Promises to the Dead

by Mary Downing Hahn

  Downhill sounded better than uphill, but as soon as we started, I found I was wrong. The bedroll threw my balance off, and I was forever grabbing at bushes and trees to keep myself from tumbling straight down into the river. A whole new bunch of muscles came into play as well, and I began to ache in places I didn't know I had.

  Just when I thought I couldn't take another step, Hyacinth motioned me to stop. "You boys wait here," she whispered. "I'll tell them you're coming."

  In a trice, she'd disappeared into the trees, leaving Perry and me alone. He turned to me, his face a blur in the dark. "What if Mr. Baxter and the colonel come after us?" he whispered.

  "They won't do that," I blustered. "From the sounds of it, they was too busy funning themselves playing cards and drinking." But I found myself looking over my shoulder anyway, worrying about the colonel.

  "I wish I had Mama's knife," Perry said.

  I wished he did, too, but before I could say so, Hyacinth came creeping back so quiet she scared me half out of my skin. "Come along now," she whispered.

  We followed her into a thicket of brambles at the foot of a rocky cliff. The thorns scratched at my face like tiny claws, and I felt my shirt rip once or twice. When we got through the prickers, Hyacinth led us into a tiny hole that seemed a likely place for a fox den. It was the darkest place I'd ever been. I couldn't see nothing, not even Perry, who was just ahead of me. The air had a cold, damp edge to it, like a musty cellar. I imagined graves had a similar smell. I wriggled after Perry as fast I could go, getting his foot in my face more than once.

  All of a sudden we came around a bend and crawled out into a space as big as a church, lit by a small fire. I got to my feet and stared around me in wonder. I'd heard tell of caves, but I'd never seen one before, so I had no way of knowing whether this was special or just ordinary. The rock walls slanted up and up, higher than the firelight could show. Long pointed things like stone icicles hung down from somewhere above, and others grew up from the floor. Some met and formed pillars. The sight fair took my breath away. I felt like I'd come to another world hidden away underground.

  All at once someone coughed. A woman by the fire got to her feet. "It's him, isn't it?" she asked Hyacinth, but her eyes were on Perry. "Lydia's son."

  Hyacinth nudged Perry forward, but he'd gone shy on her. Like a little child, he clung to her skirt and stared at the woman.

  She was about Athena and Delia's age, I thought. Lean and pleasant-featured. No gray in her hair, no wrinkles in her skin. Despite her raggedy clothes, she was proud in the way she held herself. In fact, she put me in mind of Lydia standing there in the woods, tall and straight, her belly busting with that baby. I knew she just had to be Perry's granny.

  Reaching toward Perry, the woman said, "Come closer, boy. Let me get a better look at you."

  Hyacinth gave Perry a firmer nudge. "Go on," she said. "Can't you guess who that is?"

  Perry glanced at Hyacinth and then took a few steps toward the woman. "Did you know my mama?" he asked.

  Catching hold of Perry's hand, she drew him close. "Lydia was my daughter, darling, and you're my grandson."

  When he heard that, Perry flung his arms about the woman's neck. The two of them held each other tight.

  Watching them, I'm ashamed to say I felt a twinge of the same old jealousy I'd felt when Hyacinth made such a fuss over Perry. Nobody in this world loved me the way his granny and his auntie loved him, and that was a fact. Even considering what he'd gone through, it seemed he was luckier than I was.

  After a while Perry's granny looked at me. "Are you sure we can trust that white boy, Hyacinth?"

  "I told you, he brought Perry all this way," Hyacinth said. "He's risked his own life for the child, all on account of the promise he made to Lydia."

  Perry's granny came closer and studied me hard. I done my best to bear her scrutiny so she wouldn't think I had something to hide. Finally she said, "I hear you've made an enemy of Abednego Botfield."

  "He hates me on account I helped Perry and Lydia," I said. "The last time I saw him he told me he'd be my death."

  Perry's granny relaxed somewhat. "Let's hope Abednego's wrong about you," she said. "For I aim to be his death."

  A man stepped out of the shadows, a tall, spare fellow without any meat on his bones. "Maror," he said to Perry's granny, "shouldn't we eat and be on our way?"

