Running Out of Night (21 page)

I looked around the corner of the cabin. Shag were tippin again, and when he finished, he tossed the flask over the side of the wagon and laid back in the seat.

Emma led me acrost her garden and toward the springhouse. We stepped over a scramble of goose grass, the same as what my grandpa used for cheese curdlin, and its tiny, stickery burr seeds stuck to my skirt. She pulled at the door latch of the springhouse, and it swung open slow. Cold air and the smell of butter and cheese met us. Little Will, still settin on her hip, leant out toward me, and I scooped him into my arms and passed her my empty water jug.

When I started to step inside, she ducked her head like she couldn’t look straight at me, and said, “Y’all wait out here.” She come back outside carryin my jug filled to the top, a cold milk tin beaded with water, and a big hunk of somethin wrapped in a bright-blue bandanna. “Take these too. Maybe someday y’all come on back and say hey to us.” Emma’s hands shook as she tucked each of her offerins into the big basket. What had got into her to flighten her up like she were?

I couldn’t make her a promise I might not ever be able to keep. “I’ll never forget your kindness. I hope to do somethin for you someday,” I said, a wash of tears fillin my eyes.

The three of us started headin toward the wagon. “You’d best stay back,” I cautioned. “He is right mean all the time, but bad mean when he drinks.”

Emma stopped. Will reached for his mama, and she lifted him out of my arms. I felt sad to let the sweet softness of him go. He raised a small pink hand as if he was wavin a good-bye to me.

When I got close to the wagon, I saw Shag’s head was throwed back and his eyes closed. His Adam’s apple moved up and down, up and down, as he snored. I crept past him. He snorted, and his eyes opened and rolled into his head till they disappeared. My heart were flutterin inside me.

I unloaded the herbs, food, milk, and water into the back of the wagon while Emma and Little Will watched me from the big stone step in front of the springhouse. I lifted a hand high and gave a wave afore settin their empty basket at the foot of a nearby tulip poplar tree.

Auntie still slept, but Zenobia and the others watched silently as I walked to the side of the wagon and reached for the bedroll below Shag’s outstretched legs. He moved, groaned, shifted his feet, and brushed one foot against my hand. I stopped and waited to see if he would wake. He snorted again. I sniffed at the sourness of his sweat mixed with whiskey—the smell of my pa.

I picked up the bedroll, backed away from him, and laid it on the ground. After I unfastened the leather cinch and unrolled the blanket, I pulled the square of cloth from my sleeve.

Shag’s head lolled to the side, facin right at me. He stirred and scratched at his stubbly chin.

“Leaflets three, set us free,” I whispered as I unfolded the cloth and shook the poison ivy leaves into the beddin. I laid one blanket against the other and kneaded it like I were makin bread, then shook the oily leaves out of the bedroll afore cinchin it closed.

At the side of the wagon, I stooped and looked, figurin the space I needed to get the bedroll back in its place. Shag moved his feet and drew them beneath the seat. I stopped and waited. He moved again, then straightened his legs. I bent over, judged at the space, and jammed the roll beneath the bench. I almost made it.

W
hen smallpox strikes someone, you must drive the demon of it into a sow and burn the sow to ashes
.

S
hag opened his runny, red eyes, yanked the whip from its holder, and shouted, “Girl, what you think you’re doin?”

“Jus makin a spot for the victuals,” I said quiet-like, though my heart beat so hard I were sure he could hear every thump.

“You’re not givin them no food,” he growled. “We leavin here. Get back on the seat.”

He set up, slid the whip into its holder, and fumbled for the reins.

“They needs to eat if you’re wantin to get any reward.”

“They can eat, but not till after I gets mine. You feeds
the animals last. Now shut yerself up and git me some food.”

I walked to the back of the wagon, tugged off the heel of the bread, opened the blue bandanna, and pulled out some cheese and a tomater. Right beside the bread I found some thick slices of ham. Emma’s heart were big—bigger than mine. I left the ham for the others.

Zenobia and them were watchin me, watchin that pile of food I fixed for Shag.

I whispered, “We’ll eat later,” and looked up to see if he were lookin. Then I spat onto his tomater and cheese and watched my venom spill onto the bread.

I were hungerin too. My stomach felt like it were eatin itself, bite by bite, till there weren’t nothin left but empty achin.

I laughed and quick covered my mouth. Just leave it to me to laugh at the wrong time.

“Don’t talk!” Shag shouted. “You talk at her again and I’ll whip you and them.” I couldn’t hardly tell him that I weren’t talkin, but laughin at what I done.

I shuddered thinkin of that nasty whip in the wagon.

“Git up here. We puttin some road under us afore you eat,” he said.

I looked back at Zenobia, but her eyes was closed again.

The horses moved along steady, the wagon swayin and creakin. Shag held the reins in one hand and stuffed food into his mouth with the other. He reminded me of our mean old sow, Daisy.

We traveled for a few hours till the sun rested atop the western mountains. I’d be right happy to see it set after such a long, hot ride. I couldn’t wait another mile and begged him to stop so’s I could tend to some necessaries and get food together for us.

He grunted, reached along the side of his seat, and pulled out another flask. “I wanted to catch up with the others afore nightfall, but it looks like they’s too far ahead. We’ll make camp here tonight,” he growled.

