Running Out of Night (5 page)

That trouble girl were lookin at me and shakin her head. “Ummm, ummm, what you doin with them? Goin make us some soup or jelly us some knuckles when we runnin?”

She was sayin “we” again. “Don’t you sass me, trouble girl. I know what I’m doin.”

I climbed the steps first. Slowly, slowly, and wincin for the pain I felt along my side and shoulder. The bundle and sling of food seemed near heavy as them big rocks I hauled for the garden wall. I pulled myself up and sprawled acrost the floor but left my feet danglin over the cellar hole.

“You gots to move,” she said as she pushed her bag of food through the openin. I rolled over on my good side and crawled away from the cellar. She stepped out of the hole, grabbed her bag, and looked around the cabin.

I set up. “We need to close the trapdoor.” Slow and quiet-like, we dropped it into place. From habit, I looked for the bench to move it back into its spot over the door, but the bench laid on its side, exactly where Samuel had kicked it.

“With a little luck, they won’t come back tonight,” I said. “Give us a few hours of start on them while they’re trackin you upriver.”

We hoisted the sacks over our shoulders, and I tightened the knot on my sling. I looked around the cabin
and waited for scairt or sad to fill me, but it didn’t. I just needed to get out, and fast. One last look around. Were there anythin else I needed?

Acrost the room on the dry sink, I saw the carved handle of my grandpa’s huntin knife. Pa must’ve set it down when he come home for food. I limped over, picked up the knife, and stuck it into one of the apples in my sling. The girl disappeared out the door. I felt her feet drummin acrost the porch. With luck, maybe we’d lose each other, but then, I weren’t feelin too lucky today.

I started to foller her, but stopped. If I stayed here, I’d go on barely livin and bein as nameless as the kittens Pa drowned over to the crick. Well, I were near to growed up now, I knowed my way round the woods, and I could make a livin somehow, somewhere far away. Uh-huh, near to growed up now. I looked around the room and saw some bright squares of blue, red, and green patchwork next by my pillow. I shifted my load, walked over to my bed, and tugged out my old rag doll. “Here we go, Hannah girl,” I said, tuckin her inside my sling. “I couldn’t no more forget you than my mama and grandpa.”

W
hen you’re running from enemies, never look over your shoulder or their bad luck will snare you
.

I
crost the porch and went down the rickety steps, then made my way through the barnyard. A few things needed doin afore I left. My grandpa had taught me how to tend his beehives and harvest the honey, but he had also cautioned me to always tell the bees of any great happenins. I picked up my bee stick and walked over to the bench line of log gum hives where the stragglers, the last of the hardworkin bees, was findin their way home for the night.

Tap, tap, tap
, the stick moved from log to log to log. “I’m leavin here, all you good bees. I’m leavin here and all the bad times. Forever. I’ll miss you,” I said.

I moved away from the hummin log gums, said a fare-thee-well
to my tidy little garden and to the last of the hens headin in to roost.

I passed my little square of tomaters. There, lyin on the ground, lookin up at me sure as the buck’s eye it were called after, were my good-luck charm. I picked it up, felt at its smooth, then slipped it into my pocket. I’d be needin all the luck I could find.

Grandpa’s two old workhorses, Delilah and Samson, hung their heads over the crooked-rail fence between the pasture and the barnyard. I stroked the blaze on Delilah and smoothed Samson’s forelock, all the while thankin them for the hard work and good comfort they always give me. Delilah whinnied when I reached into my sack and pulled out two apples for them. I always spoilt them, just like Grandpa did, but who would spoil them now?

Afore I left, I had one last thing to do. I stopped by the side of the cabin, picked a handful of the pink roses planted by my mama’s own hand, and carried them over to the little buryin ground I’d tended since Grandpa passed.

Small wooden markers had the carved names of brothers and sisters I’d never met. Next come my mama—Hannah Cullen Nicoll, and Aaron E. Cullen, my dear grandpa. I knelt down and tucked tiny pink buds near the graves of my brothers and sisters, and a handful of the sweet-smellin roses atop Mama’s and Grandpa’s markers for the last time.

“Good-bye, Mama. Good-bye, Grandpa. Won’t you
stay by my side?” I asked as I turned and walked into the comin night.

Dozens of tiny bats weaved through the darkenin sky and flitted past me. I knowed that it were just an old tale about them catchin in your hair, but I couldn’t help shirkin from them. I ducked my head, hunched my shoulders under the weight of the bags, and limped along the trail above the crick.

When I found the narrow path that led from the bank through the brambles and poison ivy, I slipped and slid all the way down. Them thorns tore at me like cat claws and rooster beaks. The poison ivy never bothers me none, nary an itch nor a bump when I hold it, but the brambles—they hurt somethin fierce. I had to bite at my lips to keep from cryin out.

