Her food lasted her the whole three days it took to reach Robertson’s. When her canteens ran out, she filled them in creeks that she passed. The only trouble she faced came when she tore her skirt in some brambles the second morning as she looked for a resting place and when she twisted an ankle on a rock as she climbed down a creek bank to get water.
She reached the outskirts of Robertson’s plantation near the morning of the fourth day. She knew so because she saw a sign with the plantation name painted in black hanging on a white fence as she walked down the road. The sign turned her to the left, and she followed the road until the sun came up. Then, her heart pounding, she crept off the road, lay up for the morning under a thicket of heavy brush, and studied what to do next. Now that she’d reached the plantation, how would she find Markus? How would she know what house he slept in?
Unable to come up with any other answer, she slipped out of the thicket about midday and headed through the woods in the direction the sign had pointed. To her relief, she found a creek about an hour after she started. Sneaking up the creek bed, she came to a bend and stopped. Crouching low, she rounded the bend and saw the plantation several hundred yards away. Tall pines and more heavy brush surrounded the cleared cotton fields.
Relieved, Ruby moved through the brush until she found a spot that gave her a good view of the fields and barns that lay about a hundred yards past the trees. From there, she kept her eyes steady. The darky houses—fifteen of them from what she counted—sat a good three hundred yards beyond the barn and behind the plantation manse. She spotted Markus about an hour later, his broad body strolling toward the barn. Her heart jumped as she saw him, and a wide smile creased her face. She’d done it! As simple as that! Markus looked as fine as ever, strong and healthy. He ducked into the barn and stayed there a long time. But then he came out, his arms full of tools—a shovel, a rake, and a hoe. He carried them to a shed nearby and stepped behind it, out of sight.
The day moved slowly, but Ruby stayed patient. She’d waited a year and a half for this; she could wait a few more hours. As dusk fell, she saw Markus again, this time by the well, his thick shoulders pulling water up in buckets and pouring it into a trough. A few minutes later field hands from all over the plantation started walking to the trough to wash up.
Ruby knew the routine. The servants would eat now. If the plantation was big enough—and this one certainly was—they’d get bread and stew or beans, or even some meat from a main cookhouse. They’d carry the food to their quarters and add anything they had there stored from the gardens the masters let them keep.
As the servants washed and the sun started to drop, Ruby decided she had to move closer or lose sight of Markus. Leaving her belongings, she eased from the forest and crawled across the field, keeping her eyes on the water trough. The Negroes started moving toward a larger building, no doubt the cookhouse, a little nearer the plantation manse. They carried tin plates and cups. Ruby reached the back of a small shed and squatted by the chimney. Markus stood less than thirty yards away, his back to her. She heard his low voice and wanted to jump out of the shadows and run to him but knew she didn’t dare. A thing like that would start a ruckus, and she didn’t want that. She smelled corn bread and potatoes, and her mouth watered. It didn’t take the field hands long to get their food and scatter to their quarters.
Ruby tried to figure where Markus lived. Only on rare occasions did a darky family get their own house. Most shared quarters with a number of others: single folks sleeping on rows of pallets, couples getting small rooms off to the sides. Tattered blankets hanging on nails served as the only doors in the houses. Even married couples found privacy hard to come by. A fireplace in the largest room served as the only heat. A body took relief in the outdoors, usually from a common outhouse near some woods.
Markus waited until near the end of the line to get his supper. Ruby kept her eyes on him as he disappeared into the cookhouse. A couple of minutes later he walked back out, his plate waist high. Her heart rose as she realized Robertson’s folks had treated him well. He headed toward a house about forty feet away, climbed the two-step stoop, and disappeared inside.
Ruby eased back to the ground and prepared to wait some more. Now that she knew where Markus lived, she’d stay there until the middle of the night and everybody had fallen asleep. Then she’d go in, shake Markus awake, lead him back outside, and off they’d go. Just like that. No more white folks telling them what to do. No more waiting to see her man or boy. No more “Master this and Master that.”
