Freedom!

29 Jan Freedom!

My name is Luisa Cartenson. When I was 5, my Mama, Opal, and I were sold to a master who lived in North Carolina. I was born without a father and only ever knew to love my Mama. We were set with the jobs as house slaves. Though it is a better job, because you are inside and not out in the blazin’ heat, you are still a slave. For a couple of months, I played with the master’s children outside, in the courtyard, or inside. But, sadly when I turned 6, I was considered an adult. I got beaten just as bloody and scarred as an adult. It was the master’s mean, dreadful, and careless sister, Ms. Eliza, who was to blame.

When I was 10, The master died. Ms. Eliza was who inherited the plantation, even though his main servant, Alexander, was who he wanted to inherit the plantation. I would say the absolute hardest thing was that I was not allowed to learn to read or write. I loved, and still, do, the way words roll off your tongue and how your wrist swishes when you write down words. Before the master died, my Mama taught me how to read. I am exaggerating a bit. She actually taught me to read a couple of words. I loved big words, though. Not little words like open and happy, or sad and mad. I loved words like exhausting, valiant, or enlightenment. But, my most favorite word was freedom. I dreamed freedom, I sang freedom, I loved freedom, I wrote freedom, I hoped freedom.

As the years when by, 8 to be exact, I longed for freedom. My Mama had told me many stories of Canada and how it was free. She also sang the song, Follow the Drinking Gourd to help me fall asleep. That’s when I met a man. He was 20 and I was 18. His name was Olson. Almost 4 years before, my Mama had been sold to a man in Kentucky. He helped her and all the slaves there flee to Canada. I got a note from her. A note that said one word. Freedom! When I got this note I knew what she was saying to me. Freedom meant to come. Freedom meant I love you. Freedom meant escape. Freedom meant Canada. The only problem was, I had a husband and I was soon to be a mother. A month later I had a baby daughter. I named her after my mother, Opal. At night when everyone was asleep, I would grab a quilt and sew my symbols of how I would get to Canada. Alexander, 1 year ago had escaped. He had made it. So why couldn’t I? The next day, I told my husband about it. I feared that he would say no, stay and that I would never see him again. But, he only said one word to me: Freedom!

When we were cleaning we would sing the song of my childhood, “Follow the Drinking Gourd”. We sang by day and hummed it by night. On April 11, at 1 o’clock a.m, we left the plantation. Opal, Olson, and I tiptoed along the forest floors. That was the scariest experience in my life. You weren’t tryin’ to be spotted, you also feared being sent back to the plantation. You would get beatin’ so hard that you couldn’t even feel the blood trickling down your back. It’s horrible! After our 5th night out, we come across an old hut. I hold up my quilt and I see a picture of what looks like the old hut. I see the code words abolitionist’s home and safe. I see the words, Freedom! I take a knife and a large leaf and write the word, Freedom. I knock on the door, leave the “sign” there, and scurry back to our hiding place. Then, an old man comes out. He picks up the leaf, reads it, and looks up. He says,

“Come out here, now. Unless you want to be left here.”
I motion for my husband to come out into the clearing. We, all three of us, step out into the clearing.
“You all want somethin’ to eat?” he said.
“Yes, please,” Olson said.

So, we all walked into his house. There was already a fire burning in the old fireplace. It was sprouting vibrant colors like cherry red, royal blue, sunflower yellow, iridescent orange and there was a pot of sweet potato soup cookin’. The old man went over to a cabinet and pulled out some milk, for the three of us adults. I then breastfed milk to my beautiful, fragile, but intrepid daughter. Then, Opal and I meet eye to eye. Her sparkling blue eyes, the color of the ocean, against the beautiful color of her dark skin. Her blue eyes were saying, thank you, mama. Her blue eyes were saying, I love you. Her blue eyes were saying Freedom! She had the most jubilant laugh. Her laugh sounds of little bells. She brings joy to anyone that is in the room with her. When I open my eyes, I see her and the old man playing and laughing. The old man looks up at me and says,

