Mosana - Part XXIV
EPISODE 24
I decided to let the dust settle for a bit before choosing my next move. I wanted to watch what Madam Russell would do in the wake of her butler’s “treachery”.
It turned out I made my life, and consequently the lives of the other slaves, more difficult. If I thought Master Wells watched us closer than a hawk, Madam Russell was worse. She was the hawk itself. She was everywhere. She no longer stayed up in her room, as she had no one to oversee the Manor for her. She initiated impromptu roll calls, where she would call a slave to appear before her without warning. She began to appear in our quarters unannounced. Those were the worst. I had never seen her near the slave quarters before then. She would have us stand at attention while she went through our rooms and sometimes, our stuff. I was glad I had my stash of pokeweed well hidden.
I guess she figured that if she couldn’t even trust her butler, then her slaves were automatically suspects. I don’t know if she expected to find other diaries with conspirated plots against her.
As for the newspapers I wanted to get, she locked up the room as soon as Master Wells packed his bags. Whatever he didn’t take with him or whatever wasn’t thrown away, was secured under lock and key. That room was no longer in use. There was no way I could get in. The only good thing was that I had managed to garner all the information I needed, and I had one less person to worry about that could hinder my escape.
So I watched, and waited, as the new routine settled in the Manor. I did my chores as expected and was always in the right place at the right time. I wanted the Madam to fall back into a false sense of security, so I didn’t plan any escapades yet. I was a good little slave girl.
Gabe complained to me about the change in routine, and I assured him all was well. Plan Escape Manor was still in progress and we were sure getting out of there. No new routine was going to stop that.
I remember the look on Tricia’s face the first time Madam Russell barged in on us for a surprise inspection. She looked straight at me and I got the message clearly. I shook my head ever so slightly to indicate that Madam Russell was never going to find it. I had hidden my menses for three years from my father. Hiding powdered pokeweed was a piece of cake.
Amy’s routine didn’t alter though. She still came and went as she usually did, spending late nights, or staying up in her room without coming out.
But now I had a new problem on my hands: Madam Russell’s constant watchfulness. But I’d be damned if I couldn’t find a way around that.
From the newspapers I’d studied, there were a number of constants I noticed. One, hiding places were few and far between. Two, the quickest way was the most dangerous way. The safest way was the long route. Through the fields, the river and the forest. In those places, nature covered your tracks. Three, if you wanted to rely on human beings, the reverend was your safest bet. He wouldn’t turn you in. The Bible he read wouldn’t let him. I had read stories in the paper about black reverends who claimed not to know how a runaway slave ended up in their chapel or in their church basement. According to them, they had only assumed the slave came to worship. In my heart, I knew these men were allies of the abolition.
I made a mental list of the likely stations where slaves could hide. One particular factory kept popping up, but it was far away in Maryland. I also made a mental list of questions to ask Tricia. She would know about the outside more than the newspapers could tell me. She had tried to escape before, so she would remember the terrain and be able to describe it a bit. I was going to take her along when I escaped, so she would have to help me.
In the end, I decided going back to Philadelphia was our safest bet. There, we would find the Pennsylvania Abolition Society and they would see to our safe trip northwards; for as many as wanted to continue north.
It was all coming to a head. I could almost taste our freedom. But I knew the harder part would come when we were outside. I tried not to dwell on that; one thing at a time. So I lay low for as long as was needed and waited for Madam Russell to fall into a false sense of security. That was the easy part. Although it was hard to convince some of the others to lay low. Word had gone round quickly of what I was planning even as I recruited Gabe, and they got especially restless after Master Wells was out of the picture. Everyone was just waiting for me to scream, “run for it!” But stealth was needed. So I encouraged everyone to keep their lips sealed and their heads bent.
For a while, everything was normal. Well, as normal as everything could be when you were a slave. The routine checks and impromptu visits continued though. But besides that, life continued as expected in the Russell Manor.
