Promises to the Dead

by Mary Downing Hahn

  Fearful of rousing dogs, we made a wide swing around the house and stole up through the woods to a row of small cabins. The doors were shut tight, but I chose one and rapped softly. Perry stood beside me, close enough for me to feel him shivering in the cold.

  The door opened a crack, and a woman peered out at me. "Who are you? What do you want?" she asked in a low voice. I couldn't blame her for being suspicious. The last thing she'd expected to see was a pair of strangers standing on her doorstep.

  "We've come all the way from Baltimore City looking for a slave woman named Hyacinth," I whispered. "Athena, the Baxters' house woman, sent us."

  The woman pointed down the row. "Hyacinth lives in the last cabin, but I reckon she's still at the big house, tending to Miss Polly. Just set on the steps and wait. She'll be along shortly." With that she closed the door.

  Perry and I did what she said, but it was sheer torment to sit there smelling dinner cooking for everyone but us. Behind the closed doors of the cabins, we heard folks talking and laughing. I pictured them eating and drinking, filling their bellies whilst Perry and me huddled together in the dark, cold, scared, and hungry.

  Somewhere hounds bayed. Across the river, a train whistle blew sad and low. Never had I felt so lonesome in my whole life.

  "We shouldn't have come here," Perry whispered.

  "Seems to me we didn't have much choice," I reminded him. "We couldn't very well stay in Talbot County or Baltimore, could we? Not with the colonel and the widow on our tails."

  As usual, he didn't have nothing more to say. He sat there hunched in misery like a baby bird waiting to be fed.

  At last I saw someone walking toward us from the big house. Even in the dark, I noticed she had nervous way of holding herself, like she was pondering a weighty problem. I knew she wouldn't see us till she fell over us, so I got to my feet and pulled Perry up beside me.

  "Hey," I called softly. "Is your name Hyacinth?"

  Although I'd hoped not to startle her, she went as tense as a deer that just got a whiff of danger. Stopping where she was, she peered at Perry and me. "Who wants to know?" she whispered.

  "I'm Jesse Sherman from Talbot County," I told her. "I got your sister Lydia's boy, Perry, with me."

  "Lydia?" Hyacinth came toward us, still wary. "You know Lydia?"

  Perry broke away from me and ran to meet Hyacinth. "Mama's dead," he blurted out. "Mama's dead. And so is Papa."

  Hyacinth studied his tearful face a second and then drew him close. Perry clung to her as if he never meant to let go, sobbing fit to bust. Hyacinth began to cry, too.

  For a long while neither Perry nor Hyacinth paid me any mind. Not that I expected them to. But I couldn't help wishing I had an auntie who'd be as glad to see me as Hyacinth was to see Perry. I could have used some hugging myself.

  Finally Hyacinth freed herself from Perry and led us into her cabin. There was just one room, but it was warm and cozy and tidy. And it smelled of good things to eat. She seated us at a table in front of the fire and commenced to fix our dinner, filling three plates with beans and baked yams and the fluffiest biscuits I ever did see. The whole while she worked, she kept her eyes on Perry as if she couldn't get enough of him.

  "You have the same dimple in your chin your mother had," she said softly. "The shape of your face reminds me of Lydia, too."

  Hyacinth herself didn't have Lydia's prettiness. She was taller and thinner. Older, too, I reckoned. But, like Athena said, she seemed sensible enough.

  "You boys eat your dinner now," Hyacinth went on. "You can tell me everything afterwards."

  Perry didn't stay awake long enough to do any telling. He fell asleep at the table before he'd finished his second helping. Hyacinth picked him up and carried him to a pallet by the fire. Careful not to wake him, she covered him with a patchwork quilt. For a few moments she stood there looking down at him, her face full of woe. Then she came back to the table and turned her attention to me.

  "How is it you have Perry?" she asked.

  "Lydia ran away from the Widow Baxter," I explained. "But before she died, she made me promise to bring Perry to Miss Polly Baxter. She said Miss Polly was the boy's aunt and she'd help him."

  "So Mr. Peregrine Baxter was Perry's father?" Something in the way she asked told me it wasn't no surprise to her. "The boy bears some resemblance to the man, I suppose."