When I finally got to the water, I waded till my feet sank into the mud and disappeared. I stopped, crouched, and splashed my face and arms. Then I drank its cool sweetness from my cupped hands. I could’ve stayed there forever, the water runnin over me and soothin my torn arms, but I made myself get up and keep movin. I could feel the smooth pebbles and the suck and pull of the mud as I walked along the crick bed and headed south. My guess was that Pa and my brothers had probably headed north up top along the sycamore trail. By now, they’d be takin another track as they searched for the girl. Too bad for her if she went the wrong way and ran into them, but good for me.

I felt bad thinkin like that.

The moon, her horns pointin to the east, were waxin fair and clear. I could see ahead along a goodly piece of the water that stretched in front of me like a wide silver ribbon. From the edge of the crick, the big rocks, the ones I loved to play on, loomed dark-like and not near as friendly-lookin as they was by day. My heart pounded and I glanced quick side to side, searchin for anythin movin along the bank. The noise of the runnin water wrapped round me, hidin my sounds, but also hidin the sounds of anyone passin nearby. I stopped myself from lookin back over my shoulder; I didn’t want to court no trouble.

I
f you want to get rid of a ghost, make the sign of the cross, spit, and dare the ghost to come out or leave for good
.

I
hurt somethin bad, but I walked most of the hot, thick night, switchin my sling and sack from side to side. I had plenty of time to think about things, like how mad Pa and my brothers would be when they got to home and didn’t have any food waitin for them. First they’d be yellin for me, but once they lifted the trapdoor and found both me and their stores missin, they’d be spittin mad and kickin at everythin in the room. This time it wouldn’t be me feelin their boots.

I wanted to whistle. Whistlin in the dark usually made me feel safe, but tonight I weren’t goin to feel safe no matter. I were fine walkin in the bright water. And fine so long
as I saw the stars and the shinin light of the moon, but sometimes the trees touched from one side of the bank to the other and made a long dark tunnel. When I stepped into the blackness, I traced an X in the air, then spit to keep away the sperrits. Then I’d come out of the tunnel and into the silvery world again and walk, walk, walk through deep cold water up to my knees, and sometimes through shallow warm water most as gentle on me as a spring rain.

I reached my good hand through the hole in the sling, pulled out an apple, and chewed it through, even the core and the bitter of the seeds. Ahead of me there were another long stretch of trees archin over the crick and makin the black water look like it run into a cave.

I tried to move my packs to ease my hurtin, but what I really needed were rest. Just a short nap. I wouldn’t dare to sleep for fear of wastin too much time. I walked on a little farther; then the crick made a wide, easy sweep, and the current slowed till it sounded like it were murmurin to me.

I walked through the water till I reached the spot where it rested quiet against a cut in the bank. The sandy shore blanketed with leaves looked to be about as good a bed as I’d ever find. Around me, the sounds of crickets and the
whippoorwill, whippoorwill, whippoorwill
voice of the goatsucker bird made me feel safe. He’d call till almost daylight but would stop if anyone passed nearby.

I shrugged out of the sling, dropped the sack on the
ground, and used my feet to smooth a sandy place for a few minutes of nappin. Then I crouched on all fours, plumped the sling for a pillow, laid down, and shut my eyes.

I thought about that girl again, and a picture of her scairt face come into my head and wouldn’t leave. She didn’t know these woods and hideouts like I did, but what did I care? I hoped that I’d never see her again. Last thing I remembered were sayin to myself, “I’m better off without her.”

The voice is what woke me. It whispered low, “Don’t move.” I laid still, opened my eyes, squinted against the sun that slanted through the trees. I thought I’d been dreamin that voice. Then I heard it again. “Don’t move,” it said, and my eyes was open so’s I knowed I weren’t sleepin. I wanted to turn my head, find who were speakin, but the voice warned again, “Stay still.”

The smell of crushed sycamore leaves and the soft scrunchin sound of feet walkin acrost them let me know that someone were gettin closer. My heart thudded. I wanted to push up and run, but I felt froze to the ground.

A shadow moved between me and the sun. That trouble girl stood over me holdin a big branch. I opened my eyes wide and looked into hers. She tilted her head toward me and gave it a slow shake, like she were sad to do what she were goin to do. She lifted the branch above her afore I could move. I closed my eyes and yelled.

I
f you want fair weather after you kill a snake, you must bury it
.

A
bare foot nudged me, then rolled me over like a log. “What you mean yellin like that?” the trouble girl asked. “Folks must’ve heard you clear to town.”

I set up, held my hands against my heart to keep it from burstin through my skin, and brushed the leaves out of my hair. The branch laid on the ground a few inches from me. Stickin out from underneath it were the rusty brown body of a copperhead snake, its mouth wide open, fangs down, and its mean cat eyes starin right at me. I must’ve slept next to that snake all night.

The girl stuck out her hand to help me up. I stood, all wobbly and shakin, and we looked at each other eye to
eye. I didn’t want to have to say it, but I did. “Thank you for savin me.”

“Now we don’t owe each other nothin,” she answered.

But I felt like now I did owe her somethin, and I wouldn’t never forget it. I stuck out my hand and took hers again. “Looks like we’re spost to be together,” I said. “Let’s eat a few bites, then get movin up the crick.”