“Hello there. I am Cornelius J. Frederick. I am against slavery, you know. I think it’s the most corrupt, unsettling thing, one of, that is, of all humanity. Don’t you think so?” he said, his voice like a bell.
“Yes, I am a slave myself. This is my family, Opal, and Olsen,” I said, for I was quite uncomfortable with the situation.
“Well, it was jolly to meet you Luisa, Olsen, and….. What is your wee girl’s name?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s Opal,” Olsen said.
“Opal……… Well, you best be off to bed. We want to get a good sleep if we are to leave to take you to Harriet Tubman,” Cornelius uttered.

So, we went to the cellar and there was a bed. Not one fit for a queen, but suitable for us. It was also cramped, but better than sleeping in a house that you know you are bound to wake the next morning as a slave. Olsen and Opal fell asleep quite quickly, but it was I who was the last one awake. I couldn’t sleep, you know. It’s hard to sleep if you are afraid to wake up with slave hunters pounding on your door. So, I hummed the song of my childhood to myself. Reminding me of my favorite word, freedom.
“When the sun comes back and the first quail calls,”
“follow the drinking gourd,”
“The old man is waiting to carry you to freedom,”
“Follow the drinking gourd,”
“Follow the drinking gourd,”
“Follow the drinking gourd……………….”

I woke up the next morning to the sound of whistling birds. Opal was laying on my chest, fidgeting with the buttons on my dress. She did this a lot. Olsen was tying his shoes next to the bed. I had told him to leave his shoes at home because the hounds could track him.
“Rise and shine, folks.”

It was the old man. He handed me and Olsen a cup of berries and some milk. We ate as I breastfed Opal. The old man motions for us to leave. We climb up the stairs of the cellar and walk out the front door. There, in front of us, was a wagon with a charcoal horse pulling it.

“Woah girl. Easy. Come here, folks. This is Bessie! My beautiful mare. You see, she’s only 4 years old,” Mr. Cornelius blabbed on.

Opal reached out for the horse and squirmed. I let her pet it on its nose. Bessie and she bonded instantly. The old man removed some hay and revealed a compartment that could fit at least 3 slaves, 4 if one was a child. He told us to climb inside and he handed us a canteen of water, one that Olsen and I could mostly drink from, and Opal if she needed it, and a box of berries. There were small holes on the bottom of the wagon and some on the side, barely noticeable. We climbed inside and, like the bed, it was a little cramped. But, it was certainly better than being a slave. Then, we were off towards freedom! Opal was so nosy the whole way. She squirmed and squirmed. So, Olsen took a little whiskey, that he kept in his pocket, and put it on her finger. She sucked on her thumb and soon, after 5 to 10 minutes or so, she was fast asleep. Olsen and I just laid there for hours, quiet. Then, suddenly one day, the wagon came to a stop. Oh no, had they found us? Were the slave catcher’s here to take us back to that awful plantation, so they good get a good bounty. Just then, the hay was removed and the lock was unlatched. I closed my eyes, for I was as frightened as a kitten in a room full of rocking chairs.

“Hello, folks. You’ve done a good job being quiet and all… but,” the old man said.
But what. Please finish the sentence, please. That’s what I was thinking.
“But I’m gonna have to leave you here. With this gentleman. He’s gonna take you to Harriet Tubman. Who will deliver ya’ll to Canada,” he sniffled.
I was so cheerful that I could burst like a balloon. We weren’t going to be taken back to the plantation after all!

Epilogue

    Over the next couple of weeks, we got to meet the amazing and admirable Harriet Tubman. We crossed the Ohio River and made it to glorious Canada. And for the first time in a long time, I got to hold my mother in my arms, see her with my own eyes, hear her with my own ears. And there is only one word I can think of to describe this feeling, a word that I could feel running through my bones and out my ears. The word I have been waiting to feel, to see my whole life…. Freedom!