Publication of any and all trademarks contained herein are not authorized by, associated with, nor sponsored by the trademark owners.

~~~

~~~

The Ultimate Freedom

by Stephanie Rose

(A daring rescue leads to a lifelong romance.)

~~~

Please accept this humble homage to the BEST African-American historical romance novelist of them all, Ms. Beverly Jenkins.

~~~

Inspired by Black History Month and Women’s History Month.

~~~

Dedicated to Ms. Lear Green and Mr. Henry “Box” Brown.

~~~

“We’re almost there.  Just keep the faith, Selene.  We’re almost there.”

Selene St. Laurent, her fair, buttermilk skin flushed with anxiety, paced nervously near the rear of the Detroit, Michigan train station.  Having driven her wagon over five miles to meet her cargo there, she was now waiting for her longtime friends William Powell and James Crescent to complete the tasks so she could be on her way.  She’d met the handsome, brown-skinned men at the train station only moments before, and was anxiously awaiting the transfer of their freight.

The sun had almost set, and a thick veil of darkness was settling over the land.  Though tiredness began to seep into her bones from the rugged trip, a steady stream of adrenaline had been coursing through her veins since she began traveling almost an hour ago.  Ever nervous, she wiped her damp hands on her modest floor-length skirt, bustled by layers of thin petticoats.

All at once, William and James signaled each other.  On the count of three, they lifted a heavy wooden coffin from their wagon and placed it into hers.  Selene, the lone inhabitant down from the MathertonCemetery, was known in the community for picking up freight from the train station and delivering it to the small African-American cemetery for a modest fee.

Once the weighty pine box was loaded in the back of her covered wagon and covered with a heavy sackcloth, Selene exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.  “Where’d this come from?” she asked, her breathing finally starting to return to normal.

“Virginia,” William said, addressing her again.

“Some sort of slave revolt that went bad,” James interjected loudly, so that the passersby could hear.  “Lots of bodies.  And this one here,” he said as he patted the box, “had specific instructions to be buried in Detroit with the rest of their family.”

Selene nodded, silently processing the information.  “All right,” she said finally, her light French accent tingeing her words.  “I’ll see you again next time.” 

Once the men made sure the cargo was secure, she boarded her wagon and bid them farewell.  Then, with a quick snap of her reins, she led her horses back on the five-mile journey home.

~~~

Rather than travel the cobbled Detroit roads, Selene always traveled back from the train station using the wooded path she set out for herself years ago.  She’d now traveled it so much, that she knew nearly every tree, every rock and every other marker on the route.  It was a bit out of the way, but it made her somewhat less conspicuous than if she’d traveled the main roads.

The sun now set, she continued quickly down the darkened pathways, making excellent time.  As she traveled, now less than two miles from her home, she noticed her horses, Ace and Deuce, began to move slower and more carefully.  She watched them closely as their ears perked up, sensing something ominous in the air.

Then, her own senses began to tingle.  She couldn’t put her finger on why, but a feeling of dread suddenly washed over her.  However, she got a measure of comfort from feeling the cold steel underneath her garter, her pearl-handled pistol’s coolness pressing tight against her thigh.

All of a sudden, she heard a rustling in the distance.  Then she heard male voices coming from the main road.  Only a half-mile off the path, she slowed her approach so as not to attract attention.  As she maneuvered her wagon around a thick patch of brush, she heard a male voice call out in a sing-song voice:

“Gonna catch me a negra to-night, to-night!  Gonna catch me a negra tonight!”

She froze.

Having heard the voice and the laughter that followed, she knew in an instant that her life was in danger.

She recognized the loud, gravely voice as Jeb Randall, the eldest of the Randall boys, and surmised that he and his younger brother, Cal, were on their nightly rounds.  Selene had hoped that she’d miss them, but now she was confronted with her worst nightmare.

Adept slave catchers, the Randall clan was known for terrorizing the Black residents of Detroit.  They were known for using any and every method available to them to capture members of the race and return them back to enslavement.

Selene pulled the reigns tight, causing her horses to stand still.  She hoped they wouldn’t get spooked with her sudden motion, but it was important that neither of them moved or even made a sound.

As the voices grew closer, she slid her hand to her pistol, but the Randall boys were most likely armed too.  Though she was confident she could get one of them, she knew that both brothers were quick on the draw and the surviving one would surely take her out.

She decided to sit quietly in the brush and hope they’d pass by without incident.  Her heart pounded and her eyes darted around her, trying to find an advantage, but there was nothing she could do but sit and wait.

Her every nerve was taut as she waited for them to pass.  Luckily, she had the night on her side, as the darkness joined with the trees and shrubbery to give her cover.

Seemingly endless moments passed with her holding her breath, willing for her and her horses to remain still.  Finally, the voices grew more and more distant until they’d gone well down the road.

~~~

Still trembling, Selene quickly directed her horses onward.  Before long, the Matherton cemetery was in sight, less than a quarter of a mile away, but this cargo had another destination. 

She passed the cemetery and continued home.  Once there, she stopped the wagon behind her house.  She slipped to the ground, tied the horses to the post next to her back door, and hurried inside her spacious, two-and-a-half-story home.  After a quick check upstairs, downstairs and in the cellar to make sure the place was empty, she went back to the kitchen, lit a lantern and took it with her back outside.  The dark night had well settled onto the grounds, so she took the lantern and did a quick check of the land around her home.

When she was sure there was no one lurking around, she went back to the wagon.  She set the lantern onto the ground, then slowly pulled the heavy sackcloth off of the coffin.

As she stared at the wooden box, a thick tension began to creep over her.  Despite knowing she had a limited amount of time, she took slow, tentative steps to the coffin, held her breath, and rapped three times on the top.

She waited, seemingly for an eternity.

Then she heard it.

