A Slave of the Shadows, page 22
In her early years, she had a reoccurring nightmare, flashes of running in the dark with dogs snapping and barking at her heels, someone pulling her along, a paralyzing fear compelling her to seek a hiding place. It always ended the same. A white woman with bewitching green eyes would pull her to her chest and whisper comfort. She hadn’t had the nightmare for years—until the other night, after Willow Hendricks, exuding refined dignity, gracefully sauntered into the restaurant. Ruby’s subconscious awoke. The shroud she’d hid the hazy memories behind parted and they returned with a vengeance. Because of Willow’s fierce green eyes, so like those of the woman in her dream.
The voyage to New York had left Ruby with a phobia of dark spaces. Her stomach seesawed with the memories of gnawing hunger, the struggle to stay hidden for days on end in the pitch-black of the hold in the cargo ship. When night fell and she heard no human voices, she would slip up to the deck to inhale the fresh air. Any movement would send her scurrying below decks.
The night she returned from the upper deck and saw the whites of another pair of eyes looking back at her, she almost choked on her own heart when it leapt into her throat. The stowaway had hidden with her in the cargo area, and as sneaky as she had been, she’d never caught wind of his existence.
Will was around twelve years old, with ginger-colored hair and a peppering of freckles. He was an Irish indentured servant. He’d served his four-year contract and when it was up, his owner abandoned him to the streets. He aimed to get to New York to search for his mother, who was there serving out the terms of her contract. Will said they’d lived on the streets in Ireland with no family to turn to, and hoping for a better life, his mother had signed contracts for herself and her son.
Things took a sideways turn when they were at sea. Their owner offered up his mother’s seven-year contract in a drunken round of cards and lost. His mother, broken and defeated, became disconnected from her son for the remainder of the passage to the Americas. But as he exited the ship with his new master, she ran to him and clasped him in her embrace, then leaned back and held his face between her calloused hands. Gently but earnestly shaking him, she’d made him promise that, when his four years were up, he would find her in New York.
He’d stood on the dock, blinded by tears as she screamed to him, “New York, me boy!”
He boarded the same ship as Ruby and set sail to New York with the ambition of reuniting with his mother.
At night when the noise of the crew faded and the only sounds were the waves against the hull and the echoing clap of the massive sails, Will stole above to gather food. Like a sly fox he crept up, threading through the bunks of the slumbering crew, and scampered back below without stirring a hair on their heads or a whisker on their snoring faces. Ruby grinned in elation when he returned unscathed, time and time again. With the craftiness of her newly discovered friend, the hunger slashing at her empty belly lessened.
When the ship docked in New York and they stepped out into the golden, sharp sunlight, she lifted her nose to the heavens and inhaled a deep, lung-filling breath. Will grabbed her arm and zipped her away. Roaming the streets, she began to tremble, and a new foreboding ate at her.
What was she supposed to do now?
Then she felt Will’s arm around her small shoulders.
She spent the next year of her life living in the slums of Five Points with Will, stealing food and sleeping wherever they could find shelter. The streets were rampant with crime and danger. Will continued to protect and care for her. He was street smart and he taught her how to survive on the streets. Eventually, Will found a job as an errand boy, which paid little, but it kept food in their bellies.
The night the men came, they’d settled down in the makeshift shelter they’d crafted with the scraps of sails, a few pieces of broken lumber, and fraying rope. They’d lain on the frozen ground within their shelter with their bellies half full, satisfied that they would survive yet another day.
Rough arms seized Will through the back of the shelter and she scrambled out the front. Two men held Will pinned to the ground, but he was having none of it. He fought like a wild animal.
The grizzled, bearded man growled at his accomplice to grab her while he knelt with his knee on Will’s throat to hold him down. For a moment Will ceased fighting; flashing fear-filled eyes her way, he’d cried, “Run!”
She hesitated, but as the other man started toward her, she turned and ran. The wooden blocks that were supposed to be her legs felt leaden, but she never stopped; she wove around obstacles, trying to lose the man pursuing her as Will had taught her. When she was sure she’d lost the man, she dodged in behind some broken barrels and sobbed softly so no one would hear.
Will… Her mouth parted in a silent cry. She was utterly alone in the world. She’d lost her only friend.
She leaned back against the old crate behind her and shuddered with both cold and fear. Will would often spoon his body around hers for warmth. When the nightmares came, he’d rubbed her back and soothed her fears with cheerful words. She had grown reliant on the safety he provided.
What would happen to him? Would she ever see him again? He would get away! Will was smart and strong.
The next morning she returned to their shelter. It now lay in shambles, and there was no sign of Will. She searched the whole area, to no avail. She checked their usual meeting spots but he was not there. She described him to the peddlers and panhandlers and asked if they had seen him. Some shoved her away in annoyance and others heard her out before shaking their heads. For the next month she returned to the area of their shelter at night and observed it from concealment. Will never returned.
Then came the day fortune smiled down on her. A peddler with a cart of fresh bread for sale caught her eye. Slipping up to the cart, she snatched a loaf and spun to scamper away.
“Stop right there, you thieving nigger!” he yelled, chasing after her. The pounding of his feet grew closer and closer.
