Hunting Midnight sc-2

by Richard Zimler

  “Very well, I’ll do as you say — for now. But what’ll you do about Edward? He’s sure to be angry with you for not leaving with me.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll handle him,” I said convincingly, but the truth was I didn’t know what to do to get him to ease up on me. I didn’t want to think about him, so I asked, “What about you? Will you go back to New York when you’re done here?”

  “Yes. Your father may be up North, like you said. There has to be a way to find him. And, Morri, when I’ve found him, if he’s still a slave somewhere, I will see him to freedom. Then, if you’ve decided to stay here, we’ll both come back for you. I promise you that. I only ask that if you receive any news of him you write to me. I’ll leave you my address. And there is one other thing I would ask — though I have no right to do so.”

  “What?”

  That’s when he asked if he might kiss me. I’d never gotten a kiss on my cheek from a white man before. It felt dangerous, but delicate too — like something that children did when no one was looking.

  *

  Saturday morning, things started going wrong right away. Weaver came in to wake me at dawn. He said that Backbend, Lucy, and Hopper-Anne had changed their minds about joining us. They said my getting whipped and then going feverish was a sign that it was the wrong time. Sweet-Pea and Saul were also near to quitting. To keep Edward from sending folks to the Sugar House, they were talking about letting something slip to Mr. Johnson before things went too far.

  If I didn’t get up and talk to them all, Weaver said, then we were maybe going to have to give up on everything. But when I stood up, the world started twirling and I nearly fell over. So I told Weaver I’d meet him at the noonday break and talk to Backbend, Saul, and Sweet-Pea. It was a risk, because Mr. Johnson would wonder why I’d gone into the fields, but it couldn’t be helped.

  I had Lily make me some strong chamomile tea, but that didn’t help much with the aches all over my body. Around about eleven o’clock, Master Edward came home and was hopping with fury when he saw me still there. He came into my room and threw off my blanket, saying that I was to be dressed and out of River Bend in a half hour or he’d have me whipped again. On his way out, he spit on the floor and told me he’d never met a nigger girl as stubborn as me.

  I couldn’t understand why he was being more mud-minded than usual till later. Then I realized that he liked his revenge served up before the main course.

  Lily ran off to fetch John again. I hoped he’d ask Master Edward to go easy on me. I was feeling as if my life was turning around this day. If I left with John now, I’d be stuck forever at River Bend. Likely no one else would escape either, because if Weaver was thinking about failure, then things were coming apart good.

  When John stepped into my room, I asked Lily to leave us again, then told him to close the door. Praying to Mantis that I was doing the right thing, I whispered to him about us escaping. And I said that he had to make certain that I didn’t leave River Bend today because I had a good deal of convincing to do.

  Telling a white man all this was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. I expected him to turn me in to Master Edward. I even said that I’d understand, him being of the same race and all, but that for the sake of my papa’s memory I surely hoped he wouldn’t.

  “Morri,” he said with a powerful sigh, “if I haven’t told anyone about the mad honey your father gave to Big and Little Master Henry, then why would I say anything about you escaping?”

  My heart almost popped out of my chest when he said that. I made him tell me again, since I wasn’t sure I’d heard right. He explained then how he’d figured things out. I was quick to say that Papa hadn’t done the killing. “He told me about the curing honey, sure enough — in case I ever needed to use it to defend myself. But he also promised me that he didn’t do it.”

  John said he’d guessed that too. He had his money on Mistress Holly for the first murder and Mistress Anne for the second.

  “So you’ll make sure I stay at River Bend?” I said.

  “I’ll talk to Edward and invent some reason. Now, what weapons do you have?”

  I explained about the muskets, pistols, and swords.

  “You know how to use them?”

  “Weaver does. He trained some of the men. He showed me too.”

  “And powder?”

  “Plenty,” I assured him.

  “Where are you storing everything?”

  “Under the piazza. Except for one pistol with me here.”

