Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House(97)

We moved quickly, this time along a tight path through brush and brambles. When Sukey began to slow, I thought she might have lost her way, but after she found the trail that ran alongside the river, her speed picked up again. We moved faster still at the sound of dogs in the distance. I almost barreled into Pan when Sukey stopped suddenly and pointed down toward the water. Pan clutched my arm. “I can’t swim!” he whispered.

“Neither can I,” I said. “Sukey!” I whispered as loud as I dared, but she was already gone, sliding down the embankment to the river’s edge. We dared not lose her and slid down the hill to find Sukey alongside the river, tossing away branches to uncover a small wooden raft. The barking of the dogs grew closer as we pushed the raft to the water’s edge. Sukey waved for the two of us to get on the craft, then shoved us off before she heaved herself up. Pan, terrified, clung to the raft as Sukey and I each grabbed a pole. My arms shook from the strain of the strong undertow, but we were close to the opposite riverbank when a lone hound shot out of the woods and began a wild bark. The answering howls from the pack were distant but bone-chilling.

I jumped off the raft into thigh-high water and reached for Pan, catching him by the waist of his pants. Sukey, too, leaped off, then pushed the craft back out for the current to take hold of it. As it swiftly swept away, we slogged over to the riverbank and pulled ourselves up onto the land and into the dense undergrowth. We lay there, winded, scanning the other side of the river, where the lone dog continued to yowl.

Sukey grunted softly as she turned to her side, readjusting the pressure on her swollen stomach. I, too, felt pressure on my stomach and realized it was my old jacket. In the fray, I had stuffed it into the waist of my trousers. Though the answering call of the other dogs was receding, when Sukey again rose to her feet, Pan and I followed close behind.

We traveled due north. Though the land was flat, it dipped and rolled to accommodate the numerous small streams we crossed on foot. When in water, Pan clung to the waist of my trousers, but when we traveled the dry land, he made a point to walk on his own, keeping pace with me and glancing up often, I suppose to gauge my mood. We rested only after a particularly difficult water crossing and it was almost daybreak when we came upon what appeared to be a small forest. There, Sukey kept us to the periphery of the dark woods. As the sky began to lighten, we could see the outline of some outbuildings and a white clapboard house. Sukey pointed to a large barn topped by a weather vane—a large arrow encircled in metal and showing up dark black against the sky.

“Quakers,” she scratched into my palm, then motioned for us to follow her. For the first time since our departure, I felt something akin to relief.

“What she say?” Pan whispered.

“Quakers,” I answered. He asked for no further explanation, and I didn’t offer one.

Naturally, I was familiar with Quakers and their anti-slavery views, but in my Philadelphia social circle, they were criticized for so plainly expressing their opinions. Now I could only hope that what I had heard of them was true.

We slipped into the largest of the three barns and sank down behind a stall. It seemed we had only just settled when a woman came into the building. Her face was protected from the early-morning sun by a wide-brimmed bonnet, while her brown dress and dark green apron were cut full enough to accommodate her pregnant abdomen.

She went directly to a bin and scooped out some grain, separated it into two troughs, then went to a large barn door that opened to a pasture. Calling her cows by name, she encouraged them to enter and patted their rumps in greeting as they lumbered toward their stalls. After the Quaker woman settled herself to do the milking, Sukey stood. Startled by the abrupt appearance of Sukey’s face over the partition, the woman gave a sharp cry of alarm, then covered her mouth with her hand.

Sukey looked down at me helplessly, apparently out of ideas on how to continue. I saw no way out and slowly, so as not to scare the woman further, rose to stand beside Sukey. The woman gaped wordlessly.

“I apologize, madam,” I said. “We did not wish to frighten you, but we need your help.”

Still she stared.

“We are being pursued as runaway slaves,” I said, even now sickened at associating myself with the word.

When Pan peeked over to see the Quaker woman, she lost her hesitation. “Come,” she said, and we followed her at a run into the house.

She took us down a wide hallway and into a whitewashed parlor, smaller than another we had passed but still substantial enough to hold a large fireplace, a tall-case clock, and a good number of plain chairs suspended from wall pegs while looking up, Sukey tripped on the gray braided rug, and I caught her just before she fell onto the spinning wheel and the numerous baskets of unspun wool and cotton surrounding it.

Bright light streamed in through the large uncovered window. Now I saw what Sukey had been staring at on the ceiling. Above us hung an enormous quilt suspended by ropes and attached to a huge quilting frame.

The Quaker woman moved quickly and, from a basket, withdrew a large metal ring that she secured into one of the wide floor planks. After grabbing hold of rope and attaching it to the floor ring, she worked a pulley until two wide floorboards creaked and lifted. When she urged us into the dark hole, I dropped down almost three feet, then reached for Pan as Sukey awkwardly slid down on her own. A faraway voice called out, and the three of us sank to the dirt floor as the boards were quickly lowered.