Chapter 13
Boston
December 1853
Plumes of snow piled up outside Crandall Livery & Stables in Boston, creating white pilasters along the building’s gray walls. Wind spiraled a troupe of new flakes as they fell to the ground, adding their company to the growing columns.
Alden stomped his feet inside the open doorway of the livery. If the snow didn’t stop soon, all of Park Square would be buried in a white shroud before dark.
The boat from Alexandria had taken him and Isaac to New York, then the train had transported them the remaining way to the depot here in Boston two days ago, but the accumulating snow had canceled the service of his typical coach over to Cambridge indefinitely.
Fellow boat and then train passengers had watched him and Isaac for their entire journey, as if they were traveling performers about to entertain. Some of the people around them were curious. Others seemed hostile at his apparent ownership of a young slave.
When someone appeared too intrigued with their arrangement, he would demand that Isaac fetch his bag or something to eat. The boy did the work swiftly, usually with a smile. And no one had asked for his papers yet.
Still Alden feared that someone would guess that he was trying to secure Isaac’s freedom. Or that his father would find out that he’d taken a slave. After what his father had done to Benjamin, Alden could only imagine what he would do if he found them.
While Isaac read a new novel in the hotel room, Alden had set out to rent a rig for the last six miles of their journey. After Isaac was on his way to Canada, Alden would return the rented horses and carriage.
Horses neighed on both sides of the stables, and Alden’s boots sunk into the wet straw as he strode down the alley between the stalls. The livery opened up into a storage arena that held four wagons and two carriages. The only man he saw was attending to a horse inside one of the stalls, across from the wagon storage.
The man removed his foot from a stool. “How can I help you?” he asked, transferring a brush between his hands.
“I want to rent a horse and runabout,” Alden replied, pointing toward the carriages. He’d hire a coach to deliver his trunk to Harvard after the snow melted.
The man looked him up and down, at his black woolen cloak and felt derby hat. “You know how to drive a runabout?”
“Of course I do.”
The man returned to brushing the horse’s coat. “I should be able to rent you something by Friday.”
“I can’t wait that long.”
The man shrugged. “I can’t afford to lose one of my horses in a blizzard.”
“It’s not far to Harvard.”
The man looked at him like he was crazy. In Virginia, an enslaved coachman would drive him, no matter the weather, but he had no power over this man.
“Are you Crandall?” Alden asked, pointing back toward the wooden sign hanging over the open doorway.
The man nodded. “Lowell Crandall.”
“What if I hired you to drive me?”
Lowell pressed the brush bristles into his palm, nodding toward the gusting snow that veiled the bank building across the street. “I’m not going to get stranded in this weather.”
“I’ll pay you twice your usual fee.”
“Twice of anything’s not worth my life or the lives of my stock.”
When Alden looked back at the snow again, he blinked. Then his heart seemed to stop. He thought his father might come to Harvard after him, but it wasn’t his father standing outside the livery door. It was his brother-in-law.
He glanced at the alley and then toward the carriages. The only exit was the one where Victor seemed to be standing guard. Alden slipped into the stall where he’d found Lowell.
The man eyed the door, and when he turned back toward Alden, his eyes narrowed. “I think there’s more to your story.”
Alden kept his back against the stall’s low wall. “There’s always more to a story.”
“You in trouble with the law?”
He shook his head. “I’m in trouble with my family.”
“Ah,” Lowell said. “I’ve spent a lifetime in trouble with mine.”
When Alden glanced over the wall, he saw Victor walking toward them.
“I would appreciate your confidence,” Alden said.
“I’ll determine that in due course,” Lowell replied. “In the meantime, this here is Daisy Sue. You two can get to know each other while I talk to this family member of yours.”
Alden sank down onto the wooden stool, the stench of horse manure stinging his nose. Thankfully, Daisy Sue ignored him, keeping her distance across the stall. As he waited, Alden silently begged God to convince the owner of the livery to conceal the truth.
