his voice trembling
like his lips,
like that gun.
“You ain’t going nowhere but home, Phoebe.”
And Master smile.
according to Phoebe
S u r e T h i n g
Shad might let me go.
Or he might pull the trigger.
But Master?
He’s a sure thing.
Master gonna keep coming ’til he get me.
And when he do,
he’ll surely make me pay.
I take a step back.
“Don’t!” Shad shout.
But I take another.
One eye on Shad where he lie in the dirt
and the other on Master,
who so close now I can smell his sweat.
“Shoot her!” Master shout. “Do it!”
according to Shad
F r o m M e
I think my legs is broken.
But I don’t feel a thing
except the weight of this gun.
“Do it!” Master say.
And I always do what Master say.
But then I looks at my Phoebe backing away
like she’s got somewheres else to go.
Why you wanna run
from me?
Master getting closer to her.
But she’s keeping out of reach.
“Shoot her, Shadrach,” he say. “In the leg.
Or she’ll get away—
from me.”
I look at his sweaty face, his crazy eyes.
He’s right.
“What about your plans?” he say. “Your cabin. Your wife.
You have to make her mind you, boy.
Or she never will.”
Master right about that, too.
“Do it,” he say. “Pull the trigger.”
I look at Phoebe.
At her leg.
And wonder:
How we gonna dance if I shoot it?
And know:
We never will if I don’t.
Eyes torn
between my Master and my Phoebe.
Heart torn
’cause I can’t give them both what they want
from me.
according to Master
R e e l i n g I n
“Do it,” I say, “… and I’ll make you overseer.”
Shadrach’s mouth drops like a gaping cod’s.
He’s taking it hook, line, and sinker.
Another few words and I’ve got him.
Another few steps and I’ve got her.
Either way,
I win.
“Brutus is dead,” I say, steeling his resolve
as he sets his sights on power and position.
On Phoebe’s leg.
He closes one eye.
“The job is yours,” I say.
“Are you man enough?”
according to Phoebe
D e c i s i o n M a d e
Shad gets that look he always do
right before he leap.
Lips tightened.
Head raised.
Decision made.
He gonna shoot me.
But this time,
I made a decision
of my own.
“Don’t,” I say,
speaking my secret words,
voice cracking like a speckled shell,
“please, Shad.”
according to Shad
G o s p e l T r u t h
I near drop the gun when I hear her,
my Phoebe, saying my name,
begging me not to shoot.
“You can talk?” I say.
She nods.
“Why you never talk before?”
“I never had nothing to say.”
Her voice a whisper.
“Nobody gonna listen anyhow.”
“Why you running away?” I ask. “The truth, now.”
“I ain’t Master’s shame,” she say,
eyes puddled up with tears.
“I ain’t Tessa’s toy,
or even your girl, Shad.”
She shrug.
“I’s Phoebe. Just Phoebe. I belong to no one.”
“You’re mine!” Master growl, stumbling closer.
Making Phoebe step back.
Making me raise the gun.
She look at me.
“No matter how many Masters say it,
or pastors preach it,
or how many long years we be living like this—”
With every word, her voice grows stronger,
my gun, heavier.
“—owning people is wrong,
shameful wrong, Shad.
And that’s the gospel truth.”
according to Shad
A t L e a s t
While Phoebe speaking,
Master lunge and snatch her.
At least I don’t have to shoot her now.
At least she’s caught and coming home.
Master raise his hand,
slap her head and face,
make her cringe and cry out,
cowering beneath her skinny arms.
She deserve it for all she done.
But he don’t let up.
“I’m going to whip the skin off you myself,” he yell.
“Lying, good for nothing girl!
You think you can steal my slaves?
Burn my crops?
Lie to me?”
Phoebe’s face bleeding now.
Eyes rolling.
Arms falling.
He beating her real bad.
“Stop!” I yell from where I lie, helpless in the dirt.
“Stop, Master!”
He glare at me. “Shut your mouth, boy!”
“I’ll do it!” I say,
knowing a whipping from me wouldn’t kill her.
“Ain’t it my job?”
He laugh. “Did you really think I’d make you overseer,
you dumb fool?