Three raps in return.

She smiled as the tension suddenly left her body.  She retrieved a metal crowbar that had been stored underneath her wagon and removed the four large metal bolts holding the top of the box secure.

In a moment, she had the bolts removed.  She then carefully pried open the top of the box.

Selene picked up her lantern and illuminated the small space.  Inside the straw-packed space was a pretty young woman, but her eyes were so puffy from crying that they’d nearly swollen shut.  Her skin was dark and smooth like the richest coffee, but the grueling journey had added a grim pallor to it.  Despite her beauty, the woman was dressed in a tattered and soiled muslin shift that draped lifelessly over her body. 

At the feel of the cool night air, the woman’s eyes opened and she gasped.  She began to cough violently as the fresh air flowed through her lungs.  She looked up at Selene and her eyes grew wide with fear.

 “Please,” the woman said, her southern accent thick with exhaustion and fear, “please don’t hurt me–”

“No, ma cherie, you’re safe now,” Selene cooed, trying to assuage her fears.  “My name is Selene.  Selene St. Laurent.  And you’ve made it to Midnight.  According to the laws here, you’re free now.  You’re really free.”

The woman blinked.  Then suddenly, her eyes overflowed with tears that began to slip silently down her face.

~~~

Selene quickly helped her out of the box and onto the cool ground.  As the woman was let out of her hiding place, Selene noticed the tiny, imperceptible holes drilled in the sides and bottom of the box to allow for wisps of air to come inside. 

When her feet hit the ground, the woman stumbled, not having stood in almost a day.  Selene put her arm around her and tried not to notice the woman’s shapely form as she helped her into the house.  Selene sat her down at the kitchen table and gave her a cool drink of water from the pitcher she kept in the icebox near the back door.

“I’m going to put the horses away,” Selene said as she went back to the door.  “So just relax and I’ll be back shortly.”

After securing the horses in the barn, Selene went back into the house and made sure all of the doors were locked securely.  When she came back to the kitchen, Selene found the tall glass empty, and the woman resting her head on the table.  Finding her so visibly fatigued that it tugged at her heart, Selene nearly carried the woman downstairs to the secret room she had in the cellar.

She helped the woman onto a small cot set on a four-legged frame, and covered her with a thick handmade quilt.  As the woman lay there, she mumbled something.

“Say that again,” Selene said, leaning close.

The woman’s words were low and thick with weariness.  “I have to…to…relieve…”

Selene nodded.  “I have a chamber pot right over here.”

She helped the woman back up and to the corner of the room.  After the woman took care of her needs, Selene helped her back into bed.

“Now, just rest, ma cherie,” Selene said gently.  “I’ll be back soon.”

Selene then went back up to the kitchen and grabbed her wooden buckets.  It took several trips to the well out back to fill the large caldron she kept in the kitchen, but the effort would be well worth it.  Once it was full, she started a low fire underneath which would heat the fresh water.

As the water’s temperature rose, Selene cut off a few slices of the homemade bread she’d made the day before and spread a thin layer of butter on top.  A short while later, she headed back down to the cellar, carefully balancing a bucket filled with hot water and a rag with the plate of buttered bread and a second glass of cool water.

“Wake up, ma cherie,” she said to the resting woman.  “You have to eat something.”

The woman slowly opened her eyes as Selene set the items on a large overturned barrel and lit a second lantern that she kept in the room.  She waited for the small space to lighten, then took a good look at the woman now in her care.

Selene gasped.

The woman, strikingly pretty, had a large, ugly bruise on the side of her face.  She also had several cuts on her neck and untold bruises underneath her clothes.

“Oh, ma cherie,” Selene cried as she knelt down next to the cot.  She quickly wet the rag and dotted it against the purplish bruise.  “Does it hurt much?”

The woman nodded. 

“Well here,” Selene said as she dipped the rag back into the hot water.  “Get something to eat and another cold drink of water.  Just eat and drink while I tend to your injury.”

The woman took the small plate and ate slowly at first, but as the delicious snack got to her, she quickened her pace.

“Easy, ma cherie,” Selene chuckled as she continued dabbing at the bruise.  “There’s plenty more where that came from, so take it easy.”

The woman smiled, her first since coming to Selene’s house, and ate a bit slower.

As Selene watched her, she was inexplicably drawn to the woman’s beauty.  Her skin was like rich chocolate, dark and delicious.  Her hair was jet black and had been done up in long, thick braids.   Her figure was lithe, a stark contrast to Selene’s more rounded shape.

Though the woman was exhausted, the grueling travel hadn’t dimmed her spirit.  Her eyes were tinged with weariness, yet shone with a sharpness that Selene took to be a keen intelligence.

Intrigued, Selene decided to find out more.  “What’s your name?” she asked innocently.

The woman was silent for a few moments, as she finished chewing.  “Bea,” she finally answered.  “Bea Richards.”

Selene was gentle with her next questions.  Putting her attraction aside, it was always important to determine the mental state of her wards as soon as possible.

“Do you know what year it is, Bea?”

Bea was silent for a moment.  “1858?”

“Good.  And the month?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, her voice husky and groggy.  “I do know it was April when I escaped.  Is it still summertime?”

“No, ma cherie.  It’s now September,” Selene said, tears coming to her eyes.  She nearly wept as she realized Bea had been on the run for over five months.  But she appeared to be one of the lucky ones.  Some took nearly a year to reach freedom.

Selene composed herself and continued.  “Do you remember where you’re from?”

Bea’s voice was stronger.  “Virginia.  Richmond, Virginia.  The Windwood plantation.”

“And do you remember where you were headed to?”

Bea smiled, giving her face a delightful glow.  “Midnight.  I was headed to Midnight.”

Selene was pleased.  Not only Bea she fully aware of her surroundings after such a long and arduous trip, she was still dedicated to achieving freedom.  And she noted that Bea knew of Detroit’s codename on the Underground Railroad, “Midnight.”

Selene noticed something else.  She took note of Bea’s impeccable diction.  I wonder how she learned to read on the plantation, she thought.  Then she again admired Bea’s silky chocolate skin.  She’s dark, Selene mused.  Did she work in the house or in the field ‒”

She shook her head, trying to rid herself from her prejudice, and painted a bright smile on her face.

Well, well, well, ma cherie,” Selene cooed, “it looks like you’re in control of your faculties, so you’re going to recover quite nicely.” 

Then Selene took a longer look at her charge.  The woman’s skin, though bruised, was smooth as silk and gleamed in the light of the lantern.  Her face was innocently pretty, with bright, clear eyes and full lips.  When Selene had helped her out of the wagon, she’d also noticed that Bea was slender, but curvy.  As she carried Bea downstairs, her hands had brushed against Bea’s full breasts.

Captivated by the woman’s raw beauty, Selene decided to find out more information.

“Do you know where your parents are?” she asked gently.

Bea’s eyes filled with tears.  “They were sold.  Back when I was a baby.”

“Do you have any brothers and sisters?  Any children?”

“Children, no.  I do have two brothers and one sister.  I haven’t seen them though since…since…”  Her words halted as silent tears began to slip down her face.

Selene decided that she’d pried enough.  “Well, just rest, ma cherie.  You’re safe here.  So just rest.  We can talk in the morning.”

Bea nodded and snuggled underneath the thick quilt.  Then she looked up at Selene.  “Thank you,” she said quietly.  “Thank you.”

Selene, overcome with emotion, stroked Bea’s hair.  “You’re welcome, ma cherie.  And welcome to freedom.  Welcome to your new life.”

Without another word, she dimmed the lantern, secured Bea in the secret room, and went upstairs to bed.

