Samuel’s blue-green eyes narrowed. “He should’ve woke me.”
He turned away and tightened the cinch on the horse by holding the band snug against the horse’s belly. The stub of his arm did the holding while he pulled upward with his left hand. His whip hung from the left side of the saddle.
“I can take on most anything a two-handed man can.”
“I know.”
“I can care for you and the children.”
“Yes, but—”
“We may all be in trouble. Perleu left in a big hurry.” His voice shook with controlled anger. “What do we know about him? Why’d he leave?” He snatched his hat off and pounded it on his thigh. “Luke needs to take Aga as his woman and disappear—live with the Seminoles, or whatever. He needs to watch out, especially since Perleu now knows of Aga and the baby.”
Aga cradled the baby closer in her arms. Her doe-like eyes watched Samuel’s every move, as if she’d bolt for the woods if he made a step toward her.
Hannah shook her head. “No, Aga is scared of Indians!”
Ella silenced her daughter. “Samuel, there may be no choice as to who leaves. Perleu says there’s an army patrol comin’ this way. Less than ten days, he thinks. We need to leave, now. I don’t want to be forced out. I want to go on our own, while Luke can help.”
“Then we’ll prepare the wagon.” Turning, he mounted the horse. “I’m checking the trail to the river. I won’t be gone long.” He looked back at her and Aga on the porch. “Forgive my anger. I’m worried.”
Ella herded the children inside and sat elbow to elbow on the bed with Aga. The slave girl sat with her face touching Albery’s soft cheek.
Oh, Lord, protect us. Ella fingered the piece of paper tucked in her blouse. Samuel, you don’t know, but there’s probably no choice in what Luke does in the next few days. You’ll then be our only human protector.
When Luke returned, the sun touched the treetops. He sensed Ella was upset. Her freckles stood out on her pale face, and her intense blue eyes reflected stress. Samuel faced him and asked what he had found.
“There were four Indians. I trailed them to the river—to where they forded it and headed in the direction of the reservation. They know we’re here. I could tell by the way they stayed behind bushes. The grass was trampled where they spent time, either sitting or standing. But they moved on.”
“Will they come back? Are they men you know?”
“I think I know them.” Luke crossed his arms and waited for whatever bothered Samuel.
“That bearded preacher man, Perleu, came by. Ella Dessa says he told her we only have a short time—ten days, perhaps, before someone shows up. We’ll all travel together, if you so desire. But either way, I’ll need your help loading the wagon and fixing that one wheel for travel. I think there’s a crack where it was mortised between spokes.”
“I’m not familiar with that, but I’ll help.”
Ella’s face told Luke she agreed with Samuel. He could read her countenance and body language—the way he tracked deer in the forest—processing the subtle clues and signs.
With a faint smile, she brushed her hands down the sides of her wrinkled skirt. “I can prepare our supplies for leavin’.”
With a quavering voice, Aga spoke up. “You’re leavin’ me an’ Albery?”
“No! Of course not,” Ella gasped. “Don’t worry.”
“Aga, let me change him.” Ella took the baby and removed the soaked material from between his legs. “I miss havin’ a baby to cuddle,” she murmured, wiping his delicate skin with a moist rag. She folded another piece of muslin, then slipped it between his curled legs and adjusted it.
“I’ll learn ta be a good mama.”
“You are one, now. Here, he’s actin’ hungry. I have nothin’ for him.” She laid the baby in the girl’s arms. “Whilst you nurse him, let me tell you what we’re doin’. Your help is needed to prepare food for travelin’. We’ll pack what we have an’ arrange it in the wagon—so there’s room for all of us. Keepin’ an eye on the children while we work will be important, because Luke saw Indians.”
Aga shivered. “I worry.”
“Mothers are created to worry over their young—but also to pray over ’em. Do you know how to pray?”
“Yes’um.”
“That’s good.” She dropped the baby’s soiled towel into a bucket of water near the door. “Aga, there’s more—I haven’t told you or the men, yet. Perleu brought a runaway notice to me. It’s about Luke. A big reward has been offered for his capture.”
