Promise Bridge (26 page)

“Aren’t Willy Jack’s driving methods tempered by the fact he has family in the fields?” I said, filling my glass as Livie sat down on the steps. “He must be merciful to his own.”

Livie’s words flowed naturally for the first time in weeks. “Good and bad comes in every skin color. Willy Jack is a rotten chestnut. The smell o’ blood makes him drive all the harder. He had ol’ Pepper Lee whupped and rubbed down with salt brine, three times over, ’cuz he broke a hoe and lost part o’ the morning till James got it fixed. He once made his own son, Willy Boy, bite the head off every plump hornworm the boy missed pullin’ off the tobacc’y leaves. They say it was near half o’ bucket in all, and Willy Boy couldn’t keep a morsel o’ food down fo’ two weeks.”

“Speaking of keeping food down, I have not seen you eat a thing today, Livie.”

Livie rubbed the front of her dress where the curve of her belly was growing more defined. “I am a mite tired and queasy, is all.”

“Go rest in your cabin while I collect berries in the upper meadow,” I said, finishing my lemonade. “I wager that one of Granny’s berry cobblers may coax your appetite back to favor.”

Livie’s laughter sprinkled over me like rain on a wilting daisy. I drank in every drop, happy to feel the hurt between us beginning to ease. Without much prodding, she took me up on my suggestion and walked down over the hill. My mood was lightened with the return of Livie’s humor, so with basket in hand, I strolled merrily through the rows of tobacco lining the upper field, then through the woods toward the meadow. The larks and sparrows welcomed me with their song. I loved the activity of life ever-present there among the grass and flowers. I plucked yellow dandelions and braided the stems as I lay down on the spot where I first met Livie and Marcus. I closed my eyes and felt the firmness of his hand on my arm and the intensity of his eyes when they penetrated me as I knelt to aid his wounded sister. Here in the meadow, I could indulge my remembrance and let it rush over me.

“Girl, seein’ you sprawled out on the grass makes me tight in the belt buckle.”

My eyes popped open to the sight of Twitch standing over me. His hands brushed inward across his thighs to join at the front of his belt. He tugged his belt down slightly as he shifted his hips to punctuate his obvious point. I scrambled to my feet and headed in the opposite direction. His hand took hold of my basket and pulled me back.

“I am headed up to Emerald Cove to wash the stink off me. Care to join me?”

I attempted to tug my basket from his grip, but the more we scuffled, the greater his arousal. “You disgust me, Twitch.”

“Come on, Hannah,” he groaned as he pressed up against me. “Let me wash your sins away.”

Was he reading my mind? Did he know the thoughts I harbored within me? I stiffened as he let one hand move around my waist and slip down the back of my skirt. I yanked my basket from his other hand and swung it as hard as I could, hitting him squarely on the side of his face. His dead eye never saw it coming. He stumbled backward, but then came back at me. I swung at him again, but this time he caught me by the wrist, twisting it so I was forced to my knees in front of him.

“Let me dip you in the cool water and search your moist nakedness for sin.”

I stared up at him, afraid but still defiant. “Seek and cleanse your own sins.”

“The sins of the parent are passed to the child,” he said with mock amusement. I thought he was talking about his mother and Uncle Mooney until he continued. “Let me rinse you clean of your parents’ sin.”

“Are you drunk, Twitch?” I tried standing, but his grip kept me in submission. “You are not making any sense.”

“I am drunk with satisfaction,” he snorted. “Satisfaction that a bastard like me is held in higher regard than Southern traitors.”

“What are you talking about?”

He knelt down to get closer. “I met someone who knew your ma and pa. He knew ’em real good. He was there the night they was killed.”

I sank back on my heels. So little was ever said about my mother and father or the accident that took their lives. Fear was replaced with intrigue as I waited for Twitch to continue. He was eager to oblige me.

“The man I met is from Kentucky and is a slave catcher from way back. He told me about a young couple named Blessing who were known to harbor runaways. They were abolitionist lawbreakers, and they had a baby girl who was shipped off to kin after they were killed.”

I shook my head with confusion. “My father was a Baptist preacher.”

“Oh, he was a preacher all right,” Twitch growled. “Preachin’ the word of Northern sympathizers. No wonder Augusta disowned your mama. Ain’t no shame lower than lovin’ a darky.”

“This man you speak of . . . he saw the wagon accident?”

