James Grippando - Leapholes

"Do you know a man named Hezekiah?" he asked, his voice racing.

"No," the man answered. "Not one of us by dat name."

"But do you know him?" said Ryan. "Have you ever met anyone named Hezekiah?"

"Uh-uh," he said. Then he started singing again.

Ryan dropped back to the second in line. "How about you? Do you know Hezekiah?"

The man shook his head. Ryan moved to the next one, and then to the next, asking the same question. Do you know Hezekiah? Have you ever met him?

No one could help him. Then another thought came to him. He ran ahead to the front of the line and caught up with the first slave.

"Sir, do you know where Legal Evil lives?"

The man didn't answer. His eyes were nearly closed, and he was singing in a loud voice.

"Please, can you help me?" said Ryan. "Do you know a place where the brood follows the dam?"

No answer. The slaves kept walking and singing. Ryan stopped, frustrated. "Does anybody know-"

Ryan was suddenly on the ground. One of the posse members had shoved him aside with the butt of his shotgun. "Back away there, boy! This ain't your property."

Property? Ryan thought. It was the first time he'd ever heard people referred to as "property."

The posse moved on. The slaves went with them. Their singing faded as the march continued down Main Street. Many of the onlookers moved alongside them. Others dispersed, disappearing into the tavern or walking home.

Ryan stood silently in the street, not quite believing what he'd just seen. He looked around for Jarvis, but he didn't see him. He hoped they hadn't gotten separated in all the confusion.

"You all right, son?" a woman asked him.

Ryan turned to see a gentle but unfamiliar face. She appeared to be his mother's age, though it was difficult to tell. She was wearing a hooded cape. The torchbearers had moved on with the posse. The only light was from the moon, the flickering gaslight on the street corner, and a few oil lamps hanging in the windows behind them.

Ryan said, "I'm all right. Thank you."

"What's your name?"

"Ryan." Even in the nineteenth century, he left off the surname.

"I'm Abigail. Abigail Fitzsimons."

As they shook hands she said, "Are you looking for someone?"

Ryan glanced toward the sidewalk, the spot where he'd last seen Jarvis. "Yes, I'm looking for-"

"Hezekiah?"

Ryan froze. "Yes. How did you know that?"

"I heard you asking the other slaves if they knew a man named Hezekiah."

"Oh." He shrugged and said, "None of them could help."

"Maybe I can," she said.

"Do you know Hezekiah?"

"It's not the kind of name you hear every day. But I just saw a man named Hezekiah two days ago."

"Where?"

"Right here in this street."

"Are you serious? Where was he? I mean exactly."

"He came in behind the posse. Just like tonight's slaves."

Ryan's heart skipped a beat. "Are you saying that the posse brought him in as a runaway slave?"

"Him and three others. Yes."

"But that's not possible. Hezekiah is not a runaway slave."

"Well, none of these are runaways, technically. This all has to do with the Dred Scott decision."

"The what?"

She looked at him curiously. "The whole country's been talking about it since the Supreme Court released its opinion on the sixth of March. Where have you been, boy?"

"I guess I've been… traveling. But I don't understand. What does a Supreme Court decision have to do with posses bringing slaves into town?"

"Dred Scott was a slave here in Missouri. His master took him to Wisconsin and Illinois for twelve whole years. Slavery is illegal there. So Dred Scott sued his master and asked the court to say he was a free man. It took another twelve years in the court system. The case went all the way to the United States Supreme Court in Washington, D.

"What did they decide?"

"They ruled in favor of slavery. The court said that slaves are property, not people. Even if the owner takes his slave into a free territory, the slave is still a slave."

Ryan thought for a moment. He still didn't understand the meaning of the riddle "The brood follows the dam." But this Dred Scott decision sounded a whole heck of a lot like Legal Evil at work.

"So Dred Scott was forced to become a slave again?" asked Ryan.

"Yes. And so did all these other men you saw paraded down the street tonight. Ever since the Supreme Court made its decision, slave owners have been going back into Illinois and other free states, looking for their property. If they find them, they bring them back."

"And you say a posse brought back a man named Hezekiah two days ago?"

"That's right."

"But it can't be. Hezekiah was never a slave. What did he look like?"

"Very old. Kind of wild hair and bushy white eyebrows. He had on strange clothes, too. And shoes-unlike any I've seen before. They look something like yours."

Ryan glanced at his sneakers, and he recalled the canvas basketball shoes that Hezekiah had worn around the office. It was a painful realization, but Ryan could reach no other conclusion: They were indeed talking about the very same Hezekiah. "This is terrible," said Ryan. "Hezekiah is not a slave. He's my friend. I have to get him out of here."

She smiled with her eyes. "I might just be able to help you there, young man. Bringing people out of slavery is my life's work."

"It is?"

She leaned closer and whispered into his ear. "I'm an abolitionist."

Ryan thought he knew what she meant, but he didn't dare ask for an explanation. From the expression on her face, he was certain of this much: "Abolitionist" was a dangerous word to utter on this street.

"When can we get started?" asked Ryan.

"As soon as you like. Why don't you come on over to my house for dinner. We can talk about it."

Once again, Ryan scanned the street, searching for Jarvis. "I'd like to. But I came here with a friend. I don't see him anywhere."

"What's he look like?"

"Kind of hard to miss," said Ryan. "Big guy. And his face is really flat, kind of like he ran into a brick wall or something."

"Is that him over there?" she said.

Ryan spotted a gathering outside the tavern across the street. People were laughing and celebrating, eating fried chicken, sucking down cold drinks. In the middle of the crowd stood Jarvis. He was gnawing on a barbecued rib.

"Yes, that's him," said Ryan.

"What on earth is your friend doing at the slave owners' party?"

Ryan took a hard look at Jarvis, his eyes clouding with concern. "That's what I'd like to know."

"I was hungry," Jarvis told Ryan. "That's all there is to it."

They were riding in the back of a horse-drawn wagon. Abigail was at the reins. A struggling old mare with a sagging backbone was pulling them down a dark, rutted road.

Ryan had done his best to avoid making a scene at the street party outside the tavern. He took Jarvis by the arm and quietly pulled him away. Even so, Jarvis did manage to stuff three more barbecued ribs and a grilled chicken leg into his pockets on the way out. Ryan waited until they were well out of town before speaking his mind. First, he told Jarvis what the abolitionist had said about Hezekiah. Then he laid into him about crossing over to the slave owners' side of the street.

"Do you realize that you were partying with the same people who took Hezekiah into slavery?" said Ryan.

"I wasn't partying with anyone," he said, still chewing a mouthful of chicken. "I was just eating their food."

"Did you see me eating their food? Did you see Abigail?"

"Lay off, will you, Ryan? I haven't eaten anything but those crab apples since we got here. These folks were giving away food. I smelled barbecue, and I couldn't resist. What's the big deal?"