Glory Over Everything (43 page)

“Joe, you got yerself a new lil one?” a voice called out.

“No,” he called back, “Miss Lou been keepin' the baby for her sista till she get her health back.”

“Hey, Joe, you sellin' that fine goat?”

“Nope, 'fraid not. I got to keep her for the baby. Chil' nothin' but trouble! All she can take is that darn ol' goat's milk.”

“Joe, you got yerself some mighty fine melons there.”

“I cain't sell them here. I'm takin' them up to the hotel. I promise las' time out I'd be back with 'em.”

“You mean to tell me you still goin' up there today? You never gon' make it.”

“No, it okay with you we bank up here for the night, leave first thing in the mornin'? What you fellas charge me for that?”

“How 'bout you give us some a those melons and we call it even.”

Joe laughed, as did the others. “That sound good 'nough,” he agreed.

And so we anchored for the night. Joe and his family stayed on the raft while visitors came by. They brought food, and Pan and I suffered when we caught scent of roasted chicken.

As they ate, the small group above us spoke like old friends, catching up on the latest gossip. One man stayed behind after the others left. Joe brought him to the back of the barge, where they sat down together and their conversation was easily overheard.

“Patrollers been through a couple times these pas' weeks. Ain't seen this kinda fuss in a long while. They got their eye out for a one-eyed black man who they say look white as them. He's with a nigga boy and a slave woman carryin' a chil'. I hear there a lotta money ridin' on them.”

“Sound like those patrollers a rough bunch,” said Joe.

“They's rough, but nothing like the one that come through on his own. Seen him before. Name's Rankin. Claims to know the man who runnin'. He set to find him.”

“He must be wantin' that money real bad,” said Joe.

“S'pose so. All I know is he sure do mean to find him. Say, you got your free papers on you?”

“You know I don' go up this water without 'em,” Joe said.

“Jus' keep your eye out. Don' moor up if you see them patrollers.”

“Times like this,” Joe said, “I sure do wish I had me a gun.”

The other man gave a deep-throated laugh. “You an' me both, Joe. 'Magine us two niggas with guns. Whooee, can you see it now! We do ourselves some huntin'!” His voice grew low. “See here, I'm slidin a knife under this pile a wood, 'case you got need of it. Traded with a Injun for it jus' the other day. I'm not needin' it right now, an' there ain't no harm in it sittin' here.”

“I sure do thank you,” said Joe. “I got me a small one, but one that size—”

“This one do the job, is what it do.”

“I s'pect so,” said Joe, and their conversation ended when the two parted.

Trapped as we were, on hearing Rankin's name, all I wanted was escape. I used all I had in me to fight the instinct to call out to Joe for release.

As the night deepened, everything above us grew silent and time lost meaning. Pan slept, his head turned away, and as I listened to his shallow breathing, the concern I felt toward him was akin to what I felt for Kitty. There had been a dramatic change in Pan since his abduction and it angered me to think of how the past months had affected him.

I wanted to join Pan in sleep, but I passed the night fighting a terrible thirst that grew with each lap of water against the raft. My need became so strong that I was tempted to lick at the damp floor, though I restrained myself, knowing the folly. Twice I heard Kitty cry, but each time I was relieved to hear shuffling and noises from the goat, and then she became quiet again.

I
MUST HAVE
slept, for I was startled awake when our barge began to move out. My head ached from the cramped position I was in and when I turned my stiff neck, it was to see Pan's eyes staring into mine.

“Mr. Burton! I peed on myself!” Pan whispered softly.

“Me, too,” I whispered back, and we exchanged a grimacing smile.

As we traveled up the canal, my anxiety grew. Where were we going? Who would be helping us? Had arrangements been made for Kit? How could I transport the goat? Where was Rankin?

When we docked again, I guessed it to be late afternoon. As everyone left the barge, it felt like we were being abandoned, yet we dared not speak. Later that evening, Pan clutched my arm as footsteps approached; then came relief on hearing Joe's low voice, who came with his wife and another man. Within minutes they had shifted the cargo, and the trapdoor was finally opened. They took Pan out first, but there was a whispered argument when he did not want to leave without me.