  Without saying a word, a young woman joined him. Her dress hung raggedy from her thin shoulders. In her arms was a baby about a year old. They both had a weak and sickly look.

  The man put his arm around her and led her to the fire. "Sit and have your supper, Pearl. There's a long path ahead. You got to build your strength."

  While Hyacinth dished out the stew, I watched Perry's granny, Maror. She kept him close to her, sharing her food with him and fussing over him. Perry smiled and laughed, shedding his cares faster than a snake sheds its skin. Although things hadn't turned out quite as Lydia planned, I believed she'd be happy to see her son and her mama and her sister together.

  By the time we were ready to leave the cave, I'd learned the man's name was Thomas. He and Pearl had both come through the mountains from North Carolina with their baby. They'd met Maror in Virginia and joined up with her.

  "It's a little easier now," he told me. "White folks ain't got the time or inclination to chase every runaway slave like they used to."

  Instead of leaving through the tiny tunnel, Hyacinth led us out another way, lighting our path with a torch. We could stand up straight, but it scared me to be so far under the ground. Passageways led off this way and that, disappearing into the darkness. There was no telling what manner of beasts might be waiting around the next bend—wolves, bears, or even the colonel himself. Why, the gates of hell could be down one of those tunnels.

  At last we started turning upward. The tunnel shrunk in size, so we had to crawl again, slithering on our bellies like snakes. I glimpsed light ahead, just a glimmer of moon and stars shining over Hyacinth's shoulders. We came out on a ledge above the Potomac River. Never had I been so glad to see the night sky.

  "How far have we come?" I asked Hyacinth.

  "Baxter's place is five miles back, maybe more, maybe less." She pointed across the river. "We're aiming to come ashore in the woods above New Berlin and make our way west. There are some folks along the way who will help us, Quakers mainly, some Methodists. If we make it to Ohio we ought to be safe."

  Hyacinth led us down a winding trail, even steeper than the one we'd traveled before. It was so dark we had to feel our way along, slipping on loose stones every now and then and grabbing at bushes and roots. I was glad it was dark and I couldn't see how high up we were. Heights made me dizzy, and I feared falling.

  At the river's edge, Hyacinth told us to wait where we were. "A Quaker man lives up around the bend," she said. "Samuel's got a boat to take us across. I'll go fetch him."

  The rest of us huddled together in the dark. Maror kept Perry close to her side. Pearl cuddled the baby and tried to hush its whimpers. Thomas stood beside me, keeping watch. Nobody said a word. We just stood there, listening to the river gurgle and hoping nothing would go wrong.

  CHAPTER 15

  But, of course, things did go wrong. Not long after Hyacinth left, we heard horses' hooves on the rocks above us. A familiar voice shouted, "I tell you she must have come this way, seeking to cross the river."

  Perry grabbed my arm. "It's him, Jesse," he whispered, "it's the colonel coming after us."

  I done my best to hush him, for it seemed the men had stopped directly overhead. Thomas looked grim, and Pearl rocked the baby. Luckily for all of us, he seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

  "I can't think what got into the wench," Mr. Baxter said. "My brother never said a word about her being the sort to run off."

  "Don't worry, Cornelius," Colonel Botfield said. "We'll find her. She can't have gone far."

  A third man said something about wasting time pursuing one runaway slave, but neither Mr.
Baxter nor Colonel Botfield paid him any mind. It was clear they'd had way too much to drink and were wild to chase after anything that ran.

  In a second or two, they were off again. We listened to the horses' hooves, trying to figure which way they'd gone, but none of us could tell for sure.

  "Polly must have told after all," Perry whispered.

  "Maybe not," I said. "It could be they sent for Hyacinth to fetch them something. When they saw she was gone, they set out after her."

  Perry gave me a look that plainly said I was a fool to make excuses for a white girl. Could be he was right. If there was one thing I'd learned since leaving home, it was to doubt my own intelligence.

  Not long after the men rode away, a boat no bigger than a dinghy came floating quietly toward us, with a man at the oars and Hyacinth seated in the back.

  A few yards from shore, Samuel motioned to us. "I can't come any closer," he called softly. "The current's too swift."

