by Rita Woods
* * *
“Sweet Sadie! Margot?” cried Petal. “You just scared ten years off my body. Wherever did you pop up from, girl? And what is the matter with you? You look like death warmed twice in a skillet. And I’m the one that just pushed two giant babies out my lady parts.”
Despite the blanket of dread that seemed to lay over everything, Margot smiled.
“It is the priestess. Mother Abigail. I found her in the woods. She has fallen asleep. I cannot get her up.”
“Sleeping?” Petal’s face twisted in confusion. “In the woods?”
Margot nodded.
Petal stared at her, eyes narrowed. “Alright, then,” she said slowly. “But why you look like someone just danced over your grave?”
Margot rubbed her forehead and looked away. In her mind she saw once again Mother Abigail on her hands and knees, screaming at the spirits, pawing at the frozen grass like a wild animal. Heard Mother Abigail predicting her own death. And she could not shake the feeling that, despite everything that had already happened, something even more terrible was upon them.
“It is … We must get her up and by a warm fire,” she said finally, not answering the other woman’s question. “We must find someone to help.”
She felt Petal’s questioning eyes on her a moment more.
“Well.” Petal took a deep breath. “Let’s shake a tail feather then. Those babies of mine sleepin’ now, but that ain’t gon’ last, and when they open they eyes, they gon’ be ready for breakfast.”
Margot tried to restrain her. “Wait! No. You cannot,” she cried. “It is too soon after the birth. You need to rest.”
Petal looked up at her, her mouth twisted in amusement. “What colored woman you know got time to rest?”
She tugged at Margot’s cloak. “Come on, fancy lady. ’Fore I change my mind.”
Margot chuckled and reluctantly allowed herself to be dragged along. “You are a funny girl, Petal.”
Petal scrunched her face. “You got no idea.”
Mother Abigail lay in the exact spot where Margot had dropped her. If there’d been any leaves left on the trees, her snoring would have shaken them loose. Petal stood over the old woman and frowned.
“This don’t seem peculiar to you?” she asked, locking eyes with Margot.
“Yes,” answered Margot simply.
Petal looked at her, questions playing across her face. “Well … she looks peaceful enough,” she said, finally.
“Yes,” she agreed again.
“And you tried wakin’ her up?”
Margot twisted her lips and waved an impatient hand, not bothering to reply.
“Yeah, guess you did that or you wouldn’a bothered to come lookin’ for help, would you?” Petal sighed. “Okay then, you’re a big girl and I’m stronger than I look.” She flexed a tiny muscle. “And she’s an old thing. Between the two of us we ought a be able to get her back to her place and tucked in.”
It proved much more difficult than that. Mother Abigail was dead weight. Petal grabbed the old woman under the arms while Margot gripped the ankles. But Margot was nearly half a foot taller than Petal, and this threw the old woman’s weight off-balance. As she lifted the priestess’s legs, Mother Abigail’s head fell back, striking Petal in the teeth. The girl’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click.
“Sweet Sadie!” Petal cried. Staggering, she fell, landing on her back, hands clasped over her mouth. The top half of Mother Abigail landed on Petal’s stomach with a soft thump, the sudden weight pulling Margot forward. She tripped over the priestess’s feet, landing on her knees in the wet dirt. The old priestess gave one loud snort and then resumed her deep, rhythmic snoring.
“Well, goddamn, and ’scuse me for taken the Lord’s name in vain, but guess this my reward for gettin’ up early. Mother Abigail is dead to the world,” said Petal through her fingers.
“Yes,” said Margot. She smiled grimly. “And she may well be dead in fact if we cannot get her back.”
The sky had lightened and birdsong was beginning to fill the air, but there, in the shadows of the trail, it was still bitterly cold.
“Perhaps we should get one of the men to help us. Surely someone will be up by now,” Margot said.
“Let’s just get this thing done.”
Margot clutched at the old woman’s cloak, dragging her partially upright. Grunting with the effort, the two women managed, finally, to half carry, half drag Mother Abigail into the still-quiet settlement.
