Chasing the North Star (18 page)

The road was covered with standing puddles that would hide his tracks. In some places the road ran like a stream. Any creeks along the way would be flooded. This was the kind of rain people called a gully-washer. When he got to the barn, a lightning flash helped him find the door, but he was blind as he stepped inside. A horse whickered. Cows stirred somewhere in the dark.

Jonah took the lantern out from under his coat and tried to dry his hands. Every inch of him was wet and dripping. The matches had to be dry and the wick had to be dry. In the dark he could see neither the lantern nor the matches. He would have to tell by touch whether they were dry or not. Whoa, he said to himself. If he made a mistake the matches could be ruined, or the lantern could be ruined, or he could set the barn on fire.

He placed the lantern on the ground and got to his knees. With the inside of his jacket he dried off the lantern, relieved to hear oil sloshing in the bottom. The matchbox he took from his pocket was a little damp, but the sticks inside seemed dry. Jonah dared not try to strike a match on the damp box. He felt around the floor for a rock but found none. What he did find was what felt like a rusty nail. He'd seen Mr. Williams strike a match on his fingernail. Maybe a metal nail would work just as well. He gripped the match near its head and held the nail point to the match head.

When he struck, the match head burst out in blue fire, and then yellow. The flame burned his finger and he put the match in his other hand. The flame faltered and he tipped the match down to make it burn brighter. Quickly he raised the glass on the lantern and screwed the tongue of the wick out longer. When he touched the match to the wick it didn't light at first, and then he touched it lower where the fabric was soaked in oil. The light burst out and he turned the wick down and closed the glass door. As long as he could keep the wick dry, the lantern would burn. But it would be hard to hold the lantern in the high wind.

Jonah buttoned his jacket, gripped the handle of the lantern, pulled down his hat, and stepped out into the storm. The lantern threw a patch of light on the puddles ahead of him, and he hurried to the road and began walking. Terrible as the rain was, Jonah felt a new strength and elation with every step he took. The rain was washing out his tracks as quickly as he made them, washing away any scent the dogs could follow. If he was lucky, Miss Linda wouldn't even know he was gone until next morning. By then he could be fifteen or even twenty miles down the road. He'd heard a man could walk thirty miles a day on a good road. Fifteen miles would be plenty in the dark, in a storm.

Jonah splashed through puddles and strode ahead into the lantern light. Wind lashed his back and pushed him along. The storm roared in the trees above him. After he'd gone a few miles, he saw lightning strike a tree, and the tree fell with a crack and crash into the road ahead. He had to pick his way through brush around the steaming trunk. His shoes were muddy and soaked, but Jonah didn't worry about them. An animal ran in front of him, and from the flash of white he thought it might be a deer. Whatever it was, it was gone in an instant. Thunder banged the ridge above like barrels and hammers, and seemed to tear the sky to pieces.

As Jonah hurried over the top of a hill, a ball of fire shot out of a lightning bolt and bounced through the trees. And then another and another fireball ricocheted through the woods. One roared over his head and he ducked and looked behind him. A fireball was following the road, and he dropped to the ground, holding the lantern above the puddle. After the fireball hissed by, the woods were dark again and he had only the weak lantern light to guide him down the muddy track. He hurried a little faster. Jonah had always heard of balls of lightning, but he'd never seen them before. He'd assumed it was just an expression people used, a story people liked to tell. But the fireballs had bounced between the mountains and over trees. They'd whizzed just over his head. It was all like a thrilling dream, the storm, the wind, the lightning, and his escape from Miss Linda's.

Jonah walked through the rain mile after mile. He could hardly see the houses he passed or the little hamlets he went through. He crossed a swollen, leaping river on a wooden bridge, and waded through furious creeks and branches. He stalked the little puff of light from the lantern the way a hunter followed prey. He was hunting the way ahead at every step, the way to the North. He knew that somewhere above the rain and wind and thunder, the North Star was shining, calm and bright and everlasting.

