by Rita Woods
Mother Abigail’s.
She was in Mother Abigail’s chicken pen. She pushed herself to sitting, head pounding, her skin on fire despite the morning chill. She clawed clumsily at her cloak, trying to rip it off.
“Winter?”
She raised her head. Mother Abigail stood over her, Josiah a few feet beyond. The priestess reached down and pulled her to her feet, gripping her hand so that the cloak stayed on.
“What happen here?” she asked. “What you do?”
Winter frowned, then looked to where Mother Abigail pointed. Blood was spattered across the pen, her feet, the hem of her shift. Feathers covered the ground like gray and red snow.
“I…” She staggered as the world seemed to shift beneath her feet, then vomited again. The two old companions watched in silence.
“I don’t know. I don’t…” She shook her head, felt a wave of dizziness. She had been focused on the Easter Egger. Had been there, inside it.
“I don’t know,” she said again. Her skin burned. She swallowed again and again, fighting against the nausea.
Mother Abigail and Josiah exchanged a pointed look, and a flicker of fear pierced her cloud of confusion. She couldn’t stop looking at the ground around her. There was so much blood, so much …
She’d been concentrating on the Easter Egger, on its feathers and the spaces inside it. Concentrating on the blood …
“Winter!” Mother Abigail’s voice was sharp.
Winter jerked and looked up at the priestess.
“Leave it, petite. Leave it, now!
“A fortnight,” she went on. “The freedom train brings passengers to our door.”
Winter tugged at her hair and tried to concentrate on what the priestess was saying. A rescue? There’d been no rescue since Zeus. And that had not gone well. And how was it possible that Mother Abigail could even know such a thing without ever having left her cabin?
“How many?” she asked finally. The smell of blood was nearly overwhelming.
The old priestess gazed into the woods beyond the chicken pen. “Freedom quilt hung in the tree on the other side of the Edge. Five pins in the center of the star.”
Five. Five runaways escaping on the Underground Railroad.
She knew that Outside, people hung quilts to signal that runners were being passed from station to station, places where people would help them escape slavery.
Winter followed Mother Abigail’s gaze. There was no quilt, just a stand of birch trees and a cloudless blue sky. She looked back at the priestess.
“They will come,” repeated Mother Abigail, still gazing off into the distance. “And when they do, you will be there to help guide them in.”
Winter inhaled sharply. She had never been to a crossing. No one had, except Mother Abigail and Josiah. Fear wrestled with excitement inside her, and she opened her mouth to ask Mother Abigail the million questions that were suddenly swirling in her head, but the priestess turned and walked away.
19
Margot
Margot barely registered him when he appeared from the shadows. She’d been walking for hours, head down, mind blissfully empty. She thought—if the vague consciousness that propelled her forward could truly be called thought—that it might have been two days since she’d left her sister. She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten, when she’d last slept. It no longer mattered.
If the man had not stepped directly in front of her, had not grabbed her by the wrist, she would have most likely walked straight into the river. It wasn’t until he spoke to her that she finally looked up. And there it was, the Ohio River, the last rays of sunlight spreading across its flat, silver surface like melted butter. Dark bluffs rose jaggedly against the golden red sky on the other side. She turned to look at the man who’d stopped her, touched his face, then collapsed, spent.
When she woke, she was on horseback, shivering, damp, wrapped in a moth-eaten blanket. It smelled like horse, but it was warm, and for the first time in days she was not alone.
He told her his name was Benjamin, but after that said very little except to offer her food or water. As they rode, she wondered vaguely about Ned, about his mother and brother, but there was a part of her that didn’t want to know. It was better to imagine that they had crossed this way and were making their way toward Canada, were there this very moment sitting safe and warm in front of a roaring fire.
They traveled through the night and all the next day, stopping only to rest and eat, and to water the horse. Aside from her name, Benjamin asked no other questions, and for this she was grateful.
Near dusk of the second day, they stopped at the edge of a clearing and crouched, half hidden among the branches of a massive mulberry.
