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did would be his own—the money he earned, his own to spend. He could go where he pleased. He could name his own children, instead of having Master do it for him. And those children, growing up, could not be sold away from him. Freedom is a mighty and precious thing, but I don’t think any of us, here in this room, can understand what it must have meant to a person who was born a slave. So I say, I don’t blame ol’ Jackson for leaving.”
    The fire cracked sharply. Carole jumped. Grand Alice paused, then went on. “His babies were too young to go—tooyoung to keep quiet during all those dark and dangerous nights of travel. His wife, they say, would not leave her children. But Jackson, he had to go. He promised her that he would come back for them, just as soon as he earned the money to buy their freedom.
    “Well, word came back to them by that same Underground Railroad. Jackson had made it safe to the North. They heard he was in Boston. They heard he had a job, and was working hard. Then they heard nothing. A few years went by.
    “The Civil War began. It became impossible to send messages between the North and the South. Finally the war ended, and the slaves were freed. Jackson Washington’s family didn’t know what to do. They didn’t know how to find him. They didn’t know if he was dead or alive. They thought he was dead, for sure. The children—two boys and a girl—were now eight, nine, and ten years old. With their mother, they set off north to find their daddy.”
    Grand Alice licked her dry lips. “Get me some water, Louise, honey,” she said. Louise ran to the kitchen and came back with a tall glass. Grand Alice took several large swallows. “That’s better,” she said. “So. They went to Boston and found that Jackson had been there, but had moved on, so they moved on too. There were freedmen’s societies—blacks helping blacks find their families. Many families had been split apart by slavery. With the societies’ help, that woman and those children tracked Jackson Washingtonfrom place to place. They looked for him for the better part of two years, working when they needed to, traveling when they could. They found him finally. I’m guessing that they wished they never did.”
    Carole felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. What had Jackson done?
    “Jackson was working for a logging company in a tiny town in Minnesota, on the Great Northern Railway line near the Mississippi River. Name of the town was Foley. Jackson, never much liking the name Washington, had changed his name to Foley too.
    “He’d given the name Foley to his wife. And to their four children.”
    There was dead silence in the room. Carole wasn’t sure she understood. “But his wife and children were looking for him,” she said.
    “His first wife and children. His second wife and children were with him in Foley.” Grand Alice sighed. “I don’t blame him for leaving. I sure do blame him for never going back.”
    Aunt Jessie spoke. Her dark eyes were angry. “You see, Carole, slave marriages weren’t legal. Legally, only Jackson Foley’s second wife was actually married to him.”
    “But legally—what difference did legally mean?” Carole asked. She was horrified. “While they waited and waited for him, and tried so hard to find him, he’d just given them up?”
    “He’d just given up,” Grand Alice said. “Apparently, he’d decided that he’d never be able to afford to buy his first family’s freedom, so he just started over. He didn’t know the war would come, of course. He didn’t know they’d all soon be free. But I say, he shouldn’t have given up.” She set her mouth in a firm line and folded and unfolded her hands.
    “What happened next?” Christina asked.
    “There was a ruckus that shook the streets of Foley. My husband’s grandfather was the eldest of the second batch of children—he was five years old—and he can remember the women shouting back and forth and the children