Loud talk again, and then heavy stompin. Tappin again, right close, from the wall at the foot of my bed.
Tap, tap, tap. Then the sound and feel of someone walkin on the floorboards just the other side of the bricks.
I reached over to the table and knocked soundlessly four times to chase the evil away. As I pulled back my hand, my knuckle hit the side of the cup; it tipped and rolled toward the edge of the table, and water spilt onto the floor. I caught the cup just afore it fell, but the water pooled, then disappeared into the crack between the floor and the trapdoor.
It turned quiet. So quiet that all I heard was the roarin inside my head. I held on to the cup with one hand, Brightwell with the other, and looked over at Zenobia. She had her eyes all squinched together, and sweat run down her forehead and along her nose. Brightwell stared straight ahead, never blinked, never moved; it were like he had fallen deep asleep with his eyes wide open.
“Where’d this water come from?” my pa yelled.
I felt like I always did when Pa come for me at home. I wanted to run, find a tall tree and climb up and out of his sight, but I were stuck in a small room just a few feet above him.
We could hear a voice answer softly.
Pa growled, “Bad roof, bad house.”
Another answer, but so soft we couldn’t hear the words.
I started to shakin and set the cup back onto the table afore I dropped it. Pa’s voice, that voice that scairt me more than a kick or a hittin, it near sent me to the floor.
I could hear more yellin and howlin. Were Pa goin to find his way up here—find me, find Zenobia and Brightwell? I wrapped my arms around myself like I were freezin cold. But I weren’t cold, I were scairt, just scairt to my bones and knowin what would happen if he tried to see where that water come from.
Below us a door slammed hard, and the sounds of men and dogs faded.
I still held on to myself, as if I could keep all the scairt inside and all the bad outside.
A few minutes passed afore Brightwell blinked and said, “I think they gone now.”
Zenobia let out a long sigh, stood up, and paced two steps down the little room and two steps back, wipin her forehead with the back of her hand, then dryin it on her skirt.
“That time they too close,” she whispered. “They come all the way to the attic. Why they keep comin here? Is somebody lettin on that Auntie’s is a safe house?”
I could feel myself shakin, but I didn’t want Zenobia and Brightwell to see me scairt.
I pushed myself up, set back down, and explained that the shakin were because I’d been so sick.
Zenobia and Brightwell didn’t disagree, but they passed a look between them that told me they knew how scairt I were.
I’m right used to takin care of myself. I’m used to knowin where to find a safe place to hide, and to knowin where I can wild gather enough victuals to last for a few days. But here I set—somewhere, and not knowin nothin about where I were or how I’d get away if Pa got close again.
“Zenobia, I need you to catch me up on what is happenin—and where am I?”
Zenobia paced another couple steps and set down beside me.
“We was waitin for you to find your way here. Auntie knowed you were comin.”
“After you faint, Auntie let us out of our hidin spot and ask me to carry you up to her room,” Brightwell said. “Auntie clean you and dress you in a nightshirt.”
“Me and Brightwell snuck outside and burn your clothes under the big soap pot—they was tore up some bad and had your smell all over them.”
Zenobia stopped talkin, reached into her pocket, and pulled somethin out.
“Here, Lark,” she said. “You needs your good luck. I pulled it out of your pocket afore we burnt them clothes.”
My heart jumped. I don’t know why, but just curlin my fingers around that buckeye’s smooth made me feel right settled inside.
Brightwell leant forward and the rocker creaked. “Then we had to get you up to this room because we knowed that you couldn’t be hid downstairs.”
“Who’s been feedin me?”
“Auntie make the food and either Zenobia or me bring it up. You never even woke most of the time, but once you had a bad dream, and Zenobia had to quick up here and sing to quieten you.”
I remembered thinkin that someone were singin to me. It had been Zenobia.
Thump, thump, thump from below.
Brightwell raised his finger to his mouth again. “The signal,” he whispered.
We stopped talkin and did the hardest thing—we waited.
If a candle burns blue, it is a token of bad luck, for it indicates the presence of a death sperrit.
Two rapid taps, then a familiar slidin sound of the trapdoor openin, and a rush of cool air mixed with the smell of bakin bread.