  "Lydia told me herself," I said. "She also told me his widow planned to sell her and Perry south. For spite, I reckon. When they ran away, she sent her uncle Abednego Botfield after them. Do you know him?"

  "Yes, indeed, I know Colonel Botfield," Hyacinth muttered. "May his soul burn in hell for all the misery he's caused."

  "Amen," I said, agreeing wholeheartedly. Then, while Hyacinth listened closely, I told her all that had happened, beginning with Lydia's death and ending with Perry's and my trip to Virginia. It seemed the story got longer every time, for there were new things to add to each telling.

  Hyacinth sat still a long time after I stopped talking, her face a study of sorrow and worry. The fire burned low, and a log fell, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. The wind rattled a branch against the closed shutters. I shivered, for the sound was like the dead knocking to come in from the dark.

  Finally Hyacinth wiped her eyes with her apron and turned to me. "I haven't seen Lydia for nine years," she said. "When Mr. Peregrine took a fancy to her, he sent me to Baltimore, and he sold Mama south. He didn't want us coming between him and Lydia."

  Hyacinth glared at me as if I was somehow to blame. "Lydia was only fourteen years old," she said. "A pretty child, that's what she was, foolish enough to believe his lies."

  Her voice was so full of hate for Mr. Peregrine Baxter I found myself wanting to take up for the poor man. Why, I don't know. It pained me to think of him wooing Lydia when she was only a couple of years older than me. Selling her sister and mama wasn't too good either. But he'd always had a friendly greeting when I passed him on the road, and I'd never heard my uncle say a bad word about him. Besides, I'd been taught not to speak ill of the dead, who couldn't defend themselves.

  "Mr. Baxter was good to Lydia and Perry," I ventured. "They had fine clothes, and they speak better than many a white person, myself included. And Lydia mourned his passing. I seen her tears myself."

  "Oh, I reckon Mr. Baxter was kind enough when he was alone with the two of them," Hyacinth said. "But they were still his slaves, weren't they, to do with as he wished?"

  "He meant to free them," I said. "Lydia told me so herself, but he died before he—"

  Hyacinth cut me off with a scornful laugh. "That's what men like Mr. Baxter always tell slaves like Lydia. Trouble is, they never get around to filing those manumission papers." She rose to her feet, sending her shadow racing up the wall and across the ceiling. "The smartest thing Lydia ever did was run away. I just wish she'd done it sooner."

  I had nothing more to say. I couldn't argue with the truth. So I just shrank down in my chair and rubbed my eyes, which were itching something fierce. Most likely because I was weary of everything. Seemed like my worries would never be over.

  "Go on, lie down now," Hyacinth said in a kindlier voice, "and get some rest. You're nothing but an ignorant child yourself."

  Glad to escape her sharp tongue, I curled up under the blanket beside Perry. Ignorant, my foot. I knew plenty of things. I had a half a mind to tell her so, but I thought I'd close my eyes for a second first. Just to rest a little.

  CHAPTER 13

  I must have been even wearier than I thought, for the next time I opened my eyes it was morning. Perry was already sitting at the table, eating oatmeal. When Hyacinth heard me stirring, she filled a bowl for me.

  When we were done eating, I asked when we could meet Polly and tell her our story. I was anxious to be done with my promise. The sooner Perry was safe, the sooner I'd be free to go home.

  "I think I should talk to Miss Polly first," Hyacinth said.

  Perry's face scrunched with
worry. "She won't send me back to the widow, will she?"

  "Of course not," I spoke up. "Miss Polly's going to love you, Perry. Just you wait and see if she don't."

  Hyacinth gave me a troubled look. "As I said, Jesse, I'll speak to Miss Polly first thing this morning."

  "But—"

  Hyacinth pressed her finger to my mouth to silence me. "Jesse, I'm telling you to keep yourself out of this. I'm due at the big house. While I'm gone, I want you and Perry to stay here in the cabin. No one must see either one of you. I can't risk folks asking questions."

  "But somebody already saw us," Perry piped up, worried as usual. "We knocked on a door last night, and the woman there told us which cabin was yours."

  Hyacinth frowned. "Which door did you knock on?"

  "The first one we come to," I said, "the cabin at the top of the hill."

  "That would be Esmerelda," Hyacinth said. "I'll see her at the big house and tell her to keep quiet about you two." Giving Perry a kiss, she went to the door and opened it cautiously. The morning sun slanted in, bringing bird songs and fresh smells with it.

