Morning came to the forest. Drifting fragments of mist moved through the trees as the weary people rose from their mossy, damp beds. While they stood in silent, sleepy groups eating bread and apples, Alex beckoned them close. Keeping his voice low, he said, “We are farther along than we were yesterday, but each day we must be more cautious. We are now closer to the junction of the two rivers and to a cluster of small towns.”
Solomon lifted his head, saying, “During the night I hear all kinds of sounds. Dogs, cattle, even the sound of wagonwheels. It gives me fear. We are threat to them, they are threat to us.” He shrugged apologetically, “Some of the people can’t move fast, ’specially the chillen.”
Alex nodded, “We mustn’t take chances. We’ll walk only as long as it is safe. If necessary we’ll search for a hiding place and then I’ll walk into Paducah alone.”
His final words left Olivia trembling. She stared down at the bread in her hand and gulped. Impatiently Alex said, “Put it in your pocket, we’ve got to move out.”
Blinking tears from her eyes, she turned to follow Tandy and Maggie. This morning the children were quiet, stumbling along after the adults, content to cling to an apron string.
At mid-morning Alex gathered them around himself. “I calculate we’re close enough to the river. We need to head east now. Keep quiet, take to the bushes if you hear anything. About the middle of the afternoon I’m going to leave to scout out our location. Right now we’ll look for a likely spot, then I’ll leave you there.”
There were nods of approval. Olivia watched the slaves press together into a long compact line. Silently they turned east and began to walk. With only the snap of twigs and branches to give away their presence, they moved through the forest. As Olivia walked she pondered the strangeness she felt. Not only was the gloom of the forest oppressive, but the silence disturbed her. From earliest childhood, she couldn’t recall a group of black people surrounded in silence. Walking or working they always sang; now the songs were missing.
When they stopped to rest, the sun was overhead. Bright shafts of light sliced down through the pines. Squinting at the brightness Olivia felt strangely isolated, even vulnerable under the unexpected light. Tandy murmured, “Makes you wonder who’s watching.”
Alex walked among them, “Rest for now,” he said, “I have a feeling we’ll be pushing on until after nightfall.” He settled down close to Solomon and in a low voice said, “We are nearly out of food again. I don’t like being this close to people and not knowing what to expect. I think I’ll leave you here while I scout around.”
“Ought to take Ralph.”
There was silence and then Alex spoke slowly, “No, we were seen together yesterday. I’ll go alone.” Olivia watched him stride away. Turning she crawled into the shelter of a bush, stretched out, and fell asleep.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been sleeping when Tandy’s urgent voice penetrated her pleasant dreams. “Tandy, what is it?”
“Little Joe, where is he? His mama say he’s gone.”
Olivia sat up. “Surely he won’t wander off! Don’t worry.”
“Just the same, I’m going down by that creek, see if he’s there. Watch Sarah for me.”
With a nod, Olivia settled back. But in the midst of her second yawn, Olivia heard the straggled sound. With her heart pounding, she moved cautiously to part the bushes. A flash of blue caught her eye and she leaned forward. Down by the creek the color appeared again. It was Tandy running. A dark figure caught up with her. Olivia saw her struggling with a man. Once again she was free and running.
Olivia had taken one shaky breath of relief when she saw the dark figure kneel, and lift an object. A gun. His slow, careful aim allowed sharp sunlight to strike the barrel of the gun.
In the moment that Olivia tried to scream, she saw a second figure dashing toward the gun. But only for a moment. There was an explosion. The second figure seemed to pause in his stride. He fell and moved just once in a dark damp pool.
Olivia plunged down the path toward Tandy. She had her arms around her before she heard the thrashing and the guttural sounds. Olivia dropped her arms and they turned.
“There’s someone else!” Tandy shivered against Olivia as they watched the struggle. The gun was wrenched away. The newcomer whirled and flung the rifle as he rushed to the figure on the ground.
“Alex!” Olivia’s cry was a whisper. She heard his ragged breathing as he sagged over the man on the ground. Behind him the white man got to his feet and moved toward Alex. At that moment the bushes beside Alex exploded and a burly Negro crashed through. For one second the white man pawed for his gun, and then he turned and ran.
Still clinging to each other Tandy and Olivia approached. Alex was on his knees. They watched him turn the man over; blood covered the man’s chest. Alex looked up at Olivia with disbelief and said, “It’s Ralph. There’s nothing to feel. That man got him point blank.”
She could see the pain on his face but was powerless to do more than shake her head. Tandy flung herself to her knees. She looked up at Alex, her voice was ragged, faint as she slowly said, “He died for me and I didn’t even know him.”
