Chapter Thirteen

Tears moistened her cheeks as Early lifted her hand. She waved toward the slowly shrinking boat taking Aunt 'Tilda and Missy away. Their figures grew smaller until they disappeared around a bend in the canal.

"Don't start whimpering, girl. We gotta get started on our own journey." George grabbed her hand and pulled her into the tree line. "We have a long night ahead of us. When that's over, we'll find a place to sleep away the day."

"I'd much prefer walking in the day so I can see what I'm stepping on, or into. You know I can't stand snakes."

The enormity of what she had just committed to do threatened to overwhelm her senses. The stench of rancid canal water filled her nose. A large bird screeched as it circled overhead before diving to attack a small blue jay. The slight chill of cooler days ahead blew in the breeze. She crossed her arms and looked in bewilderment at George.

"Day travel will have you stepping back into slavery. From here on out, you won't have Missy to protect you from snakes like Sidney." George stepped farther away from the canal trail. He pulled a round metal object from his pocket. "Look here, Early. I got this compass from an Ohio man who visited during Master Hollings' wedding. It will always point the way to freedom in the north." He popped it open and the needle spun before stopping. "We don't need anyone else." He took a step and motioned for her to follow.

"There will be nights when those stars don't shine. Then we'll have this compass to show us the way."

She clamped her jaw shut and followed in his footsteps until they found a sheltered place to lay their blanket down for the rest of the daylight hours. Her lips moved in a prayer for safety and a way to control her anger toward Sidney, Papa Hollings, Aunt Matilda, and Missy, who had all betrayed her. Their choices caused her to place her fate into the hands of a husband who seemed more intent on freedom than caring about his wife.

Along the Canal System in Western Ohio

Dearest Mary Etta,

We are sending a separate package your way. It seems that it has become imperative that our goods must make their way north without our help. If they should arrive before we do, please find a safe place for storage, away from prying eyes. Your little den might be the perfect room. The contents are precious to both of us. I do believe they may also be valued by our brother, in his own way.

Melissa and I will be making our way North on the canal system. We finally reached southern Ohio and obtained passage for the two of us on a canal boat. Our journey has endured many mishaps that I dared not share until we crossed the Ohio River. Even then events occurred that altered our plans.

Early in our travels, I had to sell our original horse and buggy in order to continue on our journey. Our driver missed the horse, but he seemed satisfied with the new owners and the condition of their other stock. That change provided one way to avoid attention, which might have been hazardous for our packages. We replaced our horse and carriage for a while, but marauders stole them once we reached Ohio. Most of our possessions are missing too. I'm thankful they threw out Missy's satchel of writing materials when they ransacked our carriage. Otherwise, I wouldn't have paper and pencil for this letter.

Now we find ourselves in a position to work our way north using skills God gifted us with. We will miss our freedom to move on as we please, but are enjoying the company of the canal boat captain's very pregnant wife and independent child. I will be earning my keep as her midwife and cook for a while. Melissa will be learning some important life skills along the way.

Affectionately,

Matilda

MISSY PICKED UP HER box of Thoreau pencils, replaced the number two in the container and pulled out a number four. The soft pencil provided the perfect tool for sketching and smudging. Early's features formed on the paper as her fingers remembered her cousin's familiar features. They'd been friends forever. Missy already felt alone. The image she drew of her former companion's face would serve as a remembrance of the past and a hope for the future.

Aunt Matilda chattered in the background with the expectant mother and active little girl. They hovered around the small cook stove at the rear of the boat. Their laughter filled the air. Missy sighed and resumed drawing the face, so much like her own, other than the skin color that had held her cousin in slavery. Moments later she switched back to the writing pencil. Aunt had hopes of posting a letter when the boat came to a town. The urge to write a poem for Samuel to use in his paper pulled at her heart. At least she had one useful talent and she thanked God that her poems would help someone realize slavery was wrong. She wondered why slavery existed, as she started scratching out her ideas.

Slavery, Why are you here?

Does binding one man to another,

Give you power to make them fear

The master who should be your brother?

You're a dark blight on each heart,

Dividing country, states, and friend.

Piercing hope with poisoned dart.

When will your terror end,

No cage contain my feathered friend?