Shag headed the bays off the dusty road and over to a small clearin bordered by a stream. He unhitched the horses, picketed and hobbled them, then yelled to me to fix him somethin to eat. The horses set to drinkin and browsin; Shag just set to drinkin.

I were pickin through foodstuff, tryin to decide how to make supper for everyone, when Shag picked up his whip and rifle and walked to the back of the wagon. He untied one end of the rope holdin the line of slaves together and yanked it hard. One by one, Enoch, Armour, Zenobia, and Better slid from the wagon and onto the ground, but Auntie laid there, eyes closed, and still curled up like a fern frond.

“Git over to that tree,” Shag ordered, follerin behind with more rope.

The line of them walked slow, Enoch and Armour clankin in their fetters, nearly fallin. The girl Better was draggin her feet behind Zenobia, who walked sure with her head high.

Whoosh, crack
, the whip sounded its warnin.

One by one they sank to the ground and watched as Shag tied their ankles and hands tight together. How could they stand the bindin and the pain?

Shag set under an oak, his back against the broad tree. He gnawed at some bread and drank from his flask—his eyes never left us.

“Y’all stop watchin me,” he shouted.

I walked over to him, lifted the jug settin beside him, and poured water into a tin cup. “I’m right glad we aren’t with everyone else. I heard from that girl back there that some of them German folks from a town up north got the pox.”

Shag’s eyes widened and one of them twitched fierce. He started to say somethin and opened his mouth afore swallowin what he’d just drunk. The whiskey poured over his lips like a millrace. His shirt were soaked through.

“The pox? We got the pox here? This ain’t worth all the trouble I go through. No reward’s worth the pox.” He took another swig from the flask.

“My grandpa called whiskey the water of life,” I said in a treacly voice. “He used it to clean wounds and to cure most everythin.”

Shag gulped another mouthful. This time all the corn
whiskey went down his throat. I were glad for that and hopin that it would send him to sleep.

I moved over to the wagon and gently nudged Auntie. “Auntie,” I said, “Auntie, wake up now. You needs to drink and eat. You needs your strength.”

Truth be told, I needed Auntie to get back her strength. I missed her.

I propped up Auntie’s head and let her drink her fill, then I fed her tiny bites of bread and ham.

When I finished feedin Auntie, I picked up the bucket of water and lugged it over to the others, who were whisperin amongst themselfs. When I knelt down to dip a cupful of water for Zenobia, she asked, “What about Brightwell?”

I just looked at her and said, “He’s gone.” She shook her head slow and tears filled her eyes.

The words had just come out of my mouth, and Shag were up and walkin over toward me sidewise, like the old yeller dog that got bit by a sick skunk last summer.

I set the bucket down and moved away from Zenobia afore Shag come closer.

He made it another few steps, stumbled, and grabbed the wagon’s side.

“You, girl, you. I told you no talkin.”

The sun dropped below a notch in the mountains, and Shag looked around, like he were surprised by the dusk.

“I’m goin to sleep,” he said. “We’re leavin early tomorrow. Git over here, girl. I’m tyin you to the wagon.”

“But what about all of us eatin? We starved and thirstin.”

I started to say more, but he raised his fist the way Pa does to let me know what’s comin.

“Where am I spost to sleep?” I asked, knowin that none of us would see a spoonful of food.

“I’m tyin you up on there,” he said, pointin up to the wagon seat. “And don’t you be talkin to them.”

I climbed onto the seat and he bound my feet together, then tied my hands behind my back.

He stumbled to the other side of the wagon and pulled his bedroll, rifle, another flask, and a small cookin pot from under the seat. Shag made his camp over by the side of the crick near a lopsided circle of stones filled with the charred wood of an old fire.

He mounded kindlin and branches inside the stones and fanned at a small flame. We watched as he took a big swig from the flask, then another, and another—corn squeezins spillin down his front with each gulp.

“Keep your eyes to your own business,” he yelled, “or I’ll pick them eyes right out of your ugly black heads!”

Shag kept drinkin, and the little cookin pot never were put into use. After a while he lifted his shirt over his head and draped it onto the branches of a sweet pepperbush all spiked with flowers.

I watched as he undid the cinch around his blankets and rolled them out onto a grassy patch of ground. When he climbed inside the bedroll, he took a big swig from the
bottle and laid back, cradlin his rifle in the crook of his arm. Within a few minutes, he were snorin loud, the bottle capped and lyin acrost his hairy chest.

I looked up at the darkenin sky filled with birds headin to their roosts. They swooped down together, hunnerts of them, like they was one bird, and flew into the trees around us. Then they all joined together talkin and tellin of the day’s happenins, then everythin were quiet like they had disappeared.

Zenobia, Armour, Better, and Enoch, all of them tied together under the tree, hummed quiet amongst themselves like evenin bees. Then everythin were quiet. Quiet like they had disappeared.

Behind me in the wagon, Auntie slept, but I didn’t think I could never sleep bein all tied up. But I must’ve, cause I were dreamin about me and Zenobia trapped in the cave when I woke to a screamin that could rouse a rock.

“The pox!” Shag yelled. “Lord a’mighty, I got the pox! Someone needs to burn me a sow to ashes.”