“Once you with Mother Abigail’s people you be safe.” The man’s eyes glittered in the waning light. He pulled a quilt from the tangle of mulberry branches and ran a finger over the five pins that glistened in the star at the center. He gave her a sad look before squatting beside her, the quilt folded on the ground at his feet.
“This place you goin’ … it different,” he said softly. “Mother Abigail’s sort of a holy woman. Coloreds that go with her, they don’t never get found. They just…”
He made a going-away motion with his hand, wincing in pain as he did so. Margot looked away. She’d felt his sickness during the long ride. Her arms, wrapped around his waist for hours, had thrummed in agony as his heart stumbled over itself in his chest. Outwardly, he looked healthy, but she doubted he would live another full year. Once more she thought of Grandmere, who would know some potion that might strengthen him. She pushed the thought away.
“Some folks ’round these parts call this place an abomination.” He chuckled. “They say it a affront against God. Don’t seem to stop ’em tradin’ for Mother Abigail’s liniments and healin’ herbs, though it sho’ do keep ’em from hangin’ round longer than necessary.”
Margot frowned, not understanding. How could anyone guarantee that no one in this Remembrance would ever be found? And why would people think such a place was an abomination?
“You’ve been there?”
“What? To Remembrance? Oh, no, ma’am!” Benjamin laughed out loud. “Remembrance ain’t exactly a comin’-and-goin’ kinda place.”
He patted her arm, and once again she felt his heart, big and weak, struggling in his chest.
“Trust me,” he said. “It gon’ be alright.”
She made a disbelieving noise, then fell silent as he moved away from her to watch the clearing. She thought of the stories Veronique had whispered to her in the dark of the shack, of the railroad that took slaves away to freedom. She ran a hand over her face and blinked back tears.
Benjamin tensed. Someone was coming. In the pale moonlight she could make out a figure, small, moving fast across the clearing.
“Stay,” he hissed.
He stood but clung to the shadow of the bush, one hand on his rifle. Somewhere, off in the darkness, his horse nickered. Margot pulled the thin blanket more tightly around her shoulders. The figure stopped a few yards away, the tiny lantern they held moving in a slow arc, searching.
“Hello?” The voice of a young girl.
“Who the hell is you?” snapped Benjamin, stepping from the cover of the mulberry. He pointed the gun directly at the girl’s chest and she stumbled back with a cry, the lantern swinging wildly.
“Mother Abigail! Mother Abigail sent me!”
For a long beat, he seemed to think this over, then slowly lowered the rifle.
“Never sent no one before,” he said, his distrust palpable in the dark clearing.
“No,” agreed the girl. “But I know you’re Benjamin. I don’t know why, but she wanted me to bring the passengers in tonight.”
At the mention of his name, the conductor visibly relaxed. He turned and motioned for Margot to come out.
The girl frowned. “Mother Abigail said there’d be five.”
Benjamin looked away, his expression pained.
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br /> “Light load,” was all he said.
Margot had a flash of realization that the five had included Ned’s family and Veronique. She pressed her lips together, then looked at the girl standing in front of them for the first time. She was tiny, about the same age as Veronique, wild-haired and barefoot despite the cold ground. When she saw Margot looking, she smiled.
“I’m Winter.”
“Bonsoir. Margot.”
The girl raised her eyebrows and grinned.
“Here,” she said. She held a packet out toward Benjamin. “Mother Abigail says give this to you. It’s from Louisa’s garden. She says it’ll help make you stronger.”
The man accepted the packet with a slight bow. “Nice meetin’ you, Winter, but I best be gettin’ on. No need to draw extra attention. Give Mother Abigail my regards.”
He smiled at Margot. “Welcome to freedom.”
He turned to go and Margot grabbed for the young conductor’s hand. “Attente. Wait.”
He stopped, and she could feel a pulsing rising up her arm and settling between her breasts, could see swirls of dark gray fluid filling her lungs. She could see what was broken inside him, but knowing was not fixing and she was not a healer. He was watching her, eyes narrowed. She swallowed hard.