“Look, boy, you got to stay quiet and listen. We tryin' to help you. Now come with me,” the woman said, then whisked him away. When Joe encouraged me to back out, my legs were too numb to move, so he and his accomplice grabbed hold of my feet and dragged me out. I clung to them as they half carried me off the barge and up onto dry land, where they set me down. Where was I? I looked around as I stretched my limbs and saw our small craft tied in a secluded inlet. Up ahead, more sizable boats were anchored at a large dock lit by the welcoming lamps of what appeared to be a hotel.

Again the men helped me to my feet. My strength was returning, and we soon made our way into one of the large barns. We hurried past the horses, quietly munching hay in their stalls, to a small feed room at the back. There, bags of feed were piled high, but to the side was a small opening where the two men silently pushed me through. No sooner was I in than they began to seal up the entry.

“Where's the boy?” I whispered.

“We bring him to you later,” I heard.

“How long will I be in here?” I asked, dreading another enclosure.

“I don' know, but there's some water and somethin' in there to eat,” Joe said.

Before the last bag was put in place, I poked my head out. “Wait! Where are we?” I asked.

“We at the hotel that sit at the border 'tween Carolina an' Virginny,” said Joe. “You got a ride comin'.”

“A ride?” I asked in disbelief. “What kind of ride?” I remembered Kitty. “Where's the baby?” I asked.

“I brings her and the boy to you when the time right, not befo',” Joe whispered, slinging the last bag into place and blocking further communication.

Though the small space was dark, when I slumped to the floor, I felt the supplies that had been left for me. My hands shook as I tipped up the small bucket of water and drank from it. Then I fell to wolfing down all of the bread and dried meat. I drained the bucket of water and then lay back.

I woke with my stomach cramping, and though I fought for control, I heaved up my meal as I lost control of my bowels. When I recovered, I sat back to consider my miserable state. My clothes, already in shreds, were impossibly soiled. My hair had not been cut, nor had I been shaved in many weeks, and a stench rose from me that reminded me of the afternoon when the slave coffle passed by. I remembered well my disgust when their ripe scent lingered. Now I was left to contemplate the privileged position from which I had made a judgment.

Too weary and sick to think further, I laid my head down again and fell asleep. I was unsure how long I slept, but I awoke suddenly, startled by Joe's voice. He was hurriedly dismantling my protective barrier, and when the bags were lifted away, he urged me out.

It was dark in the room, but as my eyes adjusted, I saw Joe first, and then another dark face came into view. I stumbled back in disbelief. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Robert!

W
HAT
R
OBERT'S INITIAL
feelings were at seeing me in my terrible state, he did not say, but after a few slow moments, he greeted me with a nod. “Good evening, Mr. Burton.”

“Robert!” was all I managed to say before he turned to Joe.

“We will need fresh water and plenty of it,” Robert said.

I had already peeled away my soiled clothing when Joe returned with a bucket of water and as I washed myself down, Robert told me about a waiting carriage. Then, to my amazement, he produced some of the clothes that I had left back at the Spencers'.

“How did you get these?” I asked as I gratefully slipped into clean drawers, a fresh white shirt, and my worn but clean riding clothes.

“I will explain all of that later,” he said, handing over my riding boots.

“I have Pan with me,” I said, struggling to pull the tall boots over my torn and swollen feet.

“I know. They just put him in the carriage,” Robert said, and I could have wept in relief.

“Do you have the baby as well?” I asked.

He straightened to look at me. “The baby?” he asked.

“Yes.” I turned to Joe. “Where's Kitty?” I asked.

“I go for her now,” he said.

“A baby?” Robert asked again.

“Yes,” I said. “She is only a few weeks old. What size is the carriage?”

“It's yours—the one I brought from Philadelphia.”

“Good! Then we'll have room for the goat.”

“The goat!” Robert said.

“I need it for the milk,” I said.

Robert looked at me in dismay. “The carriage is already filled to capacity. There are two women along for the journey.”

