Glory Over Everything (38 page)

A
N HOUR OR
so later, a shaken Mr. Spencer laid out his plan to me. He would take Doc's body to his son's home some two hours away. “The boy will have to stay hidden in the barn,” he said. “I'll try to make it back here before sunrise. Then I might have to drive him out myself.” The strain had drained all healthy color from his face.

“Is that the only option?” I asked.

“I need some time to think it through,” he said, “but I'll have it figured out by the time I return. Meanwhile, you stay inside this house. Don't go out to see the boy, and whatever you do, don't bring him in with you. It's too dangerous.” He handed over a pistol. “Keep this on you,” he said. “If there are intruders, use it. Sam will be on the lookout in the barn, and he is armed as well.”

When the wagon left, there was some relief in knowing that Pan was not on it. Though dark clouds were gathering, it was so beastly hot that I doubted the boy could have survived the heat under the wagon seat.

Alone in the study, I paced, desperately trying to think of a way out. I hated that I had put Mr. Spencer in the middle of this dangerous mess. Might it be best if I just took Pan and left? But where would we go, and how would we get there?

I
T WAS RAINING
heavily by nightfall, when Hester and I secured the house. She took Clora upstairs to stay the night with the girls, but I was too restless to sleep, so I went to the study. I wanted nothing more than to reassure Pan, but I had given my word to stay away from the barn. I thought to distract myself with a book, but I could not settle myself. My thoughts flew between concern for Pan and then for myself. Had Thomas already sent for Rankin? Would Thomas's description of my eye patch alert him? How long would it take for him to come here looking for me?

Finally, I took the lamp and went to my bedroom, but there, too, I moved about restlessly, fingering my things while trying to decide if I should begin to pack. A loud clap of thunder and a bright flash of lightning lit up the room as I unlocked and lifted the lid of my trunk. There, at the bottom, I saw again the old jacket that hid my grandmother's jewels. I lifted it out and felt at the bulges, wondering if it wouldn't be safer to take the jewels out and secure them in a small money pouch.

I found my silver apple corer in my traveling case, thinking that the sharp edge of the small knife would work well for opening the stitches, then sat on the edge of the bed. Just as I was about to slit open the first stitch, there came a rap on the door. Thinking it was Hester, I set the jacket aside, but when I opened the door, I found no one there. I stepped out into the dark hallway and looked about but still saw nothing. Back inside, I convinced myself that it was a noise from the storm, but when I sat again to pick up the knife and jacket, another, more urgent rap came, quickly followed by another and then another. Then I realized my mistake. The persistent knocking was coming not from the interior door but from the door that opened to the outside.

I slipped the knife into the pocket of the old jacket and tossed it on the bed, then grabbed hold of the pistol from atop the dresser. The knocking grew more insistent, and after a short hesitation I pointed my pistol forward and swung open the door. It took me a moment, between the heavy rain and the dim lamplight, to recognize Sukey.

S
HE PUSHED IN
and slammed the door shut behind her. She waved her trembling hands in the air, indicating that she needed paper to communicate.

“We got to go now!” she wrote. “They find out it was me who got Pan out. Trader come in saying that Jake see you in Norfolk and tell Thomas that you a nigga. Patrollers getting together, but Thomas all fired up and send for Rankin!”

She kept clutching at my arm and trying to pull me toward the door, making it difficult to read what she had written, but when I made out the words, I went numb with terror. As Sukey frantically tugged on me, I stood rooted in fear. Where could I hide? Then I thought of the barn. “Sam is armed,” I said. “We can hide out in the barn!”

Sukey shook her head vehemently as she scribbled. “They think nothing a killing him. We got to get to the swamp.” Again she pulled on my arm, but I yanked my arm away as I tried to gather my thoughts.

What should I take? I flung the gun on the table and grabbed my small satchel. Frantically, I looked about, wondering how to best fill it. Seeing the jacket on the bed, I dropped the satchel and lifted the jacket, intending to lock it away in the trunk. As I was about to do so, the door flew open.

“You got to go! Patrollers comin'!” Sam hissed the words.

