Running Out of Night (17 page)

Familiar bunches of healin herbs hung from the beams, and small tins and pots perched along the shelf.

I reached for the thick green bunch of hairy comfrey, a
handful of plantain’s tongue-shaped leaves, some arnica, and a tin of dried golden calends flowers.

Asa reappeared with Moses cradled in his arms. The cat’s head hung, her eyes open but filmy and lifeless. Looked to me she were hurt so bad it would surely shorten the life of whoever done this.

“Can thee help her?” Asa asked, holdin her out toward me.

A bloody cut acrost the cat’s side dipped into the light gray fur of her belly and stained it the pink of Mama’s old roses.

“This is one way I can repay Auntie for all she done for me,” I said as I laid Moses cat on the table.

“Auntie never wants repaying, Lark. Doing is good enough for her.”

I pushed my long braids behind my ears and tied them together in a knot, then bent over Moses.

“Asa, get me some water, please, and some of Auntie’s vinegar, and clean rags so’s I can bind her.”

He walked to the window, quickly looked outside, then slid the latch of the dry-sink door and lifted out some neatly folded sackcloth and a crockery jug of vinegar.

“You’re lucky Moses isn’t awake. She can be wild and mean if she’s hurt or sick,” Asa said as he tacked a dishcloth against the window.

“How’d she ever get herself a name like Moses?” I asked. I glanced around the kitchen lookin for shadows, listenin for anythin that meant trouble.

I slowly worked my fingers through the cat’s thick fur. Asa lifted the big teakettle from the crane in the fireplace and poured water and vinegar into what looked like the one remaining unbroken bowl.

Moses laid stretched out and never moved. I cleaned a deep gash in her side and belly, and half a dozen smaller wounds told the tale of dogs.

“Moses is named after a Maryland slave woman who ran herself to freedom in Pennsylvania. She called it the Promised Land.” Asa bent toward the cat and laid his hand between her ears.

“Moses thought freedom was all she needed, but it was bitter to her till she could share it. So she turned around and headed back to save others. Think on that. She went south when every slave trying to escape headed north.”

“Who is she?” I asked as I cleaned another one of Moses’s cuts.

“Her name is Harriet Tubman, but her nickname is Moses. Nobody knows how many slaves she’s led to freedom.”

I knew that name. I were scairt of her. When we was in town, I seen a broadside posted in Purcell’s Store that said she were “dangerous and a threat to slave owners’ rights.” It showed a picture of a small Negra woman with a dent in the middle of her forehead and a scarred-up neck. That picture didn’t look scary, but the words about her was.

The poster said that if you caught her the reward were a thousand dollars. A thousand dollars. The most money
I’d ever seen all at once were ten dollars, and that near took the breath from me. I couldn’t believe there could be a thousand dollars anywhere or that anyone would pay that much money just to capture one little woman.

Now I knowed better. She weren’t dangerous, and she weren’t just one little woman. She were Harriet Tubman, Moses, and she were brave as I wanted to be, but braver than I ever could be.

The cat twitched. I rinsed the deepest cut with the vinegar and water, then laid on a handful of wet knit bone, arnica, plantain, and boneset mixed with calends. Carefully, gently, I wound strips of clean sackcloth around Moses’s body to hold the poultice in place. As I worked I sang:

I stroked Moses’s fur, smoothed it back into place, and run my fingers over her side. “I’ll change the poultice again afore I leave tonight.”

Asa picked up a small rug and made a bed for Moses on top of the bench by the window. I carried her acrost the kitchen and settled her into place. She laid still—still as well water.

“Thee can’t leave tonight without my father and me,” Asa said.

“We need to foller their trail till we find them.”

Them. I couldn’t say the names. Auntie. Brightwell. Zenobia. It hurt my heart just thinkin them.

From outside on the front porch come shoutin and the sound of boots poundin up the steps, pushin and pushin at the door until the bench shifted and began a slow slide down the wall.

“The cellar,” Asa said, “the cellar. No time for the attic.”

I turned and run down the steep stairs into darkness.

B
eware: misfortunes come in sets of three
.

T
he cellar, lit by a square of light from the kitchen, were my only hope. I didn’t dare close the door behind me for fear of stumblin into somethin and never findin my way into one of the hideouts.

My hands touched the edge of a shelf, and I felt for the latch. I tugged, slipped my hand down the side, fingerin and pushin, but nothin moved. Why hadn’t I paid more attention to how Zenobia got it open when I had the chance?

“Who’s out there?” I heard Asa shout, but I couldn’t take time to look back.

I started again at the top of the shelf, slidin my hand
down till my finger hit a small latch.
Snap
. The shelf moved an inch, then swung open wide enough for me to slip inside. Just as I stepped into the pure darkness, Asa opened the kitchen door to the outside and the cellar brightened.

I backed in and my hand fumbled against the edge, found a knob, and slowly, so as not to knock over any soaps, I pulled the heavy shelf closed.

My hands patted at the emptiness in front of me and touched the mattress that Zenobia had slept on just a few hours ago. What had she thought and felt when her hopes for freedom were ripped away from her?

Muffled sounds come from the kitchen, but I couldn’t make out the words. Then yellin, a heavy thud, and more yellin. Why hadn’t I brought Moses cat down with me? I shouldn’t have left her behind.

