Freedom’s Moon: Shawnee Friends Mission Series, Book Three

By Margaret Mendenhall

Because Thomas Bishop was born to a slave mother, he is condemned to a life of slavery even though he has a white father out there somewhere he has never met. But he has a dream—an impossible one. His dream to one day be free and prosperous enough to offer a secure future to the woman he loves, seems unlikely.

Even after being whipped mercilessly for learning to read—which the law in Missouri prohibits—secreted away in the middle of the night, sold, and then reported as dead, Thomas’s dream still can’t be squelched. Determined to escape the cruel institution of slavery, he and his companions set out into the unknown with bloodhounds hot on their trail, only to discover the Underground Railroad—a group of people filled with compassion for the unfortunate victims of slavery. With their help and an unshakable trust in God, he travels across Missouri to Kansas Territory, but even then, will it be enough to achieve the fulfillment of such a ridiculous dream?

In this novel a slave while pursuing his dream of freedom and prosperity for himself and the woman he loves connects with the Underground Railroad as he sets out on an unforgettable journey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Jun 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781489722829

Margaret Mendenhall

Margaret Mendenhall lives in Guymon, Oklahoma, with her husband, Charles. They have been pastors of Victory Center Church since its beginning in 1977. In addition to being a writer, she teaches in the local church and speaks at conferences. Raised in a Quaker home, she attended Friends Bible College and Academy in Haviland, Kansas. Inspiration from the rich history of her roots formed the basis for this story highlighting the Underground Railroad.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

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Missouri, 1860

T homas Bishop shuddered at what would happen if someone caught him doing what he was doing—dangerous to say the least—but he didn’t care. There could be no turning back. Sometimes a man must risk everything to do what he feels important—no matter the consequences. Concern marred his features as he searched the stand of trees surrounding the obscure sanctuary. He strained his ears for any sound that suggested they were not alone. Hearing nothing, he continued reading momentarily while he savored the rich, warm silence.

Occasionally, Thomas stole a glance in Anna Stanton’s direction. She sat daintily, completely engrossed in the novel that rested in her lap. Yards and yards of skirt fanned out around her slender form, shoes barely peeked from under its hem. For a moment his eyes hung on her sun-kissed, honey-colored curls spilling from under a flower-trimmed hat, unaware of the stunning picture she made or the ardent admiration that stirred in Thomas’s heart. Adoration he must keep in check, not even allowing a hint to escape from his mouth or eyes, ever, as long as he continued to be who he was.

A gentle breeze tantalized the branches woven together overhead that formed a leafy tunnel. Slivers of afternoon sunlight sliced through the foliage leaving its lemon-yellow glow here and there. A nearby stream rippled lazily against rocks on its banks adding a dreamy quality to the afternoon. Thomas wished this was a dream he would never wake up from, where he was free to do and be whatever he wanted, but harsh reality lurked just around the bend. What he enjoyed at that moment was as illegal as murder and could carry just as stiff a penalty. For a slave to get an education in Missouri was forbidden.

Thomas reluctantly closed his book. Missy, don’t you think we should be moseying back soon? Mustn’t have your father sending out a search-party looking for you. He handed the book to Anna. Thank you for loaning it to me.

Were you able to understand all the words? Anna’s eyes sparkled. I do believe, dear sir, you are the brightest, smartest student I have ever seen. Next time, I will bring you a book with so many big words you will be forced to ask for my help. Her dimples framed a smile that tugged at Thomas’s heart.

Next time? He hoped there would be a next time. Every time they slipped away like this, Thomas wondered if it would be their last. They were walking a slippery path participating in prohibited activity—he a coachman and she the master’s only daughter. To learn to read had been just a fantasy until Anna insisted on teaching him. She maintained he was too intelligent to go through life ignorant.

But on plantations ignorance was necessary. An educated slave was a worthless slave in the notion of every plantation owner. Ignorance gave a slaveholder the upper hand. In spite of that, Thomas was pretty sure in the bosom of every man, slave or free, burned the desire to better himself through book learning.

Thomas flashed Anna a fond smile as she gathered her books and made her way to the buggy. He folded the blanket they had sat on and arranged it over the books stacked on the buggy seat. As they left the shelter and pulled onto the main road, a horse and rider traveling at top speed disappeared around the bend about a half- mile ahead of them. Something about the horseman looked familiar. Thomas’s heart skipped. Every muscle went rigid. Could someone have been spying on them, or was his imagination just making up qualms with no substance? A ball of worry and foreboding twisted in his stomach like a fist trying to bury itself into his ribcage.

As they approached the large, sprawling building-complex that made up the Stanton Manor, apprehension increased in Thomas’s belly wrapping a tight band around his rapidly beating heart. Master William Stanton and Elias Cook, the overseer, stormed down the mansion’s front steps toward them.

