35

THE LONG ROAD HOME

THE DIRT ROAD WAS DRY from a month of no rain and scorching sun. Lilly held the tattered hand-stitched quilt up to her nose and mouth to keep from inhaling the dust. She felt dog-tired.

“I don’t understand what you see in this dirty old thing. It’s not like the beautiful quilts on display in the market. This one has uneven stitches, and it doesn’t make sense. Whoever made it was not a very precise needle-worker.”

“That cuz it ain’t like ’em that slave women make to sell.” Isaiah’s jaw clenched, and he snapped the reins causing the horses to move faster. “Them stitches point to where help be found. It all tell a story. Them knots tell somethin’ too.”

“I’ve heard tell there are secret passages for slaves to escape to freedom. Mrs. Demsey has church meetings, and important people come to speak at her abolitionist meetings. I heard it referred to as the Underground Railroad.”

“Don’t know nothin’ bout dhat,” he said. “But that there”—his finger pointed out narrow stitching that curved on the face of the quilt—“that’a road up yonder leadin’ to a safe house.”

Lilly knew better than to ask more questions. She had entered into the highly secret code of slaves, and she feared talking about these things aloud might cause Isaiah agitation.

So despite her fatigue, she remained alert for the road signs Isaiah deciphered in the stitching.

Isaiah steered the horses off the road toward a pathway leading to a wooded area. He stopped the wagon and stood up. He shielded his eyes from the noonday sun to peer down the long road that they had been traveling for hours. Lilly had no idea if they were heading back to Savannah. She suddenly felt vulnerable in the hands of Isaiah with no clear path in sight. Satisfied there was no one on the road, he continued along the bumpy pathway leading into the massive forest of pine trees.

When the wheel hit a deep hole, she flew in the air, causing Isaiah to grab her. Lilly gripped the edge of her seat as they continued in silence.

“How much longer? I might faint if I don’t find something to eat soon.” Lilly took her hat off and used it to wipe her sweaty brow. She looked down at the quilt to figure out how the stitch variations and knots became a map, but it made no sense to her.

“Yu need tha hat on, ya hear? Don’t need nobody seein’ that straw color hair yu gots. That the firs thin’ they be lookin’ fo.”

Lilly reluctantly pulled the hat back over her head, carefully tucking up her coarse and kinky hair under the cap. “Sure wish I knew where we’re headed to,” she said with a sigh followed by a yawn.

“Be still, chil'.” He spoke in a hushed but stern tone, his eyes darting to and fro as they continued along the wooded path. As they entered the shaded pines, the dried needles cracked under the wheels, and the aroma of fresh pine was a soothing relief from the dust she’d been inhaling on the road.

Isaiah pulled the horses to a halt. They had grown weary in the heat, and she wondered if they could go on much longer without water. “Yu go stretch yor legs a bit. I got bisniz ova yonder. Don’ make no noise. Them trees sure do hav’ ears.”

Lilly giggled and turned her body away from the direction Isaiah was headed. She knew he was about to relieve his bladder. Living in the slave quarters had delivered her from any sense of modesty she had before living among slaves. It was a very primitive way of life. She walked behind a tree before lifting her skirt to squat. She and Betsey often did the same thing while picnicking in the woods. The primitive outhouses were filled with noxious fumes that burned her nostrils.

She walked around the wagon and pulled a corncob from the burlap bag. She crunched the hard kernels that burst moisture in her teeth. She managed to gobble down the entire cob before Isaiah returned.

“Don’ leave tha’ husk,” he warned, looking around again. “Don’t let um’ know we been here.”

Lilly let out a long sigh before speaking. “Does that mysterious quilt of yours tell us our destination? I’d like to see where we are going if you don’t mind.”

“Hold yo tongue, li'l girl. No mind me say’n yu hav’ a mighty sharp tongue. Yah, yu sure does.”

They climbed back on to the wagon and continued through the woods at a slow pace. Isaiah would stop every few yards to listen. It was deathly quiet among the pines, so their voices would surely carry. He often put his finger to his lips to remind her to keep silent. When they had stopped for the fifth time, Isaiah pointed to a quilt hanging on a tree in the distance. He handed the reins to Lilly to steady the horses while jumping from the wagon. He ran toward the colorful quilt as if it contained a message for them. Lilly watched him as he circled the quilt as if inspecting it for bed bugs.

He rushed back toward her with brightness on his face that she had never seen before.

“That a log cabin up yonda. It be safe goin’ furtha.” He spoke in a hushed but excited tone.

Lilly smiled at the thought of shelter and a place to lay her head. Being so tired and hungry, she felt close to tears but held them back.

“Jus’ a li'l bit furtha . . . jus’ a li'l bit.” He began humming a melody she recognized from the Sunday church service. Listening to him caused a sense of calmness within her heart for the first time since her abduction.