Aga’s soft brown eyes shimmered with tears. “He’s a good man.”
“He is. An’ we will try to hide both of you.” She smiled, feeling confident she did the right thing.
The girl’s tears dripped on the baby’s upturned face. “I don’t see how I kin hide!”
“Pray an’ trust, but I’m not sure ’bout the dangers we’ll face. I’ve no promises to make. And if we hav’ta go separate ways, Luke will care for you. If you needs go with us, you’ll be easier to hide an’ pass off as our … slave, but Luke wouldn’t. He stands out.”
“I know,” Aga whispered. She clutched the baby to her full breast.
The girl’s fear and helplessness was heart-wrenching. Ella wished she could tell Aga a lie—tell her it would be fine. Oh, God, she prayed, help me to protect this child an’ her baby. She’s suffered so much. She needs to be hidden from the evil ones huntin’ runaways.
Aga gazed at her. “Luke must see the paper.”
Ella nodded. “I’ll speak with him.”
Luke spent the next day preparing the wagon, greasing the axles, and pegging boards that were springing apart from jostling on the trail. When he approached Ella and told her he planned to go for extra water from the river, she protested.
“Someone might see you. We have water.”
“It’d take too long to use a bucket and draw from the hole. And the water wouldn’t be as clear. I’ll be back soon. Let Samuel know if you see anything suspicious.”
“Luke, I need to show you somethin’—since we’re alone. I didn’t want to tell Samuel without you seeing this.” She pulled out the crumpled paper.
He showed no reaction.
“Ella, I knew a notice had to be out there, somewhere. My owner is no different from other landholders or a plantation manager, just because he fathered me. Two hundred is a nice sum.” His smile was bitter as he refolded the paper and handed it back. “Keep it with the others. You may need to send my father a letter of my death. Also, you’ve taken on a lot by saying you’ll keep Aga with you.”
“I don’t care. I’ll do everythin’ in my power. I’d hide you an’ her! But if I cain’t … can you take her with you?”
“Ella, you can’t hide me.” He grinned, the toothless gap showing. “I’m too big, too brown, and too golden-eyed! And—I carry a cross, cut into my back.”
“You now wear a shirt,” she said, reminding him.
“They’d strip it off to check. Then I’ll be branded in other ways. Notch my ears or worse.” His full lips tightened. “I don’t plan to go back alive. That’s why you should keep the paper safe. You’ll have my father’s name. Send him notice I’m dead. And to answer the other question … yes, I’ll see to Aga and the baby, if need be. But a hut in the woods won’t work.”
Chapter 33
Monday, June 26, 1848
“Hannah, please sit beside the baby, while Aga loads our food in the wagon.” Ella watched Aga set a woven basket, with the three-month-old in it, near Hannah. Anxiety gripped her as she contemplated what they’d be trying to do—travel with two runaway slaves, children, and a baby. Anyone they came across would have questions! Luke and Aga might be hauled off in chains.
They were planning to leave in the early morning hours. It was almost the dark phase of the moon. Their night camps would be protected from a full moon at the beginning of their journey. Keeping loud noises to a minimum was also part of the plan—no guns would b
e used. Luke had a bow and three arrows, found in the camp where Aga had been captive. He planned to try it.
Thoughts of her talk with Aga made Ella’s heart pound. The girl had asked her to hide Albery—if capture was imminent—and raise him as her own. They even planned how they would go about assuring the baby wouldn’t cry and alert others. Ella would put Albery in a sling, concealing his body, and place the infant to her dry breast in an effort to stop inquisitive looks—let them think he was hers.
And Samuel had expressed his own worries. “How do we travel with them?” His tone tightened with a tinge of anxiety. “It’s dangerous. They are both runaways.”
“And now we’re leavin’ to find our way back to the mountains? Can we do it?” Ella glanced around the inside of the cabin. It was empty and cleaner than when she first saw it.
Wolf whined and paced the porch. He sensed change coming.