“Merci,” she murmured, then dropped his hand.
He frowned, then with a final nod to the two girls, melted away into the night. Margot followed him with her eyes as long as she could.
“We need to be going, too.”
Margot started; she had nearly forgotten the girl. In the dim light, she squinted. Even standing still, the girl quivered with a nervous energy. She reminded Margot of the terrier the farmer in Kentucky kept by the smokehouse to chase away rats.
“Come on,” said Winter.
She turned to walk back across the clearing, toward the blackness of more forest. Margot watched her go. The night wavered around her and she lifted her face up to the sky. She no longer felt the trembling in her legs. She no longer felt her legs.
Freedom was in front of her—or so the Underground Railroad conductor had said—somewhere beyond that clearing the strange girl was crossing. Her sister was behind her, her body swallowed up in some nameless forest on the other side of the river. And she … she was caught in between, unable to take another step.
“I made it, Vee,” she whispered to the night sky. “I am free.”
“Christmas!”
Margot looked down. Winter was several feet away, waving her arms, cloak flying about her head like a flag.
“Girl!” she cried. “Margot! What are you doing?”
Margot took one step then stopped once more.
“Je suis si désolé! I am so sorry,” she murmured. “Just go. Please!”
The sky stretched overhead like velvet and, faraway, in the high branches of the trees, she thought she heard Veronique laugh. The tiny girl came back to where Margot stood, muttering angrily. Stopping a few feet away, she flapped her arms at Margot again.
“What is it? We can’t just stand here. We have to go.”
Margot stared at her.
“I don’t understand? Are you sick? Is something hurting you?” cried Winter. “It’s only just a little ways now. Hardly anything at all. Come on. Here, you can lean on me. I’ll help you.”
“No!” Margot jerked away, eyes wild.
Now it was Winter’s turn to stare.
“I just … please. Leave me alone. Aller-en.” Margot gave a harsh bark of laughter that ended in a sob. Freedom? What would she do with freedom? Without Grandmere? Without Veronique? In this cold, strange place that even the man who’d delivered her here had never seen. She was so tired and so empty.
“Come on,” Winter said, finally, her tone gentle. “It’ll be alright. I promise. You can move just this tiny ways more, can’t you?”
Margot had a sense of how dangerous it was for them to be standing out in the open like this, knew what this girl was risking. She wanted her to leave, to let the girl know that it didn’t matter anymore—that she was fine. She opened her mouth to tell her this but the words died on her lips.
Winter had dropped into a crouch in the high grass, as she peered narrow-eyed into the woods at the far end of the clearing. Instinctively, Margot crouched, too. The grass was autumn dry but still high, and from where she squatted, she could just make out the top of Winter’s head.
“Quoi? What is it?”
She strained to hear something, to see something, but there was only the ordinary night sounds … and the sour smell of the other girl’s panic.
Something … on the wind, just at the edge of hearing. There was the rustling of the trees and the wind across the grass, the sound of her blood pounding in her ears. There was …
There it was again! Barking! Weaving in and out of the wind, whispering through the grass … the barking of dogs. Her throat locked around a scream.
“Come!” Winter’s voice came to her across the short distance, brittle with fear. “Come, now!”
Margot’s head snapped around. The other girl’s hand extended to her through the grass, and Margot made her way toward it, keeping as low as possible; her resolution of just moments ago—to give up on this night—forgotten.
The younger girl jerked her head toward the woods, and the two leaped to their feet, dashing for the cover of the trees on the opposite side of the clearing. The dogs were closer now, their barking high-pitched, wild. They’d caught the scent and were crazed with the chase.
“Saint Dieu! What are you doing? Why do we stand here?”
The tiny girl had whirled and stood facing the dogs that had crested a short rise at the end of the clearing. She stood there, watching them come.
