by Anita Kopacz
I look at Waldo; he is surveying me.
“Waldo, did you bring that piece you read to me a few years back? The one I love?”
Waldo pats his pocket. “It’s with me at all times.”
“Will you give us the honor of reading a section of it?” Richard inquires.
Waldo clears his throat. “I don’t want to be a bore.”
“Nonsense,” Richard interjects. “We would be honored to hear your writing.”
Waldo pulls a brown leather journal from his pocket, and, handling it as if it were his freedom paper, he says, “Here is a little section; it’s entitled ‘The Over-Soul.’ ”
He repositions himself as he begins to read. “ ‘We live in succession, in division, in parts, in particles. Meantime within man is the soul of the whole; the wise silence; the universal beauty, to which every part and particle is equally related, the eternal ONE.’ ”
I am speechless. This stranger understands me!
Waldo closes his journal and looks to me for a reaction.
“I…” I falter as I attempt to respond. “I have never heard words that so perfectly describe how I feel.”
Richard smiles. I can tell he is pleased that I understand Waldo’s genius.
“Are you saying that we’re all connected?” I ask Waldo.
“Well, the parts are seen from a fragmented perception. Meanwhile, the soul can only be one.”
“So, we are everything? The sun, the moon, the animals, the trees all look as though they are separate, but they are… we are really all parts of the whole. The soul?”
“Brilliant!” Waldo says, grabbing a penner from his pocket.
He begins to scribble wildly in his journal. I look at Richard and shrug.
“I got it!” Waldo exclaims. “Have a listen: ‘And this deep power in which we exist and whose beatitude is all accessible to us, is not only self-sufficing and perfect in every hour, but the act of seeing and the thing seen, the seer and the spectacle, the subject, and the object, are one. We see the world piece by piece, as the sun, the moon, the animal, the tree; but the whole, of which these are shining parts, is the soul.’ ”
“Did you just write that?” I ask.
“Why, yes.” He smiles. “Inspired by you, of course.”
“Why are you letting yourself die?”
“Pardon me?” Waldo says with a touch of shock in his voice.
“You have a great understanding of life’s principles, but you are not putting them to use.”
Waldo becomes a bit uncomfortable.
Richard attempts to bail him out. “Maybe we should have our tea?”
“No, Richard,” Waldo assures him. “I have been running long enough. Can I share something with you, Yemaya?”
I nod.
“Long ago, the love of my life, my late wife, Ellen, died of consumption.” He pauses and holds back his emotions. “She was my everything. I lived and breathed for her. I put all of my love into her. So, when I buried her in the ground, much of my life seemed to be buried with her. I even tried to dig her up to see if I could find that missing piece.”
I can see his shame as he confides in us. “Nothing was there but a rotten piece of meat. That is what I have become,” he says as he lowers his head. “A rotten piece of meat. I can’t even be there for my current wife. She has been so understanding, but I know she deserves better.”
“May I?” I ask as I move forward to touch him.
I place my hands on the back of his neck. Richard does not see the webs as they fuse into the pores on Waldo’s back. His cells are weak and depleted. My webs find the source of his disease and glow while they remove it. I collapse to the floor in exhaustion.
Richard reaches for me. “Yemaya!”
“I’m fine,” I whisper.
Waldo looks at his hands and his arms. Viewing his now plump, vibrant body, he asks, “How did you do that?”
I smile faintly. “It’s just as Richard said: we are both unique.”
Richard stares at Waldo’s face, visibly stunned. He turns to me and asks, “What just happened?”
I lie on the floor for the remainder of our conversation. I can tell that Richard is concerned for me. Waldo, on the other hand, seems to know that I’ll be fine.
“I have been coming down from the North every year since my sickness appeared, in hopes that the good weather would help. I don’t remember ever feeling this alive.” Waldo seems delighted as he reaches for a plate of food.
Richard rubs my shoulder. As he does so, some of my strength returns.
“Do you want to sit up?” Richard asks with great compassion.
I do not feel the need to sit, but I know that doing so will bring Richard peace of mind. He helps me up and leans me back against one of the short attic walls.
“Can I get you something to eat?” he asks.
“Some of that tea will do fine.”
Meanwhile, I look at Waldo. He is greatly enjoying his meal. Noticing me observing him, he says, “Please excuse my vigor in eating. I do not mean to seem uncompassionate about the state of your health, but this meal is the first one that I have truly enjoyed in years.”
Richard pours a cup of tea and hands it to me. As I sip the tea, my body extracts the water and regains more of its strength. I quickly crawl toward the food tray and grab the kettle. Instead of taking the time to pour myself another cup, and then another, and so on, I drink straight from the pitcher, downing the tea in one enormous swallow.
The two men stare at me in silence.
I look at the empty jug and ask Richard, “Did you want some?”
They laugh as I place it back on the tray.
“At least it wasn’t too hot,” I say in between my giggles.
“I feel like I have found my people,” Waldo exclaims.
“A runaway slave, a privileged abolitionist, and a hopeless philosopher,” Richard says with a hint of irony.
“That should be the title of your next book,” I say as we all laugh.