She smiled at the notion of running free. They’d make it North; she knew it for certain. Hadn’t her plan worked just fine so far? She and Markus would find somebody to give them a job. She’d work hard and so would Markus. With war talk all around, who knew? Maybe the Yankees would show the Southern folks a thing or two, and all people could go free. She knew not to wish too highly, but today why not? She’d made it to Markus; anything was possible. She and Markus would take a little house, put curtains on the windows. She’d keep it as neat as anything. When people asked her name, she’d add one … maybe Hudson. She’d always liked the sound of that: Ruby Hudson. A last name of her own and one she had decided upon herself.
With her nerves taut, the first part of the night passed slowly for Ruby« But gradually it did pass. The birds stopped chirping, the frogs ceased croaking. Dew settled on the ground and bushes, and a chill fell on Ruby’s head. She wished she’d brought her shawl from the woods. The moon climbed high, crossed the middle of the sky, and started to drop. Ruby stirred. The time had come.
She rose silently and stretched, her eyes on the door of Markus’s house. A second later she slipped across the ground to his front stoop. There she paused and listened. Nobody stirred. She smiled, feeling blessed. Although she didn’t put such store in God as Stella did, she sure felt something—or was it someone?—watching her tonight. She eased to the door and opened it without a sound. In the glow of a small lantern sitting on the mantel over the fireplace, she counted six men on pallets in the front room. She studied their faces but didn’t see Markus. She drew in her breath. Had she gotten the house mixed up? She peered at the men again, but Markus wasn’t there. She figured he must be in a side room.
She held her breath and stepped to the wall by the lantern. A man rolled over and she froze, but then he snored and fell back asleep. Ruby lifted the lantern off the mantel and eased out and down the hallway. She came to a blanket hanging over a doorway and pulled it back and looked inside. Markus lay on a pallet on his side, facing her direction. She gasped and almost dropped the lantern. A woman lay beside him, her head sticking out of the blanket that covered them both.
Ruby steadied the lantern and tried to breathe. Who was this woman? She held the lantern higher and studied the woman’s face. Not pretty, at least not to her. Was she … no, she couldn’t even ask it. It didn’t make sense. Markus had sworn to love her forever, to come to her when he could. But how could she deny what she saw? He had a woman resting by him in the dead of night. A man didn’t do that unless he had taken up with the woman, chosen her as his.
Tears threatened Ruby’s eyes, but she wiped them away and ground her teeth. What could she do now? Keep on running? Leave here and go North all alone? But wait! Just because Markus had a woman didn’t mean he didn’t still love her; that he wouldn’t still leave with her. After all, she had taken Obadiah in marriage but left him. How could she leave now, without talking to Markus, offering him the choice? She had to do it, couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t.
Her mind set, Ruby put the lantern on the floor and squatted by Markus. Then, as gently as she could, she touched his shoulder and shook it. His eyes popped open, and he jumped slightly, but not so much as to disturb the woman beside him. Ruby pressed a hand over his mouth. His eyes widened as if haunted. She held up a hand, telling him to keep quiet. When he nodded and his eyes warmed, she knew he recognized her.
She pointed to the door. “Outside,” she whispered.
He nodded and got up. A minute later they exited the house and eased down the front steps. Ruby led Markus into the woods. Panting, she sat down by a tree and, taking his hand, pulled him down beside her. He embraced her there, the moon beaming overhead. Stars twinkled. Ruby felt like heaven had come down. She kissed Markus and he responded.
“We been apart a long time,” she said softly when the kiss ended.
Markus held her close, rubbing her shoulders and back. “You scared the fool out of me. Thought you was a dream. But I reckon not.”
“No, I’m real enough.” She kissed him again, then leaned back into his arms once more. They stayed that way for several minutes, the quiet of the night making it seem like old times back before they were sold. Ruby relaxed, knowing that nothing could ever go wrong again. Markus would run with her. They’d make it North. Life would turn out wonderful. Maybe there was a God after all.
