Promises to the Dead

by Mary Downing Hahn

  At that moment, we heard Lydia cry out from the darkness. Miss Sally picked up her feet fast and hastened toward the sound, leaving me to chase after her as best I could.

  Lydia sat where I'd left her, leaning against the tree. In the lantern light, she looked even more sick and feverish than before. Perry crouched beside her, his face full of fear and worry.

  Miss Sally dropped to her knees beside Lydia. "How close are the pains, my dear?"

  "Just a few minutes apart, maybe less." Lydia moaned as another wave took a hold of her body.

  The old woman sucked in her breath and thrust the lantern at me. "Hold this, Jesse."

  "But, Miss Sally," I said. "I done my part by bringing you here. I got to go home now. My uncle—"

  Miss Sally fixed me with her sharp eyes. "You ain't going nowhere, Jesse Sherman. I can't do this all by myself."

  I could see the old lady's mind was made up. No amount of arguing would get me free. Though my knees were weak and my belly was queasy, I done as she asked and held the lantern. Its light flickered on the ground and the bushes, giving everything the look of a stage lit by candles. But what was about to happen was no play. And I had no wish to see it.

  Perry stood back, too. I reckoned he was scared, and I couldn't blame him. My mama had died birthing a baby. A little sister it would have been, but she'd died, too. Never opened her eyes to this world. From the womb to the tomb, I'd heard someone say, with no earthly life in between.

  Then, just a few months later, my dear daddy died of pneumonia, and I found myself an orphan with nowhere to go but Uncle Philemon's tumbledown plantation house. Now it seemed Perry might soon be in the same plight. But it would be worse for him. If something happened to his mama, he wouldn't have no Uncle Philemon to take him, no shelter, no nothing. It didn't bear thinking about.

  When Lydia started screaming, Miss Sally done her best to calm her with talk of how it would be better soon, but the old woman kept praying and calling on God. That struck me as a bad sign. It seemed to me the Lord was often listening to someone else's prayers when you needed Him most.

  "Hold that lantern steady, Jesse!" Miss Sally shouted. "How do you expect me to see what I'm doing?"

  "I didn't mean to swing it," I said. "I just never seen, I mean I, I..."

  Miss Sally gave me such a look I hushed and did my best to keep my hands from shaking. But it was true. Before now, I'd only had a dim notion of the pain a woman suffered bringing a baby into the world. When Mama died, I'd been on the back porch with my daddy. I hadn't been right there in the room with her, seeing as well as hearing.

  The next time Lydia screamed, Perry commenced to cry. Shoving me out of the way, he ran to his mother's side and flung himself on her. "Mama, Mama," he wept.

  Lydia pushed him away and Miss Sally grabbed him. "Set the lantern on the ground, Jesse, and take this child somewhere."

  "No, no," Perry wailed. "I want to stay with Mama."

  I knew how he felt, but, sorry as I was for him, I dragged him off into the woods. I had to fight him every step of the way. If he'd been any bigger, I doubt I could have kept him from going back to his mother.

  At the edge of the marsh, Perry turned to me, sagging like the fight had gone clear out of him. "Mama won't die, will she?"

  The tall grass blew in the wind, making the saddest sound I ever heard. "Miss Sally will do her best to save your mama," I said, "but..."

  "But what?"

  I looked at Perry then. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he was shivering. Never had I seen a child so miserable. Instead of telling him about my own mama, I choked the words off with a shrug. "I don't know," I said, feeling every bit as bad as he did.

  Perry picked up a stone and threw it into the marsh. He picked up another and threw it even farther. I joined in. Stone after stone splashed into the water. We didn't say a word—just threw those stones as if somebody was paying us to do it.

  At long last Miss Sally called us. Perry hurled one more stone and followed me back to the tree. In the lantern's light, I saw Lydia lying on the cold ground, holding a tiny baby. Miss Sally knelt beside her. All around them were the dark woods. Rain dripped and gurgled and splashed down through the trees. There was no other sound. It reminded me of the Christmas pageant at church, where people pose as the Virgin Mary and the shepherds and angels and never move nor speak. Only there was just Mary and the baby in this scene.

  Before I could stop him, Perry ran to Lydia. He didn't so much as look at the baby. "Mama, Mama," he cried, throwing himself down beside her.

