After he’d rested maybe half an hour, it was time to go. If he was going to climb the mountain wall, he might as well go ahead and do it early in the day. He washed the knife and washed his hands and placed the matches in his pocket. And he started following the creek deeper into the side of the mountain.
Around the next bend he came to a waterfall leaping off a rock shelf twenty feet above the pool. There was no choice but to climb up the steep side of the hollow, through ferns and spray from the falls, pulling himself up on roots and rocks, bushes and saplings. When he reached the shelf where the waterfall milked over the rim, he saw the cliffs far above. To reach the top he’d have to climb between the cliffs, crawling on hands and knees through laurels, looking out for snakes and stingworms on logs. As Jonah began to climb through briars and vines, he saw there was no secret to the labor of climbing but to go slow. Rising a foot at a time, one step at a time, he could mount to the summit, picking a way among rocks and brush. It would take him much of the day to get across.
Four
Jonah
Once Jonah reached the top of the ridge, he stepped out on a jutting cliff and looked to the north. A wide valley spread as far as he could see, to the chains of higher mountains to the west and north and east. The floor of the valley below was almost completely flat. The faraway mountains appeared to float in blue-white haze, and the air above the valley seemed to have smoke in it, the smoke of heat and full summer. Directly below the ridge where he stood stretched a wide pine woods, with clearings here and there and roofs of big houses and a church that looked as if it came from another country, a church of pink stone with a tower, sitting on a rise.
Jonah turned and walked out the ridge until he found a trail, which he followed down the steep north side. The path switched back and forth among boulders and trees, always going down, and Jonah felt the fish in his belly gave him strength. He jumped from foothold to foothold, swinging around saplings, banking off of boulders. It didn’t take long to reach the valley floor.
There at the head of a creek valley he saw the first house. It was a long three-story dwelling with porches across the front, the biggest house he’d ever seen. The walls were painted blinding white. The big house had barns and outbuildings, slave quarters, and a woodshed behind it. A black woman was cooking over an open fire outside the summer kitchen. A large dog barked from a pen near the barn. Jonah stepped back into the woods and skirted the field and pasture that flanked the mansion. When he saw two more big white houses farther down the valley, he guessed he must have reached Flat Rock. Only Flat Rock would have such fine mansions deep in the mountains. He tried to recall the name of the family Mrs. Williams and Betsy and Johnny were visiting, but he couldn’t. He knew Mrs. Williams had mentioned where they were going, to visit her sister, but he’d forgotten the name.
He picked his way carefully along the edge of the farthest outlying fields, his goal being to go around Flat Rock. Word of his escape might have already reached the community there. A man and woman on horses galloped near him, and he crouched in the ragweeds until they were past. As he walked on, Jonah heard voices and the clopping of more horses. When he reached the pine woods he could move faster, for there was little undergrowth or brush beneath the tall pines. He heard the creak of a wagon and the rumble of carriage wheels on gravel, and soon a road came into view. Two men on horses passed, and then a cart pulled by oxen. Jonah backed out of sight behind a large pine tree and watched.
Farther down the road another white house rose among pine trees. Its lawn was wide, and boxwoods lined the driveway up to the front porch. Flower gardens and trellises with vines decorated the yard. A white statue stood in an open space beyond the end of the porch. It was the fanciest yard Jonah had ever seen, and he knew that black men must have worked a thousand hours to make it that way.
In the other direction, going north, Jonah saw what looked like a store across the road from another larger mansion. No buggies were stopped in front of the store, but a horse was tied to the railing beside the entrance. As dangerous as it might be to go into the store, Jonah figured he’d have no better chance to get a few things he needed. He had to have a pencil and paper to write notes to use in other stores, and he needed bread or crackers. He also needed fishhooks, and, of course, shoes for the long walk ahead.
When a carriage drove by, Jonah stepped into the ditch and let it go past. He bowed to the white folks in the carriage as Mr. Williams had taught him to do. He wanted to show good manners and not call attention to himself. White people would hardly notice a Negro who was humble and good-mannered. After the carriage passed, he walked slowly with his head down. A slave was never supposed to hurry, or hold his head too high. He needed to pass through in such a way that white folks wouldn’t remember he’d been there. As Jonah approached the store, a man came out the front door and mounted the horse tied there. When Jonah got closer the man said, “Can’t you see the store is closed—it’s Sunday.”