“How can I help you?” he heard Lowell ask Victor.
“I want to rent a carriage and driver,” Victor said.
“I don’t hire out drivers,” Lowell told him. “Check down by the train depot.”
“No one there will drive in this snow.”
Through the cracks in the wood, Alden watched Lowell and Victor. As the men talked, he wrestled with his own thoughts.
If Victor was Isaac’s father, should he return the boy to him? A boy should be with his father, especially if Victor treated him well. But Eliza clearly wasn’t enamored with him. She was willing to give him away, and he feared his sister wouldn’t hesitate to sell him.
“Where are you going?” the livery owner asked Victor.
“Harvard.”
“You work there?”
“No. I’m on my way to get my slave back.”
“Your slave?” Lowell asked, his tone tightening like a jack-in-the-box about to spring.
He nodded. “Someone kidnapped him.”
“Why would someone take your slave to Harvard?”
“My brother-in-law is planning to free him,” Victor said, as if he were indicting Alden in the worst possible crime.
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely,” Victor replied. “I’m going to find my slave and make sure my brother-in-law is flogged for stealing him.”
“How about the slave?”
“Perhaps I’ll have him flogged too.”
The image of his own father flashed into Alden’s mind, the whip in his hand ready to lash Benjamin, and he shuddered. He would return a son to his father, but not a slave to his master. He had to keep Isaac away from Victor, even if he had to escort the boy up to Canada on his own.
“I have a friend named Jameson who runs a livery ten blocks north of here, next to Park Street Church,” Lowell directed. “He rents out coaches for hire, and his horses are much better in the snow than mine.”
Victor stepped toward the door. “I’ll find him before dark.”
“I’m always glad to help someone of a like mind.”
“I thought Boston was chock-full of abolitionists.”
“Only a few of them around here.”
Alden stayed in the stall several more minutes until he was certain Victor was gone. “What’s ten blocks north?” Alden asked when he stepped back into the alley.
Lowell smiled. “The burying ground.”
Alden laughed.
“He’ll never even make it there tonight in this snow,” Lowell said. “You aim to keep that boy as a slave?”
Alden shook his head. “I’m trying to find him a way up to Canada.”
The man eyed the snow again. “Perhaps I will drive you to Harvard myself.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to change my plans.” Again. Victor may not be able to get transportation today, but he wouldn’t be far behind Alden and Isaac on the route to Cambridge.
“There aren’t many places you can go by foot or carriage in this weather,” Lowell said. “Certainly not up to Canada.”
The banknotes his mother had given him for tuition were back in the room. She may have meant for him to finish his schooling, but she’d also told him to use his education for good.
“How about a ship to California?” he asked.
The man eyed him for a moment. “We’ve got two kinds of ships that leave from our harbor. The slow boat goes all the way down around Cape Horn, ending up four or five months later in San Francisco if the weather’s decent. Seven months if Mother Nature’s fighting you.”
“What about the faster route?”
“Those ships stop at the Isthmus of Panama, and you have to cross over that neck of land to catch a ship on the other side.”
“Any idea how much the passage would cost?” Alden asked.
“About two hundred dollars per person to go around the Horn. More like three hundred dollars to cross over the isthmus.”
His heart sank. Even if he wanted to take Isaac to California, he didn’t have enough money for both of them to travel.
Lowell lowered his voice. “My brother commands a clipper ship called Pharos that leaves in the morning for California. Won’t matter if it’s sunny or snowing.”
“I don’t have enough money for the boy and me to both sail.”
Lowell tugged on his jacket sleeves. “If you are willing to work, I might be able to get you passage.”
“We’re willing to work as hard as we can.”
“Meet me down at Lewis Wharf before daybreak,” Lowell said. “And pack light.”
“Thank you.”
He didn’t have to ask Isaac about this new journey. It seemed the boy was going to achieve his dream of going to California after all.