~~~

The next two mornings, Selene arose early, just before dawn.  She bathed and dressed quickly, then headed down to the cellar to check on Bea.  Finding her fast asleep, Selene went back up to the kitchen to start breakfast.

Since Bea had most likely not eaten in some time, Selene started her off with a thin, but tasty beef broth and small slices of buttered bread.  Given to her for breakfast, lunch and dinner, Bea consumed the light meals quickly, then drifted back into a deep sleep.

The following morning, Selene thought Bea was ready for a real breakfast.  After checking on her in the cellar and finding her asleep, she used her culinary skills to prepare a meal fit for a queen.

Three-quarters of an hour later, it broke her heart to have to awaken Bea, but Selene knew Bea needed sustenance in order to heal properly.  Selene carried a tray full of creamy grits, fried ham, scrambled eggs, hot, buttered biscuits and fresh-squeezed orange juice downstairs and gently fed Bea as much as she could handle. 

A few hours later, after tending to her injuries, Selene provided lunch, consisting of a thick ham sandwich and ice-cold lemonade.  Dinner followed later with half of a roasted chicken, collard greens, candied yams and a thick slice of hot bread slathered in butter. 

That night, as Bea slept, Selene watched her.  She noticed the thick head of hair that still had specks of dirt in it.  Then she took in the woman’s tattered and torn clothing.

Though she’s hurt, I’ve got to get her into some fresh clothes, Selene thought.  And I’m sure that after a nice hot bath, she’d feel much better.

At the thought of seeing the woman naked, a shiver ran down Selene’s spine.  A widow for the past five years, Selene had abandoned male company in favor of living alone. 

She loved her late husband of seven years, John Braeden, dearly, as he was a good and stable man, but she often bristled at society’s belief that a woman’s place was only in the kitchen.  Though she’d married at the ripe old age of seventeen, Selene had long had her own mind and her own opinions.  Thankfully, her husband didn’t mind her sharing them.  In fact, John, a banker used to conservative behavior, was quite proud of his wife’s spirit and backbone.  However, in public, many people were put off by Selene’s seemingly insolent behavior.

Though her independence certainly made some of the townspeople pause, it satisfied her immensely to be in control of her own life and make her own decisions. In fact, it was she that convinced John to move to Detroit and help on the Underground Railroad.  It only took one abolitionist newspaper article to convince her that she had to do more than just sympathize with the plight.  So with the help of their church members, many of whom housed escapees themselves, Selene was proud to have helped many people of the race find freedom.

They were all in constant danger, however.  Though the sheriff of Detroit was a kind man who respected the rights of the newly freed, the slave catchers that often contaminated their town did not.  Even with John’s protection, as well as his Colt Navy revolver, Selene was ever mindful not to be caught alone, especially by the Randall boys.

When John died prematurely, succumbing to tuberculosis, many of the male citizens lined up to be her next husband.  Some, Selene believed, were actually interested in her and her commitment to the race, but she was sure that others were only after the wealth left to her in John’s will – wealth that included their large house she still lived in.  Selene turned them all down, causing a flood of gossip.  Without a man in the house, Selene was even more careful, not only about protecting her reputation, but about her safety while housing escapees.

The only thing the townspeople didn’t gossip about, as they weren’t aware, was Selene’s growing attraction to the fairer sex.  She’d always had an eye for the ladies, but society was fiercely opposed to such same-sex pairings. 

Unable to deny her longings, she’d had a few secret trysts in the years since John’s death, but nothing lasting, and certainly nothing public.  A talented cook since she was young, she opened a modest catering business and used her skills to weave herself in and out of the company of women without incident.  Plus, with her husband’s wealth, she only took catering jobs at her leisure.