As the sky began to lighten over the trees and above the mountains, the wind and rain didn't let up. He turned down the wick in the lantern and blew out the flame to save oil and stumbled ahead through the gray early morning light. He was getting tired and his feet were sore from walking in wet shoes. Jonah knew it was time to stop when he saw a barn at the edge of a field with no house visible nearby. He hurried along the edge of the woods and entered the barn, which he found was used to store hay. A broken-down wagon leaned against a stall. Harness covered with dust hung on pegs. He climbed the ladder to the mow and found in the shadows a pile of hay on one side and a heap of cane and millet on the other. Setting the lantern on the floor, he flopped onto the hay, pulling straw around him and over him. His coat was soaked but the hay would help keep him warm. Rain drummed on the roof and wind whistled in the cracks and made the barn creak. But Jonah was so tired, the barn seemed cozy. He'd traveled at least fifteen miles and had left no tracks that could be traced. He sank into a deep sleep.

When Jonah woke he thought it must be late afternoon; without the sun he couldn't really tell. But he knew he'd slept a long time. The rain on the barn roof was loud as ever, and wind shoved on the walls and banged a loose board. Jonah was hungry and thirsty, but there was nothing in the dusty barn to nourish him. Not for the first time, he wished he'd thought to put a biscuit in his pocket when he left Miss Linda's. He wished there was a store nearby where he could buy cheese and crackers, or a can of sardines or a jar of sausages. After he climbed down from the loft with the lantern, it took Jonah a moment to recall which way he'd come. Yes, the field and the barn had been on the right of the road. He needed to turn right when he reached the track. Only hunger and willpower made him step out into the cold rain again. He pulled his hat down and stomped into the rutted road.

Luck was with Jonah, for he found a little store at a crossroads only a few miles ahead. It was both a store and post office, and half a dozen men sat around a stove opposite the counter. Jonah took off his wet hat and bowed to them. Rain spilled off the brim.

“Don't you get my floor wet, boy,” the man behind the counter said.

“No, sir,” Jonah said. “No, sir.”

Jonah told the storekeeper his master wanted three cans of sardines, a bag of crackers, a pound of cheese, and a jar of sausages.

“Your master must have sent you a long way,” the storekeeper said, looking at Jonah's muddy pants and shoes.

“Them roads be awful bad,” Jonah said and bowed.

“That will be a dollar and thirteen cents,” the man behind the counter said. Jonah paid him and then spent another nickel on a box of matches, because the ones he had were wet. The storekeeper wrapped his purchases in brown paper and tied the package with a string. All the time he was in the store, Jonah felt the men by the stove watching him. No doubt they suspected he was a runaway. It was in his favor that he had money and a new coat. But the mud on his clothes and shoes showed he'd traveled a long way, and he was thoroughly soaked.

As Jonah stepped back into the rain, he was reminded of what a friend the storm was. The men by the stove, even if they were suspicious, wouldn't bother to follow him in this weather, unless they knew for sure he was a runaway and there was a reward for his capture. The storm was a refuge for him. The storm was his friend. Weather this bad was a blessing for the hunted and condemned.

Jonah stopped at another barn a mile farther on to eat some cheese and crackers, sardines and sausages. A bull was penned in a stall in the barn, and while he ate, the bull snorted and slammed into the sides of the stall. Once he heard boards creak, but the slats of the stall didn't give way. By the time he'd eaten it was almost dark. As Jonah lit the lantern he realized he'd forgotten to buy lantern oil at the store. It would only take a little to fill the well of the lantern, but he had no way to carry extra oil unless he bought a jar or a jug. Half the fuel had been used up the night before. He turned the wick down low to preserve what he had left.

As the road got dark and the rain did not let up, Jonah saw he lacked the strength he'd had the night before. His feet were sore and his knees stiff. The crackers and cheese and sardines made him feel numb and sleepy. The earlier sleep in the hay seemed to have taken strength away from him, not refreshed him. But it was also as if the rain had drained him of energy, bleached and leached out the strength in his blood. He lacked the confidence he'd had when he plunged into the storm way back in Roanoke.