Patting the dog’s head, she sighed, “I agree with you, ole dog, movin’ ain’t fun.”
“Mama!” Hannah grabbed her arm. “Look, look! There’s Perleu! He’s keeps fallin’!”
“What?” She whirled around to see Perleu stagger toward them from the barn. She ran down the steps. “Luke—Samuel! Come help!”
Luke caught the old man as his legs buckled. “He’s burning up!” He lifted the skinny wanderer, hurried to the cabin, and laid him on the sagging bed. “Malaria,” he muttered. “Get water. Start cooling him.” Luke removed Perleu’s ragged clothes, and shuddered at the emaciated, filthy condition of poor man’s body.
“Oh, my!” Ella gasped, backing away.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Samuel whirled to stare at her.
She nodded. “God knows we must. But I need warm water and lots of it.”
Hours later, after Ella bathed him, Perleu still tossed in delirium, burning with fever one moment, and shaking with chills the next. She kept a vigil at his side and sent everyone else outside. After supper on the porch, Aga and the children bedded down in the crowded wagon to sleep for the night.
Darkness and silence had fallen over the clearing when Ella stepped out on the porch to take a break. Her back ached from bending over the bed, and her whole body felt weary. The light from a lantern flickered through the cracks in the old barn, where Samuel slept. Luke chose the night watch.
By morning, sleeping arrangements changed. Perleu was moved to the wagon, which was stuffed with their belongings. They all hoped and prayed he’d recover quickly. But it was not to be. He got worse.
Hours became long days as Perleu’s worn body fought to recover. They couldn’t abandon him, and they couldn’t take him with them while he lay in the throes of the sickness. Restlessness became a standard routine. The men continued to trade night guard. The women and children stayed close to the cabin and wagon, tending to the old man and providing meals from whatever the men could trap or snare. They didn’t use guns, for fear the noise would bring unwanted visitors.
There was no use complaining.
Luke and Samuel spent more time in the woods, hunting honey trees, snaring rabbits, and fishing. They sometimes traveled long distances to use one of the guns on larger game.
Ella sat on the porch doing patching and repairs on everyone’s clothes, but her presence on the porch had a second reason. She felt the need to keep watch, so no one rode up unexpectedly.
Aga started carrying Albery on her chest, hung in a swath of material, while she helped Luke prepare meat he brought back from hunting. A bond of friendship formed between the two of them. Luke often took Albery from her arms and cuddled him. Samuel took over the job of milking Milly, and at least twice a day, he rode a path through the edge of the woods.
The day Perleu’s fever broke, Ella met Samuel beside the barn. “Perleu is feeble, but he’s talkin’. He says people live north of here—it’s a settlement. Might be the one Duncan spoke of. It was once a gatherin’ place for Indians, but white folks have settled in. He hopes to guide us there—as payment for carin’ for him.”
“When can he travel?”
Ella sighed. “Well, he’s now free of fevers. But he can’t sit up without help. He did drink some broth made from the rabbits you snared. This is a fever he’s gone through many times.”
“He still breathes hard?”
“Yes. Should we stay here a bit longer, to git him on his feet?”
Samuel nodded. “It’d be best for all of us if he can walk.” He gazed at her, searching her face. “Ella Dessa, you need to take care of yourself. I can see the weariness in your blue eyes and the way you walk—arms folded to your waist.” He brushed his fingertips down her cheek.
“Samuel?” She caught his callused hand and pressed it against her cheek, her eyes never leaving his. “I’m so glad you’re with us. I’ve never said that.” Her lips quivered, and she whispered what was in her heart. “The boy who, years ago, waited for me after church and after school knows me better than anyone. I am blessed to still have you in my life.”
He slipped his hand free of hers and pulled her close enough to kiss her forehead. “Oh, Ella Dessa, you’ve just made my heart flip over—like it was bound to do every time we walked hand in hand on those mountain trails back home.”
“Wish we could go back to those days and the mountains,” she said, admitting the longing in her heart.
