Shallow Waters

by Anita Kopacz

  She extends her hand straight up to the sky and says, “This means stop.” She then closes her hand into a fist and says, “This is silence.”

  We all memorize her sign language, knowing that our lives will depend on her quiet instructions. From dogs to light and even pray, Moses has created a hand signal for every word or warning we will need.

  The night feels calm, somehow free of our usual anxieties. Flurries of snow lightly kiss my skin and melt into crystal droplets of water. Each drop infuses my body with strength.

  “Tonight, we are untouchable,” Moses says to the group. “When our faith is high, there is no man who can bring us harm. We will make it to the next stop with no interruptions.”

  Just as Moses predicted, we make it safely to the next house before the sun rises. The estate is sizable and well kept, much like Richard’s place. We are led toward the front door by a butler holding an oil lamp. I know now that when an oil lamp flame is flickering on and off, it is silently and secretly indicating the location of a freedom house—a small but powerful beacon letting us know that safety awaits.

  Tillie squeezes my hand firmly as we draw near the entrance. She smiles at me, and I understand that she is not scared but excited.

  As we stand on the front porch, a young brown-skinned girl runs out of the house and shouts, “They’re here!”

  A white man quickly follows behind. He gently shushes her, but whispers loudly enough for us to hear, “Quiet, honey, you know the rules.”

  The girl looks like Sara or Margaret, the child of a white man and an African woman. Before I can make any assumptions, the white man tenderly picks her up and leads us into the house.

  “Daddy, there are so many,” the girl exclaims, quivering with excitement.

  As we enter the foyer, a beautiful, stately woman with dark auburn-brown skin walks down the stairs. She is wearing a deep green satin dress with a loud pink sash and shiny black boots. I marvel at her confident stride, completely unhindered by the precarious-looking heels of her delicate boots. I am enchanted by her style and impressed by her air of authority.

  “Mommy!” the young girl shouts as she shimmies out of her father’s arms.

  The woman grabs her daughter’s hand, walks up to Moses, and says, “You have done well, Moses.”

  She goes on to greet every one of us with a loving caress on our shoulders. As she saunters my way, she squints.

  “Yes, Lorna Mae,” Moses says. “It’s her.”

  Lorna pulls me into a powerful embrace. I feel a tinge of awkwardness.

  We follow Lorna down a wide hallway decorated with paintings and lavish chandeliers. She ushers us toward a large hardwood wall in the back of the house. The father slides the wall to the side to reveal a substantial hidden space. There are chairs, tables, and even beds—a far cry from our last refuge. The mother of the young girl in our group places the sleeping baby, who is a picture of pure peace, on one of the many beds.

  The house staff lay out plates of chicken, mashed potatoes, greens, cornbread, and tea. I’m starving, but I wait until everyone has a plate before I allow myself to indulge. Tillie brings me an embroidered napkin to place on my lap as we eat. Lorna motions for the butler to close the sliding wall. She and her family stay and dine with us.

  Lorna walks up to me and says, “Forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Lorna Mae. This is my husband, Jozef, and our daughter, Tela.”

  Tela runs up to me and shouts, “Are you the African witch from the poster?”

  “We have all heard about your story of escaping death and slavery. You have become an underground hero.”

  “I’m no hero,” I insist.

  Little Tela sits in my lap and caresses my face as if she can’t believe that I’m real.

  “Our heroes are the ones who do not let anything get in the way of freedom… of love… of humanity,” Lorna relays with passion. “To us you are a hero.”

  She reaches over and tenderly removes Tela from my lap. “They have to get some rest now,” she tells her daughter. “They have been up all night.”

  Lorna carries Tela to the corner of the wall. Jozef follows.

  She slips her fingers into a discreet slot and unhooks a lever, allowing the wall to slide open.

  “Sweet dreams,” Lorna says before Jozef slides the wall closed.