Before the buggy managed to come to a complete halt in front of the gate, Anna’s father bellowed, his eyes narrowed into scrunched slits. Where have you been, young lady?

Anna’s hand trembled slightly as Thomas helped her from the carriage. I told you where I was going. Harriett wanted to measure me for my new dress. She gathered her skirt to sweep past her father when he caught her by the arm.

If you just went to town for a new dress— he rummaged beneath the blanket and pulled out the books, his narrowed eyes now even more severe, sparking fire amid an accusing scowl, —then what is the meaning of these? Blood drained from Anna’s face. Thomas groaned inside. Evidently, Elias had followed them and watched while Anna spent the afternoon instructing him. The fact that his secret had been discovered claimed only a passing thought in his mind—his tumultuous feelings circulated around Anna. What would her father do to her?

Master Stanton shot a glare in Anna’s direction that forbad any argument or further explanation. Go inside, and do not step foot outside the house until I can deal with you. Right now, I must take care of some business out here. He speared Thomas with a venomous look. Anna froze, ashen-faced. The expression she turned toward Thomas brimmed with fear and regret before she whirled to race towards the house.

Worry gnawed at Thomas’s gut as he walked toward the buggy. Elias grabbed his arms, yanked them behind his back and clamped shackles around his wrists. Master Stanton stood before him, eyes flashing. You know what the punishment is for breaking the law, he said in a measured tone devoid of compassion. No slave of mine will fill his head with books and the like without severe consequences—even if he is a coachman. He nodded toward Elias, Give him fifty lashes and do not spare the muscle. Not only has he been rebellious, but he is getting all too familiar with my daughter. He spat on the ground and stomped up the steps.

Elias shoved Thomas toward the slave quarters. Thomas considered resisting, but what good would that do? Even though he was almost twice the overseer’s size, muscle-wise, and a head taller, if he refused to comply it would only prolong the agony and intensify the suffering. Master had ordered fifty lashes, but no one would stop Elias if the count went on and on. Thomas had witnessed occasions of that sort many times.

Elias bound him to a whipping post for the remainder of the day to wait until the field hands returned from work before administering the flogging. Normally, the overseer preferred never to punish a slave without an audience. A slave-whipping served as warning to the rest, to demonstrate what would happen if they rebelled in any way.

As the sun relaxed on the horizon sending orange streaks across the sky, slaves gathered one by one in the open area of the slave quarters where, over time, the bare feet of numerous black folks had packed the earth as hard as a wooden floor. They stood wide-eyed with stricken faces as Elias announced Thomas’s offense. Each of you knows it’s against the law of the state and of this plantation for any slave to be caught reading or attempting to learn to read. Elias’s eyes glinted like a snake’s amid hardened features as he spewed out his snarling pronouncement. Thomas, here, was caught reading and must be punished. Take heed lest any of you decide to become uppity and break the law. You will suffer the same consequences.

The first few lashes were the hardest to bear as the whip bit into Thomas’s taut back. Each stripe created its own degree of pain. After a while, throbbing spread across the whole of his back then crept into every extremity, muscle, and tendon. Blood dripped down his legs and pooled around his feet. Still the beating continued. Thomas gnawed his bottom lip until he could taste blood. Spasms racked his muscles so severely it seemed his bones would snap. Almost unconscious from the agony, he could hear the whimper of children and low groans coming from some of the female slaves.

Finally, Elias unshackled Thomas, dragged him to his cabin, and flung him across his cot face-down. Raw flesh on his back shot excruciating anguish throughout his whole body causing it to tremble. As night descended, the darkness intensified his suffering. It caused him to focus his full attention on his mangled body. In spite of his torment, he hugged to himself a small measure of satisfaction. No matter how cruelly they beat him, they could not drive out his ability to read. It was too late for that.

The night wore on. Thomas prayed amid his groans. Some of the time he prayed for God to help him live, but often when the pain grew too intense, he prayed to die. Hours passed. Then a rustling brought him to full consciousness. The door opened and closed as someone entered carrying a lit candle. Who’s there? Thomas whispered. The slaves had been warned against helping him, so who would take that kind of risk.

Thomas’s heart leaped when he heard a soft, female voice. It is me. Anna. She rushed to his side and knelt by the cot. Oh Thomas. I am so sorry I got you into this trouble. This is my fault.

Thomas couldn’t see her tears but could hear them in her voice. His heart ached, but not because of his own pain. Now, Missy. You’re in no way to blame. I knew what I was doing—and it was worth it. They may batter my body, but they can’t take away my ability to read. For that I’m grateful to you, and I will be for as long as I live. You’ve done enough for me already.

