Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House(106)

Toward the end of the week, Pete came back with news that there were patrollers along the canal route searching for us. “Everybody want that money,” he said, and worried that he and Willie were not immune to the same temptation, I began to press for a departure date.

“We got to wait,” he said, then indicated with a nod for me to continue chopping wood.

I was so anxious to leave that, foolhardy as it would have been, I might have taken Pan and Kitty and struck out on my own. However, through Willie, I learned that this island had been chosen for their home because it was protected—surrounded by alligator and snake-infested waters. As dangerous were the numerous still ponds around the island, covered by a greasy surface sheen that camouflaged thick sucking mud. “Man don’t know where he goin’, he step in that, don’ never see him again,” Willie said.


ONE EVENING TOWARD the end of the second week, as Willie, Pan, and I sat at the fireside and watched while Peg tested the readiness of a roasting possum, Pete burst through the trees.

“We set for tonight! ’Fore sunup, we got to get you to the cross-ditch. Barge comin’ up, gon’ take you to a wagon that get you to No’folk.”

My chest began to thump. Weren’t the patrollers still out there? I had been waiting for this, but now I was afraid to leave. Daily I had reviewed each fear and obstacle we might face. The most concerning had to do with Kitty. “What about Kitty?” I asked. “What will we do for milk?”

The question hung in the air as I looked from one to the other.

“Best you ask Peg if she give you her goat,” Willie finally said.

Peg shot him a sharp look.

“But . . .” Pan protested, knowing what the animal meant to Peg.

I looked to the old woman, certain of her denial. She clutched her hands together as she gazed at her prized goat, then turned back to Willie and gave a quick nod. I was disbelieving, yet I looked to Pete. “How can we take a goat?”

“You think that the biggest thing we ever carry out?” Pete asked, then went silent as though he had said too much.

Peg went over to the fire and removed the possum from the spit, then pulled the sweet potatoes from the coals. No one needed further encouragement to eat, but as we did, Peg went off to her hut. I leaned over to Willie and asked if she was coming back out to join us. He shook his head. “Let her be. She gettin’ used to the idea of losin’ her goat—and the boy,” he added, nodding to Pan.

It had grown late, but as we prepared to leave, Peg returned to insist that we give Kitty a last feeding. Pan, as excited as I had ever seen him, went to Peg as she fed Kitty. “Do you want me to write to you and tell you how we got through?”

“You know I can’t do no readin’,” she said.

“I can draw some pictures. How ’bout that?”

“You good at it?” she asked.

“Not as good as Mr. Burton,” he said.

“I want ’em from you,” she said.

Pan looked around as though he’d suddenly remembered our whereabouts. “Where should I send them?”

“Send them to that Mr. Spencer. He’ll get them to me,” she said, solidifying a connection I had guessed at.

Pan watched as she changed the baby’s clout and then settled Kitty into a new moss-lined basket. “You gonna miss Kitty, Miss Peg?” Pan asked.

“She too much work,” Peg said, handing Pan a small leather bag that held clout-sized pieces of cloth, a small turtle shell, and fresh reeds for Kit’s feedings.

“Thank you, Miss Peg,” Pan said, and Peg’s eyes glistened before she turned back toward her hut.

I followed. “Miss Peg,” I called, addressing her with the formality that Pan always used.

“What you wantin’ now?” she asked, turning back to face me.

“I want to thank you. I can never replace your goat, nor can I ever repay your kindness, but please take this.” I reached for her hand and pressed my grandmother’s large garnet and diamond brooch into her palm. “Get that to Mr. Spencer and he will get more goats for you, if you like,” I said.

She closed her hand around the jewel, then turned and walked away.

When I picked up Kitty’s basket, Willie stole a last peek. “You raise her up good,” he said. “You tell her ’bout us out here. How Peg do for her.”


PETE MOVED SWIFTLY, leading the muzzled goat through the impossibly thick vegetation. Each time something large slithered into the watery underbrush, the goat panicked and pulled back, until Pete, frustrated with her resistance, picked her up and slung her around his thick neck.

Even with Pete burdened, Pan and I had to work hard to keep up as he navigated first the boggy land and then the gnarled and slippery tree roots. Though now familiar with the night sounds, I was often startled by disturbed wildlife as it flew up or rustled past us in the undergrowth.

Kitty seldom fussed, and Pan remained close to my side, but it was such a difficult hike that I had little time to worry about what lay ahead. My most immediate fear was that I would lose my balance and take Kit into the water, so I gripped tight the walking cane Willie had thrust into my hand on our departure.

We trekked deep into the night, and even Pete appeared winded by the time we caught sight of the towpath. The night view of the winding canal was deceptively peaceful; overhead trees leaned in to one another, their branches folded together across the water as though in prayer. Down a distance, a long stretch of the canal was open to the sky, where the black shadow of a nighthawk glided across the still water.