  We turn down the oil lamps and begin to drift off to sleep. There are no windows or doors, so the darkness is intense. There are only the faintest flames still burning low to keep the lamps on. I can see only silhouettes when usually I can identify every object in the faintest moonlight. As I lie awake in the dark, I think about how Lorna called me a hero. I don’t think I’m a hero; I’m just using the powers I have to survive. Moses has devoted her life completely to the service of others. She is the true hero. The line between waking and dream life blurs, and I finally fall asleep.

  * * *

  As I stir awake, the room is still in total darkness. I have no idea of the time. My head sinks into my pillow as I turn toward the sliding wood wall. My thighs brush together, and I feel a slick wetness between my legs. Did I urinate in the cot? I feel around for an oil lamp and turn up the flame. I’m bleeding!

  Startled, I attempt to send my healing webs to the wound, but they will not activate. My panic escalates sharply as I realize that I’m not able to heal myself. The blood continues to drip down my legs.

  “Tillie, wake up,” I whisper, my voice shaking with fear. “I’m bleeding between my legs.”

  A hand grabs my shoulder, and I jerk away.

  “It’s just me,” Moses says.

  “I cannot heal myself. Something’s wrong. I’m bleeding…” I pull up my dress and show Moses where the blood is coming from.

  Moses gently pulls my dress back down and says in a soothing tone, “You’re fine, my child. It’s just your cycle.”

  “My cycle?”

  “Your menstrual cycle, your moon. That is why your webs will not activate. You are not wounded.” She continues, a rare touch of concern in her voice, “Dear child, is this your first time?”

  “Yes.”

  Moses folds a blanket and places it on the cot. “We can wash it out tomorrow. Sit.”

  I sit on the folded blanket. My stomach is lurching powerfully. I am downright uncomfortable. Suddenly Moses takes my chin in her hand and makes piercing eye contact as she says, “You are a woman now, for your cycle allows you to bring forth life.”

  Moses returns to her cot and I settle in under my sheets. I am startled by her words. A woman now? Does this mean I can have babies? Despite my discomfort, I think fondly of all the beautiful children who have accompanied me along my journey. My stomach cramps, and I bow to the pain and fold my body protectively around my belly. I drift to sleep, envisioning myself carrying Obatala’s child.

  I awake several hours later. A heavy cloud of fatigue surrounds me. I attempt to get up, but the majority of my senses simply want to return to sleep. Moses spots me as I stir. She brings over a folded rag and says, “Lorna brought this for you. She will be back shortly to take you inside the house for a bath. The rag goes inside your undergarment to catch the blood.”

  The latch from the sliding wall clicks and Lorna stands at the opening with a crisp, folded white towel. She is clad in a flowing silk nightgown and plush house slippers. Her clothes seem to be an extension of her regal bearing. Moses ushers me over to our host. Lorna gently smiles and leads me out of the room. We venture down a long, dark hallway illuminated by rows of flickering candles.

  “How are you feeling?” Lorna inquires.

  Although my physical body is in a state of discomfort, I am still floating in the possibility of carrying Obatala’s child. “Fine,” I say, keeping my thoughts secret.

  We enter a spacious room with dark wood floors and very few decorations. There is a large ceramic tub in the middle of the room. Steam floats up from the water. Lorna places the towel on an ornately carved wooden chair. She begins to undress me.

&n
bsp; “I’ve brought you a new set of clothes. You are about my size,” she says as she unties my dress and slips it off my shoulders. My senses are heightened, and although her tender touch sends shivers throughout my body, I wish my mother were with me instead. I close my eyes as she continues to undress me. I feel her gently remove my medicine pouch. She peels my bloodstained undergarments from my skin and leads me to the tub. The water is scented with lavender and a hint of salt. I slowly lower myself into the heated water.

  “Is it too hot?” Lorna inquires.

  My eyes roll to the back of my head in deep pleasure. “It’s perfect.”

  Lorna walks to the windowsill and brings over a bar of soap. Tillie used soap on me when I bathed at her house, but we washed with buckets outside. This ceramic tub is simply delightful. Lorna wets a small cloth and lathers the soap. She reaches over and begins to wash my back.