Coming back to the present, Selene sighed as she watched Bea in peaceful slumber.  She shook off her attraction, as she was so used to doing, and headed back upstairs to complete her chores.

~~~

At about midday, Bea opened her eyes.  Panic set in quickly as she noticed that she was in a small cement room.  Having been secured in a wooden box for nearly a full day, her newly-found confinement set off an intense fear.  Alarmed, she sat up quickly, only to have a sharp pain shoot through her.  Her eyes burned with hot tears as she collapsed back onto the cot.

“Where am I?” she moaned. 

Then terror gripped her heart like a vice.

Had she been captured?  Was she now a slave again?

Then she noticed a lantern sitting on a barrel next to her cot.  Then she looked down to see the elaborately sewn quilt lying on top of her. 

Then it all came back to her:

She’d been rescued.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized that she was not in enemy hands.  Nor was she hungry or thirsty.  She had a distinct feeling that she’d been fed, but the events of the past few days were understandably blurry. 

As her pain and soreness began to subside, she drifted back to her last day on the Windwood plantation.

It was several months ago when her Mistress, Anne Partridge, had attacked her violently, without provocation.  When the other workers saw her cuts and bruises, emotions erupted and the plantation became the site of a violent revolt.  Several of the men stormed the big house, and armed with shovels, picks and other tools, demanded their freedom from the barbaric conditions they lived with.

Though several of the males had put up a historic fight, without guns or other armory, they were soon rendered helpless.  Some of the men and women were killed, victims of violent gunshots.  For others, Bea winced when she remembered the lashes she’d seen them being given by the overseer. 

The resulting slave revolt left many of her friends and family dead, and the rest severely beaten and bruised.  To save herself, she lay there in the midst of the bodies, lying still and pretending to be dead. 

In the middle of the night, miraculously, another group of slave hands from the next plantation, picked her up and carried her inside a small shack.

In her pain, and drifting in and out of consciousness, she heard them talking.  She was going to be led to freedom.  Her heart swelled as they detailed their plan. 

The next day, she was gone, spirited off with a group of escaping slaves.  After months of traveling by foot and, at times, by boat, she’d made it from Virginia to Ohio and was about to cross the border into Michigan.

However, terror soon struck.

Someone had seen her.

And that someone had reported her as being alive and well.

Hours before she was to cross the border into Michigan, she was shown a newspaper article describing her appearance and giving a reward for her return.  At seeing the paper, she was horrified.  However, the members of “The Road” had seen this before.

A plan quickly took shape.  Something about Lear Green and Henry Box Brown and shipping her off to Detroit.  Then she was laid in the wooden box and she could have sworn she was kissed on the cheek.  The last thing she heard was a whispered voice telling her that she’d make it to Midnight in a day or two and to only respond when she heard three knocks on the box.  Then the lid was secured and all went dark.

Coming back to the present, Bea shivered at the ordeal she’d been through in the past months.  She also realized how devastated she’d be if she was found and returned.

She thought of the woman who’d released her from the box.  Selene, was it?  She thought about the woman’s buttermilk skin, the long strands of sandy brown hair that had escaped from her bun, and the generous figure that was ripe with seductive curves. 

Selene was pretty, undeniably so.  With her fair skin and dark hair, she reminded Bea in an odd way, of her Rebecca.

Bea unconsciously touched her lips as she remembered the heat of Rebecca’s kisses.  Lust welled up in her at the thought of Rebecca’s soft kisses and caresses all over her body, through her hair and, especially, between her legs. 

Thinking about Selene again, Bea found that yes, with her fair skin and dark hair, Bea could get used to being in the house with this Selene woman.

Then, all at once, fear gripped her as she realized that not only was she not quite sure about Selene’s racial background, she had no idea about the woman’s intentions.

Bea knew all too well about slave catchers that used anyone, including fair-complexioned members of the race, to betray those who tried to escape to the North.  She was well aware that not everyone who had African blood running through their veins was an ally.

What if Selene had plans to turn her back in for some kind of reward?  It was obvious that someone had turned her in, so why wouldn’t Selene do the same?

A cold chill ran through Bea as she realized she was completely at Selene’s mercy.  In a strange town and in questionable health, all Bea could do was try to make plans to leave as soon as she could.

Soon, however, sleep took hold and she drifted off, thankfully skipping past the horrors of her enslavement, and back into the long-past memories of her parents and siblings.

~~~

The next two days were as same as the last.  Selene let Bea rest, only waking her for meals and medicine.  As much as she hated to, Selene put the bathing on hold until Bea was stronger.  She also hated leaving Bea in the near-chilly cellar, but Bea was still much too weak to walk to the upstairs bedrooms.

Finally, one morning, Selene carried the breakfast tray downstairs, only to find Bea sitting up in her cot.

“Well, hello, ma cherie,” Selene beamed.  “How are you feeling?”

A bit sore,” Bea answered.  “But alive.  So that’s the most important thing.”

It sure is.”  Selene set the tray on the barrel next to the cot.  “Hungry?”

Bea’s eyes widened as she looked at the tray filled with hot food.  “Goodness!  I thought I was dreaming!  You’ve really been feeding me some good food for the past few days, haven’t you?  Well, I thank you from the bottom of my heart!”

Selene laughed.  “You can thank my grandmére.  She’s the one who taught me the way around a kitchen!”

As the two settled in to eat, Selene was quiet, not wanting to press Bea with many questions.  Rather, she just wanted the poor woman to feel comfortable without being subject to an inquisition. 

Finally, however, it was Bea that broke the silence.

“Have you been on the Road a long time?” Bea asked abruptly.  “The Road,” was the common nickname for The Underground Railroad.

Selene looked up from her plate.  “Yes.  For many years.  My late husband and I moved to Detroit just to help people cross into Canada.”

Bea was puzzled.  “Well, if you’re helping on the Road, why is your skin so…so…”

“Light?”  Selene laughed.

Bea blushed and looked down at her food.