“I guess you done run,” said Markus, finally breaking the silence.
“You mighty smart to figure that out,” she teased. “Of course I ran.”
“How did you find me?”
Ruby smiled. “I heard them call the name Robertson when they took you. I’ve been picking up information since then. Got some friends at The Oak—where I went—people who helped me. Even saw a map. Took me some time, but I got it done.”
“You goin’ North, I reckon.”
“Suppose I am.” She eyed the moon, figuring they had less than four hours before daylight. She raised up, her hands clutched around her knees. “Be sunup soon. If we’re going, best we get started.”
She felt him stiffen, saw him turn eyes toward the ground. She took his chin, pulled it up to look at her.
“I don’t reckon I can go with you,” he said.
Ruby’s breath caught.
“I done run twice,” he continued. “About six months after I come here, and again about four months after that. I took off toward The Oak both times. Had heard the name Hampton York when he bought you. Did some checkin’, just like you did. Figured I could find you, if I got lucky. But they caught me.”
He lifted his shirt, and she saw in the moonlight the scars cut deeply into his flesh. She ran her hands over them. They felt like knotty ropes, all raised on his back.
“I’m sorry they whipped you. No man has the right to do that to another just ’cause he wants to be free.”
“Robertson got every right,” said Markus. “Least the law says he does.”
Ruby sighed. “You saying you’re not coming with me?”
“Another whippin’ will kill me,” he replied sadly. “It’ll come worse than the first two, always do. Robertson done said if he got a darky that runs three times, he just goes on and sets them plumb free to go be with Jesus.”
“But they won’t catch us,” argued Ruby.
“I done told them about you and Theo,” said Markus, his voice grieved. “They beat it out of me the second time, where I planned on goin’, why I planned on goin’ there. They’d come straight to The Oak if I run, then to Virginia when they learned that you had run too.”
Tears came to Ruby’s eyes again; this time she didn’t push them away. She wanted to get mad at Markus, but she couldn’t. Everything he said made sense. How could she fight him? She didn’t want him dead, and she knew the unwritten law among white folks. A darky got two chances to settle down but no more. A third run meant sure death. Yet she still felt angry at Markus, disappointed that he wouldn’t take the chance and flee with her.
“What about that woman?” she asked, tilting her head toward the shanty. “She keeping you here?”
Markus shrugged. “I ain’t gone lie. She nursed me after the second whippin’, kept me alive. I took up with her after that, figured I owed her that. Figured I wouldn’t ever get back to you.”
“You love her?”
Markus took Ruby back into his arms. “Not like I love you. But what am I gone do? Robertson wanted me with a woman; you know how that is. No way to stand up to him. I got to do what he says or get whipped again, and that’ll kill me for sure.”
Ruby’s anger left her. She didn’t want Markus dead, didn’t want to have caused it. “What about Theo?”
“I don’t know. I think of him every day. But what can I do? I got no way to go to him.”
“You reckon he’s still with Mammy?”
“Sho he is, why not? The Rushtons is good folks; they’ll take care of him.”
“I don’t know that I can make it by myself,” she said. “It’s a long way for a woman to go alone.”
“It’s a mean old world,” Markus told her. “But I got no way to fight it right now, none at all.”
Ruby weighed her choices. Without Markus, she couldn’t go North, least not yet, not without some time to scheme. But what did that leave her? Only one thing. She’d have to go back to The Oak. Retrace her steps. No doubt Mr. York would put some punishment on her. Probably not a whipping if she came back on her own. Lots of darkies disappeared for a few days, then showed back up. Sometimes little or nothing was ever done. With Stella’s help, Camellia’s too, plus what she knew about Mossy Bank, Mr. York might let her off pretty easy.
She faced Markus. “I supposed I need to go, then.”
“Back to The Oak?”