Brightwell reached down and lifted a tin hog-scraper candlestick and a pile of clothing onto the table. The candle burned brightly beside him. Next he bent over the trapdoor and pulled up a tiny silver-haired woman in drab brown clothes and a white apron. She reminded me of a wren, but with eyes the blue of cornflowers. She weren’t no bigger than me.
“Good to see thee awake, sweet girl,” the woman said as she brushed at her apron.
I started a-cryin and couldn’t stop. I kept them words, sweet girl, tucked into my heart, and I always hoped that I would hear them again someday. Nobody had called me sweet girl since my grandpa had passed.
“Lark, this here’s Auntie Theodate,” Zenobia said as she reached out to comfort me.
That made it worse. I hardly never cry when I’m alone, but I never cry in front of no one. Until today.
“I owe you for helpin me,” I said, wipin at my eyes with the sleeve of my nightshirt.
“Thee doesn’t owe me,” Auntie answered, “but thee will need to help me with what we’re doing here if thy friends are to be free.”
“Help? What kind of help?”
“I’m sure thee heard thy father and brothers. They said the dogs led them to my house. I had to invite them to come in, but I told them the dogs must stay outside because of my sick, old tabby cat. I knew if I let the dogs in they would lead them straight up here to thee.
“I asked them to sit and share a bit of food with me, but they told me they didn’t want food, they wanted to look through my house. I told them they were welcome to look, but that the only thing they would find would be my nephew Asa and my cat.”
“But what if they’d found me—found us?” I asked, looking first at Zenobia, then Auntie and Brightwell.
“Don’t worry,” Zenobia said. “You in the room above the pantry. Trapdoor hid good in the ceiling. Auntie had the old door to the room bricked off like a chimney. Lots of others found a safe place up here too.”
I had so many other questions I wanted to ask Auntie, but afore I could say a word, we heard a scramblin sound from below and up popped the head of the red-haired boy I seen in the woods.
“Asa, thee has put the fright into us,” Auntie said. “Now come up here and meet Lark, the girl thee found in the woods.”
“He the one who led us to Auntie’s,” Brightwell said. “I told him you needed a safe house too.”
The boy pushed himself up through the door, and Brightwell pulled him the rest of the way into the little room, which were crowded as our spring henhouse.
“And you threw them rocks at me?” I asked.
“Thee was startin off the wrong way, and I needed to set thee on the path to Auntie’s house. Thee was lookin sick and walked around in a big circle. I needed to wake thee up, but I couldn’t stay behind to guide thee. I had to make sure Brightwell and Zenobia made it safe to Auntie’s.”
“You woke me up all right. You landed them rocks right on my back. But I wouldn’t have found my way here without the arrows and the lines of pebbles you left for me.”
Asa grinned and stuck out his hand. I reached out, shook it, and said, “You had me right scairt when I saw you with all them men and dogs. I tho
ught you’d send them my way, but you pointed the other way and off they went. They was so close to catchin me, well, I almost climbed down out of the tree to wait for them.”
“Thy pa and brothers were even closer today,” Asa said. “My father was on a night run with two slaves. Father usually can keep the catchers at bay, but this time it was up to me. I had to keep the dogs away with some of Auntie’s soup bones. Sorry, Auntie. I used them most all up. Thy pa had a right hard time getting the dogs to leave here.”
We all laughed, and then Auntie pushed the pile of folded clothes toward me.
“Take thy time, Lark. When thee feels fit enough to join us, we will tell thee our plan for moving Zenobia and Brightwell to the North.”
My friend Zenobia would be leavin me? Leavin me forever and goin north? I didn’t want to help her leave me. I just found her again.
“And we need to find thee a safe house farther away until thy father stops searching,” Auntie said.
Auntie didn’t know it yet, but I were not lettin Zenobia and Brightwell leave me behind. And I knowed my pa—nothin would stop him huntin for me. He didn’t care a goose feather what I wanted or how I were treated, but he did care that I weren’t there slavin for him anymore. He counted on me for work, work fittin for a man, not a girl. I belonged to him, like his huntin dogs and his guns. He wouldn’t never give up lookin for me around here. No way I’d wait for him to find me. Safe house or not. Wherever Zenobia went, I were follerin.