“We got to stop. Let’s just prop her up over here by the Central Fire for a minute. It’s warm and folks’ll be up soon. Then we can get one of the men to help us get her to her cabin.” Petal was panting and her bottom lip had started to swell. “Thomas’s boy. He always one of the first up looking for coffee. He’ll help.”
“What about Josiah?” The spit soured in Margot’s mouth as the old man’s name passed her lips.
A shadow passed across Petal’s face. “You wanna know somethin’?” she said, leaning toward Margot. “He Mother Abigail’s friend and all, but he the most peculiar person, don’t you think? With those weird, unnatural eyes a’ his. Between you and me, he just gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
Margot smiled slightly. “He gives me the … heebie-jeebies as well.”
They positioned the old woman close to one of the woodpiles next to the bakehouse. Petal went to the fire and stirred the coals that smoldered in the gray ash, feeding in dry kindling until there was a fine fire crackling inside the circle of stones. Margot brought Petal water to start the coffee, then they both slumped near Mother Abigail to warm themselves and rest.
Margot eyed the old woman uneasily.
A bit peculiar.
She turned to Petal, who sat with her eyes closed, her face jutted toward the heat of the now-roaring fire.
“You’ll want to put something cool on that,” she said, touching Petal’s bruised lip gently with her finger.
Without opening her eyes, Petal waved her off. “No, no, it’ll be fine. Had way worse.”
Her hand hovered near Petal’s face a moment longer before she let it drop to her lap. She glanced at Mother Abigail, feeling the wrongness of the old woman’s deep, impenetrable sleep.
Day had finally broken, and around them Remembrance was stirring to life. Soon the women would be heading to the Central Fire to start breakfast for their families and get water from the nearby well to wash. Petal pushed a metal cup half filled with scalding coffee into Margot’s hand.
“I gotta go check on my babies,” she said. She stood and looked down at the snoring priestess, a frown creasing her tiny face. “You sure ain’t nothin’ else wrong with her? I ain’t never seen nobody sleep like this before—never in my whole life. And I seen me some tired colored folks.”
Margot stared into her coffee cup. She shrugged. “As you say, she is very old.”
“Old or not, this just don’t seem right at all.”
She looked up and met Petal’s eyes. They gazed at each other, an uneasy, silent conversation taking place. One more secret between them. Petal looked away first.
“Well, what I know?” she said. “I just an old field hand. Lots of things past my understandin’.”
She stood for a minute longer looking down at the insensible priestess, then yawned. “Time will tell. Always does.” She winced and touched her swollen lip. “And right now the time is for them greedy babies to suckle.”
She started across the clearing, skirting the now-white-hot fire. She stopped and turned around.
“You gon’ watch—?” The unfinished question hung in the air as her head jerked up.
Margot was on her feet in an instant. She’d heard it, too—the sound of horses moving through the brush, and there were no horses in Remembrance. Their eyes met across the fire. She saw Petal trembling beneath her thin cloak, her tiny fists clenched at her side.
Margot tried to follow the sound. One horse? Two? She couldn’t tell. Petal began to back away, moving toward
her cabin, her eyes wide and frightened.
She sensed movement behind her, heard Petal cry out a warning. She spun and found herself face-to-face with a tall white man—broad shouldered, with curly, dark hair and dimples—and he was holding a rifle.
“Well, now,” he said cheerfully. “Coffee’s on, fire’s made. A lovely start to a lovely day all around, I’d say, wouldn’t you, Frank?”
A huge white man stepped from the trees near the river path, leading a horse. He swung his gaze between Petal and Margot, looking them up and down, as if silently daring them to try to run, to scream. He folded his arms across his wide chest and watched them wordlessly, his expression dark, dangerous.
The first slaver grinned and turned to Margot. “Be a good girl and fetch us some coffee, lass.”
Never, porc!
She stared at him, not moving, watched how his breath hung in the frigid morning air. She could smell him … and the other one. They smelled like death. The slaver took a step toward her. She cringed involuntarily. He saw it and his smile widened.