I could hear feet movin through the house. Talkin, the thump of somethin heavy, and the smell of a cheroot bein smoked close by.

My fingers found a wooden knob on the door. I held on as tight as I could in case someone figured out how to open it. But I never moved.

The noises stopped. I waited. And waited. I finally let go of the door, straightened my tired fingers, and laid down on the pallet. When I turned my head toward the stone wall, tiny grains of light, as tiny as the faraway stars in the night sky, shone through chinks in the mortar. It gave me some comfort to see that.

Asa. I worried that he were hurt, but I remembered Auntie’s caution about stayin hid, and I knowed that if I got caught there weren’t no way I could help Zenobia, or Brightwell, or Auntie. Were my grandpa’s words about bad luck always comin in threes provin true? Three souls I wanted to help, but how could one twelve-year-old girl do that? Then I thought of the brave little woman called Moses. She done it all by herself. Step by step, mile by mile. I could do it too.

Tap. Tap. Tap
.

The shelf opened and Asa’s voice whispered, “All clear, Lark.”

I slid off the pallet and stood up. Asa looked more upset than I’d ever seen him. A thin trickle of blood run from the side of his mouth.

“More slave traders came by looking for runaways. I just showed them the rooms and asked them what they thought they could find here after all this,” he said, motionin toward the kitchen’s mess.

“They said everyone knows this house is on the Underground Railroad. I just told them that the closest railroad was miles away. Then that woman who looks like a man got mad at me for my ‘smart talkin’ and hit me.”

“The woman-man?” I asked, my heart poundin faster.

“Yes, the woman who looks like a man. I saw her out in the woods with Brightwell and some other boys a few days ago. She hurt him right bad. She kept saying that she knew we stole her slave boy and kept her from her reward.
She told me she would break both my legs and beat me like she beat those slaves, and that I’d never steal from her again.”

I shook my head. The woman-man. Weren’t no way I could ever forget her and how she whipped Brightwell with rawhide as I hid in the tree above them and watched—helpless.

Asa wiped at his mouth. “I watched her beat him. It near killed me. I followed them to their campsite and waited until everyone slept that night. Then I cut Brightwell and the other boy out of their ropes. They both ran away before I could tell them where to hide. Would thee call that stealing?” he asked.

“Oh law, no, Asa. That weren’t stealin; that were savin, but it made that woman-man meaner than a cottonmouth.” Lord have mercy. I started up the stairs. I had to find Brightwell afore they did—and this time I wouldn’t be helpless.

I
f graveyard dirt falls on your feet or your shoes and you don’t wipe it off, you’ll soon be put into your own grave
.

A
sa closed the shelf and follered me up the stairs to the kitchen. Poor Moses, there she laid on the bench, her rug ripped from beneath her. The poultice set all akilter, and blood were oozin from her side.

“I let you and Auntie down, Moses. I should’ve taken you to the cellar with me.”

The cat’s ears flicked back and forth, but her eyes never opened.

I looked around the kitchen afore I set to work. The door were already propped closed. A heavy rope wound from the broken latch and hitched to a thick iron hook buried in the wall.

Asa brought the teakettle over and poured clean water into the bowl. When I dipped the rag into the water and dabbed at the gash, Moses’s side rippled in pain.

“Sorry, girl, so sorry, but I have to do this,” I said as I repacked the cut with a poultice and bound it to her body.

Asa stood beside me, smoothin at Moses’s head and talkin soft to her. “I’ll take her over to my house so she will be safe,” he said.

“Are you sure your father will be home today?” I asked. “Can’t anyone else help us?”

“People are most afraid to help now. Two Friends had their homes seized, and they were run out of town for stealing slaves. Since then people are a mite more cautious.”

Asa bent down, picked up the rug and Moses, and stood in front of me. I unwound the rope, pulled it out of the iron loop, and pushed the door open.

“Lark, thee won’t be safe here now. Our meetinghouse is just down the road. Thee must change into the clothes Auntie left and take shelter there. As soon as it is dark someone will come with a wagon to move thee north,” he said. “Father and I will go after Auntie, Zenobia, and Brightwell.”

There weren’t no way on this green earth that they was movin me anywhere except on the road to find my friends. We couldn’t waste no time now. We had to find them and save them somehow.

“Nobody is movin me north,” I said. “Not when my
friends are in trouble. You best come to the meetinhouse and pick me up so’s I can help. You don’t come for me and I’ll go on my own. I couldn’t never forgive myself if, if …” I didn’t even want to think on the bad.

Asa clucked his tongue, shook his head, and walked onto the porch carryin Moses cat like a baby. I looked around the yard to make sure no one were watchin us. When I turned back, Asa had melted into the shadows and disappeared in the trees.

I glanced around the room and walked over to the bucket bench. When I lifted the seat and looked into the hidin spot, I found a store of goods: a fancy new travelin sack, Grandpa’s knife, and more clothes—fine, city-girl clothes, colorful as a mallard drake, with a green silk bonnet trailin long ribbons, and soft, black side-button high shoes. A small envelope held a letter introducing me as Abigail Harlan, the daughter of a storekeeper and farmer.

Beneath a thin shimmy laid a paper scribed with the words “Thee must wear these clothes and keep your hair hidden under thy bonnet. Thy father has posted thy description. All are looking for a young red-haired girl. Be safe, sweet girl, and don’t be afraid to be hidden in plain sight.”