Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House(98)

The voice grew louder. “Lillian?”

“Mother?” our hostess called out.

“Yes,” came the reply.

“There are guests.”

“But Joel is not here!” the mother objected.

“They have need,” the daughter replied. “And the patrollers are sure to come.”

“Then a quilting party?” Their conversation was as efficient as their surroundings.

“Yes,” Lillian agreed, and their footsteps receded.

It was dark in our dugout, but there was enough light from gaps in the floorboards to see that the space was wide enough to hold at least four adults. How many had made their way to freedom by hiding out here, and why would Quakers risk their lives like this, I wondered.

It wasn’t long before the floorboards were raised again. We were relieved to see Lillian with some milk and bread as well as three pallets and a chamber pot. They would hide us, she said, until her husband felt it safe for us to leave. Cautioning us to silence, she quickly closed us in again.

We ate wordlessly and rolled out our pallets. Soon both Pan and Sukey fell into a deep sleep. I lay back as well, but sleep would not come. My mind raced, and the space closed in on me. I worked to regulate my breathing in an effort to fight panic. How had I come to this? And how would I find my way out?

I looked at Pan. Asleep, he looked more helpless than ever. As sickly as he was, I wondered if he could survive this journey. Why hadn’t he stayed back? He would have had a better chance that way. I was furious with myself for not refusing him. What if he were to die and this was all for naught? Bitterly, I thought of burying Henry, and of the promise that had brought me to these circumstances.

I glanced at Sukey. When was her baby due? She was the one who knew the route, but her swollen abdomen suggested an imminent birth. What would happen to us then? Surely a newborn would put an end to our flight.

I shut my eyes. Each fear raised another, but what overrode all of them was my most immediate concern. Where was Rankin? Was he already with the patrollers? I knew what would happen if I was found. I would be tried as a Negro for murdering a white man, and my fate would be sealed. I would be hanged.

After hours of torment, it almost felt a relief when a shuffling commotion began above us.





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE


1830


James


THE PATROLLERS’ HEAVY feet woke Pan and Sukey. We three held our breath as the gathered quilting party above us stitched on the lowered quilt while they greeted the intruders. Their friendly greetings were not returned. When the patrollers shushed everyone and stood to listen, the silence grew almost unbearable. Then a child cried and was joined by another. Soon after, the disgruntled patrollers left, though the women stayed on to stitch while their children settled to play at their feet.

Hours later, all was silent, but that evening, after the clock bonged for the tenth hour, we were brought up from the underbelly of the house. We needed a stool to help Sukey out, and while the husband frowned uncertainly at her pregnancy, there seemed no choice but to lead us away.

The tall Quaker man strode forward, sure and direct on a path that he knew well. Both Pan and Sukey stayed strong, and we traveled wordlessly for much of the night. Just before daybreak, the man stopped to leave us in the shelter of dense woods. He spoke low, going over our directions as he handed us a packet of bread and hard cheese. “Stay to the north.” He pointed. “And stay alert,” he needlessly added before bidding us good luck and farewell.

We found our way through the woods, which opened to an orange sky and fields of cotton that stretched endlessly before us. We all gratefully sank to the ground; within minutes, Pan was asleep beside me. Sukey lay down, and though she was restless, to my relief she did not try to communicate. Finally, by midafternoon, after no sign of human life, I could no longer take the wait. Though we had been advised to stay hidden and to travel only at night, I had seen no one about through the day and thus decided it was safe to leave before nightfall. When Sukey realized my plan, she shook her head in disagreement, but after Pan and I stepped out together, Sukey reluctantly followed.

The sun beat down as we moved through the cotton fields, crouching low to bypass the small farms set back on sloping hills. On occasion we heard the bark of a dog; at the sound, we froze and dropped to the ground, only to rise and move again when reassured that no one was about. Pan was silent, but his energy remained high, while Sukey’s face glistened from the heat. Once or twice she stumbled, but I kept on, relentlessly moving us forward, mindful only of reaching safety.

Our destination was north, where lay the Great Dismal Swamp. Once there, traveling the outskirts, we would come to a cross-canal that cut east, a waterway we would follow inland for ten miles, where it connected to the main canal. Along that canal, we had directions for a safe house where lived a friend of Doc McDougal.

Even as the sun set, it was insufferably hot. I missed my hat, which, along with the gun, I had regrettably left back at the house. What I clung to was my old jacket—counting on the jewels, if necessary, to buy our way to Norfolk.

We pushed on, resting in small patches of trees long enough to catch our breath, and by nightfall we had reached a dense pocket of green forest. I wavered, uneasy at the spongy feel of the soil.

Uncertain, I looked to Sukey. “Are we in the swamp?” I asked, but she shook her head. Seeing my hesitation, she pushed past me to take the lead, fighting through the vines and briars until she found a stream. There she dropped to her knees to drink, and after Pan and I did the same, Sukey broke off chunks of bread and cheese and we all ate hungrily.