Good Fortune (9781416998631) (24 page)

“For you,” he said, taking my arm to help me sit up. Once I was settled, he held out the bowl and I took it without pause. But with another moment's consideration, spoon grasped in hand, I looked around, curious.

“Where am I?” I said in a weak, cracking voice.

“Eat first, then talk,” he said. Without any further persuading, I began my meal.

“Careful. Hot,” he said, pointing to the bowl. But I paid him no mind. Spoonfuls of the soup filled my mouth, and some of it even dripped down my chin.

“You like?” he asked. I nodded.

“Rabbit,” he said simply. All too quickly, the food had disappeared. I stared mournfully into the bowl. Slowly and patiently, he pried the bowl from my fingers. Without a
word, he stood up from the side of the bed. I stared after him, watching his small, nimble body retreat from the room. His black hair was braided down his back. Soon, he returned with another bowl of the soup. I smiled up at him as he handed me the bowl. His lips remained set, but his eyes smiled down into mine. He sat down again.

“You talk now?” he asked after I finished the second bowl and settled back with a full belly. I nodded.

“Where am I?”

“My home, in Kentucky. Found you out there almost dead. Very bad storm.”

“But how you find me out there?” I asked, listening closely to his accent.

A small smile curled on his lips. “Just listen close to inside,” he said, patting his chest. “Somethin' say go, I go. Find you. Carry you back here.”

That explained the feeling I had of floating through the air.

“I thought I was dyin', freezin' to death,” I said.

“Freezin'?” he said thoughtfully. “Yes, you freeze. But you live. Not your time to go, to . . . to die.” He looked at me kindly, waiting for another question.

Suddenly, a haunting thought crossed my mind.

What if this man is dangerous? What if he makes deals with slave hunters? What if he knows who I am, where I had run from, and intended to take me back?

“Shh,” the man said, cutting into my thoughts so sharply, I wondered if he could see the words spinning behind my eyes.

“You safe with me,” he said with a smart nod. “You safe here.”

My heart told me I was safe, but my mind convinced me that his words weren't enough. I tried to wash my face with a blank stare and to come up with a lie that would make me less conspicuously a runaway and enable me to escape his home. But sickness had left me weak and broken-down. A tear almost fell from my eye as I struggled to take possession of my feelings, which were tumbling every which way.

“Shh,” he said again, leaning over to pat my shoulder as I sniffed back the fear.

“All I know, you lost from home. Gonna get better here, then return. Know nothing else. Gonna keep you safe until you ready to go.” I eyed him carefully, then nodded trustingly at him, still unable to gather my emotions. I let the swelling feeling of gratitude show in my gaze.

“Ain't neva seen no white man help folks like me.” I pointed at his hair. “Ain't neva seen no white man wit skin as dark as yours an' hair like that befo'!” I said.

He laughed and then replied, “You not seen many things in world. I'm no white folk.”

I looked at him with a frown.

“They call me Indian. Forced family away.” The lines that ran across his cheeks and forehead deepened.

“Who forced them away?” I asked, feeling the sadness behind his weighted words.

“Folk you talk of.”

“Why you didn't go with them?” He turned his eyes away from mine.

Instead of responding to my question, he said, “We here long, long time before they come. We try to tell them land cannot be taken. Land not . . . ah . . . not property to be owned. They steal and call it ‘my land' anyway. Foolish folk. No understanding. I not understand them. They no understand me,” he said, raising his hand to pat his chest. Then he lifted his hand and pointed at me. “And they no understand you.”

I nodded, solemnly, and covered my mouth when a cough escaped my lips. He helped me lie back down. Then he stood up.

“You need water. Be back.”

“Thank you, sah,” I whispered, hoarse. When he returned, I was drowsy again, half-asleep, but full of questions nonetheless. After I let the water run down my throat, I asked him what was on my mind.

“How long've I bin here?”

“Day four today,” he said. “Your fever—very bad. I hunt around here and help folks like you long time,” he said, leaning closer. “Know things out there in the earth, on trees, in bushes and woods—things that heal. But strongest medicine not work for you. Something else heal you. You wanted alive.”

I sighed, distantly, and closed my eyes. I was drifting back into sleep, but he continued.

“Yesterday the worst day for you. Nighttime, you burn up with fever. I don't sleep one minute so I keep you cool.
You sleep, toss around all night, and speak words sound like ‘Mathee.' Your skin so hot at first, but when sun touch sky, fever fly away. Your face brighten, and the fever gone for good.”

I listened abstractly to his words, finding it more and more difficult to keep my eyes open. I didn't want to fall back asleep; I wanted to stay awake and alert, even though I trusted the man.

“. . . sitting by your bed too, tired . . . talk to you. He keep talking to me, say he know you make it. . . .” He was standing, and walking away. His last few words met my ears as I fell deeper into sleep.

“. . . that fellow here . . .” He had opened the door.

“. . . came just yesterday . . .” His voice sounded distant, as if he were telling me a bedtime story.

“. . . sleep good.” The door shut, and I was asleep.

My heart skipped a beat as soon as I opened my eyes, the memory of the hunter's words echoing in my ears.

He had said “. . . that fellow here . . . just yesterday.”

I threw my legs over the bed and sat up, trying to compose my thoughts. But the movement was too quick, and I held my head in my hand, begging the pain that had erupted to leave me quickly. As it did, my thoughts began to run wild.