  “Here? Where?”

  “Under the bed.”

  “That’s insane! If they find it here, you’ll be hanged. Give it to me.”

  I just looked at him. He held out his hand. “Give it to me. I’ll say it’s mine. Don’t worry, I shall leave it in my room, under the bed. You can collect it there before your escape.”

  I still wasn’t sure. He wriggled his fingers. “It is much safer with me. I’ll not betray you. Everything of value I’ve ever done in my life has led me to you. I swear upon your father’s memory. Now give me the gun!”

  I crawled under the bed and handed it up to him. In that gesture, I knew I was placing my life in his hands. And I didn’t like it.

  *

  Watching him squeeze that gun in his hand, I knew I’d also have to give him the letter from my father. It was his, after all. So after he’d left my room, I slipped out of the house and made my way to its hiding place in Porter’s Woods. Digging there with my hands, I started crying. Digging things up is a bit too close to remembering, I guess. I didn’t give it to him right away because I knew that afterward we’d always be linked by whatever my papa asked of him. I wasn’t sure that was such a good thing and only got the courage to do it that evening. After he’d read it, he couldn’t speak. He sat with his head in his hands. When he handed it to me, I read it over. I ought to have been pleased that Papa trusted him so much, but the way my father wrote made me go all cold. Because I knew now that he wasn’t up North. I’d never see him again. I was an orphan. And I didn’t want any other father, even one my papa had picked for me.

  We sat next to each other and he touched his long white feather to both our brows. Then he put his arm around my shoulder. I felt a quiet power in him that I’d only felt before in my father. I could almost hear his belly drumming. But all that did was make me more unhappy, because he wasn’t him.

  LIII

  My dearest John,

  We saw you from afar and we are dying of hunger.

  If you are reading this letter, then you have come to River Bend at long last. But I can no longer greet you in person. For that I am very, very sorry. How good it would be to walk hand in hand with you down by Christmas Creek. I stumble along like an old Bushman now, with a wee limp, so you would have to wait for me to catch up to you from time to time. But I do not believe you would much mind. It would even do you some good to go slower than you usually do!

  Try not to be sad that we shall not meet. What is left of me is still in you. And what was joined so long ago in Porto cannot ever truly be separated. You know that or you would not be here. Thank you for coming.

  The lass who has handed you this letter is my daughter, Morri. We call her that, but her true name is Memoria. She is what I have made of my past. And she, too, carries what remains of me. I know you will be as kind to her as you would be to me. We look alike, do we not?

  I have done what I can to push the evil that lives at River Bend as far away as I can. As Benjamin might say, I have tried to restore some of the silver that lingers inside this village of darkness. I can see now the nature of this evil, though it eluded me for years. It is a forgetfulness of all the stories of the world. But we remember the Bushmen stories, you and I, and we shall triumph in the end.

  Remember how the Olive Tree Sisters would tell us to surround ourselves with beautiful things? You will see how I’ve tried to follow their advice with the gardens I have planted, particularly if you are fortunate enough to walk through them af
ter a rainstorm. The rain here reminds me of where I was born, and that has been a good thing. Though I should have wished to walk for many miles and hunt.

  You must play the gemsbok here. What you will see will make you wish to become a Scottish lion, but that would only bring you trouble. They understand nothing-nothing of Lion, Ostrich, Giraffe, and Zebra at River Bend. They understand nothing of the Torah. The Time of the Hyena is eternal here. So I beg you not to remain too long. We both know how Hyena has tried to fool you in the past. He will try again. Hold tight to the white feather I gave you when your spirits are failing. It will protect you. Have no fear — I can see Mantis still riding between your toes.

  You will find many birds to imitate in the Low Country, many of them beautiful-beautiful, and they, too, will help you. They will remind you of all that is inside you and that cannot be damaged by this place.

