CHAPTER 2 – AWAKENED FROM THE FOG

CHAPTER 1 – AWAKENED FROM THE FOG

20 NOVEMBER 1850 

Sally, our spirited enslaved girl, burst into my peaceful sanctuary, her eyes wild. The haze in my mind vanished as she implored, “Follow me!” As I reached the entryway, my anxiety faded away.

“Lilah!” Before me stood my dear friend. “I thought you were still in Connecticut!”

“I have come for the winter. More importantly…”

Behind her loomed a cloaked figure, a silhouette shrouded in secrecy and intrigue. The fabric rustled as the figure stepped closer.

“Who…,” I paused, breathless, “…is this?”

With a theatrical flourish, Lilah unveiled the woman beneath the hood, revealing none other than Judith! The slave I thought I had freed! A rush of emotions flooded through me - shock, joy, dismay.

“Judith,” I choked out. “I am overjoyed to see you, but this bewilders me!”

Her reaction mirrored my inner turmoil, her discomfort evident in the way she shifted her weight. Her gaze held unspoken truths that left me feeling unsettled.

“Why,” I asked, confused, “have you returned, after being granted your freedom?”

Just then, Ellen, Judith’s daughter, burst into the hallway. Her tear-streaked face was a portrait of anguish. She grabbed her mother, who winced in pain. Ellen backed away.

Lilah’s slender, graceful hand lifted, curling her index finger. “Allow me to explain in the parlor. Perhaps they can take Judith elsewhere.”

“Sally,” I ordered, “bring these two to the kitchen, then fetch Ishmael and his brothers from the workshop. And bring my husband here at once!”

The proud but wounded slave hobbled toward the kitchen, her frail form supported by Sally and Ellen who had regained their composure. The journey was slow and grueling.

Meanwhile, I ushered Lilah to the parlor, where she collapsed onto the settee with a weary thud.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, Lilah’s words poured forth, a torrent of emotions held in check for too long. “The journey was fraught with peril, my dear Louisa. So many obstacles to overcome, so much hardship endured.”

“But please explain about Judith! I do not understand.”

In Lilah, my closest confidante and companion during her time in Greensboro, I found a kindred spirit. She spends most of the year in Connecticut, but returns to our more hospitable climate during the winter months.

“Slave-catchers got her. Then she was freed and brought back to me in a deplorable condition.”

“Why did you keep me uninformed?” I questioned, a mix of curiosity and reproach coloring my tone.

Her response, delivered with a hint of mischief, caught me unaware. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Surprise?” I repeated, trying to understand her reasoning while also feeling hurt by being left out. But I could not stay mad for long.

“She needed time to heal before embarking on this journey,” Lilah explained, her voice filled with empathy and understanding.

My friend shared more details about the harrowing ordeal Judith endured at the hands of her captors. The image of her being chained to a bed for days, while the men searched for other presumed runaways sanctioned by the Fugitive Slave Act, sent shivers down my spine.

Sally arrived in the parlor with soothing cups of tea infused with peppermint before slipping away. Enjoying a few sips, Lilah continued her conversation. “A stranger tried to rescue her. But those monstrous creatures released their hounds. She tried to fight them off, but the animals tore at her flesh.”

I felt my stomach churn as I imagined the brutal scene. How could anyone be capable of such cruelty? My hand covered my mouth as my mind raced with the worst possible scenarios, making it impossible for me to stay silent any longer. “Hunting dogs!! And slavecatchers!”

A sense of helplessness washed over me as I realized the never-ending danger that surrounds Judith and others like her. I was aware of the Fugitive Slave Act, but I had thought giving Judith papers would protect her.

Lilah then informed me someone shot the ogres. “We do not know the rescuers. They fled after bringing her to me. It is likely they did not want to risk being accused of murder.”

Overwhelmed, I buried my face in my skirts, tears flowing in a cascade of sorrow and relief. John’s hurried footsteps echoed in the parlor, his presence a pillar of strength amid my turmoil.

“Mrs. Hightower,” he began, his voice laced with gratitude and concern, “I appreciate you bringing our Judith back to us.” With a gentle gesture, he pulled me to his shoulder.

