The Return of the Freedom Thief Read online

  Kendrick walked over and removed the handcuffs. “Well, I’ve got you signed in, so you’ll see the judge in the morning. For now, I have to put you in a cell. This way.”

  He opened the door at the back of the room. There were four cells, none of them occupied. They each contained a cot with a pillow and a couple of blankets folded neatly on the ends, and a bucket in one corner. The Marshal opened the cell door. “I know I’ve just said this, but I’m sorry, Ben. Sorrier than hell. I have no choice, and the judge doesn’t care what I think. This is where you’ll stay until morning.”

  Ben walked in and sat down on the cot. The Marshal closed the barred door, and turned the big key in the lock. He looked sadly at Ben for a moment, then turned without another word and went into his office, closing the door behind him.

  Ben lay down and put his hands behind his head. A thousand thoughts and images rushed through his mind, crowding all coherent thought out. Tears crept out beneath his closed lids, and after a while, he slept.

  * * *

  When Ben woke up, the tiny window behind the cot showed that it was dark. Several small lanterns placed strategically outside each cell provided what little light there was. He might have been able to read a little, if he had something to read. He was about to call out to the Marshal when the outer door opened, and Deputy Anders came in carrying a large tray. He put it down on the floor, unlocked the cell door, and pushed the tray in with his foot. He closed the door and locked it again.

  He looked at Ben, and said, with a sneer, “Well, boy, your granny fetched you some right nice fixin’s for supper. Too good for a slave stealer, I’d say. I mighta had some of them fixin’s myself, if that blowhard Kendrick had done gone home. ‘Stead, I gotta give ‘em all to you. So enjoy your supper, mudsill, ‘cause where you’re going, you won’t ever be eatin’ anything human again.”

  He laughed raucously, slammed his hand against the bars, and left.

  Ben picked up the tray and set it on the cot. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, buttery carrots, and a big mug of hot coffee sent their mingled aromas up Ben’s nose. He smiled, and dug into the food hungrily. Grammy had sent his favorite meal.

  * * *

  The next morning, after he had finished his breakfast of some kind of indescribable mush and weak coffee, Marshal Kendrick put handcuffs on him again, and led him down the street to the largest of the saloons in town.

  “Wait, Marshal, I thought you said I was going to see the judge. This is a saloon.” Ben stopped abruptly, not willing to go inside.

  Kendrick laughed, a sardonic sound without humor. “Yeah, well, you are going to see Judge Whitfield, but since you’re the only case on the docket this morning, he decided to see you in his office, instead of the courthouse.”

  “The judge’s office is in the saloon?”

  “It’s in a back room. He rents it from Albie, who owns the saloon. Rent is cheaper, and he’s always got whiskey at hand. Don’t worry, though, the judge is not really a big drinker, and he’s always sober in the mornings.”

  Kendrick gave Ben a little push, and they walked through the swinging doors. Ben looked around curiously: he’d never been in a saloon before. Several round wood tables with matching chairs were scattered around, in no apparent order. One table held a large wheel with a green felt backing, and little numbered slots around it. Cards and dice were spread around. He heard glasses clinking, and saw a small, bald man placing shot glasses around on the glossy top of a huge bar that ran the length of the room. Behind the bar was an enormous mirror contained in a golden frame with curlicues and naked angels around it.

  A tiny tinkle of laughter startled Ben, as two young women came down a curved stairway at the back of the saloon.

  Ben stopped in his tracks and stared at the young women. He knew what his mother would have called them, but in his own mind he couldn’t imagine girls only a little older than he living over a saloon.

  The Marshal touched his arm, just as Albie, the saloon owner, nodded from behind the bar. The Marshal held Ben’s arm, and they continued through the main room and down a dark hallway before stopping at a door marked ‘Private Quarters of Judge Whitfield.’

  The Marshal knocked twice, opened the door, and nudged Ben inside. He spoke to the man sitting at a table, with a file and a gavel in front of him.