One thing kept popping up, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. Gabe kept asking about the escape plan, and making me go over it again and again. He was bothered about the number of people we were taking along. I told him there was no way I was going to leave anyone behind. Unless they wanted to remain in the Manor. Which was, well… impossible. I could tell he was worried about the possibility of us remaining undetected as we escaped through the countryside. I told him we would cross that bridge when we got to it, but I could tell he wasn’t satisfied.
A crucial part of my escape plan was weapons. There were weapons around the house; shotguns, displayed on the walls like trophies. But I knew they were useless; either they didn’t carry bullets, or they had blanks inside them. I knew this because Edward also had guns on his walls too. He was the one who had explained to me that they were mere ornaments, and not for action. Even if Ed hadn’t told me, I would have guessed anyway. The Russells were far too cunning to leave weapons hanging around the house, when they knew they had slaves who would love to get even with them. Besides, I couldn’t use those guns anyway. They were too heavy to carry around or even hide, and Madam Russell would notice immediately if anyone went missing.
Which left one other option: the guns in the rooms.
I had been around the Russell Manor long enough to know that the guns hanging on the walls in the rooms were in fact, loaded and belonged to the owner of the room. The empty guns in the living room and hallways were a ruse to lull the ignorant ones into a false sense of safety. One could be tricked into thinking no gun was loaded. But I knew there were some in the house which contained bullets.
Like the one in Master Russell’s study. The one Judy’s father had used in killing him. It made sense that that one would be loaded as I had also heard that Master Russell was fond of going hunting when he was alive. The said study was locked, just like Master Wells’ room was. The similarity was uncanny. It told me one thing: Master Wells was dead to her. Older slaves at the Manor told me that it was locked the day Master Russell was buried. Which meant I couldn’t get in if I wanted the gun.
I thought of looking for the keys in Madam Russell’s room, but that was a long shot. The masters bedroom where Madam Russell slept was huge and that key could be anywhere. Besides, when would I look for it? When could I guarantee that Madam Russell would be out of the room? How could I guarantee that she wouldn’t enter as I was searching? Even if I could get someone as a lookout, what were the odds that I wouldn’t be caught? No. It was too risky.
I settled for keeping my eye on the gun in Madam Russell’s quarters. I had been there a number of times to serve her tea; I knew exactly where the gun was even if I had to grope for it in the dark - on the wall at the right corner, directly facing the king-sized bed. Getting that shotgun would be a simple grab-and-go. All I had to do was get her out of the room when I needed it, which I figured wouldn’t be too hard.
A few months had rolled by since Master Wells was sent away in disgrace. Some semblance of normalcy had returned: slaves working their backs off from dawn to dusk, slaves getting punished incessantly for the slightest mistakes or oversight, no one was getting poisoned or being rushed off to the doctor’s and I was still taking on Flint’s workload.
Like I said, normalcy.
Then two weeks into the month of October, we lost Ms. Nan. Someone noticed there were no new spread of freshly washed clothes on the line and went to see if she was taking a washing holiday. She was found still in bed, with eyes closed and her body cold. Madam Russell was informed and she had Jerome take her body to the old chapel some miles down the country road to be blessed by the reverend and buried in the church cemetery. Although neither Ms. Nan nor Madam Russell was a member of the parish, I knew the reverend wouldn’t dream of saying no to the Mistress of the Manor. Madam Russell could close his church down and he would never be heard of again. Asides that, Ms. Nan was black. An elderly black slave, with no home and no family to bury her. There was no way the reverend could refuse.
We couldn’t even attend her funeral. The carriage-pulled hearse driving out of the compound was the last we saw of the lovable washerwoman. Ms. Nan had been born and had died in slavery. I made up my mind there and then, that that would never be me.
I shifted gears immediately. As soon as Ms. Nan’s body left the Manor, I called Gabe and Judy and elaborated on my plan. I gave them their stations, what to do and when to do it. The final stage was about to take off.
It was time to leave the Manor.
I decided to let the dust settle for a bit before choosing my next move. I wanted to watch what Madam Russell would do in the wake of her butler’s “treachery”.
