The Underground Railroad(84)

Cora shook her head again and rubbed her arms from the chill.

The third wagon was commanded by an older negro man. He was thickset and grizzled, dressed in a heavy rancher’s coat that had seen its share of labor. His eyes were kind, she decided. Familiar though she couldn’t place it. The smoke from his pipe smelled like potatoes and Cora’s stomach made a noise.

“You hungry?” the man asked. He was from the south, from his voice.

“I’m very hungry,” Cora said.

“Come up and take something for yourself,” he said.

Cora clambered to the driver’s box. He opened the basket. She tore off some bread and gobbled it down.

“There’s plenty,” he said. He had a horseshoe brand on his neck and pulled up his collar to hide it when Cora’s eyes lingered. “Shall we catch up?”

“That’s good,” she said.

He barked at the horses and they proceeded on the rut.

“Where you going?” Cora said.

“St. Louis. From there the trail to California. Us, and some people we going to meet in Missouri.” When she didn’t respond he said, “You come from down south?”

“I was in Georgia. I ran away.” She said her name was Cora. She unfolded the blanket at her feet and wrapped herself in it.

“I go by Ollie,” he said. The other two wagons came into view around the bend.

The blanket was stiff and raspy under her chin but she didn’t mind. She wondered where he escaped from, how bad it was, and how far he traveled before he put it behind him.