No Thomas, I cannot leave you in this condition. I have brought some water and ointment to dress your wounds. Anna ignored his objections as she sponged the dried blood cleansing his lacerations thoroughly. After she treated his back liberally with salve, he struggled to sit.

Catching Anna’s hand in his, he held it gently. You shouldn’t have come. What will your father do to you if he catches you here?

Anna squeezed Thomas’s hand. I do not care what my father does to me. You are more important than anything he could do. He has already thrown my books in the fire and forbade me ever to spend time alone with you again. I can do without those books, but I cannot live without seeing you. Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight like a thousand small fires.

Listen to what you’re saying, Anna. You’re a fine lady, schooled in all the ways of society … and … I’m just a slave with nothing and no future.

You are not just a slave. Look at you. Your skin is no darker than my father’s—your features, no different than any white man’s. Just because you were born to a slave woman does not justify you being the property of another man. You are brilliant, strong, courageous, and someday you will be somebody great. I just know it. When that happens, I want to be by your side.

Thomas’s breath caught in his throat as Anna’s words reached his heart, the implications becoming clear. Was she insinuating she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him? He glowed inwardly with a white flame at the thought, but the realization of his circumstances immediately smothered the blaze leaving him with the ashes of reality. He drew Anna to his chest and stroked her hair. Missy! Missy, you can’t mean what you’re saying. If I was a free man with money and a grand place of my own, I’d be the happiest man alive to love you and provide for you in the finest style. But as it is, I can only love you from afar, wishing you the happiness I could never give you.

Anna laid her hand on Thomas’s cheek. Does that mean you love me?

Thomas rested his forehead against hers. God help me … I’ve loved you for almost as long as I’ve known you. He cupped her face in his hands. His eyes caressed her features. He could not imagine a more exquisite being existing anywhere—with eyes that shimmered full of tenderness, framed with long, thick lashes, full lips the color of the first, pastel rays of dawn.

How could anyone keep from loving you? he said. Such a beautiful creature with a spirit full of gentleness and kindness, any man would feel he’d been handed the wealth of the universe should you cast one look in his direction.

Thomas dropped his hands. He smothered torrents of unspoken words lying deep inside that clamored to burst forth full of adoration for the woman that knelt before him. But, my dear Anna, it could never be. I’ve nothing to offer you. All I have is a life of bondage, not one penny to my name, and a future as bleak as a sunless, winter day … nothing that could bring happiness into your life.

Anna captured one of Thomas’s hands and held it to her lips. To hear you say you love me is all the happiness I need. God will make a way. I do not know how, but he will. I will pray night and day, and someday … you will see. You will see.

CHAPTER 2

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W hen morning came to the slave quarters of Master Stanton’s plantation, Thomas awoke to the smell of frying sowbelly from the cook fires throughout the camp. The struggle to sit renewed the throbbing in his back, but recalling his conversation with Anna revitalized his resolve.

He had suspected she might have feelings for him by the way her hand lingered in his at times and the look in her eyes when he caught her studying him, but he had not allowed himself to dream she would ever desire to spend the rest of her life with him. And even now, knowing how she felt, it would take a miracle for that to happen. Even to see her again would be unlikely

Somehow, he had to do something to change his circumstances. Born the son of a slave relegated him to a lifetime of slavery, but somewhere out there he had a white father. And because of him, with light-colored skin, fine features and black wavy hair, Thomas could easily pass for a white man. But in reality, he was every bit as much a slave as those whose skin was as black as a moonless, starless night with eyes the only visible feature twinkling amidst the darkness.

Right now, the only father he knew was his heavenly Father, and he was the only one who could bring about a change. Thomas dropped his head into his hands. Father, I need your help, was all he could say. The rest of the prayer remained wedged in his heart. It refused to come out in articulate speech—barely audible in deep, agonizing groans.

A soft knock sounded on the cabin door. Who is it? Thomas started to rise but sank back on the cot from the pain of exertion.

It’s me, Ole John. The door pushed open before Thomas could give the invitation. I’se come to check on how ye be and bring ya some vittles. John stood, one hand on his hip and the other holding a plate of food. He eyed Thomas from head to toe. Least … looks like you’se still alive. He ran his weathered hand over his graying, wooly head and rocked back and forth on shaky legs. You can read?

Yes. Miss Stanton has been teaching me for well-nigh a year—not only to read, but write and figure numbers too.

Old John shook his head his brows furrowed. Whew. No wonder de Massa be all het up. You done been doin’ all dat n’ never tole no one. Don’ dat jus’ beat all.