“Mr. LeBois, your wife can fill you in on the details I have shared. But let me continue.” Clearing her throat, she forged ahead. “I summoned a physician. We frantically applied sterilized rags. It required tearing down the guest room curtains to gather enough cloth to treat her.”

I sobbed into the crook of my husband’s arm.

“But why bring her back?” John asked what I most wanted to know.

“When she was well enough to speak, and after I received your letter detailing the Widow Grimes’ confession, I informed her of her brothers’ returned home once they were cleared of suspicion. She said she missed her family, especially her daughter and grandchildren. And living with you is what she knows and was far preferable to what she had experienced.”

My husband listened intently, his brow furrowed with concern. My friend paused, taking a deep breath.

“But Judith’s condition worsened. The fever raged, and she hallucinated. She called out for you both, and for her brothers. I prayed without ceasing, beseeching the Lord for His mercy.” Her voice wavered, but she pressed on. “On the third night, as I sat by her bedside, dabbing her forehead with cool cloths, Judith seized my hand. Her eyes clear for the first time in days, she whispered, ‘Beautiful angels!’ Of course, I feared the worst.”

Then, as suddenly as she had burst upon the scene, Lilah rose from her seat and gracefully walked towards the doorway.

“I must now attend to other pressing matters, so I bid you farewell.”

#

Reflecting on the events of the past few weeks as I recount them here, I am trying to make sense of it. Lilah’s unexpected arrival at our home with Black Judith has thrown everything into disarray. After she disappeared into the mist in New London, Connecticut, I had returned to our Alabama residence. At first, I told my husband Judith was staying to help Lilah, because I did not want to reveal I had freed her.

It was not long before I confessed everything to John, despite knowing it could damage our trust in each other. He reminded me Judith was collateral for loans, and his credibility for future transactions could be at risk if it were known I had released her. But I could not forget he put her up as collateral without my knowledge or consent.

The intertwining of Judith’s fate with the murder of Mr. Grimes and the buried secrets from our past cast a dark cloud over our troubled souls. Widow Grimes’ confession, a tale of nightmares and bloody revelations, offered a sliver of hope for our slaves.

The constable told us that each word Mrs. Grimes uttered to him was like a stone dropped into a still pond, sending ripples of shock and disbelief.

“Mrs. Grimes tried to fend off her husband’s drunken reaction to an imagined wrong. His words were laced with anger and a sick sense of satisfaction. His fury turned on her, unleashing a torrent of punches and choking attempts.”

I have heard of such violence occurring in our town, and I have seen some evidence of it. And if I were honest with myself, my parents were actors in a similar scene. But it is not something upon which I ever wished to dwell. Yet, I could not now avoid facing a horrible truth.

The constable continued. “In a desperate act of self-preservation and feeling she had no other choice, she grabbed an andiron, striking him repeatedly on the head, watching in horror as he fell dead.”

She confessed her manservant disposed of the body without a word. They did not convene a grand jury as they deemed it self-defense.

The constable then released Judith’s brother, Alex, from “protective custody,” but suspicions lingered. Grimes had been a regular congregant and teacher to the slaves. Reverend Oliver thought an explanation should be offered, saying he died from an unfortunate but accidental mishap.

As Reverend Oliver’s solemn words echoed through the sanctuary, the congregation stirred with whispered conversations and furtive glances. Many had heard of repeated violence Mrs. Grimes suffered at the hands of her husband and knew she avoided the public after such incidents. So, when the minister mentioned the widow preferred no visitors, it no longer mattered what kind of accident took his life; many believed it was Divine Retribution on behalf of a lady who did not deserve harm.

The outpouring of support from the ladies of the congregation, the meals and well-wishes that poured in daily thereafter, spoke volumes of the compassion for a quiet, misunderstood woman. But it was not enough. Soon the widow packed her belongings and headed to North Carolina to be with her relations. The rumble of wagon wheels and the distant call of birds in flight marked the end of a chapter in her life and the beginning of a new journey towards healing and redemption.