Good Fortune (9781416998631) (14 page)

I don't know what possessed me to follow my curiosity all the way down to the cornfield and to the empty cabin. I hadn't found John that day, and good reasoning told me to leave it alone. Through the rest of the day, I convinced myself that I
had
left it alone, and I went about my business without letting the kitchen-window conversation enter my mind.

But by the time nighttime crept upon the house and I sat rocking young Missus Jane's baby sister to sleep, all the thoughts I had locked away came cascading down in front of me. I fought with my spirit—that whisper in my ear persuading me to sneak down there, but the resistance was in vain. I realized after a while that from the moment they started speaking, I had already made up my mind to go.

I slipped between trees and crawled through open areas, praying that young Missus Jane would stay in bed. Young Missus Jane, I had found, was a sleepwalker, and Missus had asked me to stay later in order to make sure young
Missus Jane didn't get herself into a fix. Because I would only be there for part of the night, Missus ordered an older woman, a house servant, to sleep in the girls' room. But this night, I had slipped out a little bit early. On my way out, I'd knocked into the clock that sat in the girls' room and almost woke them up, but I'd stood frozen, listening to its ticking, and willed it to let me out the door.

The small, abandoned cabin finally came into my view. I stopped to study the surroundings, a bit nervous that I might have come on the wrong night. Whatever type of meeting this was, I knew it could not have been authorized by any plantation master, and therefore, they probably had a watchman waiting outside. But perhaps this was not the meeting day—perhaps no one was here! I shuddered to think I was out there alone. The warnings in the back of my mind surfaced, but then dissolved a moment later.

I had spotted him.

The cloaked figure sat behind the broken door of the cabin, hidden in the shadows. If he had not moved slightly, I don't think I would've seen him at all.

Staying out of his line of sight, I crept around the side of the cabin and kept my ears open to see if I could hear where the meeting was taking place. But I heard nothing at all.

But then the wind carried, a muffled voice to my ears. I swung sharply around. Behind me stood a small shack that was mostly hidden by a cluster of trees. Glancing around once more to make sure I hadn't been seen, I made my way carefully toward the run-down building. The closer
I crept, the louder the voices became. Crouching right in front of the shack, I could hear the voices—it sounded like men—but I couldn't make out their words. I crawled to the side and noticed a cracked wooden board above my head. Voices floated out to me from the opening, clear as day. The nervous feeling in my bones quickened as I lay on my belly, listening.

“… cain't do this no longer. Gotta run sooner or later!” The weariness in John's voice was evident. His words brought a jolt of surprise to my chest.

“You know what happened to Billy, don't ya?” another voice whispered with a sharp edge of warning. I couldn't make out whose voice it was. He continued, “He ran off all in one piece, an' about three weeks later, came back in about three pieces. Hung his body up fo' show. Don't say you runnin' before you really know what you gettin' into. Ain't no room to be backin' out. Y'all know what happens when you get caught.”

“Beg ya pardon, sah, but you gotta get caught first fo' that to happen.” It was Tucker's voice that cut the man off. “We know the risks.”

A long stillness followed. I couldn't even hear their breathing, but my breath seemed so loud, I feared with each passing second they would discover me.

Then the first voice spoke up again. “Well, if y'all gonna run, ain't no need draggin' otha folks with ya, like this man here….” A deep grunt cut into his statement. It wasn't just Tucker, John, and that unknown man kneeling in the shadows speaking about escape. Someone else knelt
with them. I prayed for the last man to remain silent, for his identity to remain concealed from me. But I knew who it was; I don't know how I knew, but I knew right away.

“This man here's the one who came up wit the idea,” Tucker said softly. The other men seemed to be waiting for him to say more.

John filled the space. “Cain't stop otha folks from runnin' if they wanna run, sah.”

The man sighed, and then asked, “Got anythin' to say?”

“Sho' I do,” came the familiar voice of the fourth person in the shack. “When we goin'? Cain't go now—them slave dogs excited round this time. Heard somebody up at Bennington plantation up an' ran.” My brother's words seemed to echo around me ten times louder than they really were. My mind raced, and with the pressure in my chest growing stronger, I was sure it would explode any minute.

John is running! Daniel is running!

“Naw, y'all won't be goin' now. It'll be cold, but I think it's best round Christmas.” The unsteady, nervous silence that followed caused the tension inside to swell even greater. My heartbeat felt as if it would rip my limbs apart with its dangerous, heavy, deathlike thumping. I decided to leave and head back to my quarters.

Brushing away the bugs that had crawled up my legs, I tried hard to steady my shaking body. The November air was cold, and I was shocked.

Both John and Daniel running? That just couldn't be!

“Sarah, Sarah, what you comin' in so late fo'?” Mary asked me sleepily as I scooted softly through the door. I had thrown all my attention into running back to the quarters, as soon as I'd crawled far enough away not to be heard. Pausing at the door, I looked over at Mary lying on her pallet, hoping the night was too dark for her to see my solemn face.

“Sarah, you in late.”