It turned out I made my life, and consequently the lives of the other slaves, more difficult. If I thought Master Wells watched us closer than a hawk, Madam Russell was worse. She was the hawk itself. She was everywhere. She no longer stayed up in her room, as she had no one to oversee the Manor for her. She initiated impromptu roll calls, where she would call a slave to appear before her without warning. She began to appear in our quarters unannounced. Those were the worst. I had never seen her near the slave quarters before then. She would have us stand at attention while she went through our rooms and sometimes, our stuff. I was glad I had my stash of pokeweed well hidden.
I guess she figured that if she couldn’t even trust her butler, then her slaves were automatically suspects. I don’t know if she expected to find other diaries with conspirated plots against her.
As for the newspapers I wanted to get, she locked up the room as soon as Master Wells packed his bags. Whatever he didn’t take with him or whatever wasn’t thrown away, was secured under lock and key. That room was no longer in use. There was no way I could get in. The only good thing was that I had managed to garner all the information I needed, and I had one less person to worry about that could hinder my escape.
So I watched, and waited, as the new routine settled in the Manor. I did my chores as expected and was always in the right place at the right time. I wanted the Madam to fall back into a false sense of security, so I didn’t plan any escapades yet. I was a good little slave girl.
Gabe complained to me about the change in routine, and I assured him all was well. Plan Escape Manor was still in progress and we were sure getting out of there. No new routine was going to stop that.
I remember the look on Tricia’s face the first time Madam Russell barged in on us for a surprise inspection. She looked straight at me and I got the message clearly. I shook my head ever so slightly to indicate that Madam Russell was never going to find it. I had hidden my menses for three years from my father. Hiding powdered pokeweed was a piece of cake.
Amy’s routine didn’t alter though. She still came and went as she usually did, spending late nights, or staying up in her room without coming out.
But now I had a new problem on my hands: Madam Russell’s constant watchfulness. But I’d be damned if I couldn’t find a way around that.
From the newspapers I’d studied, there were a number of constants I noticed. One, hiding places were few and far between. Two, the quickest way was the most dangerous way. The safest way was the long route. Through the fields, the river and the forest. In those places, nature covered your tracks. Three, if you wanted to rely on human beings, the reverend was your safest bet. He wouldn’t turn you in. The Bible he read wouldn’t let him. I had read stories in the paper about black reverends who claimed not to know how a runaway slave ended up in their chapel or in their church basement. According to them, they had only assumed the slave came to worship. In my heart, I knew these men were allies of the abolition.
I made a mental list of the likely stations where slaves could hide. One particular factory kept popping up, but it was far away in Maryland. I also made a mental list of questions to ask Tricia. She would know about the outside more than the newspapers could tell me. She had tried to escape before, so she would remember the terrain and be able to describe it a bit. I was going to take her along when I escaped, so she would have to help me.
In the end, I decided going back to Philadelphia was our safest bet. There, we would find the Pennsylvania Abolition Society and they would see to our safe trip northwards; for as many as wanted to continue north.
It was all coming to a head. I could almost taste our freedom. But I knew the harder part would come when we were outside. I tried not to dwell on that; one thing at a time. So I lay low for as long as was needed and waited for Madam Russell to fall into a false sense of security. That was the easy part. Although it was hard to convince some of the others to lay low. Word had gone round quickly of what I was planning even as I recruited Gabe, and they got especially restless after Master Wells was out of the picture. Everyone was just waiting for me to scream, “run for it!” But stealth was needed. So I encouraged everyone to keep their lips sealed and their heads bent.
For a while, everything was normal. Well, as normal as everything could be when you were a slave. The routine checks and impromptu visits continued though. But besides that, life continued as expected in the Russell Manor.
One thing kept popping up, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. Gabe kept asking about the escape plan, and making me go over it again and again. He was bothered about the number of people we were taking along. I told him there was no way I was going to leave anyone behind. Unless they wanted to remain in the Manor. Which was, well… impossible. I could tell he was worried about the possibility of us remaining undetected as we escaped through the countryside. I told him we would cross that bridge when we got to it, but I could tell he wasn’t satisfied.
