Chapter Fourteen

Thunder roared. The sky lit from one jagged end to the other. Boom. The earth shook.

Their leader urged them forward. "Keep moving folks. This is a perfect night to be making tracks. Ha. Those tracks won't last long in this downpour. Dogs won't catch any scents either."

Torrents of water washed down Early's face as her clothes were plastered to her soaked skin. Could this get any worse? Maybe she was better off being a slave. Too late for thoughts like that now. If someone caught them, her position in the house would be gone. A job in the fields faced her, if she survived the whipping. Her hand reached to the leather pouch hidden under her dress. Would the paperwork make any difference? Probably not, if they sent her back to Holly Plantation...

What had George gotten her into? But she couldn't blame him. She'd chosen to follow her husband and she would stick with him no matter how bad it got. She straightened, but icy stingers ricocheted off her shoulders as she sloshed through a muddy passage made by their leader. The tiny ice balls pinged off hats and tree limbs and plopped against the sodden ground as a chilled breeze whooshed around the group. Her toes froze from the lack of proper covering. She'd replaced the last worn pieces of her shoes by wrapping her feet in rags from remnants of her petticoat. The cloth soaked up the cold water and numbness crept into her feet. She pulled the threadbare quilt around her back with its brown side turned outward. It didn't take long for the rain to soak through.

"Heads down, keep moving." The man was as bossy as any overseer. Early ground her teeth and forced one foot in front of the other. George coughed against the chill and her heart thudded against her chest.

Early took the hand that he offered. It was warm—warmer than it should have been on such a cold, wet night. The pounding ice gave way to another soaking rain. Hunger gnawed a pit in her belly. The rumbling sound barely reached ears hearing the gush of rain as it sluiced through the tree branches and leaves. A dark brown form loomed in the distance. Their leader halted them with a warning hand. They huddled on the muddy trail and waited as he faded into the downpour.

George stifled another cough and leaned into her side. Waves of heat poured from his body. A hooded figure stepped near the little group and motioned them toward the dark structure, which took on the form of a barn. The huge hulk of a man threw off his head covering as they entered the hay-filled structure. Whispered instructions sent them up a ladder and into a warm loft. Their host gave each traveler a strip of dried meat, which they quickly devoured. The patter of rain on the tin roof provided a lullaby, sending them each into a warm, but wet sleep.

Early woke several times through the night to the sound of George's raspy cough. She snuggled closer each time, absorbing the warmth emanating from his body, too tired to do more than fall back to sleep as the sun rose and set.

The next evening, they left the relative safety of the barn and trudged back onto a trail. The air had grown cooler and chills shook George as they followed the dirt path past a sleeping village. The worn blanket, which had almost dried out during their time in the barn, provided them little relief from the frosty night. A horse neighed in the distance, reminding him of former days when he didn't feel so weak. He should be the strong one, surviving the toils of travel. Instead, his body fought against his will with each step he took. What he wouldn't give for a good horse right now. Grasping Early's hand, he stumbled forward, following her lead like a worn-out nag. Roots seemed to get in his way as their journey continued, bringing him to the ground several times. Colorful leaves cushioned his fall, reminding him of the need to hurry north before even cooler weather arrived.

The quiet leader of their group halted them at the top of a hill and pointed to a small house in a valley. "If any of you are feeling like you need to stop, there's a station house down there. They will take you in for a few days." His eyes looked directly at George.

George shook his head. "We need to keep going. I've grown to trust our Moses, but I'm not so sure about anyone else."

Their leader shook his head. "Thank you for your trust, but you better try to control that cough. You don't need to betray the rest of the folks with your noise." He turned and led the group deeper into a forest where they made beds out of leaves for their rest.

Cold seeped through the thin layer of fallen leaves comprising their bed for most of the day. The brightly colored foliage did little to protect Early's side from the hard ground and from air temperatures reminiscent of winter in the South. Many green leaves still clung to the trees around them, providing shelter from any passersby. George's back against hers provided a little warmth. She hoped his temperature had lowered. As if sensing her need for heat, he rolled over and cuddled closer. His arm encircled her waist as he pulled the ratty blanket over both of them. Early tensed and then relaxed into the curve of his body, soaking in warmth from within and without. His soft snore told her that his actions were probably involuntary, but her imagination soared with hope that one day he would make a conscious choice to hold her in his arms.

For now, she found contentment as they snuggled close and tried to sleep. Exhaustion pushed her eyes closed until sounds of the woods startled her back to alertness. A distant howl followed by a closer one brought another chill to her body. Finally, the foggy day drew her mind into a drowsy state where her thoughts tossed about like a ship in a storm. How long could she bear to continue like this? Doubts and fears held her back from deeper sleep. Only the lingering warmth of George's arm kept her from thrashing about. The heat from his arm seemed even warmer than it had before. Determination gave Early the strength to make a decision George would not like.

She sat up and shook him awake. "We need help, George. You are sick and the nights have grown colder."

"But I don't want to be under anyone's control ever again." His cough echoed through the trees as he slowly stood with her help. Several in the group made shushing sounds.