Selene’s rich, buttermilk skin often caused some confusion to those traveling on The Road.  “I’m from Louisiana,” Selene answered proudly.  “I’m mulatto, one of the gens de couleur libre.” 

“A free person of color,” Bea repeated slowly.  “So you are a member of the race?”

Selene was impressed with Bea’s knowledge of the French language.  “Yes.  Very much so.”

Bea relaxed a bit.  “Were you free back there?  Back where you lived?”

“Yes.  I was born in New Orleans as a free woman.  Most of my family, the St. Laurents, was free.  Did you know any free people of the race in Virginia?”

“Yes.  But some weren’t friendly.”

Selene sighed.  It was common knowledge that not everyone that had African blood flowing though his or her veins was an opponent of slavery.  In fact, some members of the race could be easily bought and bribed into betraying escapees.  Thankfully, her mother instilled in her the evils of such a practice, and insisted that every person of the race, mulatto or not, had a responsibility to end slavery.

“Well, I, for one, am dedicated to the cause,” Selene said.  “In my opinion, everyone should be free.  No one should have to live their life as a slave.”

Bea’s features softened as she finally began to relax.  “I’m glad you feel that way.  Thank you.”

Selene was quiet for a moment.  Then she asked the question that had been nagging at her.

“How did you learn to read?” Selene blurted out.

Bea looked at her curiously before taking a long sip of juice.  “Why do you ask?”

Selene stuttered.  “I…I…I was just wondering if you’d been in the house or in the field.”  Then, at her inane comments, she turned beet red and put her head down.   

“Is it because I’m so dark?” Bea asked in a clipped tone.

Selene, now thoroughly embarrassed, nodded.  “So I’m guilty of color prejudice myself,” she said.  “I’m sorry.”

Bea softened at Selene’s apology.  “Yes.  I guess so.  But I guess we’re both guilty of color prejudice, no?”  

Bea took a sip of hot tea.  “Well, if you really want to know,” she began, “my Mistress, Anne?  Well, her daughter Rebecca taught me.  For some reason, she really took a liking to me.  She used to take books from their library, wrap them in pieces of fabric and slip them into the bottom of my sewing basket.  Then later, when it was dark, we’d sneak out of the house, go down by the pond and she’d teach me letters and then words.  Before long, I found that I loved to read.  And after that, I read every book I could get my hands on.”

Bea sat quietly for a moment as her thoughts drifted to the other lessons Rebecca taught her.  “I guess as horrible as it was, there were a few good moments back there,” she mused.

“Well,” Selene said, trying to lighten the mood, “if you’re well enough, I’d like for you to come upstairs with me.  I have something you might be interested in.”

Bea stood and stretched.  Then she winced as a sharp pain raced though her legs. 

Selene frowned and rushed to her side.  “Bea?  Are you too hurt to move?” 

Bea gave a weak smile.  “No, I think I can make it.”  She took a few steps, working out the kinks in her legs.  “Actually, I feel all right.  Or at least good enough to go upstairs.” “Good.  Because if you really want to read something, come with me.”

Slowly, they climbed the stairs into the kitchen, and through to the parlor.  Selene then used a key around her neck to open a large trunk in the corner of the room.  “Take a look at this,” she said proudly, as she moved the heavy fabrics out of the way to uncover the hidden treasure within.

Bea hobbled over and peered into the wooden chest.  She gasped when she saw the neatly laid stacks of paper.  Hesitantly, not believing what she was seeing, she pulled one out.  “Is this what I think it is?” she asked, excitement beginning to rush through her as she read the words on the page.

“Yep,” Selene said as a big grin spread across her face.  “They’re original editions of The Liberator.”

Bea held the paper in her hand as if it were a treasured jewel.  “I’ve heard about this newspaper,” she said beaming.  “It’s by William Lloyd Garrison, correct?”

Selene nodded.  “You’re correct.  These are the original newspapers that I get here in Detroit.  They detail all of the anti-slavery movements across the states.  It’s also got articles about the terrors of slavery and why it should be abolished.  And look underneath for another surprise.”

Bea dug down further into the stack of papers.  “Oh my goodness!  You have Frederick Douglass’ The North Star!  I’ve heard so much about what he’s done for the race!  He’s a hero of mine!”

Selene watched as Bea excitedly took out a handful of the newspapers and plopped down right on the floor next to the chest.

“At least take a seat on the couch,” Selene chided.  “You’ll be more comfortable.”

Bea shook her head.  “I’m going to sit right here and read until I can’t read anymore.  I’ve always heard about these papers, but they were never allowed near us.” 

Just then, the gravity of her situation hit her hard.  Tears came to her eyes as she looked up at Selene.  “I’m really free, aren’t I?” she beamed.

Selene’s heart swelled at the joy reflected on Bea’s face.  “You are, ma cherie.  You really are.”

~~~

Late that night, after Selene had turned in for the night, Bea sat up in bed, resting against the brass headboard.  Having abandoned the cellar, Bea was now settled in one of the upstairs bedrooms, right across from Selene’s.  She’d slept for a time, but now found herself restless.  She slipped out of bed and walked over to the window.

She looked out onto the night and was surprised to see that there wasn’t another house in sight.  She looked over Selene’s land, now illuminated by the moonlight.   

“So this is freedom,” she whispered.  She reached for the handles and opened the window a crack.  The warm fall air filled her lungs and brought tears to her eyes.

Then her thoughts turned to the woman across the hallway.  Bea smiled.  The woman was certainly beautiful.  She had warm buttermilk skin and sandy brown hair that she kept pinned up.  What I wouldn’t do to let that hair down, Bea grinned. 

Then she thought on Selene’s body.  Selene had ripe, full breasts that strained her bodice.  And though she wore full skirts, Bea could easily tell that Selene’s hips and thighs were thick and generous.  Bea bit her lip, trying to stem the erotic tide that began to stir in her. 

Besides her beauty, Bea thought, Selene was incredibly generous.  She’d opened up her home and taken care of Bea like she was taking care of one of her own.  In that moment, Bea realized that Selene was an ally, a friend even.  She relaxed, nearly sure that Selene wouldn’t turn her in to the slave catchers.

And for that, Bea was eternally grateful.

I’ve got to repay her, Bea thought.  Then she smiled again and licked her lips.  And I know just how to do it.

