CHAPTER 15

Priss is back. Her face is sooty and sad. There are clean streaks where tears have run down her cheeks. I suppose she’s got bad news about the Millers. She’s preparing a supper of beet soup, bread, and a bit of cheese. We all eat together at the table, and even though so many bad things have happened, it’s nice to look around at all the people I love right here in one room. Even Fob sits there, nose poised on the corner of the table.

We finish, and Eustace settles Ruby into Father’s old study, which Priss has converted into a place for Ruby to stay. I talk to Priss.

“The Millers were killed last night,” she says. “Burned in their beds.” Priss stares off. “They were found like that, together, as if they had simply fallen asleep.”

I cross my arms over my chest and squeeze myself. “Thank goodness,” I say, “they were probably killed by the smoke before the flames got them.”

“Thank the Lord,” says Priss.

She’s always saying things like that, about God. Mother was that way, too, before she stopped talking. I’m not sure if Priss means she’s thankful to God or if she simply uses it as an expression. One nice thing about religion is that it can help a girl deal with bad things, like death. If you believe in a religion, you might feel like you’ll get to see all those dead people again someday. Father never subscribed to religion, and I don’t, either. I trust in science. But even I have to admit that the science of death, the idea that death is forever, is difficult to believe all the way. I sure would like it if science had a way to prove that I could see my father again someday. But there’s no evidence to suggest that I’ll ever see him or the Millers again.

But then I’m startled by a thought. “Are Ruby and Eustace going to be free, then?”

“No,” Priss says. “Probably not. I heard that the Jessups have already sent word to Mr. Miller’s brother in Missouri to come and collect his property.”

“What?” My face flushes with anger and fear. I can’t let my best friend get moved away from me to go and be a slave somewhere else. “So Eustace is going to have to go to Missouri?”

“I’m not sure,” says Priss. “But that is the way slavery works, Lu.”

“Did you see Captain Greeney?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “I don’t think so, I mean. There were a lot of men putting out fires and collecting the dead for burial. It’ll take a day or two, probably.”

Urgency hits me. “We can’t sit here and wait for the Missourians to come get Eustace. And we can’t sit here and wait for Captain Greeney to come back for the Medicine Head.” I’m prepared for her to change her mind and to turn motherly like she sometimes does when she remembers she’s older than me, but she doesn’t.

“I agree” is what she says. “I can tell you’ve got a plan, Hallelujah. And I’m not going to stop you.” She folds a napkin in her lap. Then she looks up at me. Her eyes are wet but soft. “How long will you be gone, and what should I do if Greeney comes back before you do?”

I look to Father’s rifle above the mantel. Priss knows what I am thinking. But I know Priss would never hurt anyone.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be away,” I say. “A long time. Remember Father’s voyages to the Southern Ocean?”

She nods.

“Long as that, I guess,” I say. “As for Captain Greeney, I don’t think he’ll come here. I think he’ll be after me.” I remember the way Captain Greeney knew the Medicine Head was in that crate during the fire. It calls to him, too.

Just then Ruby comes in, and Eustace and Fob follow behind her. Eustace has a guilty, low-eyed look about him. He told his mother everything, it seems. I know he’s embarrassed about it, as though he thinks I’ll think he’s a big tattletale or a big baby. I do often think those things, but tonight I don’t care.

“I’ll take care of business here, Hallelujah Wonder,” Ruby says. “I know what’s going on, and I’m not gonna let anyone hurt Mrs. Wonder or Priss long as I’m here.”

Knowing there’s an adult here to help with Mother makes me feel better about leaving Priss.

“And I know those Missouri folks you’re talking about,” she adds, “and I’m not letting my boy go there.” She sits down at the table and groans in pain. She slides the rising bread dough to her and kneads her hands into it. She pulls and hits and folds it.

“You two go on,” she says. “Get him out of this crazy place with all these crazy people running around, killing each other, and burning everything down. Don’t worry about us.” She beats the bread. Her eyes get squinty, and I can see they are full of tears. The tears that have been shed today could water all the crops in Kansas.

“Ruby?” I say. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Ma,” says Eustace, “are you sure? Will you be all right?”

“Eustace could get killed here,” Ruby says. “Or he could be sold away from me tomorrow or the next day. I know these people of the Millers. I know what they’re like.” She pounds the dough, then pulls it, then folds it. “They’re not like the dead masters. They don’t have a kind bone in their body.” She flours the table and slaps the dough on top of the flour. She shakes more flour on top of the dough. “I’ll be fine,” she says. “They won’t want me. I’m too old. Knees don’t work. Eyes going bad. Eat like a horse. I’d be more trouble to them than I’m worth. But my Eustace? My big, strong, good boy, Eustace?” Her top lip starts to curl up and her breaths get shorter. “They’d take Eustace and work him to death or make it so I never hear of him again, like my other boys.” Then she heaves and cries full on. Mother emerges from the other room, stands in the doorway, and leans against it. She’s been up and listening. Her eyes are glossy and her cheeks are splotched with red, the way they used to get when she’d cry.

Ruby looks at Mother in the doorway. “All those sweet sons,” Ruby says, “the child one and the half-grown one and the grown one. All gone.” She moans and wails for herself and for Mother, too. She goes back to pounding the dough.

Mother shuffles toward Ruby very slowly with one arm reached out before her and the other at her chest with a closed fist, the way she used to hold it when her own boys passed, in a way that seems to put a weight on the place where the baby boys once rested their heads. Then Mother puts a frail, skeletal hand on Ruby’s shoulder and squeezes.

Ruby keeps beating the bread dough but chokes and sobs like no one’s watching. I can’t look away.