The Visitor
The man who lived at the Pond, alone in a small house he had built himself, made room for a special visitor.
The visitor was coming from the South and would only stay for one night. His visit must be kept a secret. Only the man’s parents and sisters and nearest neighbor would be told for they would be needed to help with food and transport. Together they would care for the man, allow him to rest and provide sustenance.
The man who lived at the Pond would rise earlier than usual the next day and walk a mile to his neighbor’s house to borrow his horse and cart. He would then return to the Pond and transport his special visitor to the train station. He would stay with the man until he boarded the train and then he would bid him farewell with prayers and blessings for a safe passage to the North, to freedom.
It was a team effort to offer aid to someone the government labeled a fugitive. And it was illegal. But it was necessary to correct this grave injustice. You see, the fugitive was not considered a man but the property of another who could do to him whatever he wanted. He could beat his property without impunity. He could separate his property from his family or sell his children to far off plantations.
The man at the Pond was just one of many in this town that believed otherwise. They not only felt the injustice of it all but they took action against it. They risked imprisonment and fines but they were willing to take that chance to set this world right.
That night the man at the Pond assured his trembling visitor that he was safe now. He washed the visitor’s blistered, bleeding feet. He spoke soothing and calming words. And after they had shared the hearty meal his sister had delivered earlier, he invited the fugitive to rest on the one small bed in the tiny house. The man at the Pond then sat on his doorstep and played his flute as he watched the last of the sunset. The sweet sound of music echoed softly as his visitor finally fell into the most peaceful and restful sleep of his entire life.