  I grabbed Miss Sally's hand. "The baby," I whispered. "Is it ... Is it..." Somehow I couldn't bring myself to say what I feared.

  The old woman sighed and put her arm around me. "Stillborn," she whispered. "There was nothing I could do, nothing at all. The dear little girl's safe with our Lord now."

  Sad as the news was, it didn't surprise me none. In this world, more babies died than lived. "How about Lydia?"

  "Worn out," Miss Sally said slowly, "and sick with fever. Worse yet, she's bleeding so bad I'm afraid to move her."

  "Don't let her die," I begged. "Oh, please, Miss Sally. I can't bear no more people dying."

  "It's up to the good Lord now," Miss Sally said. "I've done all I can, Jesse."

  Her words didn't comfort me. As far as I could tell, the sight of people dying didn't bother the Lord nearly as much as it bothered me. Maybe He was used to it. After all, folks had been dying in one way or another since Adam and Eve ate that fool apple and brought sin and death into the world.

  Perry huddled beside his mother, talking low and stroking her face, but I squatted under a tree and watched Miss Sally pace back and forth, praying to Jesus to spare Lydia.

  Suddenly Lydia reached up and grabbed Miss Sally's skirt, pulled her close, and whispered to her. Miss Sally straightened up and beckoned to me. "Jesse, come here. Lydia wants to ask you something."

  I crouched down beside Lydia, keeping my eyes away from that baby but seeing it anyway, pale and waxy and stiller than stone. Its eyes were closed, but I felt it was watching me somehow, waiting to see what I'd do and hear what I'd say.

  Lydia grasped my hand. Her skin was so hot it burned my flesh, but I didn't pull away. I let her draw me closer till I was looking straight into her eyes. "I was bound for Baltimore City," she whispered, "to see Peregrine's sister, Miss Polly Baxter." She paused a moment to catch her breath, but her grip on me didn't loosen. "If something happens to me, can I count on you to take Perry to her?"

  "You told me to fetch Miss Sally and then I could go my way," I objected. "Surely you can't expect me to take a runaway slave child all the way to Baltimore. Why, that's just crazy. I—"

  Perry shoved me aside and crouched close to his mama. "I won't go without you, Mama. Not with that boy, not with anyone! I'm staying right here with you, even if, even if..." His voice trailed away and his eyes filled with tears.

  I knew his meaning. If Lydia died, he'd lie down and die, too. I'd tried that myself the night Mama died. But here I was, skinny and small for my age but still alive. And likely to stay that way if I kept close to home. Traipsing off to Baltimore like some cussed abolitionist was bound to shorten my life.

  "Please, Perry," Lydia whispered. "Polly is my dear friend, as close to me as a sister. She'll love you just as she loved Peregrine. You're so like your father."

  "What if she doesn't want me?" he cried. "She doesn't know about me. You never told her—"

  "Hush." Lydia pulled at a chain around her neck till it broke. Pressing a silver locket into Perry's hands, she said, "Give Polly this."

  Perry opened the little heart. Inside were two paintings no bigger than my thumbnail. One was of Mr. Peregrine Baxter and the other was of Lydia.

  "You see?" Lydia whispered. "When you show Polly that, she'll know her brother loved us."

  Lydia turned to me. "Jesse, give me your solemn word you'll take Perry to Miss Polly Baxter, number 115 West Monument Street."

  "But
Lydia—" I began.

  "Please help my son," Lydia said. "If you refuse, what will become of him?"

  Well, the answer to that was simple enough. The child would no doubt fall into the colonel's hands and end up at Slattery's, where he'd most likely die of disease. How could I bear such a thing on my conscience? Though it meant breaking the law, I heard myself promise to take Perry to Baltimore City, a place I'd never been and knew nothing about except it was a half day's journey up the Bay and full of corruption of every sort. At least that's what Uncle Philemon said. He went there once, lost a great sum of money in a card game, and came home with bilious complaints.

  Lydia smiled. "I knew you were a good boy, Jesse." Taking Perry's hand, she joined it with mine. "I trust you both to help each other," she murmured. "And to become friends."

  Perry and I looked at each other but said nothing. It was clear he didn't wish to be friends with me any more than I wished to be friends with him.

  Lydia let our hands go and lay back, her face peaceful. "Come closer, Perry. Keep me warm. I'm so cold, so weary."

