Wild, Beautiful, and Free(28)

“The Friends at your destination will have papers for you to carry that will make it look like the members of the family are your property.”

“But don’t stop, and don’t show nothing unless somebody ask,” said Miss Maude. “Same thing with the gun. Don’t show it unless you have to.”

Missus Burke touched my arm. “You have to be in charge, Jeannette. Not Silas.”

I nodded.

“Honey, what do you want to do when you get to Philadelphia?”

I sighed. It seemed this was the same question Aunt Nancy Lynne had asked, but since I wasn’t there yet, I had no real answer, and I said so.

“Don’t know, ma’am. Right now I’m just getting through each day. Can’t think beyond it.”

“You don’t have family?”

“No. My parents are dead.” I paused and looked at Miss Maude and Missus Burke. “Do you think I could go to school?”

“Now that’s a fine idea. Some form of education would be good for you.” Missus Burke stood. “I’ll write a few letters and make inquiries. Friends can look into what you can do.”

“I would appreciate that, ma’am.”

I went to bed. I wasn’t as scared as I’d been when Silas and I had first left, but lying in bed, I decided to pray. We had been brought far and safely. If God had been with us, I wanted to ask that he remain, even though we had more going for us—a means of transport, friends. I even had a gun. With God, it would be enough. It would all be enough.

The next morning Miss Maude arranged things with the carriage. Silas would be driving. She showed me where and how to sit in the carriage and told me to leave the window open even though the morning was cold. At a glimpse, one could see what looked like a white woman inside. I thanked her and Missus Burke, and Silas got us going.

Since the window was open and no one else was on the early-morning road, Silas kept talking to me. I’d noticed how he had been growing more and more annoyed during our time with Missus Burke and Miss Maude.

“I don’t know about all this. We was fine with just us.”

“It’s still just us. But this could be better. If they’re looking for you and me, they’d be looking for two. Not a woman with her slaves.”

“But a sick man and his slave was better. Nobody paid us any mind. Now we’re supposed to just ride into Philadelphia with a whole carriage of slaves. That’s crazy.”

“They know what they’re doing. I trust them.”

“Then you better be trusting for both of us.”

“I will.”

I think the cover of the morning fog made Silas bold to keep talking like he was, because once the sun burned it all away, he was quiet. The area became more populated, but we weren’t noticed, and the short journey was uneventful. We arrived at the Quaker house after dark, around suppertime.

The Dillinghams were the people who greeted us—a man and his wife, who both seemed to be in their late forties or early fifties. Missus Dillingham had gray streaks throughout her dark-yellow hair. Mr. Dillingham, holding a lamp for us, took charge of the horses. He wore eyeglasses and a black vest and was bald except for a fringe of curly white hair along the back of his head.

“Go on in,” he said when he helped me from the carriage. “I’ll join you soon.”

Missus Dillingham led us into the house, a low structure that seemed to branch off into sections. I couldn’t see in the dark how far it went on.

From the outside you couldn’t tell the house had a lower level, but it did. She moved a panel that, at first glance, looked like a piece of wall. Behind it were steps going down. Missus Dillingham handed a candle to Silas and told him to go first so she could close the panel behind me. “Be careful now.”

I lifted my skirts and stepped down slowly into a room. Missus Dillingham came into it behind me and lit more candles.

“Please sit, both of you.” She motioned to a long table set for a meal. Silas and I sat next to each other while she went around the room scratching at the walls in a funny way. But then those walls moved, too, and people emerged: two men, a woman, and a boy and a girl.

“This is Miss Bébinn and Henry,” Missus Dillingham told them. “By God’s grace this young lady will take you on to Philadelphia. But let’s eat and talk.”

Mr. Dillingham brought a tray of breads and cold meats to the table. Missus Dillingham went back upstairs and returned with a pot of soup.

“Where y’all from?” Silas asked.

One of the men bit into a piece of chicken and responded. “Anselm. That’s in North Carolina.”

“Yes,” said Missus Dillingham. “But the less said about it, the better. We find it’s easier if anyone asks questions to know as little as possible about your travel companions.”

“Not even names?” I asked. I ladled soup into the bowl of the boy who had taken the chair on the other side of me. He looked to be about five or six years old. The girl must have been eight or so.

Mr. Dillingham said, “No, not even names. But Miss Bébinn . . .”

“Oh, but they allowed to know her name?” Silas said quickly.

“Why, yes, Henry.” Mr. Dillingham said Silas’s false name pointedly and looked at him over his glasses. “That is the name she’s using, and yes, they have to know the name of their purported owner should anyone ask.”