Early grasped George's elbow and warmth flew up her arm like a bird in flight. His muscles flexed beneath her touch as he lifted a finger to his lips and pulled them further into the woods. The aroma of bacon frying over an open fire filled the air and their bellies grumbled in response. How long would it be before they had another meal? The robbery had left them no choice but to eat what little vegetation George could find in the woods. Had she made a mistake following this man? There'd been no other choice, unless she wanted to return to life as a slave controlled by masters and mistresses. Even Missy had been part of the plans that forced her to marry a man who didn't love her. At least he wanted to protect her.

She pulled her hand away and trudged after him. Maybe she had grown tired of protection. Maybe she should take her own step out on faith. Their hiding from everyone had sure gotten older than the live oaks back on the plantation. Spotting a small branch lying on the ground, she made a decision.

Pushing away from George and the trees that hid them, she plodded down the tow path, leaning heavily on her new walking stick like an old woman. She pulled the quilt over her shoulders like a shawl.

"Come along, old man, we need to keep moving or we will never get to my sister's house before morning."

George pulled his hat down low. He trudged after her, mumbling about stubborn mules. At least he had the sense to follow her lead.

Her imitation of Aunt 'Tilda's accent echoed across the canal waters as she grumbled loudly. "You are the stubborn mule in this family. I should have known better than to marry a horse wrangler that would trade off our last mare for a bottle of whiskey and then drink it all up. Now get a move on, mister, before I use that horse whip of yours on your flea-bitten hide."

George wavered and whooped loudly before stumbling after his wife. A loud burp added credence to the scene they played. Laughter from the campfire echoed as voices cackled about a henpecked husband. If they only knew...

Splatters of murky water rained down on Missy's seat at the front of the canal boat. No one had warned her that the water-soaked rope attached to the mule team would unleash a rainy downpour on an unsuspecting passenger as they left their first canal lock. The rope had snapped tight when the mules resumed their meander down their pathway beside the water. The submerged rope sopped up plenty of moisture while water in the lock rose to move them to the next level in the system. Missy looked at her damp dress and shook her head. Her only dress—probably ruined, unless she could find a way to clean it herself.

Mischievous eyes locked with hers as a giggle escaped the lips of the captain's daughter. The imp had surely known the water would fall and couldn't contain her full-fledged belly laugh. As a breeze stirred, the dripping water became cool refreshment from the humid air surrounding the boat. Missy chuckled. She needed to thank the Lord for her new acquaintance and the break from the heat.

"Come here, sunshine." She patted the bench and waited for the child to respond.

"My name ain't sunshine." A gap in the child's teeth caused the girl to lisp slightly, adding to her appeal.

"No? Well, you just brightened my day." Missy pulled her sandalwood fan from her waistband and fanned the air, one of the few things the thieves hadn't taken. The child drew closer and settled in to enjoy the scented breeze. The little body added warmth. Missy fanned harder, welcoming the distraction from her thoughts about missing Early.

"My birth name's Elsbeth, but you can call me Sunshine 'iffin you want to." The child squirmed on the hard bench and fingered the embroidery on Missy's sleeve. "Are you a princess?"

"Your dress is right perty and decorated with this fancy stitching. From what I seen this morning, it don't look like you know how to get dressed by yerself. I saw that other lady helping you get all trussed up this morning."

Embarrassment about being spied upon made Missy's cheeks hotter than any campfire George had built for them along the trail. On the boat, she and her aunt had slept through the night under a light covering, wearing only their chemises and petticoats. Apparently, the child watched them get ready for their day while the captain went on shore to give them some privacy.

"Even I know how to dress myself." The little urchin grinned as she danced off the bench and twirled.

"I guess I used to live like a princess, but that has to change now. Maybe you can teach me a few things about taking care of myself."

"I'll teach you how to do plain sewing 'iffin you teach me about them flowers sewed on your sleeves. Then I can dress like a princess, too."

"You would be a princess for sure and I will appreciate learning how to do some everyday sewing. I don't think I've ever patched a hole in a garment."

"You hungry? I can teach you how to fish so you won't go hungry. I'll even teach you how to take guts and scales off a your fish so you can cook it."

Missy grimaced and wrapped her other arm around her belly. "Let's just start with the sewing for now. That should keep us busy for a while."