"Do you think we can hide out here with you making all that noise" Early edged closer to whisper in his ear. "Aunt Matilda said there were helpers along the way if we looked for signs. The quilt on the gate of that last farmhouse we passed told me all I needed to know. Our leader even said good people lived there."

His shoulders slumped. "I don't know who to trust. I'm not even sure I have faith in myself to get us to freedom right now."

"Then trust in God. He's provided people willing to help us if you will give them and Him a chance."

"Help us both and let these people be part of your plan," Early added as she hoisted him back to his feet.

The temperature radiating from his arm indicated an infection. He needed attention inside a building, not under a tree in the woods. The group gathered round them, and they whispered prayers for their separate travels.

A short time later, Early and George watched as the last of their companions disappeared into the darkness. He leaned against her as they moved cautiously toward the house they'd passed earlier. A lantern with a blue shade sat in the front window, and the quilt she'd seen earlier gleamed in the starlit night where someone had draped it across a fence at the edge of the yard.

Her confidence wavered as she tapped on the door, which squeaked open to reveal a rosy-cheeked woman. Early quietly spoke the words Aunt had told her to use. "We are looking for a friend of a friend."

The woman ushered them into the cottage. "Thou hast found a friend, indeed. We welcome thee to our humble home. Our accommodations are simple and well hidden." The woman motioned them forward as her man lifted a door in the floor, revealing stairs into a cellar below.

George's much too warm hand clasped Early's shoulder as he slowly stepped forward.

Trust. Could she trust her life and George's to these strangers, who spoke words she had only heard in Missy's Bible?

"Thank you, folks." George's rasping voice shook his body as he staggered down the stairs and awkwardly fell onto a nest of straw, covered with an ancient patchwork quilt.

"I'll bring thee some broth before we close the trap door. There be a chamber pot in the corner for your needs." The mistress handed Early a flickering candle sitting in a metal candleholder. The scents of burning wax and the musty cellar filled the air.

The woman returned a few minutes later with two bowls of broth and a pitcher of tea. "Perhaps a sip of willow bark tea will help thy husband with his illness."

"Yes, ma'am. We appreciate your help." Early started to look down but decided to look into the woman's eyes instead. It seemed the right thing to do now that they were on their way to freedom.

"We do this for the Lord. Do you know Him?" The woman's kind expression seemed genuine.

"We do, ma'am." She hoped that held true for George. Surely his recent prayer had been sincere...

"Good. Then take thy rest." The older woman lifted more blankets off a shelf and offered them to Early before making her way up the stairway and closing the trapdoor above them. The scraping sound of something being moved over the trapdoor echoed across the cellar. A sliver of doubt passed through Early, but then she looked at the provisions and decided she had to trust.

Warmth from the soup filled Early's stomach as she alternately fed herself and helped George sip tea or broth.

He squeezed her hand and smiled weakly. "If I don't make it, at least you can lead a life free of Sidney. Promise me you'll keep going."

George slumped into a restless sleep. Early woke repeatedly to wipe his forehead with a damp cloth she kept moistened from fresh water in a porcelain wash basin.

For two days they hid and fought the fever until it began to lessen. Early reached for his still warm hand and they both fell into exhausted sleep.

HOURS LATER, EARLY blinked as the Quaker woman descended the stairs. A blinding shaft of light almost hid the slender child who stumbled after their hostess. The child stared down at her feet until the woman pulled her forward and guided her toward Early.

"There's sickness in these woods. Thy man has what took this child’s family to their graves. Might you consider taking her with you to freedom? She can't stay in this cellar forever. A child needs love and light from the outside."

The child trembled while the Quaker led her to a straw pallet on the other side of the room. "Rest here, child." She faced Early, "I can give her love, but I can't promise her a free life. She would wither like a plant in a drought if she stays in this dark cellar. Give it some thought. I won't bother thee again about this until thou art ready to move further north." The quiet woman nodded at both the child and Early before stepping lightly up the stairs and lowering the trap door into place.

Early stared at her sleeping husband. It seemed he had no plans for siring children. She turned her focus on the girl huddled on the pallet. Her eyes no longer faced the floor, but peered at Early. Candlelight reflected the child’s sorrowful features. A scar creased the side of her face. A solitary tear trickled down her cheek. Early stepped closer and opened her arms. Sobbing, the child threw her bony little body into the welcoming embrace. A waterfall of tears soaked Early's bodice.

Drawing on courage and determination, she said, "Child, would you like to be mine?" A nodding head provided the child's answer, but it was all Early needed.

George moaned as he rolled over, revealing droplets of sweat pouring from his brow. Praise the Lord, his fever continued to break. He’d soon discover he had a family, whether he liked it or not.

"What’s your name?" Early pulled the little one from her chest and held her hands.

"My name is Sheba. Ma said I was her queen." She brushed a hand across her damp face.

"You can be our queen now, Miss Sheba." A warmth filled Early's chest. She would know the joy of raising a child.

"I know, sweetheart. There are lots of folks I'm missing too. Maybe we will miss our folks together. Then we can make new friends when we get to Canaan land."