  Miss Sally touched my shoulder. "Let Lydia rest now, Jesse. But stay nearby in case I need you."

  I huddled under a tree all by myself and fretted about the promise I'd just made. It seemed I'd gotten myself into a terrible fix. All that would save me was Lydia. If she lived, she'd take Perry to Miss Polly Baxter herself, and I'd be free to stay on the shore, hunting turtles and such for my uncle as if none of this had happened.

  But if she died, I'd be forced to keep my word. A promise given to the dead is a sacred thing. Break it, and I'd never have a moment's peace. Lydia would haunt me forever, following me wherever I went.

  A long time passed. The rain stopped once and started up again. The wind rose and fell. Down in the marsh, spring peepers made a glad noise, which seemed out of keeping with things. I wished they'd hush.

  At last Miss Sally came to me, her face full of sorrow, and told me Lydia was dead. My heart filled with sadness for her and Perry and the poor little baby that never took a breath of air. While Miss Sally rocked Perry in her arms, trying to hush his sobs, I shed a few tears of my own for Lydia and Mama both.

  After a while, Miss Sally came to me again and whispered, "Go back to my house, Jesse, and fetch two shovels from the shed. And bring the quilt from my bed to wrap her in. The white one with the wedding ring pattern. It's my very best."

  I stared at Miss Sally, shocked. "Surely we ain't burying Lydia out here in the woods?"

  "What else can we do, Jesse? We've got to hide her from the colonel. He'll be back to my house, like as not, nosing around, doing his best to put me in the jail house."

  "But you're the best midwife in these parts and the best healer, too. Why would the colonel want to lock you up?"

  Miss Sally looked me hard in the eye. "Nobody's proved it yet, but folks suspicion I've been helping fugitives go north for some years now. You know how slave owners feel about aiding and abetting."

  I was speechless. All this time I'd thought Miss Sally was just an old Methodist lady who birthed babies and treated the ill and prayed hard for the dying. I'd never dreamed she was helping runaways.

  "Go on now, Jesse," Miss Sally begged, "and, for the Lord's sake, keep your mouth shut when you go home. If Philemon gets wind of this, you know what will happen."

  She meant the old man couldn't keep a thing to himself, especially after he'd had a few whiskies at the tavern.

  "I won't say nothing," I promised. And how could I? I'd broken the law myself tonight, starting when I went for Miss Sally instead of the sheriff. Worse yet, I was likely to continue my life of crime till I was rid of Perry.

  So I done what she asked and set out for her house with a heart full of misgivings.

  CHAPTER 3

  Just as I neared Miss Sally's place, a horseman came riding toward me, going slow, as if he was looking for something. Or someone. I tried to hide behind a tree, but Colonel Abednego Botfield was as sharp-eyed as an owl in pursuit of a mouse.

  "Hey there, Jesse," he called softly. "What keeps you out so late on a rainy night? You got a sweetheart already?"

  "I been hunting turtles, sir." Dry mouthed with fright, I scuttled past him as fast as a crab heading for deep water. "Missed my way in the marsh. Now I got to hurry. Uncle Philemon's bound to be looking for me."

  "Slow down a second and let me ask you a question." Colonel Botfield blocked my way with his horse, a big bay with eyes as mean as his owner's.

  I figured the bay would just as soon step on me as not, so I came to a stop and peered up at Colonel Botfield. I kept a good distance between us in case he made a grab for me. His slouch hat dipped low over his face, shadowing every feature except his mustache, so it was hard to tell what he aimed to do.

  "I'm looking for the wench that ran off from the Widow Baxter," he said. "Name of Lydia. Light-complected, big bellied with child, had a boy with her. Pretty but insolent in her manner. You seen her? My niece wants her back real bad."

  "No, sir," I whispered. "I ain't met a soul all day."

  Colonel Botfield spat through his teeth into the mud at my feet. "You sure about that, Jesse? You wouldn't lie to me, would you, boy?"

  "Hiding a runaway slave's against the law, sir."

  Colonel Botfield pulled out a cigar. The flare from his match lit a face I'd have preferred not to see. "There's a reward for the wench and the boy both. Valuable property, you know. With or without your help, I reckon I'll track her down."