The dogs raced down the low hill and Margot screamed and bolted for the trees. Winter still hadn’t moved. From the corner of her eye, Margot saw her standing, motionless, staring as the dogs came. And then she saw her falter.
“Course!” she screamed, though there was no hope now that the girl could ever outrun the dogs. “Run!”
The dogs were nearly on them now, their wild barking drowning out every other sound in the clearing. Margot saw a tree several yards away, a small V-shaped opening low on its side. If she could just make it there, if she could push her way inside …
And then someone else was there with them, a tall, broad woman, her pale cloak glowing white in the moonlight. The woman stepped out into the clearing and turned toward the rushing animals. Barely acknowledging Margot, who’d stumbled and fallen to her knees, the cloaked woman pointed at Winter.
“Go,” she cried, her accent foreign to this part of the world but somehow familiar to Margot. “Get the tifi moving!”
Winter whirled and scrambled to Margot’s side, the dogs only a dozen yards behind her now. “Get up,” she screamed. “Get up now!”
She grabbed Margot’s arm and yanked her to her feet, dragging her toward the shadows of the woods. It sounded as if the hounds were right on top of them, but with Winter pushing frantically at her back, Margot couldn’t see.
As they stumbled along the dim path, the night sky began to glow an eerie green. The air crackled and hissed, and sparks of light flashed above their heads. The hair on Margot’s neck stood up. There was a crack, like a gunshot, a terrifying yelping. And then silence. The only sound was the wind rustling through the grass, and their panicked breathing..
“Be a good night for Josiah’s cider.” The foreign voice spoke, very near her.
Margot cried out. The big woman stood just a few paces away, leaning lightly on a walking stick, calmly studying her. There was no sign of the dogs.
“I’m Mother Abigail,” said the big woman. “What name you go by?”
Margot ran a trembling hand through her hair and stared. Mother Abigail took a step toward her and Margot flinched. The priestess stopped.
“You safe here, petite,” she said. Her voice was low, gentling, the voice one used with frightened children or the ill. “You safe now
.”
She turned to Winter, who was lurking wide-eyed at the side of the trail. “Come then, this girl looks like death walkin’. Let’s get her into the settlement.”
“I’m sorry, Mother Abigail,” said Winter. “I’m so sorry.”
Mother Abigail turned back to look at the girl. She was the oldest woman Margot had ever seen. Her dark skin was smooth but wrapped tightly around the bones of her skull. Snow-white eyebrows sat above deep-set, burning eyes that moved constantly, seeming to take in everything. The old woman stared at Winter, an expression on her face Margot couldn’t read.
“It’s late, child,” was all she said before turning to walk up the path.
“The dogs,” Margot croaked, her voice hoarse. “What happened to the dogs?”
Mother Abigail turned once again and gave an enigmatic smile. “They lost the trail. No need to think of them again.”
“Lost … lost the trail? But…,” she said. “C’est impossible.” They had been right there, close enough to touch. She closed her eyes. It was hard to focus. Her thoughts were coming so slowly. “Where there are dogs, the slavers will be right behind.”
She looked over her shoulder.
Mother Abigail laughed, and Margot saw that her teeth were brilliantly white and widely spaced.
“Child,” said Mother Abigail. “No slavers gon’ ever find their way here. This here all Mother Abigail’s. You got off the railroad in the safest place there is.”
Winter stepped to her side and began to guide her up the trail, gently this time. Margot trudged behind the old woman, listening for danger. But the dogs were gone. There were no enraged white voices.
Safe? Nowhere in the world was safe.
“And where is this place, please?”
The old woman turned and looked at her. “Remembrance, petite. This is Remembrance.”
20
Mother Abigail
It was after midnight.
The new girl had barely managed to stagger into Remembrance. Though her eyes were barely open, they’d managed to get a bowl of warm turtle soup into her. From their place around the fire and from the doors of their small cottages, the other settlers had watched, curious yet maintaining a respectful distance, giving her space as was the custom. There would be time for questions at the welcoming.