Sukey left through the open door as though shot from a gun. Sam rushed in and pushed at my back. “Go! Go,” he said. Suddenly, I was running, with only the jacket in hand. Through the rain I saw Sukey's form cutting across the open field, moving so fast that I had to push myself to catch up with her.

“Mr. Burton! Mr. Burton!” The call for me came through the rain. Hearing Pan's anguish, I turned back to see his small figure coming at a run. “Don't leave me! I'm coming with you! Wait for me, Mr. Burton!” he cried.

Sukey was a distance ahead, but she, too, heard Pan's cry and stopped. I took hold of Pan's shoulders and shook him. “Go back! Mr. Spencer will get you out tomorrow in the wagon. It'll be safer for you that way. Go now!” I tried to turn him around.

“No!” the boy pleaded, grabbing hold of my wet shirtsleeves. “Take me with you. I don't want to be alone! Don't leave me here. Please, Mr. Burton!”

Sukey came running toward us, uttering frantic guttural sounds. Seeing her desperation, I grabbed Pan's hand, and we sprinted after her when she lit out once again.

We stayed low to the ground, racing through the storm that crashed around us. By the time I realized we were heading toward Southwood, I didn't know what to do but follow, hoping that Sukey had a plan.

She didn't stop to rest when we reached the safety of the bushes that defined the two farms but picked up her pace as she ran down what appeared to be a deer path. We followed, Pan clinging to my hand, all three of us panting for air, until we reached the backside of the Southwood quarters. There, a Negro man waited in the shadows.

Sukey and I both sank onto a fallen log, while Pan dropped to the ground. I had scarcely caught my breath when I realized I had left the gun behind. I was furious with myself, but it was too late to go back. The man rubbed Pan's bare feet with some strong-smelling grease, then had me remove my boots and replace them with some odorous deerskin slippers.

“Indians make these. It the bear grease that stink. Throws the dogs off.” He knelt and slipped a pair over Sukey's bare feet, and as he did so, she arched her back. With a shock, I saw her advanced pregnancy. How had she run like that? Surely she couldn't hope to escape in that condition.

The two of them exchanged a private look as he helped her to her feet. “You gon' be all right?” he asked her. She nodded. “Keep usin' this,” he said, handing her a package of bear grease. He took her face in his hands. “You 'members where to go?” he asked, looking deep into her eyes. “First get to that big barn with that weather vane on top. The man there get you goin' the right way.” She gave another nod, and after she grunted something unintelligible, he kissed both sides of her full face before gently pushing her away. “Go on, then, we got everythin' in place here to throw 'em off. We make sure you get a good start.”

We moved quickly, this time along a tight path through brush and brambles. When Sukey began to slow, I thought she might have lost her way, but after she found the trail that ran alongside the river, her speed picked up again. We moved faster still at the sound of dogs in the distance. I almost barreled into Pan when Sukey stopped suddenly and pointed down toward the water. Pan clutched my arm. “I can't swim!” he whispered.

“Neither can I,” I said. “Sukey!” I whispered as loud as I dared, but she was already gone, sliding down the embankment to the river's edge. We dared not lose her and slid down the hill to find Sukey alongside the river, tossing away branches to uncover a small wooden raft. The barking of the dogs grew closer as we pushed the raft to the water's edge. Sukey waved for the two of us to get on the craft, then shoved us off before she heaved herself up. Pan, terrified, clung to the raft as Sukey and I each grabbed a pole. My arms shook from the strain of the strong undertow, but we were close to the opposite riverbank when a lone hound shot out of the woods and began a wild bark. The answering howls from the pack were distant but bone-chilling.

I jumped off the raft into thigh-high water and reached for Pan, catching him by the waist of his pants. Sukey, too, leaped off, then pushed the craft back out for the current to take hold of it. As it swiftly swept away, we slogged over to the riverbank and pulled ourselves up onto the land and into the dense undergrowth. We lay there, winded, scanning the other side of the river, where the lone dog continued to yowl.

Sukey grunted softly as she turned to her side, readjusting the pressure on her swollen stomach. I, too, felt pressure on my stomach and realized it was my old jacket. In the fray, I had stuffed it into the waist of my trousers. Though the answering call of the other dogs was receding, when Sukey again rose to her feet, Pan and I followed close behind.