You haven’t the nerve to even fire a gun.”
He look me over. “Besides, you’ll never walk again.
You’re even more useless than you were before.”
“But this one,” he drag Phoebe over to his horse,
“I’ll chain her by the ankles,
like her high and mighty mother,
stand her naked on the auction block,
until she’s bought and broke by the highest bidder.”
He pull her close and snarl his words.
“By the time I’m done with you,
you’ll be begging for the bullet
that coward never shot.”
according to Shad
T h e N e r v e
Master’s wrong.
I is smart.
I is useful.
And I gots more nerve than anybody I know.
Lips tight,
I raise my head,
I raise the gun,
and set my sights on where they struggle.
My Master and my girl.
And then,
I squeeze.
according to Phoebe
A t L a s t
I see Shad raise the gun,
but this time
I don’t stop him.
This time,
I close my eyes.
Let him shoot, I think.
Maybe it’s better to be shot dead
outta love,
than be made live a long life of suffering
outta hate.
The gun explodes in the distance,
echoes in my muffled mind.
And I fall.
Free.
At last.
according to Phoebe
B l a c k H o l e
I open my eyes,
surprised I can,
and roll over to see
Master Duncan,
flat on his back,
staring blind at the wide night sky,
a black hole
in his vest,
dripping blood
and seeds.
according to Phoebe
S h a d o w s
I turn my head, sure I seen something in the woods.
If it ain’t paddyrollers,
it soon will be.
Two black slaves
next to two white corpses
is soon dead theyselves.
We gots to get out of here. Me and Shad.
I crawl over to where he lying,
looking up at the night sky.
Only he trickling tears.
“Phoebe!” He take my hand in his. His fingers cold.
“You ain’t shot?”
“No, but Master gone.”
I wonder which one of us he aimed for.
“We got to go, Shad,” I say, kneeling by him.
“If we’s—”
A rustling in the bushes
stops my words,
stops my heart.
Too late.
We’s already found.
according to Phoebe
C a t c h i n g U p
Will and Birdman creep outta the shadows
and onto the moonlit road.
“Davey and Joe hid the wagon ahead,” Birdman say.
“Can you make it?”
Like he don’t think we can.
Shad and me, we’s a sorry sight.
But Shad look between Birdman and Will
and finally see answers.
“I was right about you, Doctor,” Shad cough.
“I knew you’s up to something.”
Birdman check Shad’s chest.
“That bag was yours, wasn’t it?
You’s the abolitionist Master read about in the paper,
ain’t you?”
Birdman look over at Master’s body.
“He won’t hear you ... he dead,” Shad say.
“I shot him.”
“Shadrach,” Will and I kneel by his brother.
“You something else.”
Will smile,
but it drop when Birdman meet his eyes
and shake his head.
Will take his brother’s hand.
“You came back,” Shad whisper.
“Just like Phoebe.
I knew you all wouldn’t leave me.”
Shad look down at his broken body.
“But ... I think I’s just gonna rest here a while.
You go on ahead ...
I’ll catch up.”
He smile the saddest one I ever seen.
“Oh, Shad,” I say, resting my other hand
where his heart
skip and
chug.
All of us knowing it slowing
to a stop.
according to Phoebe
S o r r y
“I’m sorry,” Shad say.
“For all I did.”
He look at Will.
At me.
“But most of all, I’m sorry
for all I’ll never do.”
His breath fading now and Shad with it.
And I wonder how such a big soul,
how such a bright spark
can be so easily snuffed.
Shad cough and wheeze,
like it pain him just to breathe,
and I lean in close to hear his whispered words.
“I could have made you happy,” he say.
“I could have made you love me.”
“You did, Shad.”
I squeeze his hand,
even as he let go.
I kiss his lips,
even as he breathe his last.
And I bless his heart,
even as it stop.
“You already did.”
according to Phoebe
C h o i c e s
I can’t believe he’s gone.
Big Will kiss his brother’s head
and I know, then, how much it pain him to let him go.
How much he loved Shad.
I hope Shad knew that, too.
“He found your bag,” I say. “He hid it to keep you safe.”