He leaned down until he was gazing into her eyes. Only with great will was she able to make herself stand and meet his look.
“Ah,” he said. “You’re not feeling hospitable then. Pity, that.”
The false smile vanished, and she felt a bloom of bright pain across her face, her vision blurring. It took her a moment to register the blow. In all her life, no one had ever struck her. She stood blinking at the slaver, more shocked than afraid. He smiled and Margot saw the full killer in his soul.
She looked into his eyes and moved her fingers inside her skirt pocket, searching for the knife David Henry had given her days before. At her feet, Mother Abigail snored softly.
50
Winter
Dix led the way, weaving in and among the trees, following a route that once again was invisible to Winter. Meanwhile, behind her, Louisa kept up a steady stream of complaint.
“I must be the stupidest colored girl on the planet. Followin’ a white pattyroller boy and a half-brained nigra girl through the middle of the forest in broad daylight,” groused Louisa. “Might as well go stand out in the middle of the post road and wait for a pack of slavers to just come by and invite me in their wagon. Might as well—”
“Shut up, Louisa!” cried Dix and Winter in unison. Dix looked over his shoulder and caught Winter’s eye. He gave her a weak smile. Louisa was quiet for nearly a full minute before the grumbling started once again. Dix groaned, but Winter simply shook her head and tried to tune her out as they struggled uphill through the dense growth.
The ground gradually leveled off and the tangle of brush thinned. It was fully morning now, and sunlight, the color of churned butter, reached them through the bare branches. The air crackled with the cold. A stray snowflake landed on her face, where it quickly disappeared, leaving only a trace of dampness. As the cover of trees thinned, Dix slowed, then stopped, crouching next to an uprooted tree.
“Your David Henry’s a mighty fine woodsman. Makes himself invisible out here,” he said. “He’s not far, though. He wouldn’t have gone too far from y’all. Once we meet back up, I figure we got another five, maybe six miles before we get to your home place.” He smiled. “If we’re lucky, might make it in time for breakfast.”
At the mention of breakfast, Winter’s stomach growled loudly and Louisa’s responded in sympathy.
“Best be gettin’ on,” he said. Something in his tone snapped Winter to attention. She peered into the trees uneasily.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothin’, but we best find your man quick. We burnin’ up good travelin’ time, and Colm and them gonna be movin’ faster than us.”
She watched as he studied the shadows around them. Was Louisa right? Was he leading them into a trap?
They had only taken a few steps when they heard the sharp report of twigs breaking behind them. They froze, listening. For an instant there was no sound. Even the birds had gone silent.
Dix moved slowly, silently, pushing both girls until they were behind him. She thought she saw a shadow moving in the trees. Behind her, Louisa’s breathing was loud, ragged.
“Move,” whispered Dix.
Winter took a step back, forcing Louisa to move with her. She could run. All the way to Remembrance if she had to.
Louisa seemed rooted to the spot, her eyes so wide they seemed about to pop from her skull. Winter tugged at her sleeve just as the rustling in front of them grew louder.
“Come on,” she hissed.
And then David Henry stepped from the shadows. Louisa made a strangled, high-pitched sound and covered her face.
“Are y’all just cockeyed stupid or what?” he hissed.
“David Henry!” Winter smiled and started to explain why they were out there, but the words died on her lips. David Henry was shaking with rage, his rifle gripped tight in his hands.
“We had to move, David Henry,” she began again, speaking softly. “Something—”
He shot her a withering look, and she looked down at her feet. Slowly, he swiveled toward Dix, looking him up and down, his finger still on the trigger. “And what in the name of God is your story, boy? How come you ain’t just run off when these two simple-headed girls cut you loose?”
Dix returned David Henry’s gaze, his face blank, unreadable.
“They been through here already,” he said, quietly.
In an instant, David Henry’s demeanor changed. His body tensed. He seemed to sniff at the air, his narrowed eyes taking in every detail of the area around them.
“What?” He leaned toward Dix, who blinked but held his ground. “What you mean?”