Jonah’s face grew hot. He’d lost track of the days of the week.
“Massa done told me to get him a tablet,” Jonah said, like he was ashamed and afraid.
“Who told you?” the man on horseback said.
“Massa Charles,” Jonah said. “He say git him a tablet so he can write he letters, sir.”
“Why would he want paper on a Sunday?” the mounted man said.
“He say get him a tablet, all I know,” Jonah said and shrugged his shoulders.
The man swung off the horse and tied the reins to the rail. He took a key from his pocket and opened the door. Jonah followed him into the shadowy store, trying to seem as though he was used to going there. The place smelled of leather and coffee. The man stepped behind the counter and pulled a writing tablet from the shelf. It was pretty, light-blue paper.
“Will that be all?” the storekeeper said.
“Massa Charles say he need a pencil, too,” Jonah said.
“Why would he need a pencil if he writes with a pen?” the man said. The storekeeper took a green pencil from a box and laid it beside the tablet on the counter. “Now you get out of here,” he said.
Jonah had thought he might ask for fishhooks and more matches, a loaf of bread, maybe even some shoes. And he was going to reach into his pocket for the coins, but he saw the storekeeper write something in his account book, charging the tablet and pencil to someone named Charles. If he asked for fishhooks or shoes on a Sunday, it would indeed look suspicious.
“Thank you, sir,” Jonah said.
“You tell Charles we don’t do business on Sundays,” the man said.
“Yes, sir, yes, sir, I tells him,” Jonah said and bowed.
Once he got outside, Jonah turned back south, the way he’d come. He knew it would look odd if he continued north. The storekeeper locked the building, mounted the horse, and rode north, and soon as he was out of sight Jonah turned in his tracks and followed him. He put the pencil in his pocket and the tablet inside his shirt. It wouldn’t look right if he was seen walking along the road with a tablet of fresh blue paper. That was not the kind of thing a slave would carry on a Sunday morning.
Jonah followed the Turnpike over a low hill and saw another store on the right. It was smaller than the first, and had UNITED STATES POST OFFICE written over the door. A number of posters and handbills had been tacked to the wall beside the door. Jonah stepped out of the road to glance at the posters. One described a convict who’d escaped from prison in Asheville. Another offered a reward for a horse that had been stolen. And then Jonah saw his name on a handbill. RUNAWAY SLAVE JONAH WILLIAMS, the sheet said. There was a rough sketch of his face, and he was described as five feet eleven inches. A reward of one hundred dollars was offered for his return.
Jonah felt his heart race as he tore the poster from the wall and walked away from the little post office. He was worth a hundred dollars to anybody who caught him. Mr. Williams was willing to pay that much to get him back to whip and brand him. The poster in his hand took some of the str
ength out of Jonah’s chest and legs. He grew tired as he crossed another hill and came down into a deep valley. He had to get off the Turnpike soon. If there was one poster there would be others at stores and post offices along the way. Maybe even some nailed to trees, for Mr. Williams would guess he’d gone north. As soon as he came to a side road Jonah would take that. He’d follow the mountain chain and he’d stay far from turnpikes and towns after this.
Jonah saw a pink church ahead to his left. Carriages and buggies and carts were parked in the yard, and saddle horses were tied to the trees outside. A crowd clustered outside the door. Jonah climbed the bank into some hemlock trees to get a better look. He’d been startled to see his name on the poster, and he was startled again to see Mrs. Williams among the crowd entering the church. Mrs. Williams wore a blue hat with a bright blue dress and a light blue shawl. Betsy and Johnny stood on either side of her. They almost certainly knew by now that he’d run away.