~~~

The next day, Selene arose early.  After bathing and dressing, she went downstairs and into the parlor.  She smiled as she caught sight of Bea asleep on the couch, the newspapers draped on top of her.

She watched Bea’s angelic face in slumber, her lips parted slightly, and a delicious warmth flooded through her.  What would it be like to kiss those lips? Selene mused. 

Fighting her attraction, she gently shook Bea awake.  “Come on, ma cherie.  We have a busy day ahead of us.” 

Not wanting to waste a second, Bea sponged off in the kitchen and donned a new set of clothes that Selene had put out for her.  Thankfully, Selene’s church had long been collecting clothes for the escapees, and Selene had put together a sizeable collection of donated items in various sizes for her guests.

After a hearty breakfast, Selene took Bea by the hand and led her out of the kitchen.  “Let me show you the rest of the house.  It’s for your own safety that you know the layout of the land.”

Selene led Bea on an exploration of her home.  She made sure to include all of the secret passageways and hiding spots that made her house a popular stop on the Railroad.  One could never know when a slave catcher would appear, so Selene’s husband had built several safeguards into the design of their house.

They stopped in the upstairs bathroom and Bea was struck at what sat proudly in the center of the room.  “Is that…is that a bathtub?  You have a real bathtub?”

Selene grinned at the sight of her prized shiny, tin bathtub.  “Yes.  I love that tub.  It’s hard to drag buckets of water all the way up here to fill it, and then take the dirty water all the way back down, so I don’t use it often, but when I do, it’s a real treat.”

Bea shook her head.  “Back home, well back there,” she corrected herself, “only the Mistress had a tub.  The rest of us just had a bucket.  We never had anything like this.  Nothing that we could actually sit in.  Or relax in.”

Selene felt a pang of pity, but quickly shook it off.  Bea’s strength was so apparent, that she didn’t need anyone’s pity.

When they continued on into Selene’s bedroom, Bea’s eyes widened at the size of the room.  “You really own all of this?” she asked as she took in the immense space.

“Yes,” Selene said.  “My husband was a banker and my grandfather was a blacksmith.  We did very well.  In fact‒”

Bea gasped as she went to Selene’s open closet.  She paused for a moment, then ran her hand across the multitudes of cotton, muslin and silk dresses.  She fingered the delicate material for several minutes.

 “I was a dressmaker back there,” she said quietly.  “Actually, that’s how I got this,” she said as she touched the side of her face, the bruise still an angry, purplish hue.

Selene treaded lightly.  “What happened?” she asked softly.

Bea took a deep breath.  “It was the Governor’s Ball.  Virginia’s biggest event and it was always held in Richmond.  Mistress Anne had me make her a special dress.  Blue.  Powder blue.”

“And?”

Bea stared off in the distance.  “The hem was crooked.  But we had time to fix it.  The Ball was still two days away.”

“But?”

Bea’s eyes watered.  “But she was livid.  She called me stupid.  Worthless.  She got down off of the stool she was standing on, picked it up and threw it at me.  It hit me.  It hit me in the face.  Then she took off her shoe and beat me with it.”  

Bea put her hands in her hands and started to weep.

Before she could stop herself, Selene walked to her and wrapped her arms tightly around her shaking frame.  Selene shuddered as she imagined the pain and humiliation Bea must have felt because of her mistress’ hateful act.

“Anyway,” Bea continued, leaning into Selene’s embrace, “when the other slaves saw me later, the men were outraged.  I think that’s what started the revolt.  Some of the younger men were looking for a reason to fight anyway, so I guess that might as well have been it.”

Reluctantly, Selene broke their embrace, went to a desk near the bed and reached underneath.  “Let me introduce you to someone,” she said as she pulled out a short pistol.  “This here is Sally Mae.  She’s one of the pieces I have here for protection.”  She handed the cool steel to Bea.

Bea shook her head, refusing to take the weapon.  “No.  I don’t like guns.”

Selene put the gun away and gave Bea a sharp look.  “In this country, you have to learn how to defend yourself.  What if someone comes to try to take you back?  How are you going to protect yourself?  You’re still an outlaw, you know?  No telling if some slave catcher’s gonna come and try to take you back to Virginia.”

Bea was adamant.  “No guns.  I’ve seen too many of my people shot dead, most in the back.  So no guns.  I mean that.”

Selene sighed as she put the gun away and continued her tour.  And to Bea’s dismay, Selene showed her the rest of the hiding spots that had other weapons.  Bea held her resolve, not even wanting to see any of them, let alone touch them.  She was, however, much more interested in the secret passageways and hideouts concealed throughout the house, in the barn and elsewhere around the grounds. 

“So you see,” Selene said as she finished the tour and led them back to the kitchen, “my husband and I were both dedicated to the cause.  We had the house outfitted with secret rooms and hideaways just in case some of the slave catchers came looking.  At least this way, you’ll be safe until you decide to leave.”

 “And I guess that should be soon,” Bea said quietly. 

Selene paused, turning to give Bea a curious look.  Selene knew Bea had other plans, but being confronted with the fact that she was leaving soon cast a sorrowful pall on their mood.

After the tour of the house, they settled in the kitchen for lunch.  Selene quickly whipped up a light meal and they began to eat quietly.  Both were lost in their thoughts for several moments.