The pyramid-shaped space of the attic is full of joy and laughter. Waldo has healed me with his words, and I have returned his favor.
“How long are you staying here?” I ask Waldo.
“I leave at the top of the week. In three days’ time.”
I hold his hands in mine. “You must promise to visit me each day and read to me from your journal.”
Richard clears his throat. “We will all leave in three days. I have another mission in Tennessee and Waldo must head back to Boston. I have made a plan for your journey up north as well. You will be pleased to know that Ozata and her mother will harbor you for two days.”
I am pleased, but then I remember. “I thought it was dangerous for me there.”
“They have established themselves in the tribe,” Richard explains. “Ozata has made a place there for a stop on the Underground Railroad. For some reason, the tribesmen who would usually be disagreeable to such an idea have turned a blind eye toward her.”
“Ozata did this?”
“With her mother’s help.”
I turn to Waldo. “I suppose I will be leaving in three days’ time as well.”
He smiles. “In the meantime, I promise to read to you.”
15
THREE DAYS
I find myself awaiting Richard and Waldo’s return. I have occupied myself with dressing in the new outfit Richard left me last night. I’m grateful for the new boots and good, heavy coat. But the day is long, and there are no windows in my reach to see outside. I can feel the sunlight through the ceiling window, but as the hours pass, I forget about the sun’s warmth.
I hear the familiar scratch of the hook on the attic door. The flap swings open and Richard makes his way up.
“Where’s your friend?” I ask.
“He went for a walk in the woods. He is thrilled about his new lease on life.”
A buzz of mild excitement takes hold of me as Richard settles down. He looks at me and says without reservation,
“I am always taken aback by your beauty.”
I blush and lower my head.
“You do know how beautiful you are, right?” he asks.
He takes my hand and kisses it.
“Stay with me for a while,” I suggest.
We lie on the wooden planks and stare up at the sun’s rays. I hold his hand and listen to his musings.
“I can die now,” he says.
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s just a saying. It means that I have reached my happiest point, and I would be ready to die.”
“You will live a long life.”
Just then, Waldo briskly climbs up the ladder to the attic.
“The weather is quite fine for early October.” Waldo smiles. “As a matter of fact, I have never experienced weather as nice as today’s.”
He sits down, claps his hands, and rubs them together. He glances at Richard, then blurts out, “I know I’m not supposed to say anything, but don’t pay any attention to the folks who are accusing you of witchcraft.”
I look at Richard.
“I had to tell him,” he admits.
Waldo continues, “You are like Jesus Christ himself.” He seems to be drunk with joy at having been healed. “But let us not speak of religion, nor politics, for that matter.”
Richard finds humor in Waldo’s comment.
“I want to speak of the beauty in the world. I can finally see and feel all of the concepts that my mind has been trying to tell me for years. I am at one with the honeybee collecting pollen from the flower. I feel it.”
I take this moment to express my doubts. “Sometimes I feel the connection, and other times I feel so alone.”
“How we feel changes nothing about the fact that we are all one. Whether we know it or not, the universal intelligence still assumes its role in connecting everything as the Eternal One. Our best bet during those times of doubt is to rely upon faith. Faith that one day we will see the light again.”
Richard chimes in, “We Quakers call that God. Quakers believe that God is in all of us, that we each have the ability to access God directly. We do not have to go through an intermediary, like a priest or a minister.”
I experience a deep urge to reveal my true identity to them. They engage in conversation as I contemplate whether or not to tell my secret. The reality of my existence is far beyond any concept they have discussed. Will they be afraid of me if I tell them everything? Will they believe me? Will they think I’m really a witch?
“I’m not human” spills from my mouth before I can stop myself.
They stare at me with absolute confusion.
Waldo breaks the silence. “I feel that way sometimes.”
I remember Richard putting a folding knife in his breast pocket earlier. I reach over and grab it from him. The men freeze in fear. I open the knife and cut my leg.
“No!” Richard yells.
I motion for him to keep back. The wound burns as the blood begins to pour out. I close my eyes and summon my healing powers. The blood stops as the weblike fibers begin to weave around the wound. The webs glow, and my skin tightens as the tiny threads pull the gash closed.
When the process is done, I gently wipe the blood and fibers away to reveal my perfectly healed skin.
The men are speechless, much like I felt after I heard Waldo’s words.
“Witchcraft?” Richard whispers.
I shake my head no.
Waldo reaches over and touches my leg. “Why, I have never…”
I hold his hand.
“Is this what you did for me?”
“Yes.”
“We have just borne witness to a miracle!”
Richard is still processing the experience. He picks up his pocketknife and examines the blood. He wipes it off with his handkerchief and places the knife back in his pocket. Meanwhile, Waldo stares at me with wide eyes.
“You said that you are not human. I have, for a long time, suspected that there are other forms of life among us. May I be so bold as to ask… what are you?”
A loud noise startles us.
“What was that?” Waldo yells.
“Pick me up,” Richard commands him.
Waldo interlaces his fingers and Richard steps into the foothold he has created. Waldo hoists him up to the attic window. Richard peers out and then punches the attic wall. “Those bastards!” he yells.