  “Judge Whitfield, this young man is Benjamin McKenna. He…”

  “Say no more, Marshal. I am well aware of who this young fella is. Now take off those damn handcuffs and let him sit down.”

  Kendrick removed the handcuffs, and the Judge motioned for Ben to sit at the table opposite him. They studied each other silently.

  Ben saw a man with a shock of pure white hair, brilliant blue eyes beneath shaggy white eyebrows, a hawk-like nose, and thin lips. Somehow, he felt this man was educated, experienced in law, and would be fair to him. At least, within the constraints of the law he upheld.

  The Judge saw a tall, thin young man with a head of unruly auburn hair, hazel eyes with a glint of gold, and full lips above a strong chin. He saw a young man looking directly at him, not lowering his eyes one bit, not squirming around in the chair, but studying him as well. The Judge was satisfied.

  “Well, Ben, what do you have to say for yourself? What excuse for breaking the law?”

  Ben continued to look directly at the Judge. “I have no excuse, Judge. My Pa taught all us boys from the time we were little to do what we believed to be right. Slavery is wrong, and I believe that the right thing to do was what I did. I guess Pa forgot what he taught us.”

  Judge Whitfield nodded. “That is somewhat the answer I thought you would give. Unfortunately, what you believe to be right is still against the law, and has no bearing on the Constitution of the Southern States of the United States. However, you are fourteen years old, and I don’t believe you belong in a prison of adult men who are tried and true criminals. I have spoken to your father, and due to his exceptional high standing in this state, I am turning you over to him. Your punishment for the theft of owned slaves is to be that you will work in the fields of the Tate Plantation with the same status of a slave for the next four years, or until your father decides differently. Your fate is in his hands.”

  He picked up the gavel, but instead of slamming it against the table, he turned it over several times in his hand. “Ben, I sympathize with you and your beliefs. I, too, believe that human beings should never be held in slavery. But like the Marshal, here, I uphold the law. Besides which, plantations like your grandmother’s would never succeed without the labor supplied by slaves. I’ve never thought white men would work the way the blacks do. But again, what I think is outside of the law. So, young man, go home, do the work you are told to do, and don’t get into any more trouble. I would hate to see you back in my courtroom a second time.”

  Judge Whitfield hit the table one time with the gavel, looked at the Marshal, and said, “This court is adjourned.”

  Chapter Two:

  War is Coming

  Tate Plantation

  April, 1861

  Ben leaned against the hoe and wiped his forehead with an already damp handkerchief. His blue homespun shirt clung to his chest and arms, his overalls were stiff with sweat and dirt from the hemp fields, and his jacket did little to keep the wind out. His whole body ached, no matter that he had been working these fields for seven months now. The hot sun bore down, but the chilling March wind brought the smell of oncoming rain. The atmosphere was sticky and humid.

  He threw down the hoe, and walked through the myriad of fields of growing hemp, until he came to a large stream where he knelt and scrubbed his face with the fresh cold water. He sat back against the very tree where he had sat so many times in the past, carving out little toys for Josiah, and animal friends for his grandmother.

  A sigh came from somewhere deep inside. I miss my family. I only get to see Grammy once a week, and then for only a short time. Pa and Ma won’t talk to me, the boys avoid me like I carry around t
he plague or something. Pa says I should be grateful that he allows me to eat Ma’s cooking all by myself on the back porch. He says I should thank him for letting me come into the house once a week and get cleaned up. I’m doing my punishment, working like a slave, but Pa allows Samson to treat me like I was a real slave. He’s my father, doesn’t he care about me any more at all?

  Ben’s eyelids grew heavy as a few tears gathered in his eyes. He dozed off. Several minutes later, he jerked awake, and got up from the ground. I can’t do this, I’ve got to get back to work. I don’t want to get on Samson’s bad side again.

  He went back to the fields, picked up his hoe and was cleaning the weeds out between rows of hemp that spread out over the landscape as far as the eye could see when he heard Samson yelling.