Sheba moved closer to Early. They snuggled together until sleep overtook them both, as they rested on the child’s pallet.

George rolled over and searched the darkness for Early. He still felt weak, but he could tell he had fought the worst of the raging battle that had wracked his body. He yearned to feel her warmth next to him. Hopefully he hadn’t given her whatever had waged war on his body. The soft whisper of someone slumbering across the room gave him hope that his Early slept nearby. He rolled over and fell into peaceful slumber.

Hours later, George stared at the two females cuddled up together like a couple of satisfied barn kittens. A tiny shaft of light from a crevice in the home's foundation illuminated their faces. Early stretched and pulled the girl closer. Humming an unrecognizable tune, her hand smoothed down mussed hair that must have tickled her nose. His wife had taken in a stray while he slept through his illness. He pushed up to a sitting position and felt his head swirl and then settle. Weakness filled his limbs. How long had he been ill? He didn't know, but his body told him to take his time with any movement.

He took a deep breath, resulting in a weak, but clear, cough. Thank the Lord for survival and for his kindhearted wife. A flood of peace filled him. He hadn't fully acknowledged the Lord in a long time. Too long. Thank You, Lord, for giving me Early. I don't know what I would do without her now that she is my wife. Vague memories of her rubbing down his feverish head trotted across his mind. She'd been there for him in his worst of times. Why wasn't she with him now?

"George! You're awake. Are you feeling better?" She pulled her covers over the child and crawled between the two pallets. "Praise be to God!" Her arms wrapped around George's shoulders and nearly knocked him over.

"You're right, Early. God has been watching over us. I've just been too muleheaded to submit to Him."

"I'm so happy for you George. Your prayers can now join mine as our little trio travels on from here."

"Yes, trio. Over there on that mat is our new daughter. She's mine, at least. If you know what's good for you, you'll claim her as yours, too."

His arms tightened around her and he started to laugh. His old self would have been arguing and fussing, but somehow he knew God had a hand in providing Early with the family she wanted. God provided when George had refused.

"You sure are one sassy little woman, my Early. I reckon I'll have to keep you and your daughter." Early relaxed against him and joined in his laughter. George pulled her closer. "Does our daughter have a name?"

TWO DAYS LATER, GEORGE watched Early and Sheba as they sat on the dirt floor, candlelight flickering across their sweet faces.

"This is how you spell your name, S-h-e-b-a." Early leaned over and scratched a series of swirls and lines across the packed ground.

"See those letters, Sheba? That's your name. If you can learn all twenty-six letters, then you can read."

"Won't we get in trouble for knowing how to read, Mama Early?" Sheba laced her fingers in her lap and looked longingly at the scribbles.

"Not where we are going. We will be free to read or write and no one will tell on us." Early smiled at the child and then turned hopeful eyes toward George.

George nodded. "That's right. We are going to the Promised Land. I want to learn to write my name too, so I can spell it by myself when we get there." He wrapped his arms around his girls. At first Sheba stiffened, but then she leaned closer to him.

Early began to scratch something new into the dirt floor. "This is the letter G."

Ginny flipped to near the end of the journal and was surprised to find Missy's notes, relating Early's adventures along the road. She twirled around the room in celebration. Jezebel bounced with her owner until she grew tired and rolled over for a belly rub.

"You make me happy, Jezebel. So does teaching someone how to read and write. I'm so glad Early learned that important skill and passed it on to her family." She gave the dog one more rub and turned her thoughts back to her project.

Ginny's studies of the pre-Civil War times had revealed that teaching an enslaved person to read could get both the teacher and the student into trouble. That fact twisted like a knife in her heart. Reading opened doors to knowledge and provided an escape from troubles.

She knew the thrill of teaching a child to read and write. Her first assignment had been in a kindergarten classroom. Seeing the proverbial light bulb sparkle to life in a child's mind as they discovered reading skills still sent a burst of exhilaration through her core. Though she taught fourth grade now, she often had the opportunity to offer struggling students some tactics to help improve their reading ability. Her thoughts skittered to her latest pupil.

The poor child had suffered from neglect and had scars from an abusive situation. The youngster had endured her own form of slavery from parents who punished her severely when she couldn't correctly do their difficult adult chores. Ginny's soul filled with delight when the child finished reading a book on her own. The young girl continued to blossom in her classroom, both mentally and physically. Her foster parents made sure she had plenty of support for her educational needs. They also provided healthy nourishment, which her once emaciated body needed.

Ginny turned to her computer and started typing. She finally knew what scene she would use to start her musical. The opening act would feature a little family on the run from slavery. Their journey north would bring them to a climactic escape through Woodson House.

We run north to follow our dream,

On a train which runs without steam.

Our conductor follows a star,

As we walk to a land that is far.

Canaan land is filling each heart,

With freedom's hope for a new start.

Each footstep brings us closer to home,

Free to go where we wish to roam.

No more pain from a master's whip,

No more scars when we fail or slip.

Every step we must undergo,

Takes us further from slavery's woe.

We are a family from this day on,

Through darkest night to hints of dawn,

We'll walk together and reach that land,

Where we'll find freedom in our hand.