Waldo drops him down. “What happened?”
“The men from town set fire to the stables! You stay up here,” he says to me, and the two of them fly down the ladder and disappear through the hallway. In their haste, they forget to close the attic door. Richard left a pitcher of water last night. I pour the water over my head, pull on my coat, and climb down the ladder.
The water seeps through my pores and imbues me with strength. I run through the dining room and peek out the window. Five men on horseback are scattered about the yard.
Richard is in the stable setting his horses free. I cannot find Waldo.
“What are you doing down here?” a voice asks from behind me.
I turn and see Waldo loading a rifle under the arch of the dining room ceiling.
“I have to help,” I say.
“Come this way.”
We sneak to the front of the house, walk outside, and stand on the top step of Richard’s front porch. Waldo raises the rifle toward the sky and shoots into the air. I jump and hide behind the porch fence.
“I’m trying not to bring attention to myself!”
“Sorry,” Waldo says as he walks straight toward the men and shoots at the ground by their horses’ feet. Two men are bucked off as the others congregate around him.
“Now!” Waldo yells.
Richard’s staff run out from behind the house and startle the rest of the men. The invaders pull the horseless men onto their remaining steeds and ride off of Richard’s property. The staff races to the stables and begins to douse the fire with water from a nearby pump.
My hair is dripping wet as I peek through the porch fence.
“Guess they didn’t need me,” I say aloud, smiling to myself.
Richard storms by and walks directly into the house. He slowly steps back and looks straight at me. “Why are you down here?”
“I thought I could help.”
“Come on,” he says, motioning for Waldo and me to follow him into his study. “We need to get you out of here now. They’re going to bring the rest of their boys from town back here. Ozata isn’t expecting you until Sunday, but we have to send you now. Did you leave anything in the attic?”
I feel for my pouch around my neck. It is still there. “No.”
“I’ll pack you some food and a blanket. You have to go now!”
He pulls a copper box out of the bottom drawer of his desk. A ringing tone resounds throughout the study as he slams the box on the table. He pulls a chain necklace with a key from around his neck. He unlocks the box and grabs a handful of golden coins.
“Do you have someplace to keep this?” he asks.
I shake my head no.
Richard rummages through the drawers and finds a small leather pouch. He places the money in the bag. “Do not let anyone see this. They’ll think that you stole it. This is ten times your bounty, enough to buy you a hefty plot of land. I cannot stress to you enough to keep this hidden. No Negroes—hell, no white men—are running around with this amount of gold on them. Use this to buy any goods you need. Do you understand?”
I nod, although I don’t really follow.
“Promise me you will keep it hidden.”
Waldo leans in. “How much is that?”
Richard shoots him a look.
Waldo smiles and says, “Hey, I’ve been your friend for quite a while now and I’ve never received such a gift.”
I am inspired by Waldo’s ability to remain lighthearted with so much chaos around him. Richard pats him on the back and says, “If we survive this, I’ll share my estate with you.”
“Let’s
put that in writing.” They both laugh.
Richard hands me the bag, and I gently tuck it in the inside pocket of my coat. He reminds me again, “Keep it hidden.”
We run to the kitchen, and Richard prepares a small bag of bread, fruit, and salted dried meat. He fills a leather canteen with water and hangs it around my neck.
“Now!” he urges as he shepherds me to the door. “Let’s go!”
I trip onto the porch. When I catch my footing, Richard is standing in front of me. He grabs my shoulders and says, “I will never forget you.”
I caress his face. No words form over the lump in my throat as Richard kisses me—first on my hand, then my cheek, then my forehead.
Waldo smiles. “Get going!”
I give Waldo a huge hug, and I run off the porch.
“Follow the river north,” Richard yells, “upstream!”
I turn for my final farewell. Richard and Waldo wave from the porch as I realize that I never got to tell them who I am.
16
RIVER RUN
The river welcomes my return with a sharp swell. The deeper water has quickened the current. I am tempted to jump in and swim upstream, but I opt to simply splash myself with the water and run on land. Although the money is securely hidden inside my coat in a tight leather bag, the food will surely be ruined in the river.
I duck beneath tree limbs as I race through the forest. I forgot to ask Richard how far I’m traveling. He seemed to think that I could make it there in one day. Thoughts of Waldo’s philosophy race through my mind as my momentum increases. I feel as though I am running on air, with no resistance or fatigue. I’m suddenly hit with a sharp pang against my chest. I trip on the forest floor, tumble to the ground, and pass out.
As I come to, I see that several Native warriors have surrounded me. They speak in an unfamiliar tongue while keeping their bows and arrows trained on me. One of the men approaches me and removes an arrow that had been meant to strike my heart. It lodged in the small wooden Mer figurine tucked inside the pouch Ozata made for me instead. The approaching warrior inspects my chest. There is no wound.
Slowly, he holds the pouch up and shows it to the other men.
They lower their weapons and inspect me. The leader says something to the rest, and they cautiously move in and surround me. One man helps me up, and they guide me through the forest, away from the river.