“Henry, come in for supper!” yelled my momma from the front steps. As I walked up to the front door, I paused to take in how beautiful the fields looked as the sun was setting. I saw a couple of slave girls still working but didn’t think twice about it. Little did I know my whole view of slavery was about to change.
By the time I sat down, my parents were already talking about the usual dinner subjects. My momma was going on about what was said in town that day while my pa was saying the same thing he had for the past month. “Can you believe all these abolitionists trying to tell me that we’re wrong for having slaves? I am so sick of them trying to tell me what I can and can’t do. I am a grown man and can own a couple of slaves if I want to.”
I nodded along as my mother continued the conversation.
After supper I had to finish up my chores for the day. I lit a lamp and headed over to the barn to give the animals fresh hay for the night. I slid open the large doors and stepped inside. As I walked further into the barn, I heard a rustling next to me. I thought it was just a rodent, but as I looked closer, there seemed to be a hole in the hay. I grabbed a pitchfork and moved back the hay. I let out a yell and jumped back in surprise when I saw, huddled up against the wall, a mother and her son.
My first reaction was to run away and get my parents, but then I noticed their dark skin. If my pa found out that escaped slaves were in the barn, he would turn them in. I couldn’t let that happen. They looked so scared. “I’m going to help you. Don’t worry,” I said with a shaking voice.
I snuck back into my house while my parents were in the living room and searched for any leftover food from supper. I took the dirty dishes and started scraping any scraps I could find into my shirt. I had to move quickly or else they would notice me. I snuck out the door and back into the darkness of the night.
When I walked back into the barn, I whispered, “It’s me again, I brought you some food.” The boy, who was about my age, stepped out from the pile of hay. He was hesitant at first, but, as soon as he saw the food, his fear disappeared. He hungrily grabbed the scraps, and it was apparent that he hadn’t eaten in a while.
“Thank you,” he whispered in a raspy voice. He walked over to where his mother was still lying on the ground and handed her some of the scraps. She seemed even skinnier and weaker than he had. She sat up a little as the boy helped her eat.
“What’s your name?” I asked the boy.
“Henry,” He responded
“My name’s Henry, too! What grade in school are you in?”
“I do n go to school,” he said, embarrassed.
“Oh,” I said, taken aback. I guess I hadn’t thought about whether slaves go to school or not. “What do you like to do, then?”
“I have to work a lot, but I like watching the sunset. No matter how bad my life seems, the beauty of a sunset brings me hope.”
I realized then that this boy wasn’t that different from me. I was always taught that we were very different from each other, therefore, we shouldn’t socialize. But after talking to Henry, I wanted to be his friend.
“I’m sorry, I have to go; my folks will get suspicious if I’m gone for too long,” I said to the boy, “but I’ll be back in the morning with more food.”
The next morning I snuck into the barn with a big bag of food. “Hello?” I whispered, “It’s Henry; I brought you guys more food.”
“Over here” came the reply. I closed the door and walked over to where the voice came from. I found the boy and his mother huddled in a corner. I sat down next to them and handed Henry the bag. He handed his mom most of the food before eating his own smaller portion. “You have to eat momma,” the boy pleaded with her.
“I can’t,” the mom managed.
“Is she okay?” I asked worriedly.
“She’s sick. We haven’t had a lot of food to eat; that is until now. We’ve been traveling for a long time. We shouldn’t stay in the same place two nights in a row but we had to stop and let her rest, even though it is risky.”
“Where are you trying to go?”
“We’re headed up North where we can live freely. You haven’t told anyone we are here, have you?”
“No! We both know what would happen if anyone knew you were here.”
Suddenly, the barn doors opened, the boy hid his mother, but he couldn’t hide himself fast enough. “What’s going on?” my pa boomed, “Henry, what are you doing with this boy?” Then he turned to the boy and said, “And you, who are you and why are you on my property?”
I could tell the boy was shaking as he whispered, “My name is Henry, sir. I’m sorry.”
I saw something soften in my father’s eyes when he said his name, but then momma called, “John, come quick, there’s someone at the door.” As Pa and I approached the front door, my heart sank. Standing there were two slave patrollers.
“Do you folks know anything about some escaped slaves? A mother and son. I assume you know that you are obligated under the law to report any escaped slaves you’ve seen or encountered,” one patroller said.
My father looked at him, looked back into my pleading eyes, and said, “No, we haven’t seen anything.”