“He said it weren’t no accident.” He smiled, gleaning pleasure in each piece of devastating news delivered. “Said him and a group of patrollers was chasin’ down a passel of runaways makin’ tracks toward the Ohio River. They trailed ’em as far as your folks’ property. The patrollers surrounded the place, but your ma and pa took off in a buckboard with the darkies hidden under a blanket in the back. The posse followed on horseback, and when they caught up with ’em a few miles down the road, your pa wouldn’t stop the wagon. He kept pushin’ on toward the river. So this fellow decided it was time to put an end to your folks’ interference by forcin’ ’em off the road and into a gully. The wagon turned over three times, killing the whole lot on the spot, except your ma. She lay there with her eyes open, whispering words of prayer that her child would be protected and cared for. They spat on her moaning body, then threw the crushed runaways up over their horses. They didn’t mind none, ’cuz a dead runaway brings the same reward as a live one. By the time they rode off, your ma was dead too.”

Satisfied with the damage he wrought, Twitch let go of my wrist and let me fall back into the grass. I curled like a hedgehog protecting itself from a predator, and did not relax until Twitch lost interest in my suffering and walked off. I lay motionless in the meadow, detached from the flurry of the songbirds feasting on the berries strewn around me from my overturned basket.

Chapter 27

L
ivie came looking for me when I did not come down for dinner. I could not eat while I was still digesting the story Twitch had fed me in the meadow. I feigned sleep until she tucked my blanket around me, then left me to my slumber. I crawled out of bed and sat at my window, watching the moon rise out of the shadows. When Livie returned in the morning, she found me asleep on my window bench. She nudged me gently.

“Mama?”

I did not realize what I had said until Livie’s puzzled face took form in my sleepy gaze. “Tell me what’s troublin’ you, Hannah,” Livie said, sitting down next to me. “Somethin’ happened yesterday; I can feel it in my bones.”

We had not shared confidences since the hurt I had caused her, so I hesitated. When she put her arm around me to reassure, the story came spilling out of me along with a flow of tears, both hers and mine. She brought a basin of cool water to splash on my cheeks, keeping a tender hand of support on my back. Much of my confusion was sorted out after revealing it to Livie. No longer overwhelmed with emotion, I was reborn. So many questions in my life now had answers.

“No one ever speaks of them,” I said after patting my face dry. “Especially Aunt Augusta. The shame and anger she must harbor toward my mother explains the cool distance she maintains with me. My presence is threatening to her. If my parents’ activities were ever revealed, the scandal would put a black mark on Aunt Augusta’s reputation. She would be humiliated and possibly ostracized. She and my mother may have been complete opposites in their beliefs, but as my only living relative, Aunt Augusta was saddled with my guardianship. No wonder she hates me so.”

“She does not hate you, Hannah. I know that fo’ certain.”

“Everything is so clear to me,” I said with grounded confidence. “Mabelle let it slip a couple of times but was hushed quiet, once by Granny Morgan, then by Aunt Augusta. She told me my parents were a blessing, just like our name, and she said I remind her of them.”

“Come with me,” Livie said, grabbing my hand and leading me out of the room.

“Where are we going?”

“Stay quiet,” she whispered as we tiptoed past Aunt Augusta’s closed bedroom door. “We is goin’ to the root cellar to talk with ol’ Mabelle.”

Mabelle had been cared for by Granny Morgan since the flood. Granny said most days Mabelle drifted in and out of consciousness. We were not optimistic about her recovery because of Mabelle’s advanced age and the severity of her head injury. Still, Granny was grateful James had snatched Mabelle before she was swept down river to a watery grave. Mabelle’s rescue gave Granny the opportunity to tend to her beloved sister during her final days.

Livie cracked open the kitchen door a sliver, so we could see Granny poking at the fire under her cook pot. “Um, um,” Granny said, not realizing she had an audience. “Another log might smolder you high enough to do some good.” She waddled out of the back door toward the woodshed, giving us the chance to scurry across the kitchen and down the steps to the root cellar. The glow of a small grease lamp lit the dank room filled with baskets of potatoes, turnips, and a host of other vegetables and fruits. In the far corner was Granny’s bed, where Mabelle lay sleeping.

“The quarters is always abuzzin’ with gossip o’ one sort or another,” Livie whispered as we crept to Mabelle’s side. “Some true; some ain’t. Mostly I pay no mind to none of it, but I heared somethin’ once about this ol’ gal that’s got me a-wonderin’.”

“What did you hear?” I said, kneeling with her at Mabelle’s bedside.

“I was passin’ by Pepper Lee’s fire one night on my way to see James shortly after the shuckin’, and he said, clear as a cricket, ‘Poor Mabelle may be blind, but I hear she is the only one o’ us dat sees de road north.’ The folks at the fire laughed real hard and said Pepper Lee was full o’ molasses, but maybe Mabelle got some knowin’ while she be livin’ in town.”

“Who dat thar?” Mabelle’s voice was weak and her breathing labored, but her vacant eyes sparkled from the shadows.

