Chasing Freedom Read Online Free PDF Page B

the fear and some of the daily aching lifted from Sarah’s spirit. In all that squalor and misery, she was grateful and managed a smile from time to time.

Five
    T HE MORNING AIR WAS WARMING AND THE DARK SKY brightening as the frost lifted from the Birchtown trail. At first a mere footpath cut through the trees, the trail was now worn and widened from the daily travels of hundreds to and from Roseway—a bustling town with homes, businesses and warehouses.
    It was only a mile more to Prince and Beulah’s place. Sarah stepped aside to let a man hauling a cart filled with wood go by. She turned to Grandmother and out of the blue said, “I never dreamed of such a dreadful place. There are days I yearn for home.”
    Grandmother looked at Sarah, her face drawn tight. “Why on earth would you do that, Girlie?”
    â€œI miss having chores and good food—sweet potatoes, melons, peanuts and greens, and I miss the music and dancing. Such fun. And the sermons and singing at the camp meetings, too. Do you miss it?”
    â€œI do think on it sometimes.” Grandmother stopped for a minute. “Oh, that revolution. War shakes things up and brings about something different. Maybe the Lord was telling everyone that it was time for a change.”
    â€œNothing left but the memories,” Sarah droned.
    â€œYes, yes, the pain of memories. You be careful, Girlie. Things we thought we left behind will haunt us. We must think on mending our lives like patching an old pair of breeches. We must find our way here.” She rubbed the wooden ring on her finger and said, “We must keep the bad juju away.” Grandmother slowed down and her voice softened. “Some of mine never got to see this old world. Others be snatched from me. Oh Lord, I pray that one day I will get to see all my children … before I go to Glory.” Her words trailed off and there was no mistaking the pain behind the grief.
    Sarah was confused. Grandmother had two sons: Sarah’s papa, Fortune, who had gone off and joined the revolution, and his younger brother, Prince, who was married to Beulah. Were there others? She looked off in the distance and brushed aside her eagerness to learn more about the past and this woman who seemed just as much a stranger as any of the other Birchtowners.
    Sarah shifted her baskets. Slavery had denied them their right to have a real family. They had been the master’s property and he had the right to sell children, mothers and fathers, scattering them to the wind. She wondered if there was any chance of the old woman’s longing coming true. Would it be possible for her to find her other children? Was it possible that they might be here in Nova Scotia?
    â€œThere’s not much family left,” Sarah said.
    â€œWe have each other and your Uncle Prince and Aunt Beulah for now.”
    â€œThere are four of us and one more on the way. That’s five.” Sarah grinned. It was her mother who had taught her numbers and words. How different her mother had been from the woman marching ahead with her feet coming down hard on the ground. Grandmother’s words were always sharp, to the point, while Dahlia’s light-hearted nature had caught people up.
    Sarah pictured her mother in the driving heat of the midday sun. Saw her walking the mile-long rows with her dress drenched in sweat as she filled her bags with cotton. Saw her scooping out food and placing it in hollowed gourds from the barrels Mr. MacLeod brought to the fields. By day, she lit up the fields with her spirituals. By night, while Sarah kept watch for Cecil, slaves gathered round to hear Dahlia spin magical tales of Africa, of casting out spells, of romance and of people gone missing in the middle of the night. “A sweet woman,” Papa had said. “She be the scented sap running through a honeysuckle vine.”
    Dahlia had loved to read. She learned how by sneaking off with Mingo, an escaped slave