  "Remember what I said," she warned. "Don't let anyone see you. Don't talk to anyone. Wait here for me."

  When the door closed behind her, the ray of sunlight vanished, leaving the cabin gray and quiet. For an hour or two, Perry and I amused ourselves playing with a set of checkers we found. But as time passed, we got more and more restless. I kept peeking out the door, looking for Hyacinth. There was never a soul to be seen.

  At last I said, "I reckon all the slaves are working somewhere, Perry. Why don't we sneak outside for a spell? I can't stand sitting around all day doing nothing."

  At first Perry said no, we had to do what Hyacinth said, but I kept at him till I wore him down. We opened the door and looked both ways. Listened, too. Saw nothing, heard nothing. Off we ran, quick as rabbits, and plunged into the woods.

  We followed a path uphill, glad to be outside in the fresh air. In a few minutes we found ourselves on a bluff high above the Potomac. The ferry was just below, no bigger than a child's toy, heading across the river. On the Maryland side a train was chugging along, hauling a long line of cars. Everything looked so peaceful it was hard to believe a war was shaping up. Like those men I'd heard talking at the ferry landing, I expected the whole thing would be settled soon—which meant I'd never get a chance to be a soldier.

  Maybe it was just as well, for I still hadn't decided what side to fight for, North or South. I reckoned I was leaning toward the Union, though, mainly because Colonel Abednego Botfield was for the Confederacy. Now that I knew a bit more about the issue, I didn't want to fight for slavers either. It seemed I was becoming a Yankee slow but sure, which would most likely rile Uncle Philemon—if I ever saw him again.

  Perry and I fooled around on the bluff, tossing stones into the river. After a while, we heard someone coming and hid behind a tree. Soon Miss Polly herself came strolling into sight, carrying a parasol to shield her face from the sun. She had a little spotted dog with her, the kind that's good for nothing but yapping—which was exactly what it commenced to do. I reckoned it had caught a whiff of strangers lurking in the woods.

  "This is our chance, Perry," I whispered. "We got Miss Polly all to ourselves. We can tell her everything right this minute."

  He grabbed my arm to stop me from barging out from behind the tree. "Remember what Hyacinth said, Jesse. We aren't supposed to talk to anyone. Why, we aren't even supposed to be outside the cabin."

  "Now, listen here," I started to say but at that moment the dog found us. It commenced to dance around our ankles, raising the shrillest racket I ever heard.

  "Lady, come back here at once!" Miss Polly called. But the nasty little critter paid its mistress no mind. Without warning, it nipped my ankle, causing me to holler, more out of surprise than pain.

  "Who's there?" Miss Polly cried.

  Motioning Perry to stay put, I stepped out from behind the tree, dragging the dog along with me. It had a grip on me and didn't plan to let go no matter how hard I shook my leg.

  At the sight of me, Polly took a few steps backward, as if I might be dangerous.

  "Call your dog off," I begged. "I don't mean you no harm. I just want to talk to you, that's all."

  "Lady, come here," Miss Polly said. The dog kept right on growling, its teeth buried in my ankle as if I was the daintiest morsel it had tasted in a long while.

  Miss Polly came closer and yanked the dog away from me. My ankle was bleeding, but she cuddled that cussed little dog as if I'd attacked it instead of the other way around. "What are you doing on my uncle's property?" she asked.

  Since she seemed a trifle skittish, I thought it best to tell her straight off why I was here. "My name's Jesse Sherman, and I've come a long way to bring you a message from your friend Lydia."

  Polly looked puzzled. "Lydia? Lydia who? I don't recollect a friend named Lydia."

  Now I was puzzled. "You must remember Lydia," I said. "She was your brother's house girl down at Baxter's Folly."

  "Oh, yes, of course, that Lydia," Polly said. "I didn't realize you were speaking of a slave."

  I was getting a bad feeling about Miss Polly Baxter, but I told myself I'd startled her, and that's why she was talking so silly.

  "Why would Lydia send a boy like you to me?" Polly went on, obviously put off by my appearance. "I don't understand."

  "Well, she aimed to come see you herself," I said, "only she—"

  "But Lydia's a slave," Polly interrupted. "How could she travel all this way?"

