Make sure nobody follows you and walks in your tracks, or you will die.

I slept again and woke to the sound of a purrin snore beside me. I reached out to smooth Bathsheba’s sleek fur, but my hands met tufts of wiry hair.

I weren’t in the barn with a sleepin dog. I were in the cellar, trapped, with the runaway girl who started up my problems. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d be back out in the garden pickin tomaters, or shovelin our cow Hildie’s dung out of the barn. Anythin would be better than where I were now.

I slowly pushed myself up, winced with pain, then touched my arm, my shoulder, and my wrist. “No bones stickin out anywhere,” I said aloud, “but I am right hurt.”

I couldn’t see the girl, but I felt the rough sack slip off as she rolled over.

“We best be gettin out of here afore them men come back,” she said. “Only the good Lord knows how long we been down here.”

We? “We best be gettin out of here”? Just what I needed. Not bad enough that I’m a mite smaller than most girls, and that my ugly red hair stands out like broom corn, but now look what I were stuck with—a tall, raggedy runaway slave girl who dragged trouble behind her like a tail. We’d stick out worse ’n chickens in Sunday dresses.

“Who says you’re goin anywhere nearst to where I’m goin?” I asked.

“You. You’s the one who say ‘what we gonna do.’ ”

I thought back on those words. I had said that. Maybe I were just plumb scairt at the time and not thinkin right, but here I were down in a cellar hole, all beat up, and talkin about runnin away with someone I’d never even seen till today.

“I don’t know where you gonna go,” I said quietly, “but I cain’t stay round for any more beatins from anyone. I have to run while I can, and I don’t need no one follerin me.”

Oh, I felt right sorry for that girl. I felt sorry down to my toes, but I’d gotten deep in trouble for her, and even though I knowed she’d lost everythin, well, I had to look out for myself now.

I bit down on my lip as I pushed myself up from the hard-packed dirt floor. Every inch of me hurt, but I couldn’t stop to think on that. I waited for a sound, any sound above me. Nothin moved, nothin creaked. I raised the trapdoor slightly and ducked my head as the sand from the floor sifted down and onto my hair. I pushed the door open wider, stepped up, and poked my head over the edge.

The last rosy light of the day made the cabin glow. I loved this time when I were home alone and all peaceful-like. I’d sit out on the porch steps when Pa and my brothers wasn’t around, maybe Bathsheba or Delia beside me, and watch the sun settin and listen to all them birds callin one to another as they found their way back to their homes.

From outside, I heard the shrill talkin of the nighthawks as they began to crisscross the sky above the clearin. Beanzz, beanzz, beanzz, they cried.

“Beans is right,” I said as I looked down at the girl. “We best be loadin up on food. Jerky, cracklins, whatever we can fit in these sacks easy-like.” I turned and stepped back down into the cellar.

She bent, picked up a bag, and began stuffin it with taters. “No,” I said. “Load it with jerky, cracklins, dried apple slices, apples, anythin you can carry easy, not them heavy taters.”

She nodded, dumped most of the taters on the floor, and reached for the meat.

I slowly loaded a bundle, then slipped on the shoulder sling I carry when I’m pickin apples. From the racks below the smoked ham, I gathered up some soup bones, a hunk of smoked ham, and a fat pig’s knuckle. I tied the sling closed as best I could with my hurt arm.

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.”