Her head snapped back as he grabbed a fistful of her collar. She heard the thin material tear as he lifted her and turned her to face him, but he shifted his grip to a new section before she could get away. Dangling in the air, she glared into his beady eyes. He returned her glare, his mouth twisted with disgust and hatred. She panicked and kicked him in the stomach with all her might, knocking the wind from him. He released her and doubled over in pain. She ran like she had never run before.
She looked over her shoulder and grinned. Will would be proud at how strong and fast her legs were. And then she ran smack into a brick wall. She would have reeled backward if a hand hadn’t grabbed her upper arm to steady her. The wall was a human. Instinctively, Ruby started to struggle and claw at her captor.
“Calm down, little tiger, I’m not going to harm you,” the woman said, laughing.
That was the day she met Amy and Joshua Stewart. Amy had won her with kindness and the promise of a big meal. Ruby, with nothing to lose, followed her home. Amy Stewart bathed her and dressed her in a simple cotton dress. It was the nicest dress Ruby had ever had. After a full course meal, Amy offered her a bed for the night. Ruby stared up at her suspiciously but then accepted, as the thought of spending another night alone was almost unbearable.
The Stewarts’ easy, genuine ways won her over as night after night passed, until they asked her to stay permanently.
Unable to have children of their own, they treated her as if she was born to them. They were aware she was a fugitive and kept her profile low so she didn’t catch the eye of any slave catchers. They read the ads for runaways, searching for alerts for girls matching her description. Her master never came looking. The Stewarts told her one day after she had lived with them a little over a year that her master had probably thought she was dead, because how could a child so young and alone ever survive?
Ruby smiled smugly that day and said, “He must be a dumb masa ’cause I outsmarted him.”
The Stewarts glanced at each other and chuckled before resting their fond gaze on her. Amy said, “Well, young lady, if you are to remain here as our daughter, we need to have you properly educated. What do you think of that?” Ruby had bounced with excitement at the chance to learn.
The Stewarts never faltered in their promise to care for her. They registered her at a local black school, changing her name to “Ruby Stewart.” They never legally adopted her, but to her, they were her parents in every way that mattered.
As abolitionists, they surrounded themselves with friends who shared their beliefs, and Ruby remained unreported as the fugitive she was. Born a slave but raised a free woman, she sometimes wondered who was peering up at the same star-filled sky, wondering about her and whether she was well. The only key she held to her past and the one thing she remembered was the name Mag.
IN THE WEEKS THAT FOLLOWED we enjoyed all the finest things New York had to offer, from the theater and upscale restaurants to the museums. We shopped until we had filled several extra trunks for our journey home. The twins had a complete new wardrobe. Kimie, with a fashion sense like her big sister, found great delight in her new clothes. Jack, being Jack (and a boy), grumbled at the endless wandering of stores. Whitney treated him to a new toy to occupy him, which also kept his complaints to a minimum.
Our last few days in New York, we visited with Whitney’s Auntie Em, who showed immense enjoyment of our company. Father remained in the city, attending to his affairs. Our time with Aunt Em ended too soon for all of us. We headed back to the hotel to prepare for our trip home.
When we arrived at the hotel, the front desk clerk handed me a message. I unfolded the stationery and read the brief, neatly scripted note.
Miss Willow,
I know you will be heading home soon and I’d like the honor of meeting with you one more time. If you could meet me at the same coffeehouse as before, I would like to ask you a few questions. I will be there at two o’clock.
Ruby Stewart
“Who is it from?” Whitney asked.
“It’s from Ruby. She would like to meet with me at the coffeehouse. She said she has some questions for me.” I lifted a brow in curiosity at Ruby’s last-minute request.
The ear-piercing squeal of the twins as they raced around the lobby demanded our immediate attention.
“Jack, Kimie—come here this instant!” Whitney demanded.
The twins came meekly to her side. Whitney’s exhaustion was evident. I watched her as she spoke firmly to her brother and sister on the manners expected of them in a public place. I admired the maternal love she had for her siblings and how she had taken full responsibility for them when they had no one else. One word described my dear friend, and it was “selfless.”
“Why don’t you all stay here? Mary Grace could use the rest and these rascals can relax and play in their room,” I tousled Jack’s hair. He grinned up at me, thrilled at the idea of not having to follow us on another outing.
He turned to Whitney and bobbed his head up and down. “Please, Whitney. Like Willow said, we need to rest. You girls pretty much wore out my good shoes with all your shopping.”
Whitney and I exchanged a glance. The corners of our mouths turned up.
“I insist, Whitney,” I said. “You are wiped clean of energy, and it would do you all some good to rest a spell.”
I saw the conflicting emotions zigzag across her face—relief, yet uncertainty.
“It will be fine.” I smiled, lightly resting my hand on her arm.
“You’re right. These twins will be the end of my youth.” She laughed.
The doorman signaled a hansom cab and it rolled to a stop. The doorman helped me into the cab, and I was off.
The driver helped me out at the coffeehouse. I paused to smooth my cream-colored taffeta dress while I peered through the windows. I saw Ruby. She gazed out the window, but her eyes seemed to be focused far away.