  Years ago I told you how Mantis stole Honey from Ostrich and how I would steal you a treasure if you ever needed it. I did not lie. For even though I cannot be with you, that treasure stands before you. I entrust Morri into your care. You will need each other to move safely into the future. Take her from this place and give her a home. Raise her as your daughter. I can think of no one who would make a better father, and I know that she will love you. If you are still the John I knew (as you must be), then I know what you felt for her the moment you saw her.

  I shall tell you a secret: You never knew it, but you are the greatest hunter I have ever known. Your being here is proof of that. Perhaps you are not the bravest or the strongest, though those qualities are more present in you than you believe. Or even the swiftest, though you ran like the wind when you were a wee thing and likely still do. No, the greatest hunters are the most loyal and loving. So you will not fail. I know this.

  Give my fondest regards to Benjamin. Tell him I have been working hard and that there is no place that needs our Jewish alchemy more than America. If I have been able to restore a little of what had been broken and forgotten, then perhaps it is not so bad that I have been sent here. Send a kiss from me to the Olive Tree Sisters and tell them that they have helped me do what I needed to do. Hug your mother for me and tell her I remember her only with fondness. I hope that she is well. Embrace your dearest father for me as well, and tell him that he is forgiven. I hope that he has pardoned the wrong I did him.

  John, please forgive me for not being with you while you grew to adulthood. At this moment, that is my most painful regret. Know that I am eternally proud of you.

  Midnight

  Midnight signed his name with a snout on the M, tall ears on the d, and a frilly tail on the t.

  I was touched by his faith in me in a way that went far beyond words, but I was left staggered by the impression that he’d known he was going to die. That possibility burnt all my other thoughts to cinders and left me facing a desolate landscape.

  How much better and more worthwhile my life would have been had I had him near me, I thought. How much more we all could have been had none of this ever happened.

  Was there any abomination greater than enslaving a man who could write such a letter to an old friend he had not seen in nearly two decades? It was a crime against everything that men and women ought to be — and everything we imagined that we could one day become.

  After reading his letter, Morri must have come to the same conclusion about her father’s demise. When her teeth began to chatter, I pleaded with her to sit with me. I curled my arm tight around her shoulders, just as Midnight had done with me so many times.

  I knew that wherever he was, he was counting on me, and the knowledge gave me strength.

  *

  After Morri left me, I sat wondering if I would have to kill someone to free her. Yet when I took out her pistol to feel how death fit in my hand, I noticed that the touchhole — which conducts the spark from the pan into the barrel — had been soldered closed. I picked at it with a sewing needle to no avail. This weapon was useless. Worse, it might have injured anyone firing it. I was about to go to the kitchen and request a gimlet from Lily in order to force the hole open when I realized the obvious: The hole had been purposely sealed. Someone involved in Morri’s conspiracy, perhaps whoever had sold this gun to her, had wanted to foil her escape plans.

  She had been betrayed.

  I carried the weapon beneath my sketchbook into the hallway, then rushed down the stairs. Master Edward, hearing my footsteps, called to me from his study. I told him I could not join him at that moment. “I wish to sketch one more tree in this marvelous light,” I explained.

  I then hurried outside and slipped around to the kitchen. Morri was upstairs ironing. When I presented her with the evidence of treason, she gave me a look of hopeless agony. I explained that I needed to see the other weapons. We agreed that she would duck into her hiding space and have at least a few of them waiting for me in her room after supper. It was a risk, but it had to be taken.

  It was plain to both of us that her own morale was failing. Yet I felt stronger than I had in weeks, owing, I think, to her trust in me.

  I had already begun to think of another plan, and I told her not to be too concerned about the soldered touchholes, that we would not need firearms to reach Petrie’s Landing. I said that I would need more time to think it through and would reveal all to her later that evening.

  *

  At supper, I forced myself to talk about trifles with Edward. Following our port wine, I went outside, telling Crow I wished for some air. It was a warm and humid night. He was of the opinion that a storm might be coming.