"First you gotta tell me what it was like being a sort of princess. Did you have lots of servants?"

"I suppose I did, but my favorite servant seemed more like a sister to me. Her name was Early." She reached for her drawing, which thankfully lay protected from the water by the leather satchel. Elsbeth leaned closer to look and touched a finger to the likeness.

"That's a funny name for such a perty lady. Was she always early to everythin'? Ma says I'd be late to meetin' myself if I had to get off our boat to get there."

"She was always there when I needed her. She didn't have a choice." Missy hugged the child closer when her pert little nose scrunched up in a worried expression. "Early's ma took care of both of us when we were your age. She used to tell us that Early came to this world first thing in the morning and that's how she got her name."

"Hey lady, hold on to the rest of your story. How come she didn't have a choice?"

"I did, but I'm trying to change. I set Early free a while back, but someone keeps trying to take her freedom away."

"That ain't right. How you gonna fight for her?" Sunshine punched her fists in the air near her chest, ready to conquer all evil.

"I'm starting by writing poems and stories that are going in a newspaper—and I've been praying some."

"I don't know how writin' can do anythin', but you better do more than just some praying. Maybe I can teach you how to fight and pray better, too."

Missy laughed and picked up her pencil. "I just might write a short poem about my new teacher."

"I sure can. Rhyming words are a good place to start when you are learning to read and write."

Sunshine leaned over the journal as Missy pointed to the rhyming words and wrote several individual letters for the child. Her young pupil caught on quickly. She took the pencil from her teacher and traced over the words and letters. Then a puzzled expression clouded her sunny disposition.

"My ma says not to keep secrets. Did you tell your ma about teaching them about words?"

"No, my real mother died. All I have left of her is a broken necklace." Missy fished the stones from her writing satchel.

"Those are some real nice rocks. I seen some shiny ones like them in a creek one time. Maybe we can figger out a way to sew them back into your ma's neck piece." The child's trusting eyes met Missy's as a barking dog made its presence known from the canal's shore.

George ran through the creek and up the muddy bank. His trusting wife followed in his footsteps. Would the dogs find their scent? Had they left the creek too soon? The mud sucked at what remained of their shoes. A chill soaked into the soles of his feet. His restless mind wondered if it was worth the fight. Then he recalled the beating Sidney gave him what seemed ages ago. Better to die in the wilderness than to suffer like that again.

Early's breathing was heavy as he guided her along, but she kept moving. She tripped as she held tightly to his hand, but managed to keep pace. He'd underestimated her strength. She had a good spirit and didn't deserve the future Sidney would have forced on her. He slowed to a stop and listened. The hounds' baying seemed far away. Pulling Early to his chest, they leaned into the dark side of a tree, away from the moonlit sky. She melted into his arms. His Early, his wife, his love, and the mother of his future children, if they could make it to freedom...

Did he dare trust the man? He turned and saw a dark figure step away and motion for them to go further into the night. The stranger appeared to be a black man but that didn't guarantee safety. Another man of his race betrayed him back in Virginia. Seeing no other choice, he linked his arm through Early's and cautiously followed the man. Their silent walk seemed to last forever. Their guide led them further away from the canal path they'd hoped to follow. Finally, they paused and saw a group of travelers huddled together.

A woman stepped from the group and pressed a dry biscuit into Early's hand. "Take a bite to strengthen yourselves. We'll be moving on in a few minutes."

Early sank down next to George's feet and pulled him down near her. She ripped the biscuit in half and began chewing on the dry bread. He chose to stay in a squat as he ate. His eyes scanned the rest of the group. Looking up at the sky, he could see the drinking gourd pointing to the northern star. He'd keep an eye on the heavens and make sure the stranger did not lead them astray. The leader took his place and the others fell into a silent line. George and Early followed at the end.

Their weeks became an endless pattern of daytime sleeping followed by night marches through a barely visible path of darkness. Early often sat near the same group of women at dawn each morning. George studied the dark faces in the group and fought the desire to trust the others. Most nights the stars glistened in the sky, leading them north. He could only hope the leader knew the directions when clouds filled murky skies. He wasn't ready to share his precious compass with the others yet.