Lifting the hem of my gown to avoid the grime on the cobblestones, I strolled to the door and stepped inside. I showed myself to Ruby’s table.
“Good day, Miss Ruby,” I said as I seated myself.
“Oh, Miss Willow.” Her eyes focused on me and she grinned sheepishly. “Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.”
“Not to worry,” I said. “You said you had some questions for me?”
Ruby nodded and paused while composing what she wanted to say. But instead of speaking, she looked at me bleakly and her eyes sought mine.
“Ruby, ask me whatever you like. What is troubling you so?”
“It’s your eyes. I’m wondering if I’ve seen them before, but when I was a little girl.”
“My eyes?” I frowned, perplexed. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“As I mentioned to you, I don’t recall my past before I came to New York. My childhood came to me in dreams and visions I can’t piece together. They plagued me for years before disappearing altogether. When you walked into the restaurant, I had an eerie feeling I had met you before. Your face looks so familiar, but it’s your eyes that have haunted me since we met. You see, in my visions I see a woman with the same deep green eyes. All these years, I’ve thought that my subconscious was trying to tell me something, but I’ve forced the thoughts away because they were too confusing and frightening to deal with. After meeting you, my turmoil has returned.”
Stunned, I swallowed hard, uncertain what to say. I could not give her the answers she sought. “What is this woman doing in your visions?” I asked, hoping to help her sort out her thoughts.
“It’s dark…we are running in a thick wooded area…it’s damp and cold. I hear the barking of dogs and men shouting. As the scenes play out, I’m filled with a fear so great I can’t move. The woman and child are running frantically, trying to escape the men and their dogs. During these visions, I am looking through the eyes of the child. In the next vision the woman and the child are hiding in tall bushes or grass, and the child is sobbing. The woman pulls the child to her and tries to calm her. Besides a direct view of the woman’s eyes, that is all I see of her.
“It’s the same visions over and over. In other dreams a man appears to me—like the woman, always the same man. He pats my head affectionately and his infectious laughter makes me laugh. Then when my dreams turn to nightmares, he rides in like a black knight and hums a tune that soothes all my fears. When I wake I’m drenched in sweat and tears, feeling a longing so deep, I can’t eat or sleep for days.” Ruby stopped and regarded me with tortured eyes.
“Do you think your mind is putting bits and pieces of your escape together?”
“That is what keeps rolling around in my head. It makes sense that someone helped me escape. How could a child so young make it all the way to New York alone? But then again…maybe it’s not my story at all. Maybe it’s me longing to know where I came from, and I’m pushing myself to make these visions my own past. Maybe this vision had to do with you coming into my life, and our lives will become intertwined in helping the slaves to freedom.”
I came to understand her confusion as she voiced her thoughts. “What of the black knight? What significance does he play in these dreams?”
“Maybe he is my father…or maybe he is my Prince Charming.” She tried to laugh playfully, but it didn’t ease the confusion on her face.
“I’m sorry, Ruby, that I can’t be of more help.”
Her eyes grew sad. “It’s all right. How could I expect answers from you about a past that has nothing to do with you? It’s almost a relief to reveal the craziness in my head aloud to someone.” She smiled softly.
As we boarded the train to return to Livingston, my mind returned to the conversation I’d had with Ruby. I knew how daunting unanswered questions could be, and how they could nibble away at your mind. As the train pulled out of the station, I glanced out my window and sent voiceless well wishes to my newfound friend, and the hope that she would find the answers she sought.
WE’D BEEN BACK AT LIVINGSTON for a month when the opportunity to approach Father with my long-delayed questions finally presented itself. We were sitting in the library that evening, the fireplace crackling and popping, washing the room in a cozy, welcoming glow. A lover of chess, Father studied the board, his chin resting in his hand as he calculated his next move. I considered the man before me; he’d spent more time lately doing right by me than wrong. He had softened, and the change made me want to do my part to mend the years of hurt and dysfunction between us.
My eyes traveled over the creases forged around the corners of his mouth and eyes. He was creeping up on sixty years. Did he ever relax? I regarded his rigid posture. Until lately, I’d never seen him laugh or find any enjoyment in life. He consistently exuded authority and had been serious and guarded for as long as I could remember. He’d provided me with all the worldly possessions a girl could want, but he held his feelings and love at arm’s length.
“Willow, it’s your turn.”
“Oh, sorry.” I dropped my eyes to study the board.
“Care to share what has tied up your mind?”
I picked up my rook and moved it to take his open bishop. “It’s nothing. I was thinking of life and how it is playing out.”
“If you could change something in your life, what would you change?” He tentatively held my gaze.
I fought the urge to squirm. Here was my opening.
“I would want to know of my mother,” I said, my voice strained. “Please, Father, give me this bit of peace,” I implored him, my eyes fastened on his. I noticed the change in them at my request. I tensed in anticipation of another rejection.
Father leaned back, inhaling deeply, and his eyes met mine. He clasped his hands under his chin, resting his index fingers on his lips as if pondering what he would say. Anxiety built in the space between us and pounded in my ears.