We traveled due north. Though the land was flat, it dipped and rolled to accommodate the numerous small streams we crossed on foot. When in water, Pan clung to the waist of my trousers, but when we traveled the dry land, he made a point to walk on his own, keeping pace with me and glancing up often, I suppose to gauge my mood. We rested only after a particularly difficult water crossing and it was almost daybreak when we came upon what appeared to be a small forest. There, Sukey kept us to the periphery of the dark woods. As the sky began to lighten, we could see the outline of some outbuildings and a white clapboard house. Sukey pointed to a large barn topped by a weather vane—a large arrow encircled in metal and showing up dark black against the sky.

“Quakers,” she scratched into my palm, then motioned for us to follow her. For the first time since our departure, I felt something akin to relief.

“What she say?” Pan whispered.

“Quakers,” I answered. He asked for no further explanation, and I didn't offer one.

Naturally, I was familiar with Quakers and their anti-slavery views, but in my Philadelphia social circle, they were criticized for so plainly expressing their opinions. Now I could only hope that what I had heard of them was true.

We slipped into the largest of the three barns and sank down behind a stall. It seemed we had only just settled when a woman came into the building. Her face was protected from the early-morning sun by a wide-brimmed bonnet, while her brown dress and dark green apron were cut full enough to accommodate her pregnant abdomen.

She went directly to a bin and scooped out some grain, separated it into two troughs, then went to a large barn door that opened to a pasture. Calling her cows by name, she encouraged them to enter and patted their rumps in greeting as they lumbered toward their stalls. After the Quaker woman settled herself to do the milking, Sukey stood. Startled by the abrupt appearance of Sukey's face over the partition, the woman gave a sharp cry of alarm, then covered her mouth with her hand.

Sukey looked down at me helplessly, apparently out of ideas on how to continue. I saw no way out and slowly, so as not to scare the woman further, rose to stand beside Sukey. The woman gaped wordlessly.

“I apologize, madam,” I said. “We did not wish to frighten you, but we need your help.”

Still she stared.

“We are being pursued as runaway slaves,” I said, even now sickened at associating myself with the word.

When Pan peeked over to see the Quaker woman, she lost her hesitation. “Come,” she said, and we followed her at a run into the house.

She took us down a wide hallway and into a whitewashed parlor, smaller than another we had passed but still substantial enough to hold a large fireplace, a tall-case clock, and a good number of plain chairs suspended from wall pegs while looking up, Sukey tripped on the gray braided rug, and I caught her just before she fell onto the spinning wheel and the numerous baskets of unspun wool and cotton surrounding it.

Bright light streamed in through the large uncovered window. Now I saw what Sukey had been staring at on the ceiling. Above us hung an enormous quilt suspended by ropes and attached to a huge quilting frame.

The Quaker woman moved quickly and, from a basket, withdrew a large metal ring that she secured into one of the wide floor planks. After grabbing hold of rope and attaching it to the floor ring, she worked a pulley until two wide floorboards creaked and lifted. When she urged us into the dark hole, I dropped down almost three feet, then reached for Pan as Sukey awkwardly slid down on her own. A faraway voice called out, and the three of us sank to the dirt floor as the boards were quickly lowered.

The voice grew louder. “Lillian?”

“Mother?” our hostess called out.

“Yes,” came the reply.

“There are guests.”

“But Joel is not here!” the mother objected.

“They have need,” the daughter replied. “And the patrollers are sure to come.”

“Then a quilting party?” Their conversation was as efficient as their surroundings.

“Yes,” Lillian agreed, and their footsteps receded.

It was dark in our dugout, but there was enough light from gaps in the floorboards to see that the space was wide enough to hold at least four adults. How many had made their way to freedom by hiding out here, and why would Quakers risk their lives like this, I wondered.

It wasn't long before the floorboards were raised again. We were relieved to see Lillian with some milk and bread as well as three pallets and a chamber pot. They would hide us, she said, until her husband felt it safe for us to leave. Cautioning us to silence, she quickly closed us in again.