Thomas dropped his head and nodded then lifted his eyes and peered from under his eyebrows. If I had my way, I’d open up a school and teach every last one of the darkies here how to read and write and make something of themselves—become more than just someone else’s property. But you know as well as I do, if I did that, I’d get more than just a whipping—I’d be hung.

The older man bobbed his head in agreement. No doubt, no doubt de danger wud be considerable. Till we’se all free, don’ seem like dat will ever happen.

Thomas sat in silence then cocked his head. How does a slave go about getting free?

John rolled his eyes, placed the plate of food on Thomas’s lap, hobbled to the door, opened it slightly and peered out for a moment. Seeming satisfied with what he saw or didn’t see, he made his way to the cot pulled up a chair and sat facing Thomas. He propped his elbows on his knees and whispered, Well, I heared tell dat in de free states dere be sech a thing as an Underground Railroad dat swoops down an’ carries off Negros right an’ left an’ hauls dem to a land far away called Canada. In dat country all men am free—black, white or if’n dere be any other color. Dem all free.

Thomas leaned toward the old Negro. Underground Railroad? How could a railroad travel underneath the ground? The excitement in Thomas caused his voice to rise above a whisper.

Shhh. Old John put a finger to his lips. Don’ want any strange ears ta catch wind o’ sech a thing. Ain’t no real railroad—jus’ decent folks wid compassion in de heart for de sufferin’ darky. Dey risk all dere worldly goods to make a way of escape.

Thomas forgot his wounded back, and scooted to the edge of his cot, eyes wide from the eagerness pounding in his chest. Where would a person find this Underground Railroad?

John leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. Now, dat dere is de mystery. Could be here in Missouri somewheres … or maybe not. For sure dey be in Kansas Territory. I hear tell de Quaker folks, dey be de main part o’ de railroad. Dey be lots of dem ‘cross de line in Kansas. Been tole a fellar can know which house be part o’ de railroad by watchin’ de clothesline or de fence.

Thomas stopped eating and folded his arms across his chest. Now you’re talking crazy, Old Man. What does watching a clothesline or a fence have to do with the Underground Railroad?

John squinted at Thomas, Ain’t de clothesline or fence itself … it’s what’s hangin’ on it. Ya see, those cagey women make quilts wid code language worked into dem. If’n ya knows de code, you can read de signs.

How can I get hold of the code? Thomas couldn’t keep the eagerness out of his voice.

Well, I’se plumb ignorant o’ some of dem, but de mos’ ‘portant one be those hangin’ on safe houses. Now dat dere quilt—log cabin it’s called—be built together wid blocks like dis piled up in one corner of a square. John drew a picture with his finger on top of Thomas’s blanket indicating how the blocks were arranged. A lit’le black block in de middle of de square sez, ‘I’m a safe house.’ Join a heap o’ dees squares together and you done gots a talkin’ quilt dat assures you it be safe to go in dere.

Thank you. Thomas patted Old John on the knee. If you get any more information I might be interested in, please let me know.

You thinkin’ o’ runnin’ away? A worried expression appeared on John’s wrinkled face visible even in the dim cabin light.

I don’t know. Thomas rubbed his hand back and forth across his mouth. I’m evaluating all my options. The way things are now, I don’t know what is going to happen. I’m not content to work my life away on this plantation or any other and drop into my grave without accomplishing something.

You do dat. Old John nodded enthusiastically. Yes sir, you do dat. If’n I was a mite younger, I wud jus’ pack my bags an’ high-tail it wid you. Yes sir. I wud jus’ do dat.

After Old John left, Thomas pulled his mother’s Bible from under his mattress. He thumbed through its worn pages. How he had kept it hidden all these years was a true miracle. Now that he could read, it provided a source of strength straight from heaven. Thomas stopped at Isaiah chapter thirty and ran his finger down to verse twenty-one. And your ears will hear a word behind you, saying, This is the way; walk in it, when you turn to the right hand and when you turn to the left.

Thomas quickly stuck the Bible back in its hiding place. Bowing his head, he prayed, Oh Lord, I believe you have a plan for me. You promised to show me that plan. Show me the way, and I’ll walk in it.

He had barely finished praying when a soft knock on the door surprised him. Thomas, can I come in. Anna’s voice caused his heart to beat faster. How could she be here in broad daylight? She rushed in and flung her arms around his neck, careful to stay away from his injured back. Kissing him soundly on the lips, she pulled away searching his face. I hope you do not mind me doing that. I could not wait to see how you are doing.

No, I don’t mind you kissing me. In fact, you can keep doing that for as long as you like. Thomas drew her into a hug and kissed her tenderly before letting her go. Now I guess that makes us even.

Anna laughed quietly. I do believe my patient is feeling better. She turned him slightly to get a better view of