“In the carriage?”

“We have no choice in the matter. They've come to assist us,” he said.

“Well, we need to make room for the goat,” I said.

He stared at me. “A goat!” he repeated.

Why, in all of this, was he fixated on the goat? I wondered. “The goat has to come!” I insisted.

“As you wish,” he said. I buttoned my waistcoat, and Robert handed over a pair of spectacles instead of the expected eye patch. “These are meant to change your look,” he explained.

“Are we ready to leave?” I asked, fitting them to my face.

“The carriage is ready, sir, but first we must drive over and pick up the women where they are staying at the hotel. Then we will leave.”

“You take the carriage up to the hotel and gather the women. Then come back here for me.”

“Leave you here? Are you quite certain?” Robert asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “Go ahead! I'll be waiting for you with the baby.”

Robert left but twice turned back to see if I had changed my mind.

“Go on,” I encouraged him.

Kitty was asleep when Joe arrived with her. When I took her in my arms, I was so relieved to see her that I kissed her satin face. When I looked up, Joe had left.

I paced with Kitty as I waited for his return, wondering why it was taking him so long. I remembered the offers of money that Joe had for the goat. Was it possible that he did not mean to return? Kitty could not survive without the milk.

Carefully, I cradled the sleeping baby between two bags of grain, then hurriedly slipped out of the feed room into the barn. From there I ran out. It was farther to the water than I remembered, but when I got to the barge, I found Joe struggling with the frightened goat.

“I tryin' to tie up her mouth,” he grunted. Together we quickly finished the job. “Here, take this,” Joe said, and reached under the pile of wood. “Careful with it.” He handed me a long sheathed knife. “It got some cut to it.”

“I'll get it back to you!” I said gratefully, while Joe scooped up the goat and left at a trot.

“Look! There is the carriage!” I said in a loud whisper, pointing to where it stood in the shadow of the barn. “You take the goat to the carriage. I'll get Kitty,” I said, and sprinted ahead.

I might have rushed in, but there was light from a lantern back in the feed room, and I doubted Robert would have brought it. I heard a threatening voice and dropped down to edge my way forward.

“I'm askin' you one more time, where's James Pyke at?”

A cold chill covered my body. I could not mistake Rankin's voice.

“I do not know a James Pyke,” said Robert.

Where was Kitty? I moved closer but stopped when a floorboard creaked.

“You don't know him? Somebody at Southwood say you was down there looking for him.”

“I've come to the Carolinas to take a young lady back to Philadelphia to attend her school,” Robert said, his voice high and afraid.

I inched forward again.

“No white girl's gonna travel with no nigra!”

“She has her maid in attendance, sir.”

“ ‘Sir'! ‘Attendance'! Listen to this nigra talk like he think he somethin'!”

Kitty gave a sudden cry.

“What's that you got back behind you?” Rankin asked in surprise. “Give it here!”

“No!” Robert argued.

I crept forward, unsheathing the knife and gripping tight the bone handle. Kitty cried out again.

“It's just a nigra baby! She yours?” the man asked.

“Don't hold her like that! Give her back to me!” Robert exclaimed as Kitty screamed.

“I'll snap her neck like a chicken, you don't tell me where Pyke is.” He dangled Kitty by the arm.

“No!” Robert begged.

I was almost close enough to lunge when I tripped on a floorboard. Rankin swung around and dropped Kitty with a thunk. She shrieked, but with his pistol pointed at me, I dared not reach for her. “Well, now, Jamie Pyke!” he said. “I've been waiting on you! Can't see much a your nigga mama in you, but you sure do look jus' like your daddy.”

I froze. The man's hair was white now, but he was as ugly as I remembered. I spat out the words: “I have no father!”

“Oh, you got a daddy, all right.” He laughed. “I was there holding your mama down for him when Marshall got on her. You shoulda heard her screamin'. Nothin' like a nigra woman who puts up a good fight!”

His gun was leveled at my chest. Powerless, I felt like a small child again. “Why would you do that to her?” I asked. “Why would you do that?”