“Young Missus Jane,” I said simply, kissing Mary to assure her I was all right, then walking to the water basin. I stood there a long time, hands submersed in the chilly water.

Mary doesn't know. Mary does not know,
I reminded myself over and over, trying not to let the reality take hold inside me. But I failed. Every word I heard at the shack—every whisper and every imagined gesture and facial expression—kept playing and replaying themselves through my mind.

John and … and Daniel … are running?
I wanted to feel anger, but fear pushed past instead.

“Sarah, somethin' wrong?” Mary asked, turning over to see me standing still at the water.

“Naw ma'am,” I said as I hurriedly rinsed my skin and crawled onto my pallet. “Night, Mary,” I whispered, but she had already fallen into that place of dreams.

Sleep was not to me this night; I knew of no such thing. I stared at the wall, confused, my eyes wide. I heard Daniel enter that night—heard him moving around with a slow steadiness. I watched him walk over to Mary and stare at her sleeping face for a long time. I knew, as I heard him lay down on his cover, that I wasn't the
only one missing sleep that night. But soon enough, my eyelids shut and I was tossed back into the fiery pits of my nightmarish dreams.

There was a clock before me—a large clock. I stared, listening.

Tic-toc. Tic-toc. Tic-toc.

What was it I was waiting for?

Tic-toc. Tic-toc. Tic-toc.

Ah! It's time.

I crept through the woods and through the open spaces, retracing the familiar steps down to the broken-down cabin. I stopped in front of it.

Their faces bobbed back and forth before me, three male puppets with permanent smiles painted on their faces, swinging back and forth from string.

Who was it that stood there, controlling their movements like that? I had to know.

And suddenly, I was standing in the center of the dirt floor, lost in the darkness of the cabin. I searched for the faces, but all I saw were strings. Strings hanging from the ceiling, strings draped across the window, strings trailing across the floor, all attached, somehow, to the unseen, bobbing faces.

I must cut them loose!

I searched desperately for cutting tools and, finding nothing, fell into a deep panic. I ripped at the strings with my hands and bit into them with my teeth.

I have to cut them loose!

And, finally, they did come loose, these strings that had attached them to the Big House, to Masta, to Mary, to me…. All cut loose!

The bobbing faces stopped their nodding, the solemn looks returned, and they walked through the door, nodding a cordial farewell.

No, you can't leave me like this!

With arms outstretched, I dived through the door and walked right onto the ship, my legs almost buckling beneath me.

I crept around the upper deck, leaping, hiding, dodging eyes, bending low.

I followed the monster-man, who had covered his nose with a cloth, all the way to the door that led to the bodies.

It was meal time. Large spoonfuls of mushy provisions fell upon the bodies—our bodies. Chains rattled, a dangerous bustling about could be heard. No words were spoken; none were needed. The actions spoke for themselves.

What's mine is mine. This isn't real anyway. Wouldn't you rather die before me? So don't eat it. Let me have it. What does it matter? We'll wake up tomorrow, and our own sun will be shining on our backs.

A four-legged creature with a long tail ran across my feet and fell into the hole, fighting off mangled limbs and becoming buried headfirst in the stench.

That rotten smell of dead flesh, feces, urine, decay, and blood sent a wave of nausea rocking my body as I succumbed to a fit of gagging.

I became my four-year-old self, curled up and trapped in the midst of hell, my skin rubbing against a thousand bodies screaming questions aloud.
How do you lie there like that, in that same position, for hours, days, weeks? How is your soul not crushed beneath the weight? Tell us!

Stop,
I whispered.

I was transformed, this time landing in the skin of an older body. I broke through the chains of hell, feeling the tension growing thicker, hearing, now, the screamed answers to the questions.
I can do this because I've died already and cannot feel a thing. This isn't real. This isn't real! I can sit here like this because my mind has run away and locked itself safely in another world. And my heart, well …

Stop it!
I shouted this time, and broke free again. I pushed myself onto the upper deck and slammed headlong into silence.

Three men stood tall, side by side, their bobbing faces now attached to torsos and legs. Grand smiles adorned their faces.

But why are you smiling? I cut the strings.
One of them held out something to me that was wrapped around his hand, but I couldn't see what it was. The three of them gestured in unison toward the sea.

I looked out over the edge of the ship. Black fins were circling around a figure that lay in the water. It was a man floating, dead, sinking. I saw the resemblance right away; the body looked like an older version of Daniel.

I turned back to the three men, their smiles haunting
and mischievous. The first one stepped up on the side, spread his arms wide, and leaped.

One down …

No,
I screamed.

The second one stepped up.

Don't …
I started. His smile widened, and I caught a glimpse of what had been wrapped around his hand. It was a chain. My eyes followed it, trying to find what it was linked to. Part of it wrapped around the wrist of the last man, meaning that if the second man jumped, he, too, would be pulled over the side.

I frantically followed the rest of the chain, tracing it straight across the deck, right to my own body and up to my neck. The two men leaped …

… and I was attached.