He's here.

“Who?” I whispered to the empty room. Images of
Tucker's smile and the gaze of my brother's eyes passed through my mind.

“Who?” I asked again, standing, then moving quickly toward the door. I had to stop, and leaned against the wall to steady myself so I wouldn't topple over. But I shook it off and headed again toward the door. But before I could reach it, the door swung out wide. A young man stood there, eyes red and tired, mouth open just slightly.

Without a moment of hesitation, I had my arms wrapped solidly around him, my tears spilling into the sweat that dampened his shirt. He lifted his arms up and encircled me in a hug in response. So many silent words passed between us, so many unexpressed feelings. Over and over, the image of my brother lying dead in the woods had haunted my mind, drawn out so precisely and realistically that I had thought for certain I had lost him. And yet here he stood before me now in this room, life pulsing through every strong heartbeat I could feel against my body.

I still sobbed into Daniel's shoulder as he led me back to the bed. He sat down by me. I had questions upon questions, but it all was too overwhelming. I wanted to tell him how seeing him relieved every piece of my heart, and yet, it still didn't feel right. Now I knew for certain: Tucker was the one who had perished in the woods. My tears of gladness and disbelief became, in an instant, tears of mourning. Daniel felt the shift. He whispered softly, “He was brave, Sarah.”

“Daniel . . .” I fell into a light coughing fit, feeling dizzy and light-headed from the exertion.

“You still weak, Sarah. Go on back to sleep. I ain't goin' nowhere.” The voice was soothing, and it seemed to restore strength to my body. I let my tears carry me toward rest.

Just as he had promised, when I awoke, he was seated right beside me, my head still on his shoulder. I lifted my neck, stretching it out, and looked over at Daniel. I wanted to jump up and hug him again, never letting go. But instead, I turned to look at him. Daniel's face had grown thinner. But behind his eyes lay the same soul I had known for most of my life. I opened my mouth, but he cut in before I could say one word.

“The hunter's a safe man, Sarah, if you hadn't figured. This place is one of them safe houses I done told you 'bout.” His words were unsteady but they were informative, as if he sought a subject that would be easy to talk about.

“Sho' seemed like it to me, Daniel, but how you know?” I asked, fighting to keep myself calm. I fiddled with my fingers, trying to find some way to drain the excitement of being able to talk to my brother, who for weeks I had believed was dead.

“Was runnin' an' saw the blinkin' lights. I was 'bout gone myself—tired an' jus' so weak. Sat in front of the house to make sho' I wa'an't jus' seein' things. Sat there fo' 'bout an' hour an' saw the lights blink twice again. Knew it as a sign.”

I nodded. “I believed him when he tole me.”

“Oh! Got somethin' fo' ya.” From under his arm he pulled my sack and handed it to me. The tear had been roughly stitched up.

“Hunter fixed it up fo' ya. Say he gotta know how to take care of hisself out here. Nice man.”

“Sho' he is.” We talked on. The hunter had entered to check on us, and he showed us that we were actually settled below the house, under a trapdoor.

Soon after the hunter left, Daniel fell asleep. I watched him as his eyes closed, then took the sack he had given me.

I was tired as well, but I needed to make sure that all my belongings were still in my bag. I dumped its contents onto the bed and unwrapped a large hair rag that held my belongings. My hand ran across coins wrapped in fabric. I bit deep into my lip, remembering the moment Tucker had learned of my intention to escape with them. A strange grin had slid upon his face as he nodded with satisfaction. Then he pulled a bag of coins out of his pocket and handed me two.

I put the coins to my lips and whispered a prayer, trying to rid my spirit of the unsettled feeling I had. But sadness overcame me, and I quickly rewrapped the coins. My needle and thread were still there, as were Mary's gift and the smaller cooking utensils she had provided me with. My hand ran over the other items as I searched in vain for the little wooden angel John had carved for me.

Where's my angel? John's angel? Ain't no way I made it this far without it!
But I must have done just that, for the small
wooden guardian was nowhere to be seen. I sighed, afraid of what me losing it might imply. It was gone forever; had I lost John forever too? Or was he already thinking about and planning how to get to freedom, how to get to me? I shook that thought from my mind but just as soon as I had, the image of Tucker came to my mind. The scent of blood in the woods the day he was caught still lingered in my nose, his friendly face now swamped in death still painted on the back of my eyelids.

“Sarah?” I jumped as I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard Daniel's voice.

“Daniel! I was just thinkin' . . .”

“What's wrong, what's the matta?”

I sighed. “Had a dream 'bout my mama back from where I came from.”

“Another dream?” He asked, his eyebrows arching with concern.

“Oh, nothin' at all like usual. It was a good dream, almost like she—like she healed me herself.” We were silent for a moment before I continued. “Made me think of Mary for a moment.”

As if my words were an open invitation, Daniel jumped right in to voice his concerns. “You know, I bin thinkin' hard 'bout her, Sarah. I didn't know what was gonna happen to you, an' I was worried to death 'bout Mama. Figured maybe it was me s'posed to make her come.”

“Daniel, don't do that. Already told you, cain't make her do nothin' she don't wanna do. She'll be all right. She will.”

Daniel nodded slowly.