“Where are you off to?” Selene asked.

“Amhurstburg.  It’s in Canada.  Supposedly right across the river, right down from Detroit.”

Selene nodded.  “Some who’ve escaped stay here in Michigan, but others continue on to Canada, where they can truly be free.  In fact, there’s a ferry boat that goes to Amhurstburg twice a day.  I’ll have to talk to my pastor and get you there in the next day or so.”

Bea suddenly reached out her hand and settled it on top of Selene’s.  “On second thought, I don’t have to go so soon.”

Selene cocked her head, trying to remain calm as her heart started beating fast.  “I thought you were anxious to leave.”

“I’m anxious to be out of danger, but I’m finding that I like being here.”  She squeezed Selene’s hand.  “I like being here with you.”

Selene’s breath started to quicken.  “I...I like it too.  Very much.”

Bea stared at her for a long moment.  Then she smiled.  “Know what I’d love now?”

Selene could hardly breathe.  “What?”

“A bath!”

Selene frowned.  “Huh?”

Bea winked.  “I’d love to get in that tub of yours.”

Selene looked out the window.  “It’s broad daylight!  In fact,” she said, craning her neck to check the towering, Mahogany longcase grandfather clock in the parlor, “it’s almost noon!”

Bea stood and kicked off her shoes.  “So?” 

Then she removed her stockings.  She stood on her tippy-toes and twirled her lithe body in an expert pirouette.  “I’m a proper free lady now,” she laughed, her joy filling the space.  “And free ladies need pampering, don’t you agree?” she asked as she gave a grand bow.

To her delight, Selene began to giggle.  “Yes, m’lady, of course.”

“So let’s get to it.”  Bea grabbed some buckets and headed toward the back door.  A short time later, they’d heated enough water in the cauldron and transported it up to the large tin bathtub.  Once full, Bea began to remove her clothes.

 “I’ll give you some privacy,” Selene said as she inched toward the door.  Though modesty dictated that she turn her eyes away, she just couldn’t do so.

“No need to be so modest,” Bea said as she slipped out of her skirt and bodice.  “We’re just girls, here, right?”

Selene watched as Bea slowly removed each piece of clothing until she was just in her chemise and drawers.  Then she raised the hem of her chemise and lifted it over her head.

Selene gasped at the sight of Bea’s naked upper frame, taking in her perfectly rounded breasts, capped off with ebony nipples.  She licked her lips and felt the familiar heat throb deep between her legs.

Bea hooked her thumbs in her drawers, bent down, and shimmied them down over softly flared hips and onto the floor. 

Bea then eased into the tub and immersed herself in the hot water.  “Ooooh,” she sighed as the heat enveloped her.   She stretched out her arms, then rested them on the sides of the tub.  “This is wonderful.”

“It sure is.”  Selene blushed as she realized she’d spoken the words aloud.  She watched the tips of Bea’s breasts nearly floating in the water and her own nipples grew hard in response.

“Want to help me?” Bea asked, looking Selene directly in the eyes.

“Help you?” Selene whispered.

“Would you wash my back?”

Selene, entranced, took slow and careful steps to the tub, not wanting to break the moment.  She sat in a stool behind Bea and picked up the lilac-scented soap on the small vanity table and lathered it up onto a small cloth.

With Bea’s thick braids pulled up into a bun, Selene started with Bea’s neck, making small soapy circles on the dark chocolate flesh.  Once she heard Bea groan, she rubbed a bit harder, and made her circles a bit larger.

“Lower,” Bea hissed.  “Please.”

Selene moved to Bea’s shoulders.  She stroked Bea with the soft cloth, watching the lavender suds streak across her sinewy frame.  Perspiration dotted Selene’s forehead at the heat generating from their closeness, from their growing intimacy.  The scent of Bea’s skin was now firmly imprinted in Selene’s consciousness, and Selene knew from that moment that she’d never let go of this wild, beautiful woman willingly.

Selene then cupped a bit of water in her hands and let it trickle over Bea’s skin, washing the soap away.  She rinsed Bea a few more times, then sat back on the stool.  “All done,” she said, her voice unusually shaky, nearly giving away her intense desire.

“Not yet,” Bea said softly.  “My hair.  I want you to wash my hair.”

Selene took a ragged breath as she gently undid the pins in Bea’s updo.  She released the braids and ran her fingers through her soft, thick mane. 

“Ohhhh,” Bea said, her voice raspy.  “That feels so good.”

Selene massaged Bea’s scalp until she heard Bea purr with delight.  Then Selene undid the braids one-by one, until Bea’s hair was a wild, thick, beautiful afro.  She continued massaging Bea’s hair and scalp, loving the feel of the strong, brave woman in front of her.

“More,” Bea whispered as she leaned her head back.  “More.”

Selene took a small tin cup from the vanity and filled it with water.  She gently streamed it onto Bea’s hair until it was wet.  Selene then picked up a small bottle of a scented mixture she picked up in town.  A special combination of rose petals had been ground into a fine powder and mixed with liquid soap.  She poured some of the mixture into her palms, rubbed it into a rich lather and applied it to Bea’s hair.

“Ahhhh,” Bea moaned.  “Yesssss.”

Selene continued her rubbing and stroking, trailing the scented lather over Bea’s thick hair.  She took handfuls of Bea’s thick mane and let it slip between her fingers.  Selene massaged and caressed Bea’s tresses for endless moments, enjoying the delicious rapport that was steadily building between them.

Finally, Selene took the tin cup and streamed water over Bea’s hair until it was free from suds.  She took a towel from the vanity and gently blotted Bea’s hair until it was just damp.  Afterward, she wrapped Bea’s hair in a fresh towel. 

Her voice unsteady, Selene leaned into Bea’s ear.  “All done.”