Jonah got as close as he dared as Mrs. Williams and the children disappeared into the church, which looked like something from a foreign country, maybe Italy or Spain, the pictures of which he’d seen in newspapers and magazines and books in Mr. Williams’s library. A graveyard stretched across the hill behind the church, and when everyone had gone inside Jonah hurried across the cemetery and into the shrubbery nearby. A horse snorted and shook its bridle. As he got close to the wall of the church, Jonah heard organ music and singing inside, and he got closer to the window to hear better. It was the first music he’d heard in a long time; it made him think of sacred things.
Jonah sat in the shrubbery beside the church and listened, wishing he could be inside. Jesus had preached love and mercy; Jonah had read the words in the Book of John. But it felt to him that it must be only love and mercy for white people. If Jesus loved everybody the same way, why had he made some masters and some Negroes?
It was a question Jonah had puzzled about before, of course. But with his back sore and his feet sore and his legs tired and the poster folded in his hand, he listened to the wonderful music and wondered why the world was the way it was. He’d asked Mrs. Williams that very question once, and her answer was that the ways of the Lord are a mystery beyond human understanding. Sinful people and even good people were not meant to know why everything was the way it was. That’s why they had to have faith. Only faith enabled them to accept the world as it was. Only faith allowed them to live their lives in harmony with God’s plan.
Such talk did not make much sense to Jonah. The more he thought about it, the less he understood why God’s plan would make some people slaves, and some crippled or afflicted in their minds. Only the beautiful organ music and the high trill of the chorus had any meaning. As the service drew to a close, Jonah knew he had to run. He could not be caught hiding in the shrubbery when Mrs. Williams and the children came outside, although he wished that he could talk with her again. He wiped his eyes and stood up.
Beyond the cemetery, the hill dropped steeply to a branch, and the branch threaded its way through a musty hollow. A wagon road ran out along the edge of the swampy area, and Jonah followed the tracks to the north. As he walked along the ruts of the wagon track, he thought about the kind of bag or sack he could use. Best would be a leather satchel with a strap he could hang over his shoulder. With such a bag he could carry extra things: a cup and maybe a kettle for boiling water, a change of clothes, a compass to tell him always which way was north. And he needed to carry things to eat, plus pepper to sprinkle on his tracks if dogs were chasing him.
As he thought of all the things he might need, Jonah began to laugh at himself. He was thinking as though he were a rich man, a free man, a white man. A leather case like he wanted would only call attention to himself. Everybody who saw it would assume he’d stolen it. A Negro with a fine leather case like a saddle bag would arouse everybody’s suspicions.
What he actually needed was something so plain nobody would notice it, a flour sack or even a tow sack. With a tow sack flung over his shoulder, he would look like a Negro who had been to mill, or was carrying tools for his master. It was a tow sack he’d look for.
Something else Jonah knew he needed was a book to read, for he’d spend long hours, maybe days, waiting in woods and swamps, perhaps hiding in attics and barn lofts, waiting for a chance to move, and it could make a big difference if he had something to pass the time, to focus his thoughts, to take his mind off the fear he felt. And the best book would be the Bible, for it was big and had many different stories, and it would give him something to think about when he was afraid. A Bible would give him a place to go that was familiar, no matter where he might be reading it. The Bible was a home he could take with him, however difficult its message was to understand.
Walking at a steady stride and wondering where he might find a Holy Book, or any book, Jonah was hardly aware of the hoofbeats coming along the wagon road behind him. And when he did notice the noise and turn to look back, the horse and rider were already in sight. It was too late to hide, for if he dashed into the woods that would only make him look more like a runaway. He kept walking, as if he was just going about his business.
The horse and rider bore down on him, passed Jonah, and then wheeled to confront him.
“Where are you going, boy?” the rider said. It was the man from the store who’d given him the tablet and pencil.
“Just taking the tablet to Massa Charles,” Jonah answered. It was all he could think of to say.
“Charles Eliot don’t live in this direction,” the rider said.
“I be taking the long way, sir,” Jonah said and bowed. “Massa Charles he told me not to be in no hurry.”
“You’re a thief and a liar,” the storekeeper said. “I’ve seen your likeness on a poster.” The man swung his riding crop and hit Jonah on the shoulder. The lash burned like a hornet sting.