  Holding tight to Perry's hand, Maror followed Thomas and Pearl into the river. I came last. Even though it was May, the water was cold. It wasn't quite waist-deep on me, but it was almost up to Perry's chest. The current tugged at my legs, threatening to pull them out from under me.

  Hyacinth leaned out and took Pearl's baby. Thomas boosted his wife into the boat and climbed in after her. I watched him haul Perry in like a fresh caught fish. Maror clambered over the side, weighed down by her skirt. Just as Thomas reached for me, a voice rang out from somewhere above us.

  "There she is—and she ain't alone! Stop them before they get across the river!"

  Colonel Abednego Botfield had caught up with me once again. A rifle sounded, but the shot went wide. It was still dark and the boat was moving, so I had every hope no one would be hit.

  "Hang on to the side," Thomas told me.

  The current was already catching the boat, moving it farther from shore. Samuel bent to the oars, and I clung to the side as tight as I could. All the time bullets whizzed past, buzzing like deadly wasps, and hissing into the water. It seemed I'd joined the war after all.

  Suddenly Samuel dropped the oars and slumped forward with a groan. Thomas grabbed for the oars, but they slipped out of the locks before he got them. With nobody to steer, the current carried the boat downstream, spinning this way and that like a child's toy.

  That's when I lost my grip on the side. The water carried me away, pulling me under and then spitting me out. I gasped and sputtered, kicking my feet and thrashing my arms, doing my best to swim. It was a skill I hadn't learned too good. Worse yet, I'd never tried it in water like this. Where I came from, the rivers moved slow and easy. I'd heard of rapids, but this was my first experience with them. I hoped I'd live to tell about it.

  Just when I thought I was done for, I managed to grab hold of a tree hanging over the water. It was all I could do to keep my grip, for the river was running fast and strong and I was weak with cold. Hanging on to the tree, I managed to pull myself along its trunk, hand over hand, till my feet touched bottom.

  Half drowned, I climbed out of the river and lay on the ground, breathing hard and shivering. My wet clothes chilled me through and through. I didn't have the gumption to get up. I just wanted to stay where I was. At least I was safe.

  But not for long. Somewhere in the trees, not far off, I heard men shouting, the colonel's voice amongst them. I pressed myself flat, and they galloped past not three feet away, so close the ground shook under the horses' hooves.

  "Most likely the boat'll hit the rocks up ahead," the colonel hollered. "I know I hit two of them, must have killed at least one."

  I got up real slow and followed the sounds of the men and horses along the river. What I was going to do I had no idea, but I hoped something would come to me.

  The woods thinned out ahead, and I ducked behind a tree to see what I could see. The sun was starting to come up behind a wall of thick gray clouds, bringing no warmth with it and not much light. I made out the shape of the boat in the water. Like the colonel predicted, it had run aground on the rocks close to shore. A dark figure slumped over the side, most likely Samuel, the Quaker man, clearly dead. The three women huddled together. Pearl held her baby tight, but I saw no sign of Perry or Thomas.

  "Where's the other man?" Colonel Botfield hollered at the women.

  "Dead," Maror answered. "The boat tipped, and he fell out."

  "I told you I got him." The colonel sounded mighty pleased with himself, but I felt sick.

  The big question was Perry. Could I have been right about Polly keeping her mouth shut? It had been dark when we piled into that boat. If the colonel hadn't known to look for Perry and me, most likely he wouldn't have spotted us. But that still didn't tell me where the boy was. Or even if he was alive. For all I knew I'd brought him all this way just to have him drown in the river. Thinking about it was enough to make me cry. But not now. Too much was happening.

  "Come on ashore, sweetheart," the colonel called to Maror. "It's a pure delight to see you again."

  Maror stopped, still ankle deep in water. "It's a pity I can't say the same of you, Abednego. I hoped you were dead and buried by now, down in hell swapping tales with the devil."

  "Oh, now," he said, "there's no need to talk so ugly, Susie."

  "I don't answer to that name anymore," Maror said. Without looking at him again, she took Hyacinth's hand and led her out of the water. Pearl followed, still hugging the baby to her breast.

  Undiscouraged, the colonel went right up to Maror and grinned that evil grin of his. "No matter what you call yourself, you'll always be Susie to me," he said.

