Wild, Beautiful, and Free(29)

He turned back to me. “Now, likewise, you need to know their names—false names of course. We haven’t written out the paperwork yet because we wanted to wait for you. If you name them, you’ll remember better what their names are. Do you understand?”

I looked around the table. The woman put down her knife and fork and returned my gaze intently.

“That all right with you all?” I asked.

Everyone nodded.

“You go on, miss,” said the shorter of the men. His voice was a high tenor. “We know it ain’t for forever. We gon’ choose new names for ourselves anyway when we get free.”

I thought of the names I would remember best. “Then your name is Cal,” I said. Cal for Calista, I thought to myself. The other man, across from me, had thick side whiskers that reminded me of Papa. “You are Jean.”

Mr. Dillingham took a little notebook from his vest pocket. He wrote the names in it.

The woman looking at me so strong and straightforward—I called her Lynne. And I didn’t hesitate on the children. They would be Jeremiah and Fanny.

I think there, in the room that night, was when I first sensed a true taste of God. Because right then I was surrounded by all the people I’d lost or left behind. I had a way to take them with me into the freedom that Aunt Nancy Lynne craved and Fanny couldn’t even imagine. The strange miracle of it was that I hadn’t even asked for such a thing. I just knew my heart had been aching for years, especially since Fanny had died, and I’d been sitting in that ache and stuck in it like a muddy swamp. It felt like God was saying to me, Time to get out of this muck, Jeannette. Here’s help to keep you going.

The little girl said, “I like my name. Can I keep it?”

“Yes, baby, that would be fine,” the new Lynne, who I figured was the mother of the two, told her. “Hush now.”

Silas nodded as he ate. “I know all those names. Easy to remember.”

Missus Dillingham glanced at her husband and then Silas.

“There’s no need,” Mr. Dillingham said. “You won’t be going with them.”

“What? I come all this way with her.” Silas swung his head toward me. “Why can’t I go with her now?”

“Henry, it would be difficult for three negro men on a carriage to go unnoticed. We think it’s better for you to continue with me.”

“How you figure that?”

“We will be just a day behind. That way we can help if there are problems. And we can continue the ruse that you began—you’ll still be traveling with a white man.”

I put a hand on Silas’s arm. “I see what he means.”

“You do?”

“Yes. If someone comes looking for us, it would be as a man and woman. If someone recognizes you or they guess I was dressed as a man, Mr. Dillingham can vouch for you, and they would see only a mistake on their part.

“And the folks at the Holloway Plantation never knew my real name. On paper it will all make sense. We’re all going to the same place, Philadelphia. It’ll be fine. Like Mr. Dillingham said, you’ll be just a day behind.”

When we were done, Mr. Dillingham took the men upstairs to discuss the route. Lynne put the children to bed behind one of the panels and came out to help me and Missus Dillingham clear the table.

“That man your husband?” Lynne asked.

I shook my head. “He a friend. Been looking out for me.”

“Jean”—she paused and slowly recalled the other names—“is my husband. Cal is my brother.” She motioned toward the panel. “My children.”

I nodded.

“You afraid?”

“A little.” I looked at Missus Dillingham. “But we have help. And we’re going all together. It’s not so scary that way.”

The next morning we started even earlier than before. Mr. Dillingham thought since the carriage had arrived in the dark, it should leave in the dark. We decided Jean and Cal together should sit out at the top and drive. Lynne and the children would be in the carriage with me, but I would sit by the window again. Though they weren’t hidden exactly, they had to stay out of sight as much as possible. Before I got in, Silas took me off to the side. “You got that pistol?”

“Yes, it’s right here.” I touched a pocket of my travel dress.

“Good. Don’t be scared to use it if you have to.”

“I won’t be scared.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ll be seeing you in Philadelphia then.”

“Yes.”

“I heard Mr. Dillingham say you might go to school.”

“I might. Don’t know what’s gonna happen. We’ve got to get there first.”

“All right.”

“All right.”

“You be careful.”

He seemed to be waiting for something. I didn’t know what else to do, so I just hugged him. “Goodbye, Silas.”

“Bye.”

When I climbed into the carriage, I was thinking it did feel like goodbye, like I might not see him again. The next part of my journey was beginning, and I was with the people I was supposed to be with even though I wasn’t sure about where I was going—not just on a map but within myself.

The thing about this leg of our journey—it wasn’t that long. Seemed the amount of time it took to get from the Burkes to the Dillinghams was longer. When we stopped in Havre de Grace in Maryland to water the horses and Jean said we were more than halfway there, I wondered what all the fuss was about. I looked out the window, and it seemed like a nice little town, not far from the water. I figured from its name that it was a kind of port town, and it was busy that way.