F
OR THREE NI
G
HTS
J
ONAH
followed the weak light of the lantern through heavy rain. The awful storm seemed to never slacken. One day he slept in an abandoned cabin, and another day he burrowed into a haystack at the edge of a field. He figured he'd gone about a hundred miles from Roanoke, but there was no way to tell. Jonah had no choice but to stumble along in the rain. Every step took him closer to the North and farther from the sheriff and his dogs. The road was nothing but standing water and mud and fallen limbs. Every stream had overflowed its banks. Finally he was able to buy more oil for the lantern at a little store in a hollow between mountains.

By the light of the weak lantern, Jonah crossed footlogs and shaky wooden bridges. He waded through glutted creeks and climbed across fallen trees. He passed a house where a dog barked at him from a shed but didn't come out into the downpour. Fields looked like lakes, and yards were standing water wrinkled by wind and pecked by rain. Jonah walked until his willpower and strength gave way. He figured he had to go another fifteen or twenty miles before stopping. It was still dark, but he had to rest. Slow down there, boy, he said to himself. He looked for another barn, or another shed or cow stall. He was so tired he could sleep in a wet haystack or pile of corn tops. If he had a blanket he could make a tent in the woods. A cellar, smokehouse, or woodshed would serve. Even a chicken house if the chickens were gone. But all Jonah saw were trees and more trees, brambles and brush, vines and thickets. He was on a stretch of wild road. He couldn't lie down and sleep in the woods, for the ground was too wet, and every limb streamed drops. Finally Jonah saw a little house off to the side of the road. He thought at first it was a chicken house, only about six feet by eight feet and made of boards. There was a door and one window, and inside he found a floor piled with broken chairs, a bench, and dusty planks. Jonah cleared a place on the bench and lay down. The floor was inches above the ground and the bench almost dry. There was no straw for a pillow or leaves to keep him warm, but Jonah didn't care. He just needed to get off his painful feet and rest.

Jonah slept better on the hard bench than he had in the haystack the day before. He was so tired he didn't dream, except for a brief dream where he seemed to be wrestling with wind and rain. A dog leapt at him out of the darkness, and the dog turned out to be owned by both Mr. Williams and Mr. Wells. They'd brought the dog all the way from Roanoke.

As Jonah slept, the little building he lay in loosened from its foundation in the rising water and drifted into the current of a nearby swollen creek. Jonah woke with water washing his cheek. At first it felt like tears dampening his temple and ear as he lay on his side on the rough plank bench. But the wetness was cold and didn't go away. In his sleep he wondered if the rain was washing into the little shack, or if there was a leak in the roof. Maybe wind was pushing rain through the low door. And then he felt water on his elbow and on his side. Water soaked into his armpit and covered his thigh. When he pushed himself up from the bench the floor rocked and water sloshed against the wall and swirled around his feet. The floor was unsteady and sank a little when he moved. Jonah reached for the lantern, but it was not where he remembered setting it down. The floor tilted and boards floated loose around his feet. Jonah held to a wall and understood that he was now waterborne.

The drifting shack bumped into something and scraped against an obstacle. It turned and he grabbed the opposite wall. Bushes scraped the side of the building. Jonah could see neither the wall nor the window. It was dark as a cave, and the total dark made Jonah dizzy, and the rocking and shifting made him sick at his stomach. If he was floating out on a creek or river, there might be a waterfall ahead. There was no lightning, but rain whipped the walls and roof and gusts made the shack rock and turn.

Jonah was almost as scared as he'd been when Mr. Wells caught him in bed with Prissy. It was the sense of blindness that made him feel most helpless. He had nothing to hold on to and he had no way to escape. The building could sink or crash over a waterfall. He was wet and cold and sore and confused. It was hard to tell up from down, level from tilted, pitching forward from pitching backward. The water rose to his shins, swirled and whispered and mocked him.

The last of the crackers and sardines he'd eaten hurriedly hours before had not rested well in his belly. And the crackers and cheese may have been tainted with something on his hands or clothes after four days on the road. The rocking and dizziness and fear added to the unsettled feeling. While he clung to the wall, a thrust of sour and bitterness leapt into his throat. He tried to swallow, but it was too late. The charge of vomit pushed into his mouth and over his tongue and flew out between his teeth. He tasted the sardines and cheese now gone sour.