Later the others crept out of the bushes and surrounded them. Finally Alex lifted his face, helplessly looking around the circle, saying, “We don’t have a shovel.”
Solomon stepped forward and tugged Alex to his feet. “We gotta hide him somehow. Let’s all us gather stones.”
As the men worked dusk deepened. Olivia, Tandy, and the other women pulled the children about them and watched.
Back and forth the men walked carrying stones from the stream.
At the point they began singing, their voices were so low and soft the rhythm struck the heart rather than the ears. Olivia wiped tears and listened to words as familiar as her Mississippi home. She heard, “‘I don’t care where you bury my body, Don’t care where…. O my little soul’s going to shine, shine…. All around the heav’n going to shine….’”
When the last stone had been placed and the song was finished, Olivia was left alone with the memories glittering out of the past. But as she visualized the sights and sounds, recalling faces that had previously filled her with joy, she began to see other faces. They were black ones, caught in unguarded moments, while their faces revealed wrenching pain and powerless anger.
With a sigh Olivia looked back at the group. Beyond the stones the people clustered around Alex. She moved closer and heard him say, “Father, in Your word we hear Jesus Christ say ‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.’ We take hope and comfort. Our brother Ralph is in Your presence now and we must go on without him. Please hallow this ground with Your protection until the day. Go with us as we travel.”
By unspoken but common consent they began to walk through the night, and it wasn’t until dawn had brightened the sky before them when they stopped on the edge of the cornfield.
Numb with fatigue they stared around. The forest had disappeared and cultivated fields spread before, beyond, and beside them. Solomon lifted a haggard face, “Suh, what we do now? There’s no place to hide.”
For a moment longer Alex stood with sagging shoulders. When he straightened, he pointed to the distant farmhouse. “That’s where I’m going. Get back into the trees and stay there until I come after you. If they aren’t friendly, it may be nightfall before I’m back. Stay together.”
Olivia watched him march straight across the fields and then she turned and followed the others.
But he quickly returned. Dawn was still pale and pink in the sky above the deeply shadowed earth when he came. He was grinning, “We have permission to sleep in the farmer’s barn today. Come along. Stick to the path along the ditch and don’t trample his crops.”
The farmer waited for them beside the open door. His eyes were curious and kind. He lifted the pail of freshly drawn water. “Mr. Duncan tells me that you aren’t hungry, just tired. Here’s a pail of good well water. You climb right up to the loft and have a long sleep. I’ll see if I can’t find a wagon going into Paducah this evening.”
The barn was filled with the sweet scent of new hay. As Olivia followed Tandy to the ladder, the farmer frowned. “I’m sorry to offer such accommodations to the missus,” he muttered, “Wouldn’t you and your wife rather come into the house to sleep?”
Olivia nearly smiled as she climbed the ladder, leaving Alex to answer the question. Later, cushioned in the hay, as she drifted off to sleep she could see Alex sitting beside the one small window.
****
It was dark when Alex came to awaken them. He carried a kettle of steaming food. “That sure smells good,” Andy said, making room for Alex in the hay.
He shook his head, “I’ve had some. Been talking with Mr. Stevens, and here’s what seems best. I’m going to borrow a horse and ride in to Paducah—it’s less than fifteen miles. I’ll have opportunity to check around for the Golden Awl. If it isn’t there, I can leave a message on the post box for Matthew.” He stood up. “So eat your supper and go back to sleep.”
The food tasted as good as it smelled, and after they had finished the meal, Olivia carried the kettle back to the farmhouse. The woman who met her at the door took the kettle and shoved a chair forward. “My man says the whole lot of you look chawed to the bone. Been a rough trip?” Hastily she added, “Now don’t you go giving us a speck of information. The Lord’s laid it on us to help as much as we can, but the information can make liars out of us.”
“Do you have that problem often?”
The woman nodded, “We’re mighty close to the river. People need to cross somewhere along. Naturally we know the route, what ferries will carry the cargo and what won’t.” She paused and peered at Olivia, “You and your mister are Southern. Kinda unusual to find tidewater people doin’ this type of activity.”
Olivia blinked and the woman grinned, “I know what you’re a thinking, we haven’t much to lose and you do. Well, we’re poor people, never had a slave. Could’ve used extra help over the years.”
She set a mug of coffee in front of Olivia and added, “It’s always rankled us to see the black folk mistreated. And the worst is seeing they don’t get a chance to learn, to go to school. When our young’uns were little there was always a few darky children hanging around, neglected because their mamas were in the fields picking cotton. I’d feed them a biscuit, but the thing they most liked to do was to see a picture book and have someone point out the letters.”