Luke remembered that frightening night he had to go on a spy mission and say, “Red is dead. Sunrise on the left,” and sing “John Brown’s Body,” and so they all sang “John Brown’s Body” and laughed at how scared he was when the tall Black man with the beard rose up in the cornfield.
He could laugh about it now, but that battle was a close call. And then they all cried when once again he shared the battle experience that had made him a man.
Daylily sang, “Mama, Are There Any Angels Black Like Me?” and she taught it to them, and she told them she taught all her students that they were angels.
They had great fun teasing Caswell about how dark he got, and how folks didn’t know what he was. Finally, it was time to sleep. They put the pallets down where they had always been, under the blanket. Daylily took off her shoes and asked them to turn around while she slipped out of her dress, although it made little sense to her, since they had already seen much more than her underwear many times. But they did it anyway.
Luke built a small fire to take the chill off. They opened the door and took a look at the darkness of the woods and autumn stars, and then they were in for the night.
“Frost coming,” Luke said quietly as they barred the door. And then Caswell saw something they had missed. “What’s that in the corner?” he said. It was an old gray scaly thing.
“A snake skin,” said Daylily. “A rattlesnake skin.”
“Been there a while,” Luke said. “Snakes shed in the spring, not the fall.”
“Not there by accident,” Daylily said. “She put it there for us. Betty told me all those years ago, snake skins are a sign of new beginnings. It’s a sign of new life. Time for us to go on without her, and do what we supposed to do.”
In the morning, they decided to leave their gifts to Betty on the table as a way of thanking her and as an offering to the Great Spirit in her name. They left the blanket on the wall to speak for Betty. And if any traveler came by and used their gifts, well, she would have liked that more than anything.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to my family, those living and those in Spirit, for all their great love, support and energy. Thanks for cheering me on about this book when the going got rough and the road was long.
Special thanks to all of my dear sister-friends who never tire of giving me the inspiration, time and attention needed to persevere. Thanks for never losing faith in me or in my Black angels.
Special thanks to my dear friend Gabrielle Beard, who was there for me when I had lost the courage to try again.
Special thanks to those who came before, ancestors unknown, who lived the struggles that made it possible to tell this story.
I appreciate the longtime assistance of my agent, Marie Dutton Brown, who continues to affirm that I can do this work; my wise friend Cheryl D. Woodruff, who gave much advice; and my editor, Stacey Barney, for her outstanding professionalism and her tenacious belief in the project.
And finally, to the Mother-Father of us all, Deo Gratias.
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