  "She ran away," I said, "and—"

  Polly looked like she was about to faint. "Why on earth did she do such a foolish thing? My poor late brother was so fond of that girl. If he'd lived, he would have freed her, you know."

  She shook her head as if to clear her mind of vexatious thoughts. "I can't hide Lydia here, if that's what you're asking. My uncle wouldn't tolerate it, not if she's run away, but if she needs money, clothing—"

  "I'm afraid Lydia don't need any of those things now," I broke in. "The truth is she's dead. She—"

  Polly turned so pale I feared she might faint. "Lydia's dead? Oh, dear, no, not Lydia." She began to weep into a pretty little handkerchief.

  "That's why I'm here," I told her. "Lydia asked me to bring you her son, in hope you'd—"

  Polly lowered her handkerchief and stared at me as if I'd taken leave of my senses. "Lydia had no child. Why, I saw her at Christmastime. Surely she would have told me..."

  While Miss Polly babbled, I leaned around the tree and beckoned to Perry. I figured as soon as she saw him she'd realize Mr. Peregrine was his daddy. Hadn't several people noticed his resemblance already?

  Perry came out slowly, dragging his feet. Scowling at me, he said, "Hyacinth told us not to—"

  But Polly hushed him with a cry. With tears running down her cheeks, she reached out for him just as I'd thought she would. "Oh, you look just like your mother," she exclaimed. "Right down to the dimple on your chin."

  Perry came closer, but not close enough for Polly to touch him. He stopped a few feet away and stared at her.

  I nudged Perry nearer to Polly. "Show her the locket your mama gave you."

  He stuck his hand deep down in his pocket and pulled out the tiny heart, its chain tangled and knotted. He held out his palm so Polly could see.

  She leaned over Perry's hand and stared at the locket. "What's that?"

  "Open it," I told her.

  Polly took the locket and pried it apart with her fingernail. "It's a picture of Peregrine," she said, "and Lydia. Where did you get this?"

  Though Polly was asking Perry, I answered for him. "His mama gave it to him before she died. She said you'd know the meaning of it."

  Polly stared hard at the tiny pictures in the locket. "I don't understand," she whispered. Her face turned bright pink as if it embarrassed her to be so slow witted.

  I was at a loss now. For all I knew, Polly had no notion of how suc
h things came about between men and women. She'd lived a sheltered city life. Nobody had ever put her in charge of a bull or asked her to help at calving time. I looked at Perry. He just stood there, his face as blank as Polly's. Most likely he'd never done any barnyard chores either.

  "Tell Polly who your daddy was," I urged him.

  Perry drew a little closer to me. "You tell her, Jesse," he begged.

  I cleared my throat and looked Polly in the eye. "Like you said," I started, "your brother was powerful fond of Lydia. More fond than he ought to have been, with him being married and all."

  I paused to see if she was catching on. If she was, the girl gave no sign of it. I could feel my own face turning as red as hers, but I went on with my little speech. "Well, the long and short of it is this, Miss Polly—Perry here is your brother's son."

  Polly drew back from Perry and turned pale. "That can't be true. Peregrine would never—"

  "Don't you see how close he resembles your brother?"

  Polly glanced at Perry and burst into tears. Pressing her little hanky to her face, she flung the locket on the ground. With Lady yapping at her side, she began to run toward the big house.

  I chased after her and grabbed her arm, jerking her to a stop. Though Lady nipped at me, I seized the girl's wrists and held her tight. "I don't know what you aim to do," I said, "but don't you dare tell anyone you seen us. The Widow Baxter hates Perry for being who he is. I swear she'd kill him if she got the chance."

  Polly began to tremble as if she feared I was about to strike her, but I felt no pity for her. All I could think of was Lydia and how sorely Miss Polly Baxter had deceived her. It seemed Hyacinth knew a sight more about white folks than I did, and I wished with all my heart I'd listened to her.

  "Let her go," Perry begged me. "Let her go before someone comes and catches us." He began crying, too.

  "I'm sorry I can't help Perry," Polly whimpered through her tears. "Truly I am. I was fond of Lydia, but my father would never claim kinship to a slave. He'd return the boy to Henrietta. By law, she's his rightful owner, and my father believes in the law above all else."