  He studied my face, his eyes narrowed to slits. "No runaways escape Abednego Botfield," he said. "Not when he sets his mind on catching 'em."

  I stood there in the road, my knees knocking, almost too scared to breathe. Cold rain trickled down the back of my neck. The wind blew through my damp jacket and trousers. I'd have given anything to be home safe in bed.

  Keeping his eyes on me, Colonel Botfield nudged the horse. "Step on, sir." The big bay obeyed at once. No doubt he'd known the feel of his owner's whip many a time.

  "You be sure and tell me if you see the woman," Colonel Botfield called back. "If I'm feeling generous, I might give you a nickel for the information—if it leads to her capture, that is."

  He turned then and rode off into the rain. I wanted to holler after him he'd never find Lydia. Never, never, never. She was far beyond his reach or anyone else's. But I kept my mouth shut and let him go, glad to see his back.

  When I was sure the man was really and truly gone, I slipped through Miss Sally's garden, found the shovels in her shed, grabbed the quilt off her bed, and sneaked back into the woods.

  Perry and Miss Sally were sheltered under the tree where I'd left them. Despite everything, the poor boy had fallen fast asleep, his head on his mother's breast, his arms holding her tight.

  "Where have you been, Jesse?" Miss Sally asked. "This child should be in a warm, dry bed. I fear he's sickening from fever himself."

  "I ran smack into Colonel Abednego Botfield," I answered. "He held me up with a heap of questions about Lydia and Perry. He wants them real bad. There's a big reward and he aims to collect it."

  Miss Sally clenched her fists. "May heaven protect us from that godless villain," she prayed. Then, taking one shovel, she led me away from Perry and Lydia.

  "While you were gone, I found a good place under that pine over there," she told me. "The ground seems easy to dig. And it's out of sight of the path."

  After that, we didn't say much. Just dug and dug, making the hole long and narrow, deeper and deeper. Dirt turned to mud, slipping and sliding back into the hole. Roots snagged our shovels, but we kept at it. It wouldn't do for Lydia to be found by a fox or a wild pig. Or Colonel Abednego Botfield's dogs. We wanted her and that poor little baby to sleep undisturbed.

  Behind us we heard Perry crying. It was the saddest, loneliest sound I'd ever heard. Worse than wind blowing through bare trees, worse than an owl hooting deep in the woods on a rainy night, worse than a hound howling at the moon.

&nbs
p; "I'd best go to him," Miss Sally said. "I need to prepare Lydia's body for burial, too."

  I leaned on my shovel and watched her walk off through the trees. She was a right spry old lady. Too bad Uncle Philemon didn't have her grit. Why, if he'd tried to help me shovel, I'd have ended up burying him as well as Lydia.

  When I judged the grave to be deep enough, I went to tell Miss Sally. While I'd been digging, she'd wrapped Lydia and the baby in the quilt. It came to me the old woman might have begun that quilt when she was a girl, still hoping to marry. Back in those long-ago days, she'd never have guessed what use she'd finally put it to. It fair gave me the shivers to think such thoughts.

  Miss Sally put her hand on Perry's shoulder. "It's time to say good-bye to your mother," she said softly. "I know it's hard, but you must be brave, Perry. It's what your mama would want of you."

  Perry jerked away from her. "You're not burying my mama in these woods!" he declared. "I won't let you!"

  Miss Sally took his arm again. "Perry, darling, it's the only way to keep her from being found."

  He shook his head, his eyes running over with misery. "It's raining and the ground's muddy and cold," he sobbed. "She'll be all alone. She'll think nobody loves her."

  "Please, Perry," Miss Sally begged. "Your mama wants you to be safe. She don't want you taking sick here in the woods."

  It took a powerful heap of coaxing, but at last Perry allowed Miss Sally and me to carry Lydia's body to the grave we'd dug. He walked along beside us, keeping one hand on his mama.

  The hole was already filling with water, seeping up from the marshy ground. I didn't want to put Lydia and her baby down there any more than Perry did.

  "How are we going to do it?" I asked Miss Sally. "At church they lower the coffin on ropes, but we ain't got a coffin or a rope."

  Miss Sally sighed and picked up one end of the bundle. With a heavy heart, I took the other end. There just wasn't no proper way to do what had to be done. Slowly we eased our burden over the edge and let it fall with a terrible splash into the muddy water at the bottom.