A warm breeze whispered through the slats above us. The candle on the table guttered, wavered, and burned blue—the bad death light of sperrits. Brightwell cupped his hand around the flame till it steadied, and the light burnt golden again.
I set back against the wall, plumb wore out, then fingered acrost my buckeye and set it on the table. I couldn’t even think anymore about the close call we had or what needed doin in the next few days.
“Thee must rest now, Lark. Zenobia will bring thee a meal. Stay up here until she comes. Take time. Talk. Tomorrow will be here soon,” Auntie said.
Auntie helped me and Hannah doll slip under the light summer counterpane that smelt of lavender. She pulled it up to my chin and tucked it around us. When she brushed the wisps of hair off my forehead and patted me, I wanted to curl up against her like a kitten.
“Sleep, sweet girl,” Auntie whispered.
I closed my eyes and their voices moved in and out of my dreams. I heard the words Yardley, white pebbles, twigs, and then the voices faded. I felt warm inside and out. Like I were all wrapped up in safe for the first time since Grandpa was took. Were this like being in a family?
“Brother Yardley will be thy conductor, Zenobia. Thee can expect him soon. Say thy good-byes to Lark,” Auntie said.
I couldn’t open my eyes, couldn’t speak. What did Auntie mean, conductor? Good-byes? I would be follerin Zenobia. I would be follerin.
Never sit when fishing or settling an important matter or you will be sitting on your good luck.
I woke, stretched my arms above my head, and yawned. This were the first time in days I felt like myself. I scooted off the bed, picked up the neat stack of clothes, and dressed. Real clothes, clean clothes, and a pair of brown shoes. I couldn’t remember when I last put on a pair of shoes.
Auntie had told me to stay in my room until Zenobia come with food, but I felt caged. How long since I’d been out of this room? I bent over, pushed the rug out of the way, and slid open the trapdoor. I set at the edge of the openin, dangled my bare feet over the side, and listened for sounds. Below me I could see a thin yellow crack of light along the sides of a door. Where did the door lead? My heart beat faster. Should I go down or stay and wait for Zenobia like Auntie asked? My feet wiggled in the air, then brushed against somethin solid. I held on to the edge of the openin, stepped back, and slowly began to climb my way down what weren’t steps, but the shelves in a pantry. I felt for another shelf-step, stretched my foot down, and held on. I were starin straight into jars of jam, bottles of preserves, labeled tins of flour and cornmeal, and a bucket of lard.
What would happen when I got downstairs? Would I be brave enough to go through the door? What if someone bad were there? Maybe I should go back up and wait like I was spost to, but curiosity kept a-bitin at me like fleas on a dog, and I couldn’t sit still.
Just for a moment, I thought. Just for a moment. I’d go down, maybe peek out the door and try to see what kind of place I were in. My fingers slipped and I swayed backward but caught onto the shelf afore I fell. Three jars toppled over, and afore I could stop it, one dropped to the floor and shattered. The narrow door swung open and the pantry brightened.
“Yi!” I yelled as a pair of hands grabbed me from behind and swung me through the air and onto a clear spot on the floor.
“Lark, you shouldn’t never come down without someone givin you the signal,” Brightwell said, shakin his finger at me. “You could walk straight into strangers come to buy Auntie’s soaps, or worse yet, your pa, or, or a slave trader.”
“Sorry, Brightwell. I should’ve waited, but it’s been so long since I been anywhere, and I were just wonderin.…”
“Wonderin can lead you to a mess of trouble. You here now. Might as well go out and see Auntie. She thought you might could be comin down for supper, but she didn’t know you’d come down so soon—and without the signal.”
He lifted me up and hauled me through the door and into the middle of a kitchen bright with the light from a fireplace big enough for Brightwell to stand in. A huge iron pot hung from a crane over the flames. Whatever were cookin smelt like heaven.
When Auntie heard us comin, she lit an oil lamp, carried it to the table, and piled more logs under the pot bubbling above the flames.