  Stealing off to Morri’s room, I tapped lightly on her door and called to her. I discovered her with two muskets and a second pistol. She was weeping; she had checked them already and they were equally ruined.

  “I don’t know how Weaver didn’t see this,” she moaned.

  “Was it nighttime when he showed the men how to load and fire?”

  “Yes.”

  “It would be easy to miss by candlelight. I presume he never fired one of the guns himself.”

  “No, never.”

  “The same would have happened to me. It’s not his fault.”

  Then the worst possible revelation came to me: Master Edward and the owners of Comingtee already knew of Morri’s plan. That now seemed clear. They had organized a party for precisely that reason. The patrols would gather early Sunday evening at Comingtee and ride into River Bend to trap the slaves. We were acting even now in a play of their authorship. Edward had invited me to Comingtee so I might enjoy the dogs going after the runaways.

  “That sure enough explains the mud-mean things he’s been doing lately,” Morri said when I outlined my reasoning to her. “My God, I guess we’re done for. And there ain’t a blessed thing we can do.” She slumped in her chair. “I don’t know how this could have happened. Poor Weaver. Though maybe … maybe there’s still time for one of us to get away,” she said excitedly. “Would you take him with you, somewhere, anywhere — to your friends near Stromboli?”

  “I don’t think that’s going to be necessary.”

  I spoke with confidence, because I had read enough military-history books to know that surprise was the most powerful weapon of all. The important thing was that Edward was not aware that we knew he had discovered the slaves’ escape plans. He was still expecting them to flee tomorrow.

  “We must leave now,” I told Morri.

  “Now?! We can’t do that — it’s too soon.”

  “No, what we cannot do is wait for them to catch us.”

  I told her then to tell Weaver and the others to get ready. As she had originally planned, we would first take Mr. Johnson, Master Edward, and the two black foremen prisoner and lock them in one of the barns. I believed I’d thought of everything essential until she said, “Martha, Weaver’s wife, is at Comingtee with their children. They expect us to leave tomorrow. We can’t go without them.”

  *

  As the curfew bell had already rung, Weaver was back in
his cabin. Morri and I found him there and she asked him to slip outside with her. He took the bad news stoically and went back in to make a plea to Saul, Sweet-Pea, and Drummond for their help. Regretfully, they refused. Nevertheless, Weaver, Morri, and I agreed on a plan. We would go to Mr. Johnson’s cottage and take him prisoner. Using his keys, we would fetch rope from the First Barn or the Big House and tie him up, then proceed to take the two foremen prisoner. Lastly, we would restrain Master Edward and carry him to the barn as well. Then Weaver would run to Comingtee to bring back his wife and children.

  Morri fetched us two swords from under the piazza. While she waited outside the kitchen, Weaver and I crept along the path to the overseer’s house, which was between the Big House and the wooden bridge over the Cooper River to Comingtee. His door was locked, but a side window was open. It squealed when I eased it up. With our hearts pounding, Weaver and I awaited the sound of Johnson stirring from his bed. Hearing nothing, I eased inside over the sill. Weaver held a lighted candle, but a lamp on a table inside already cast a yellow light through the barren parlor. A staircase led up to the open door of the bedroom. Weaver joined me.

  Mr. Johnson had to have heard the creaking of our footsteps on the bare planks of his floor. I gripped my sword in both hands as hard as I could. When he appeared on the stairs, I would run for him and slash my blade across his legs. He’d likely get a shot off at me, but Weaver would be able to take him before he could load a second ball.

  So tight was I holding my sword that my wrists were aching. Despite the heat, I felt chilled to the bone. Surely a minute had passed by already without a sound.

  My sword upraised, I went up the stairs and peered in the doorway. The bed was empty. It was too dark to tell for sure if Johnson was standing in a corner waiting to put a bullet into my head. I slashed my sword before me and jumped inside the room.