Will nod, wipe his nose on the back of his hand.
“But I knew you needed it. I knew you needed to be free.
So I took it back and he followed me.
It’s my fault Shad here.”
“No,” Will say. “It ain’t.
You made your choices. Just like I made mine.
And Shad made his.
You ain’t responsible for what someone else choose.
The only choices you get to make,
the only ones you gots to live with,
is your own.
Shad never understood that.”
But I do.
“Well, Phoebe,” Birdman say, helping me to my feet
where we stand at the crossroads.
“Looks like you have another choice to make.
There are no witnesses, no survivors, but you.
You can sneak back to your pallet
and no one would be the wiser.
You are free to go back to Whitehaven,
if that’s what you want.”
“Free to go back?” I say, knowing that caged life
ain’t no freedom at all.
And I realized every choice I made:
collecting words,
and secrets,
stealing bags
and freeing Yellowbird;
each choice was like one goose,
that together make a flying V pointing north.
Each choice was one small step
bringing me to where I now stand.
Making it easy to make the next:
“I choose freedom, Birdman,” I say.
“I want to go to Canada.”
according to Bergman
T h e R o a d
Will and Phoebe weep for hours,
thinking of the lad left where he lay
on the road behind.
But I’m more concerned about the long road ahead,
for Will, Davey, Joe, and Phoebe.
Fugitive slaves.
A dead master in the mix.
They’re bound to be pursued right up to the border,
maybe even into Canada.
If they make it that far.
Many don’t.
according to Bergman
H o p e
We stop at the shore, after many long miles,
much later than I’d planned.
It’s almost dawn.
I hope he waited.
Still, I wouldn’t blame him if he left.
Patrols roam the river’s edge for criminals
bootlegging barrels of booze,
freeing fugitive slaves,
illicit deals of malt and men.
A boat has no business out here in the dark.
No legal business, anyhow.
He risks his life each time. We both do.
But how can we not?
I whistle over the dark waters.
I call again.
And its echo answers, eerie in the misty night.
He’s here.
I’ve never known his name
or his face.
It’s safer that way.
Each of us doing what we can
with what we have
for the person God put in our path.
Each of us trusting there is
still good in the world.
Still hope for mankind.
according to Bergman
O h i o R i v e r
“He’ll row you to the other side,” I say,
handing Will the bag as the small boat appears,
the familiar form hunched at the oars.
“Cross the river,
let your compass lead you north for three nights,
don’t travel by day
and keep off the roads,” I say.
Crumbs of advice.
Just enough to lead them safely
/> to where they can get another handful of help.
Careful not to burden them with more than they can carry.
“Look for the farm with the waterwheel,
the candle in the window.
They’ll take you in and tell you where to go next.
I’ve sent word. They are expecting …
a shipment.”
I smile, then.
Shake the men’s hands.
Take Phoebe’s.
“Good luck, my friends,” I say.
Hoping I’ll see them again.
Wondering if I will.
according to Phoebe
L o s t
“You ain’t coming with us?” I ask.
How we supposed to find our way without Birdman?
The world outside Whitehaven
suddenly seem such a big, dark place
and me lost in it.
“I’m going to Tennessee next,” he say.
“More birdwatching.
More bags to deliver.
More shipments to send.”
He smile.
And I wonder—
“You ever send a shipment
from the Scott plantation down in Carolina?”
He think for a moment.
“As a matter of fact, I did,” he say. “A few years ago.
Four men
and three women.”
“Was one called Ruth?” I ask, daring to hope.
Birdman look at me in surprise. “Yes,” he say.
“I saw her when I was home last.
She works at the Willard Hotel in St. Catharines.”
And I know then where I’s going.
Even if I don’t yet know the way,
the where,
or the how.
I know one thing:
I ain’t lost no more.
according to Phoebe
S t r a n g e r s a n d F r i e n d s
The rowboat scrape the shallows
and we go down to meet it.
A man at the oars nods at Birdman.
It time to go.
“Avoid the towns,” Birdman say
as he hold it steady for me to climb in.
“Come tomorrow,
you’ll be on wanted posters from here to the Falls.
The Gospel Truth Page 11