“Keep wishing.” He winked, kissed her forehead, and walked away.
Nearly three weeks later, the seventeenth of July, the oxen were yoked and harnessed. Milly jerked on her rope and protested being tied to the wagon. The calf had grown. Three more months, and he’d be a year old. His hefty build would make him a good bull someday.
Ella stared at their temporary home. The silvery branches of a palm, which had created the roof, were in need of repair. The weathered log walls seemed to echo the last sounds of their voices.
She felt like crying.
Why am I sad? She longed to head north, back to Georgia! Well—now it’s happenin’, so don’t cry, Ella Dessa! But the sadness of leaving the weathered cabin caught her by surprise. It had been a good shelter. Memories—pleasing and bad—wouldn’t be forgotten.
The day was mild. A gray-feathered mockingbird sang forth his stolen notes as Ella turned away.
She would be handling the wagon, and Samuel came to give her a hand up. But for a moment, he drew her close and wrapped his strong arms around her. Ella realized it felt nice to be held.
“Ella Dessa, everything is going to be fine. Whatever trail we travel, I will forever be grateful you are close by. Years ago, I wanted nothing more than to be your husband. Times have been rough, but we can grow closer.”
A sob escaped her lips, and she pressed her forehead to his chest.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “Just remember to lean on me when your heart aches. I want to be your strength.”
While wiping away tears, she smiled. “I believe you’ve loaned me your strength at different times in my life—even when I was a child. You were the one who always stood by and waited.”
“We were there for each other. Don’t forget that.” He dropped his hand to her shoulder and held her away from him.
“I won’t forget,” she whispered, studying his face. “Now, we hav’ta leave.”
He gave her a hand up and backed away. “I’ll ride close by.”
Clicking her tongue at the large oxen, she settled her thoughts on the path they sought as the wagon followed Luke’s horse. Samuel brought up the rear on his dark mare, and the roan nickered and trotted forward. Extra blankets and packs were tied to its back. Lying propped on rolled horse blankets inside the wagon, Perleu captivated the children with stories he breathlessly told of Indians and swamp spooks. Aga wrapped Albery in a light blanket and joined Ella on the wagon seat.
It was a warm, uneventful day. Luke shot a turkey foraging for seed in a flatwoods area and hung it from his saddle. It was bobbing there, head down, when he reined in.
“I got meat. I think we’ll make camp jus
t ahead. There’s access to a small lake and plenty of grass. I know it’s a shorter day than we planned, but we better stop early, it being our first day.”
Ella gazed up at the huge mantle of trees. “Hope it doesn’t rain, since Perleu will be sleeping outside.” The tight-spaced interior of the wagon was set aside for herself, Aga, the baby, and children. Samuel and Luke would trade off standing guard during the night.
Samuel walked to her wagon, holding his horse’s reins. “Ella Dessa, look at the sky’s reflection on that lake! Beautiful, eh? But just wait until that full moon comes up! Hey, anyone want fish for the evening meal?”
Chapter 34
Tuesday, July 18, 1848
Just after break of day, they left the lake, with Luke scouting on ahead. The children still slept in the rocking wagon. Perleu sat with them, nodding off, slumped against the sideboards. He hadn’t slept much during the night, complaining of his chest hurting. Aga left four-month-old Albery in a basket behind the seat and sat up front with Ella. Progress was slow, with Aga having to direct the oxen around new growth crowding a trail they tried to follow.
“It’s so quiet in the mornin’s,” Aga whispered, her dark eyes moody.
“Hmm. Did you hear the howls last night?”
“Yes, jest ’fore I closed my eyes.”
“I was scared the wolves might try to git into camp, but Luke said they’d be frightened by the oxen.” Ella covered a yawn.
Aga smiled. “Here he comes.”
“Great moon last night, eh?” Luke said. His face showed the shadow of a new beard. “Ella, there’s a wood-slab hut in some trees up ahead. I caught movement and spied on the people. We’re going to angle to it. I think you’ll find the occupiers interesting.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see,” he smiled.
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