I placed my hand over hers for recognition. “It’s Hannah. I am here with Livetta.”

“What you want with a dyin’ ol’ woman, chile?”

“Is it true my parents were killed while aiding some runaways?”

“Lord, how did you find out?” The question pulled Mabelle out of her fog, although her voice remained feeble and barely audible. “Folk round here know better than to tell you such a thing.”

“I want to know more, Mabelle.”

The pause was so long, I thought she had slipped back into unconsciousness, but with a startling hitch in her breath, she spoke again. “Dey was sent by God, dey was. Yo’ papa’s notions got him run off to Kentuck, and your mama followed afta him. Dey woulda hanged ’em both from the highest tree in the Ridge if dey stayed here. Yo’ mama made a beautiful quilt and sent it back to Miz ’Gusta as a peace offerin’. But Miz ’Gusta made certain she displayed outrage fo’ all de town to see when she throwed dat quilt to de slaves. Dey been makin’ dat quilt ever since. You see, yo’ mama’s quilt had de signs sewn into de design.” Her chuckle was choked by a heavy cough. I rubbed Mabelle’s arm until she caught her breath. “Jes’ follow de signs through de mountains. It was right under dere noses all along. Both my boys is free now.”

“I thought they were sold to a landowner in Mississippi.”

“Dat what dey want folks to think.” She smiled. “Better to say dey was sold south than have empty fields trampled by de feet of slaves followin’ my boys to de Promised Land.”

I looked at Livie, whose eyes were wide with amazement at Mabelle’s revelations. She leaned over to me and whispered, “If this is true, then why isn’t every slave in the county long gone?”

Mabelle winced at the doubt in Livie’s voice. “Nobody knows about de signs unless dey open dere ears to de songs I sing, and sees what a blind woman sees. Some folks believe de only Promised Land fo’ coloreds is in de sweet by-and-by. But de land o’ milk and honey ’tain’t that far away. But only dem with de ears to hear and de heart bold enough to believe is delivered. ’Tain’t common know-how. It’s a secret you gots’ta search fo’; that way Massa can’t see. Massa can’t stop nothin’ he can’t see. If de ache fo’ freedom is deep in a soul, den de words o’ de spirituals speaks to ’em and tells ’em what to do.”

“Who down thar!” Granny Morgan stepped heavy on the steps, causing Livie and me to jump to our feet. “Miz Hannah, this ain’t no place fo’ you. Filled with dust and death. Miz ’Gusta will have my hide if you catch a germ down here.”

“We are visiting with Mabelle.”

“Pay no mind to a blind woman’s tall tales,” Granny said, shooing us up the stairs. “Her head is knocked senseless. Now, leave her with what little strength she got left.”

I could barely contain myself until we got back to my room. Once behind closed doors, I clapped my hands with the exuberance of a child and threw myself on the bed, laughing and kicking. Echo Ridge’s elite were outwitted by those they believed lowlier than animals crawling in the dirt. So sly, so secretive, so defiantly brave.

“You can’t go on about it, girl,” Livie said, growing serious. “It’s dangerous fo’ you and everyone else.”

I understood her concern, but was swept up in elation. “Don’t fret, Livie. I am not going to sing it from the rooftops.”

The revelation redefined the world around me, as did the secret Twitch attempted to use as a weapon to wound me. He meant to crush me with this dark secret, but now I was overjoyed. He had given me the key to my past and a glimpse of who I was and where I came from. “I finally have something to sink my roots into. A legacy left by my parents that I can be proud of.”

Livie’s eyes softened with tenderness. She tucked a dangling strand of hair behind my ear and brushed a finger from cheek to chin. “You always had it rooted in you, girl. Look at what you did fo’ me.”

“But it’s not enough,” I said with quiet conviction. “You are still here, living as a slave. I have selfishly hoped you would never leave. I love you, Livie, but you are not mine to keep. I must help you move on to a life of freedom. Only then do I deserve to be called
friend
.”

Aunt Augusta noted the change in me immediately. I held my chin high and no longer shrank in her presence. I was amused by her attempts at intimidation, although I was careful to hide my reaction. In the following days, I analyzed our Runians to see if I could detect an undercurrent of knowledge in anyone’s behavior. I spent hours in the sewing room, wrapped in the quilts born of my mother’s cleverness. I thought about the many quilts cast off by Aunt Augusta because of stitching errors, and wondered if the slave girls were purposeful in their efforts, knowing the quilts would be turned out to the slaves. I saw conspiracy everywhere until Livie pointed out the obvious.

“If all o’ Mud Run had hint of a freedom trail, there would be nothin’ but empty shacks and overgrown fields to show for it. I been here mo’ than a year and I ain’t heared nothin’ of the sort. Why would ol’ Mabelle stay with Massa Watkins if she could be in the Promised Land with her sons? Don’t make no sense at all.”