“I mean Colm and them. They been through here already. I think they headin’ to your Remembrance.”
“I been all up in these hills. I ain’t seen no tracks.” David Henry’s voice was harsh.
“No.” Dix shook his head. “It’s what they do. They get off their horses and then they split up. Circle wide around what they huntin’. If you see any signs of them at all, it just looks like one man huntin’ maybe. Some a’ that they figured out on their own. Some a’ that”—he swallowed hard—“I taught ’em. They ain’t never lost a slave they had their mind set to.”
He locked eyes with David Henry as he said this last, his mouth a hard line.
The muscles in David Henry’s jaw worked. “Show me,” he said, after a long moment.
Dix nodded and began to move stealthily through the trees. David Henry started to follow but stopped. He turned and glared at the two girls.
“You two go wanderin’ off this time and you on your own. I’ll just tell Mother Abigail you got ate by bears. You hear me?”
“David Henry…,” began Winter.
David Henry growled and leaned close, his nose nearly touching hers. “Do … you … hear … me, Winter?”
Winter gritted her teeth and nodded, and then Dix and David Henry disappeared into the shadow of the trees. Left alone, the two girls sat in silence, not looking at each other.
“So what if they headed back to Remembrance?” muttered Louisa finally. “Either they’ll find the business end of a gun or nothing at all. Mother Abigail must a’ been outside the Edge hangin’ the quilt to signal the exchange or something, otherwise don’t know how those ’rollers got past the Edge in the first place.”
But Winter knew how.
The Edge was broken.
Mother Abigail was broken.
But she’d fixed it. They’d fixed it. Right before …
She dug her nails into the soft earth, feeling the faint vibration there. In her mind’s eye, she saw it all again and whimpered. The slavers bursting through the bushes. Mother Abigail sprawled on the ground. She could still feel the heat from the priestess’s hands, the way the ground shifted under them, the weight of Mother Abigail’s limp body weighing her down. She could hear the gunshots, the screaming horses. And Thomas? Thomas had been running from the woods to protect them, to protect M
other Abigail, but he had disappeared in a haze of mud and smoke.
“I hope you’re right,” whispered Winter.
Louisa stared at her sullenly. “Course I’m right! You think those crackers gon’ be able to get into Remembrance more than once? The men’s just probably sittin’ there waitin’, prayin’ those pattyrollers come back again.”
She looked at Louisa, surprised by the other girl’s sudden bravado. Louisa glared.
“What you lookin’ at me for?”
She dropped her chin onto her knees and wordlessly twirled a damp, gritty strand of hair round and round her finger.
Dix and David Henry reappeared from the shadow of the forest.
“This boy’s right,” said David Henry. He looked at Dix with grudging respect. Glancing up at the now-blue sky visible through the trees, he said, “Got to get a hurry on. Remembrance is close and I got a bad feelin’ about those slavers.” He glanced at Dix, who nodded. “We goin’ home,” said David Henry.
He raised an eyebrow at the girls, who had jumped to their feet. “And we goin’ quiet.”
“Come on, ladies,” said Dix. “It’s gonna be okay. You almost home.”
He turned to follow David Henry into the thick brush. Louisa followed, careful to give the white boy a wide berth as she passed.
Winter shot a look at Dix as she passed. His pale, angular face was drawn, the circles under his eyes violet, blending into the deep purple bruises on his cheek. His hair stood up in stiff, pale spikes behind his ears. He reminded her of a half-starved rabbit, exhausted and scared.
He patted her roughly on the shoulder and she jerked away
“It’s gonna be just fine, Winter,” he said, pulling his hand back. “You’ll see. Just fine.”
51
Winter
Winter stumbled. Dix was at her side in an instant, and she shot him a look as she regained her footing and brushed past.
The sun was high in the sky, producing light but not warmth, and the snow had begun to fall in earnest. Fat, wet flakes collected in Winter’s hair, melted inside her collar, the snow only adding to her misery. She slogged gloomily behind David Henry and Louisa and Dix, with no thought in her head except putting one foot in front of the other.