“I go pick up the pieces,” Brightwell said as he set me down and turned back to the mess I’d made.
“Welcome, Lark. Thee must be hungry. Did thee sleep well?” Auntie asked. She passed a platter of food to Zenobia, who were settin the table.
My tongue got all twisted up and I mumbled an apology for all the ruckus, the broke crockery, the mess, and comin down when I weren’t yet called.
Auntie just looked at me and smiled. She were a right patient woman.
A handsome gray tabby cat were curled up on a pile of kindlin in a big, shiny brass applesauce pot beside the fireplace. She never opened her eyes but flicked her ears back and forth as though she wanted to hear every word we said.
My stomach rumbled, and I sniffed at the sweet-smellin food like a rabbit in a field of clover. The table were set with four plates, a platter of big golden biscuits, ham, butter beans, poke sallet, and a bowl mounded with a cloud of grits. A feast.
Auntie pulled out a mule-ear chair crisscrossed with a seat of woven rush. She patted at it and motioned for me to sit. Zenobia perched on a little stool, and Auntie Theodate set on another. Brightwell, so tall he nearly touched the low kitchen ceiling, stooped as he walked acrost the room and checked the big iron latch on the door.
I had so many questions to ask, but I were hungry, and without ever thinkin about manners, reached acrost the table for a biscuit.
Auntie looked at me, her blue eyes twinklin, and grasped Zenobia’s good hand, then mine—the one without the biscuit. Brightwell walked over to join us.
“Sit thee down, son.” Auntie nodded to a bench beside me.
“Cain’t sit tonight, thank you, Auntie—if I do, I be sittin on my good luck, gots to keep it free.”
Auntie closed her eyes and bowed her head. Brightwell bowed his and took Zenobia’s hand first, then mine after I dropped the biscuit onto my plate.
We were a circle of quiet.
I kept waitin for someone to say the blessin. I opened one eye, tilted my head sideways, and looked around the table. All their heads was down, but nary a word come out of any mouth. Should I pray? Was they waitin on me to do it?
Auntie squeezed my hand, then let it go.
“We Quakers do silent prayers,” she said, “just as
we do in our First Day meeting.”
I’d heard about Quakers and their meetins and some of their strange ways from the preacher’s wife. “What kind of meetin can you have without no talkin?” I asked.
Zenobia giggled, took a gulp of milk, and licked the foam off her lips. Auntie explained that they call their day of worship First Day instead of Sunday, and when they gather at their church, they call it a meetin, but without a preacher or words.
I didn’t care what they called their churchgoin or how they prayed; I just wanted to put some real, hot food into my mouth. My stomach growled so loud that Auntie laughed and passed me a platter of meat, then the bowl of steamin white grits.
Rain began to fall steady-like.
“Good to have the rain again tonight,” Auntie said. “Neither dogs nor travelers will be about on a night like this.”
Her words made me feel safer, made me enjoy the tastes, the smells, the dancin firelight even more.
Between bites, Auntie asked us questions about our lives. I never knowed how hard it would be to hear them stories Brightwell and Zenobia told—and here I thought my life had been bad.
The big tabby cat jumped down from her bed of kindlin and rubbed her softness against my leg. I stretched out my bare foot and smoothed it over the cat’s back.
Brightwell told how his ma were taken out of their cabin one night, dragged by her hair so as not to leave any marks on her, and never seen again.
He’d tried to stop the traders, but they kicked him, knocked out his front tooth, beat him till he nearly bit off his tongue, then threw him into the filth of a hog pen.
“My brothers and sisters all screamin for their ma, but she gone, just like our pa. Lord, she gone forever, and I couldn’t do nothin to help her. What kind of man am I?” Tears run down his face.
He stopped talkin, shook his head, and said, “I cain’t tell no more. It eats me all inside till I feel like a dried-out gourd. Sometimes, when I think on it, I feels … tastes the poison runnin through me, eatin through me, fillin my mouth with sick. Minds me that I weren’t good as an animal to them people—and times, when I think on that, I gets so mad that I feel like I could kill someone, and then I ain’t no more than an animal.” He bowed his head and didn’t look up.
Running Out of Night Page 9