  “Where you been, boy? I been lookin’ all over for you, and you ain’t nowhere to be found. You gots no privileges here, and when I wants you, I wants you now. You better be here for me to find, you unnerstand?” The huge man came at Ben with a whip in his hand. It was the wrong thing to do.

  Ben stiffened, his body taut with both anger and fear. “Stop, Samson. Right now, and right where you are. I’m doing my work here, so you’ve got no problem with me. What do you think you’re doing? You’re never going to touch me with that whip.”

  The big man sneered. “Yeah, so what? Your pa told me you wasn’t to be treated no better than any other slave, so if I wants to whup you, I will. What you gonna do about it, huh? Your ma won’t stick up for you, and your pa won’t take the side of no slave-stealin’ scalawag, so won’t do you no good to go runnin’ to the Big House.”

  Samson uncoiled the whip and lashed it out by his side. He taunted Ben with it, snaking the whip out in front of him, and laughing.

  Ben had learned a few things during his eleven months away from home. He stood firm, watching. He waited. Samson stopped a few feet in front of Ben. He looked at him as if expecting him to turn and run, as most slaves would have done. Ben was still and silent, looking Samson directly in the eyes.

  Samson grinned evilly as he raised the bull whip and sent it singing through the air. Ben waited until the water-hardened leather braid descended towards him. He jumped up in the air as though on springs, and grabbed the thong of the whip. He twisted the thong around both hands, toughened with the work of the fields. As his feet touched the ground, he gave a hard yank, and pulled Samson off balance. In seconds, Samson was flat out on the ground. Ben stood over him, coiling the bull whip up.

  “That’s the first and last time you’ll ever come at me with a whip, Samson.”

  He turned and marched off towards the house. Behind him, Samson yelled every curse word he could think of, but Ben paid him no mind.

  In defiance of his father’s rules, Ben strode into the kitchen, and slammed the door behind him. His father and brothers were sitting at the table, waiting for Ma to put supper in front of them.

  Ben threw the coiled bull whip on the table in front of his father. “Did you really tell Samson he could whip me just like he does with any slave? Tell me, Pa, is this what you’ve become? A man who will allow a slave to beat your son just like he would beat any black slave?”

  Ma gasped, turned from the stove, and cried out, “Ben! Oh, my Lord! Samson beat you with a whip?”

  “No, Ma, he didn’t get the chance, but he came at me with it. I just want Pa to tell me the truth. Did you tell Samson he had the right to beat me whenever he wanted to?”

  Pa’s face paled with Ben threw the whip on the table, but now it was suffused with red. “Don’t talk to me that way, Benjamin. Until I say otherwise, you are no different from any other slave. As it is, you are living high on the hog: you get your meals from this house, instead of having to cook them yourself, and you have a room of your own in the old kitchen, instead of living in the slave quarters. This was my concession to your grandmother, who still fancies herself head of my household. You…”

  “Grammy is the head of this household, and it isn’t your household.” Ben shook his head impatiently. “What does that matter? I just want to know if you told Samson he could whip me like he does the slaves? That’s all I want, Pa, just an answer.”

  “You have no right to any kind of answer, Benjamin. You also don’t have the right to barge into my house and confront me this way. I am following the Court’s order that you are to work in the fields and be treated as any other slave. This is your punishment for helping those slaves escape. Don’t ever again come into this house and interrogate me this way. You belong outside of these doors, so get your ass back out into the fields. Here, take this gol’darned whip with you. Now, get out of my house!”

  Ben looked at his father for a long moment. Images of their lives together when he was young tumbled through his mind: there was always an easy camaraderie between his older brothers and Pa which he had envied all of his life. Pa always seemed stilted and ill at ease with him, yet all he had ever wanted was for Pa to treat him the same as he treated Andrew and James.

  He glanced at his mother, but she ducked her head and refused to meet his eyes. She merely nodded towards the door, reminding him he had better leave.

  “My house? When did it become your house, Pa? This place is still the Tate Plantation, and that is my grandmother’s name, not yours. I’ll leave, okay, but don’t tell me I can’t come back. I’m your son, even if you wish I weren’t, and this house is still my home, too.”