“No choice that I can see.”
“I am most sorrowful.”
She took his head in her hands and held him close. “I don’t blame you. Nothing for you to do.”
He cried in her arms.
“I want Theo back,” she said, determined. “And there’ll be a time when it will happen. I feel it somehow, and Theo said he saw it.”
“I hear maybe a war will come. Maybe the Yankees will whip the white folks down here; change things around for everybody.”
“That’s not likely.” “A man can hope.”
Ruby kissed him then, knowing that she’d probably never see Markus, her man, again. The two of them sat together in the cold of the night, with the stars bright overhead. They held each other for another few min’ utes. Then she knew she had to go. After one last embrace, she stood and walked off without looking back. She’d still go to Theo; yes, she would. The time would come for that. She didn’t know when or how, but it would come. But now she knew that when she did, she’d have to go alone.
Chapter Twenty-Four
With the heats set to start at one o’clock, York got up late the next day, dressed in his best clothes, and ate a slow meal. About eleven o’clock he started for the tracks, his nerves jumpy from coffee and excitement. Once there he took a spot near the main road where he could watch the rest of the spectators arrive. They came all through the noon hour—a combination of the wealthiest and the poorest the region had to offer—the wealthy to drink aged whiskey, show off their clothes and carriages, and talk about the latest rumors about an upcoming war; the poor to spend a day away from the constant drudgery that ate up their days like a hungry dog on a bone.
York paid no attention to the poor. Why should he? Their wagers would cover a dollar here, maybe five there. Nothing like the amount he had come to gamble. His eyes steady, he inspected the rich as they arrived: the women in their long hoop skirts and silk hats carrying parasols as they stepped down from their horse-drawn carriages; the men in shining black boots riding prancing horses. Negroes drove the carriages, helped the ladies down, led the gentlemen’s horses away as they dismounted. As if drawn together by a special scent, the wealthy immediately began mixing together—their obvious refinement pulling them to a high spot of ground under a stand of tall oaks not far from the track. By the time the first race of the day went off, close to five hundred people had gathered, at least two-thirds of them from the best of the state’s society.
Dressed in a ruffled blue shirt with white cravat, mustard-colored trousers, long-tailed black coat and clean black boots—all purchased at a quality shop in Charleston—York easily mixed with the wealthy. Although many of the crowd knew each other, enough strangers were there for his presen
ce to cause no alarm. The crowd continued to swell as the first of the heats approached. The wagering took place quietly among the crowd under the oaks; there were no loud shouts of bragging or argument here. Nothing as crude as that. No, the men here struck up gentle conversations about the merits of this horse or that one, the strengths and weaknesses of their dams and sires. Then, after a few minutes of such chatter, one or the other man would tip his hand, offer a gentleman’s opinion that this or that horse would carry the day in the race about to start. The other man, if he chose, would take another opinion, champion a different horse. They’d talk quickly of odds, who got them and at what amount. If agreement could be reached, the wager would be laid.
Although careful not to lay too much with any one man, it didn’t take York long to find takers for his low-key but firm support for the black. Not wanting to set off any unusual suspicions, he spread his money out among nine different men—wagering a thousand with one man, fifteen hundred with another, eight fifty with a third, and so on until he had placed eight thousand, eight hundred dollars on the heats. In most cases, he got his three to one odds with all of his opponents choosing either the chestnut or the dappled gray over his black. Fortunately for him, the Tessiers had gone to Columbia to continue making plans for the upcoming nuptials and so were missing the races this year. Otherwise, in spite of his care, someone might have heard about his wagers and wondered about his source of money. As it was, anybody who knew him and heard of it would probably figure he was putting the money out for Master Trenton.
Finished with the wagering, he eased away from the oaks and took a spot in the stands that fronted the track by the finish line. He had only a few more minutes before the first heat began. He noticed his hands shaking as he sat down. For the first time since his decision to take this action, his nerves hit him hard. What if he lost?
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