“Not quite,” Bea said as she reached up, slid her hand into Selene’s hair and pulled her close.

When Bea’s lips touched hers, Selene nearly died with pleasure.  Bea’s lips were teasing at first, then pressed harder and deeper into her own.  When Bea’s tongue snaked out, Selene nearly exploded with pleasure.

“Ma cherie,” Selene sighed.  “Mon Dieu!”

After several long moments of scorching-hot kisses, Bea broke their embrace.  “Soon, I’m going to have you.  I promise, I’m going to have you, my love.  But there’s no rush, right?” Bea whispered.  “So we have plenty of time.”

 “I want it now,” Selene pleaded as her hand slid to Bea’s wet breast.  She fondled the nipple until it peaked in her hand.  “Now, please.”

Bea grinned as she extricated herself from Selene’s embrace and rose from the tub.  Nude, she wrapped herself in a fresh towel and padded toward the door.  “Tomorrow.  I promise I’m yours tomorrow.  I want to wait because I have something special in mind for us.  But for now, let’s go and have something eat.”

~~~

“I’m going to town to get some groceries.  You want me to get you anything?” 

That afternoon, after their dinner, Bea sat on the living room floor, dressed only in her chemise, indulging in past editions of The North Star.  She smiled as she looked up from the paper.  “It’s kind of late, don’t you think?” 

Selene smiled.  “When I have escapees here, I like to travel and run my errands just before dusk.  That way, when it does get dark, on my way back, I can hide in the shadows.  When I travel during the day, I’m often too conspicuous.” 

Bea nodded.  “Well, in that case, yes, I would like for you to bring me something.  First, I’d like some scraps of fabric.  I want to make you something nice.  A day dress, probably.  But don’t get anything real expensive.  I have enough talent that I can make something really nice out of some ordinary fabric.” 

Selene was tickled at Bea’s generosity.  “Done.  Would you like anything else?” 

“I’d like some chocolate.  Some small chocolate pieces.  I love those.” 

Selene laughed.  “You have a sweet tooth, yes?”

Bea’s gaze suddenly set afire as she looked at Selene.  “Yes.  Yes, I do.”

Selene gulped.  “Anything else you want?” she asked.

Bea grinned and licked her lips.  “Strawberries.  Plenty of fresh, ripe strawberries.”

A white-hot heat flushed through Selene and the space between her legs grew moist.  Fumbling, she gathered her coat.  “I…I’ll be back soon.  And if you hear anyone coming up the walkway, just go on up to the attic.  You can hide there.”

Bea smiled, her warmth permeating the space between them.  “I will.  And you be careful too, hon.”

Selene turned to leave, then she paused.  Hon?  Had Bea meant that she actually wanted to –

Selene shook her head.  No.  Couldn’t be.

~~~

Once she reached the business part of town, she passed the more popular stores for the smaller, less-populated Free Produce Store down at the far end of the street. 

In the Free Produce Movement, citizens boycotted all goods that were produced by slave labor.  Supporters of the Free Produce movement, usually abolitionists that fought against slavery, would only purchase items that hadn’t been grown, made or shipped by plantation owners.  The items were priced a bit higher, but came without the guilt of slavery.  Free produce food items included coffee from Costa Rica, spices from Britain and Cocoa from Trinidad.

As Selene picked up a small container of cinnamon, the potent scent wafted past her nostrils, filling her with warmth.  She loved freshly ground cinnamon which she baked into her famous cinnamon rolls.  She placed the small tin into her basket and went to pick its complement, nutmeg.

As an aside, she glanced out the front display window.

Then she froze.

Passing by was Jeb Randall.

And just her bad luck, he caught sight of her as well.

She swore inwardly as he reversed his direction and came into the store.  As he walked up to her, her nerves began to tingle at the slave catcher’s presence.

“Whatcha doin’ li’l gal?” he drawled, his breath hot and thick. 

“Shopping,” she said in a clipped tone.  She quickly took in his filthy overalls, stringy blond hair, overgrown beard and mustache and the evil glint in his ice blue eyes.

He leaned into her and spoke in a voice that only she could hear.  “It’s only a matter of time, li’l gal.  I just heard you had a delivery in the past days.  So it’s only a matter of time ‘fore I come by there and pick up that cargo and take it back to its rightful owner.”  Then he fingered the delicate lace bodice she wore.  “And I might get me a little something for myself while I’m at it.”

He chuckled as straightened up, nodded to her as if he were merely wishing her well, then ambled out of the store.

Selene exhaled, not even realizing she’d been holding her breath.  Then, panicked, she dropped her belongings and fled out the back door.

~~~

To be continued…

~~~

Historical notes:

Ms. Lear Green, a slave from Maryland, escaped her intended fate by having herself shipped to Philadelphia in a wooden chest.  Riding as freight on one of the Erricson line of steamers, she endured with only a quilt, pillow, a small quantity of food and a bottle of water. 

She spent eighteen hours in the chest, and was delivered to William Still and kept in the protection and care of Philadelphia’s General Vigilance Committee.

Mr. Henry “Box” Brown, a slave from Virginia, secured his freedom by placing himself in a box, not much bigger than his frame, and having himself shipped to Philadelphia.

After twenty-six long and arduous hours, he reached freedom and was unearthed from the wooden crate, also in the care of the Vigilance Committee.

Upon being released, he related that before leaving Richmond, he’d selected for his arrival-hymn the Psalm “I waited patiently for the Lord, and He heard my prayer.”

Suggested reading:

Blockson, Charles, The Underground Railroad, Prentice Hall Press, 1987.

Still, William, The Underground Railroad: Authentic Narratives and First-Hand Accounts, Dover Publications, 2007.

© 2010 Stephanie Rose Entertainment, LLC.  All rights reserved.

www.StephanieRoseHeat.com