  "Her name is Maror," Hyacinth put in, "to remind herself of the bitterness of slavery."

  "Is that right?" The colonel pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it. "Susie always did love her Bible stories."

  Still grinning, he said to Maror, "I hear you ran away from my old friend's plantation. Why don't I escort you back there? I swear you're just as pretty as ever, darling."

  She gave him a look so hateful it's a wonder he didn't catch fire and burn to ashes. "You lay one hand on me, Abednego, and I'll kill you."

  Colonel Botfield threw back his head and laughed. "Ain't she a peach, Lieutenant Colston?" he asked the Confederate. "I never met a wench with more spirit."

  The young lieutenant had been standing off to the side, watching the goings-on with a worried look. "I thought I was here to buy rifles," he said, "not to go chasing after slaves."

  "When I see valuable property getting into a boat, I figure it's my duty to stop them," Colonel Botfield said.

  "The rifles will keep, Colston," Mr. Baxter put in. "Neither you nor those Yankees across the river seem all that anxious to start shooting each other, anyways."

  The lieutenant put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle. "I don't have time to waste," he said. "Either we return to the house and continue the negotiations or I go back to camp. Baltimore's full of men willing to sell arms to us."

  "You'll have trouble finding rifles as good as ours," Colonel Botfield replied, just as cool as he could be. Seizing Maror's arm, he said. "Let's go, Susie. No more of your sass now. Enough's enough."

  At the same time, Mr. Baxter dragged Hyacinth from Maror's side. "Behave yourself," he said. "My brother won't take kindly to the news of your attempted escape."

  Hyacinth paid him no mind. While Pearl cowered at the river's edge, she and Maror fought those two men, kicking, slapping, and scratching. When the colonel hit Maror hard enough to knock her down, the lieutenant shook his head and turned his horse away. Nobody but me noticed he was leaving.

  Just as I was about to crash out of the bushes to help Maror and Hyacinth, gunshots rang out on all sides. It all happened so fast I could scarcely take it in. One minute, Mr. Baxter and the colonel were struggling with the women. The next, Mr. Baxter cried out and fell to the ground. Colonel Botfield let go of Maror and grabbed his rifle, but before he got a chance to shoot, he caught a bullet himself. Leavin
g Mr. Baxter where he'd fallen, the old devil flung himself on his horse and galloped off into the morning mist.

  At the same moment, the three women ran into the woods. Before I had a chance to join them, a passel of rebels came riding out of the trees with a passel of Yankees on their tails, shooting and yelling and full of murderous intent.

  The rebels came to a halt at the river's edge and took a stand in a grove of spindly willow trees. I glimpsed Lieutenant Colston among them. He must have ridden back to his men at just about the worst time he could have picked.

  Not ten feet from me, the Yankees charged out of the woods, still shooting and yelling. I was about to witness one of them skirmishes I'd been hearing about. But truth to tell, I didn't have the stomach for it. Instead of watching those men kill each other, I pressed myself flat against the cold ground and shut my eyes. But I couldn't stop my ears from hearing the cries and screams.

  I don't know how long the shooting went on—probably not near as long as it seemed—but when the gunfire stopped, I was scared to raise my head. I could hear Yankee voices, so I figured things had gone bad for the lieutenant and his men, which was a pity. He'd seemed a decent enough fellow.

  "We got three wounded rebels. What do we do with them?" a Yankee hollered.

  "Tie 'em up and bring 'em with us," the leader answered.

  "How about the dead?"

  "Bring ours. Leave theirs. We ain't got time to be burying any rebels."

  "How about the slave women?"

  I opened my eyes then and saw the Yankees had captured Maror, Hyacinth, and Pearl. The baby was wailing now, its reedy little voice rising above the moans and groans of the wounded men.

  "Take 'em along." The leader swung into his saddle and headed downstream.

  For once neither Maror nor Hyacinth had anything to say. They allowed the soldiers to hoist them on their horses and carry them away. I reckoned they were a heap better off with the Yankees than they would have been with the colonel and Mr. Cornelius Baxter. Most likely they thought so too.

  From my hiding place, I saw the last of the Yankees ride back into the woods. On the ground near me lay four dead men. One of them was Mr. Baxter, flat on his back, a look of surprise on his face.