“Maybe she could not risk it because she was blind,” I speculated.

“Or maybe it’s jes’ a yarn she tells herself to soften the blow of losin’ her only chilluns to the auction block.”

We did not get the chance to ask Mabelle any more questions about her revelation. She died early the next morning, on the first day of September. Aunt Augusta had her buried in the slave graveyard, where Granny wept and bid her farewell. “See you on de other side, sister. We will all join hands in de land o’ milk and honey.”

Runians young and old gathered for the funeral, held in the evening after the day’s work was complete. Winston spoke reverently of the “simple singer of songs,” and although Aunt Augusta nodded respectfully, I smiled, knowing she was clueless to his innuendo. Uncle Mooney permitted a small group of his elder slaves to attend as the sun sank behind the mountains in the distance. I sat in the carriage with Aunt Augusta a short distance from the gathering in our usual spot for such occasions. Twitch sat impatiently on his horse in the field opposite us, passing the time by staring in my direction. I kept my bonnet pulled low, not giving him the pleasure of my discomfort. As fate would have it, when Mabelle was lowered into the ground, tears bit at the corners of my eyes, so I shifted away from the sadness and found myself looking in Twitch’s direction. He was waiting for a chance to catch my eye and pass me a vile message. Twitch dropped a hand to his belt buckle and gave it a slow tug. I looked away, but his dirty stare lingered in my mind.

I had a fitful night of tossing in my bed. So much had been revealed to me, only to raise other questions. Twitch had become so brazen that my heightened instincts grew razor sharp at the threat he presented to me. With a head filled with mournful spirituals and glimpses of Twitch shifting in his saddle, I finally fell into a deep slumber, until an intuitive sensation stirred me before dawn. My eyes searched the darkened room. I held my breath to peruse the uneasy stillness. A floorboard creaked in the far corner near the window. My heart sprang to a gallop. It punched so hard against my chest, I thought it would burst through my thin cotton gown. Was I dreaming? Movement in the shadows hastened my breath. If Twitch expected to find me lying here, helpless to his assault, then he underestimated my potent will. I would meet him straight on and fight. “Reveal yourself, whoever you are.”

The figure pounced on me before I sat upright, the weight of him pinning me down. His gruff hand clamped over my mouth before I could scream. Hot, panting breath blew against my neck and the scratch of whiskers rubbed raw against my cheek.

“Quiet!” the voice commanded in a tone just above a whisper. “Calm down, and quit kickin’!”

Every inch of me flailed to break free. The curve of the face in the darkness leaned closer to me. I twisted my head from his mouth, but the hand squeezed my jaw to keep me from turning away. Oddly, the approaching lips did not seek mine. They brushed along my cheek and hovered at my ear.

“Girl, you is harder to hold on to than a spooked mare.”

Marcus!
Shadows cast by the moonlight fell across his face as he lifted his head to reveal his sparkling eyes. Each of us trembled in the darkness, pressed so close a blade of grass could not have fallen between us.

“Hush now, girl,” he said, lifting his hand from my mouth. “Didn’t mean to harm you. I jes’ didn’t want you to wake the house before seein’ it was me.”

“You frightened me,” I whispered as he eased upright. “I thought it was . . . Oh, Marcus.” I raised and touched my fingertips to his cheek. “Thank God you made it back.”

“We ain’t got much time,” he said, beckoning me from my bed. “The end is near fo’ some decent folk if we don’t move quick. Take me to Livetta.”

I rushed to my wardrobe to throw on a dress. “Wear somethin’ dark in color,” he said, turning away to protect my privacy. “So it’s easier to move in the night without notice.”

We wisped through the house and out the back door in silence. Moonlight bathed over us as I took his hand and led him across the yard. We ran down the hill and under the tree cover of Mud Run. If not for the urgency, I would have enjoyed anticipating Livie’s reaction when I delivered Marcus to her door. Accompanied by a chorus of tree frogs, we hurried along the rows of slumbering cabins. As we ran, I pointed to where Livie’s cabin peeked through the hickories. When we reached her doorstep, Marcus gently intercepted my hand before I could knock.

“Let me take cover behind them shrubs over yonder, in case anyone else in the quarters stirs. Can’t chance bein’ seen.”

I nodded, then paused long enough for him to scoot behind the huckleberry bushes growing off the rear corner of the cabin. When Marcus was out of sight, I tapped on Livie’s door. I heard no activity within, so I knocked harder. I heard the sound of mumbling voices, followed by the thump of bare feet crossing the floor.

“Miz Hannah?” James squinted through sleepy eyes. “What’s wrong? Is dere trouble up at de big house?”