice was trembling with eagerness and in the moonlight Rhoda could see the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’d do anything for her, anything!”
A lump swelled in Rhoda’s throat. She leaned forward to tap her horse to a faster pace along a level stretch of road, then lifted her eyes to the sky and whispered, “O God, I thank thee!”
“What is your name?” she queried as she leaned back again.