The bank of the road was covered with big weeds, some twice as high as a man’s head. Jonah leapt into the mammoth weeds and ran blindly, knocking stalks out of his way. The weeds crowded the bank of the little stream, and on the other side briars and grapevines tangled among the trees. Jonah splashed through the mud of the branch and up the bank, through briars and knots of vines.
“I’ll catch you, you black bastard,” the man on the horse called. If the rider had gotten off the horse, he could have chased Jonah through the weeds and mud and vines and possibly caught him. But Jonah was pretty sure the storekeeper would not get off the horse. The man would come riding after him and hit him again with the crop, but he wouldn’t get down on the ground, on the level with a runaway slave.
Jonah saw he had the advantage of a rabbit or a fox in deep cover. The vines and briars and brush would keep out the horse and rider while he could hurry through. Without dogs the man could only follow him by sight. But Jonah’s advantage would only last a few minutes, because the man would find a place to cross the branch and come riding after him into the woods. Beyond the vines and brush along the stream, Jonah saw only pine woods, with little undergrowth or scrub to hide him. He could run fast through the woods, but so could the horse and rider. He’d have to think quick. One thought was to wait until the horseman was in the woods, then plunge back across the branch, but that would gain him only a minute or two.
Looking around for the biggest pine tree, Jonah spotted a giant about a hundred feet away. The tree was so big and old, its bark looked more like masonry than something alive. The limbs near the ground had broken away, but about five feet up the stubs of limbs stuck out from the trunk, and a few feet above that living limbs reached out like spokes from a hub. Jonah jumped and grabbed the lowest limb. It broke and he fell into the pine straw. But he pushed himself up and grabbed for the next limb. Bracing with his feet on the bark, he reached the next stub and pulled himself onto the first living branch. Climbing a tree was just what Elmer had warned him not to do, but there was really no choice. The pine was smeared with drops and scabs of resin, and already his hands were sticky. Hoofbeats came
closer and the horse and rider trotted into sight just as he slipped into the higher limbs.
The horseman passed by beneath him and Jonah climbed higher still. He was about halfway up the big tree when the man on the horse came back, searching behind every tree. Jonah stood very still on a big limb. If a twig broke, if a piece of bark or resin fell, he was lost. The man would simply wait until he had to come down. If he made a noise or moved, the man might spot him.
“I will catch you!” the man called out. Jonah couldn’t see him so he wasn’t sure in what direction the storekeeper was shouting. “We don’t take kindly to thieves around here,” the man added.
Jonah stood still while the tree sighed and stirred around him. The smell of the resin was fresh, but there was a kind of dust or mold on the white pine that made him want to sneeze. He put a sticky finger under his nose, and tears smarted his eyes.
“You might as well give up,” the man hollered. “I can go back for dogs and track you down.”
The bark of the tree close to his face looked more like the hide of some animal than a part of a tree. It was shiny and gray, with a tint of green. It looked like some kind of leather, but resin oozed through cracks, clear as honey.
“If I have to go get dogs to find you, I’ll put you in chains,” the man yelled. “Then I’ll whip your black arse and turn you over to your owner.”
Jonah hugged the tree like it was his mama. He was fifty feet in the air and safe for the moment. But he’d not be safe if the man brought dogs. They would smell him on the ground beneath the tree, and they’d follow him wherever he ran. But the next time the man called, he was farther away, and that suggested he didn’t know which tree Jonah had climbed, though he seemed to have guessed that Jonah had climbed some tree. He was riding around the woods looking for Jonah up trees and behind trees and bushes.
Jonah waited until the man was out of hearing and slowly climbed higher in the pine. As he got near the top, the breeze picked up and limbs swayed back and forth. The air was fresher up there. When he got close to the very top, Jonah could see over the other trees. He could view the tower of the church and a tall white mansion to the left of the church hill. Turning to the north, he saw a wide, flat valley with a chain of mountains beyond, almost white in the haze. To the northeast there was a big mountain that was almost black. Reaching up above all the peaks around it, that summit seemed as ominous as an enormous, brooding bear.
Chasing the North Star Page 5