A crucial part of my escape plan was weapons. There were weapons around the house; shotguns, displayed on the walls like trophies. But I knew they were useless; either they didn’t carry bullets, or they had blanks inside them. I knew this because Edward also had guns on his walls too. He was the one who had explained to me that they were mere ornaments, and not for action. Even if Ed hadn’t told me, I would have guessed anyway. The Russells were far too cunning to leave weapons hanging around the house, when they knew they had slaves who would love to get even with them. Besides, I couldn’t use those guns anyway. They were too heavy to carry around or even hide, and Madam Russell would notice immediately if anyone went missing.
Which left one other option: the guns in the rooms.
I had been around the Russell Manor long enough to know that the guns hanging on the walls in the rooms were in fact, loaded and belonged to the owner of the room. The empty guns in the living room and hallways were a ruse to lull the ignorant ones into a false sense of safety. One could be tricked into thinking no gun was loaded. But I knew there were some in the house which contained bullets.
Like the one in Master Russell’s study. The one Judy’s father had used in killing him. It made sense that that one would be loaded as I had also heard that Master Russell was fond of going hunting when he was alive. The said study was locked, just like Master Wells’ room was. The similarity was uncanny. It told me one thing: Master Wells was dead to her. Older slaves at the Manor told me that it was locked the day Master Russell was buried. Which meant I couldn’t get in if I wanted the gun.
I thought of looking for the keys in Madam Russell’s room, but that was a long shot. The masters bedroom where Madam Russell slept was huge and that key could be anywhere. Besides, when would I look for it? When could I guarantee that Madam Russell would be out of the room? How could I guarantee that she wouldn’t enter as I was searching? Even if I could get someone as a lookout, what were the odds that I wouldn’t be caught? No. It was too risky.
I settled for keeping my eye on the gun in Madam Russell’s quarters. I had been there a number of times to serve her tea; I knew exactly where the gun was even if I had to grope for it in the dark - on the wall at the right corner, directly facing the king-sized bed. Getting that shotgun would be a simple grab-and-go. All I had to do was get her out of the room when I needed it, which I figured wouldn’t be too hard.
A few months had rolled by since Master Wells was sent away in disgrace. Some semblance of normalcy had returned: slaves working their backs off from dawn to dusk, slaves getting punished incessantly for the slightest mistakes or oversight, no one was getting poisoned or being rushed off to the doctor’s and I was still taking on Flint’s workload.
Like I said, normalcy.
Then two weeks into the month of October, we lost Ms. Nan. Someone noticed there were no new spread of freshly washed clothes on the line and went to see if she was taking a washing holiday. She was found still in bed, with eyes closed and her body cold. Madam Russell was informed and she had Jerome take her body to the old chapel some miles down the country road to be blessed by the reverend and buried in the church cemetery. Although neither Ms. Nan nor Madam Russell was a member of the parish, I knew the reverend wouldn’t dream of saying no to the Mistress of the Manor. Madam Russell could close his church down and he would never be heard of again. Asides that, Ms. Nan was black. An elderly black slave, with no home and no family to bury her. There was no way the reverend could refuse.
We couldn’t even attend her funeral. The carriage-pulled hearse driving out of the compound was the last we saw of the lovable washerwoman. Ms. Nan had been born and had died in slavery. I made up my mind there and then, that that would never be me.
I shifted gears immediately. As soon as Ms. Nan’s body left the Manor, I called Gabe and Judy and elaborated on my plan. I gave them their stations, what to do and when to do it. The final stage was about to take off.
It was time to leave the Manor.
__________________________________________________
Hey you!
So I made good on my promise. For the first time in Mosana's story, we have two posts in a week. A round of applause for me please. :-D
The Pennsylvania Abolition Society is in fact, the Pennsylvania Society for the Abolition of Slavery, established in 1787. So even if this is fiction, there's some history here! Those who have watched Harriet, the movie might remember the place where slaves were brought after they were rescued or escaped. Yeah, that place.
It's time to leave the Manor! Who's excited?
Till next Sunday,
xoxo,
Ava.
Happy new month Mo. I'm excited
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