  He turned to leave, but the CRACK! of the whip as it whistled through the air stopped him. The tail of the bull whip spun high in the air, and whistled again as it wrapped itself around Ben’s shoulders.

  “Don’t ever speak to me that way again, and don’t ever come into this house again unless you are ordered to.” Pa threw the handle of the whip down so forcefully the dishes on the table wobbled. Andrew and James jumped, looked at each other, and raced out the back door.

  Pa stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs, almost running down Grammy. She rushed into the kitchen, and stopped abruptly when she saw Ben trying to disengage the whip wrapped around him.

  Her face twisted in anger when she heard her daughter say, with no emotion on her face, “I think you have done enough damage, Ben. You need to leave. Now.”

  Grammy rushed over to him. “Oh, my God, what has that man done? Here, let me help get that wicked thing off you.”

  She helped unwrap the thin braid that carried such pain with it, and threw it down. She pushed Ben gently into a chair, and said sharply to her daughter, “Laura, get down off that high horse you’re on, and get me some cold water and towels.” She looked over her shoulder. “Don’t just stand there like a dolt, go! Now!”

  Ben sat in silence, his shoulders shaking with pain. He still could not make sense of what had just happened. His own father, who had never struck him before, had now done so with a whip. One lash or ten, it didn’t matter. He had whipped him as he would have a true slave.

  He looked up at his grandmother. “I should never have come home, Grammy. I knew Pa would be mad and upset with me, but I never expected he would turn so much against me. He acts as if he hates me. Only I don’t think it’s an act, any more. I think he does hate me…he must, to use a bull whip on me. I should have just stayed with Josiah and his folks, and gone across the Ohio River with them”

  “Oh Ben, I’m so very sorry. I did not for one minute expect things to come to this. I…oh, Laura, it’s about time. What took you so long, did you go to the river for this water?” Grammy snatched the towels out of Ma’s hands, and set the bucket of water down roughly on the floor. “Now, go find your husband, or do whatever you want, just get out of my sight. And stay out of it, you hear me?”

  Grammy pulled Ben’s shirt gently off his shoulders, where the lash had sliced into his skin. She dabbed cold water on the cuts, washing the blood away. “I know this hurts, but you will feel better in a few minutes. It will sting for a bit, but the cuts are not much more than scratches. Your father isn’t much of a hand with a whi
p. He just enjoys telling Samson he can whip the slaves any time he wants to. One of these days, those slaves will be free, and both Samson and your pa had better hightail it for the hills.”

  She patted his back dry, and helped him put his shirt back on. “You okay now, Ben?”

  He stood, turned to look at her, and saw the worry on her face. “I’m okay, as far as the cuts go, but not when it comes to Pa and Ma. I don’t understand, Grammy. I know I did wrong, in their eyes, but they know how close Josiah and I were. He was my only friend. Why was setting one crippled slave free so bad that they have to hate me?”

  Grammy saw the tears in his eyes, and the hurt on his face that didn’t come from a whip. She hugged him carefully. “Come, let’s sit a spell and talk like we used to.”

  She poured them both some coffee, still hot from sitting on the stove, and sat down. She took a sip, put the mug down carefully, and shook her head.

  “Ben, your Pa has lost his reason about a lot of things. Ever since Lincoln was elected, there’s serious talk about a war coming. He and the states up North want a unified Federal government, but the Southern states are bound and determined to keep this part of the country consolidated under our Southern Constitution. Nobody really knows what is going to happen.”

  Ben sat quietly for a moment. “So then if the Southern states can’t keep their Constitution, and have to go under Federal law, that means slavery will be abolished, doesn’t it?”

  Grammy nodded. “Yes, it does. That’s one reason your Pa is so blamed peevish. He’s afraid he’s going to lose his slaves. Or rather, my slaves.” She sighed, took another sip of coffee, and went on. “I declare, I should never have given him control over the slaves and the work of the plantation, but after your grandfather died, it just made sense to do it that way. I surely couldn’t handle everything here by myself. But enough of that.”