Halfway to Freedom
High School: Grades 9–12
Story
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Before Hannah could ask questions, Mary appeared. Taking Hannah by the hand, she guided her to a tall closet and helped her inside. Hannah heard the back door close as Shepherd went out and light footfalls on the stairs as Mary returned to her bedroom. Hannah waited in the dark, tense and alert.
"Open up!" a rough voice shouted. Heavy fists banged on the front door. Overhead, Hannah heard whispers. Someone walked across the floor, paused for a few moments, then descended the stairs. From the heavy steps, Hannah guessed John was coming.
"Open up or we'll bust down yer door!" another harsh voice demanded.
"One moment please, gentlemen, while I light the lamp," John answered. When the light flamed, Hannah realized the kitchen closet in which she hid was actually a hollow space in the partition wall. Through the cracks between the strips of narrow paneling, she could see into the parlor. She watched as John led two husky men into the room. They wore pistol holsters and shackles on their belts. Mary, dressed as though she were entertaining guests, invited them to sit down.
"Ferget the fancy talk," the bearded man replied, "We're huntin' a runaway. You seen this young man?" The man waved a reward notice in John's face.
"Hey," the other man interrupted. "How d'we know he ain't a runaway hisself?"
John turned to his wife, "Mrs. Jones, please show these gentlemen our freedom certificates." Mary went to the writing desk, unlocked the front panel, and pulled two documents from a cubicle. She handed them to the bearded man, who read them with a frown.
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The other slave hunter was looking around the parlor. Two portraits, one of John and one of Mary, caught his attention. "They's had their pictures painted. These darkies think they's pretty important. And look at these silver forks lyin' on the table! Where'd they come from, Mr. Jones? You take 'em from your boss?" he asked. Despite her fear, Hannah's anger flashed at the rude taunt.
Mary, however, remained calm. "The forks are a gift from our good friend Frederick Douglass," she answered politely. "He even had them engraved. See?" She picked up the forks and traced the lettering with her finger as she read: "Frederick to Mary."
While his partner was gawking at the forks, the bearded man had been rummaging through the desk. Now he held up a handful of pamphlets. "You shouldn't be readin' this abolitionist lit'rachure, Mr. Jones. It'll give ya high-flutin' ideas—make ya too proud fer yer own good. You's only a tailor after all." A wicked grin came over his face. "I found this newspaper advertisement and a notice in the city directory for yer shop here in yer desk. I'll just take 'em with me in case I need any sewin' or washin'."
"A customer is always welcome at my shop, but I can't assist you tonight," John replied. "Perhaps you will be on your way?"
"We'll be goin' along," the bearded man answered, "but you'll be seein' us again." He called to his partner, "C'mon, Jake. Let's go catch that runaway."
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