  “Moses tells me this is your first menstruation.”

  “Yes,” I say, completely relaxed under the spell of her nurturing touch.

  “Welcome to womanhood. Your cycle is the most beautiful gift of being a woman. We women are blessed with a natural bodily rhythm that keeps us in line with nature. We have our cycles in the very same way that the Earth does. Our moons also wax and wane, powerfully drawing forth our internal waters. Your first moon is incredible medicine. We will bury it in the rich soil after you bathe. It will bless us for the gift.”

  Lorna washes my entire body clean and gives me a pale blue dress with tiny pink flowers on it. The fresh undergarments are shielded from my blood by a rag. Lorna has shown me how to attach it to a special belt I’m now wearing around my waist under my clothes. She hands me my medicine pouch, and I hang it around my neck. I feel renewed and regenerated. She gives me three extra rags.

  “When you change the rag, wash it out, hang it in the sun, and put another one on. It will all become a familiar routine soon.”

  “How long does it last?”

  “Anywhere from four to seven days. It will also come every month now, just as the moon does,” she says as she grabs a brush and fixes my hair.

  Every month! I try to conceal my dread and disappointment. I don’t think that I am made to handle this every month.

  “It gets easier.”

  We head back to the secret room. My walk is awkward as I try to fix the bulky rag. Despite my discomfort, there are so many words of gratitude that I want to share with Lorna, but I can only muster a “Thank you” before my head hits the pillow and I fall asleep.

  Through the fog of my slumber, I hear Tillie repeating my name. I blink my eyes open to see her worried face. “Yemaya, there is word that my uncle is on his way to my parents’ house in Cicero. I have to leave now to get there before he does. I must warn them.”

  “I’m going with you,” I say as I jump dizzily from the bed. I lean on Tillie for support.

  “Minty thinks you need rest.”

  “Bring me water,” I command.

  Tillie finds the water pitcher and pours a glass. She brings it to me. I guzzle it down, grab my leather pouch, and declare, “I’m with you.”

  Tillie smiles. We rush over to Moses and inform her of our plans. Although she is doubtful, Moses does not attempt to change our minds.

  “Never speak of the roads you traveled nor the people who helped you, unless you are leading your own group to freedom,” Moses stresses. “We must keep the railroad sacred and secret. The Lord has told me the way and has also told me with whom to share it.”

  “I will not say a word,” Tillie promises.

  “Where is your aunt?” Moses inquires.

  “She will stay with you. She wishes to go to Canada, where she’ll be safe from her husband. He’ll kill her if he finds her.”

  Moses nods and turns to me. She takes both my hands in hers and says, “Remember my vision—New York will not be as you hope. I know your mind is made up, but just be sure that Tillie gets home safely, and then leave immediately for Canada.”

  “I will,” I promise sincerely, squeezing her hands.

  She pulls me in for an embrace. I feel safe in her arms.

  Moses whispers in my ear, “Remember the roads, for you and Obatala might lead your own group to freedom.”

  19

  CICERO

  We travel for days with Tillie in the lead, reading her burnished silver compass. Lorna gave us plenty of food and water to sustain us for the remainder of our journey, and Moses mapped out the course and told us where to find refuge during the days. We travel from nightfall to dawn, becoming one with our nocturnal surroundings.

  Tillie unfolds the map that Moses sketched for us. She squints in the dark as she tries to make out our next stop. I look over her shoulder and say, “Nyack. Mrs. Cynthia Hesdra in Nyack.”

  Tillie furrows her brow and asks, “How in God’s good name did you read that?” I smile at Tillie, knowing that I don’t really have to explain. Tillie scratches her head and says, “Didn’t the sign back there say Nyack?”

  “I didn’t see it.”

  We hear a horse and carriage approaching in the distance. Tillie grabs my hand and jumps into the nearby brush. The carriage passes by without suspicion.

  Tillie whispers, “I bet they’re headed to town. Cynthia’s property is not far from the town square. My parents took me there when I was a child.”

  She tugs me from the bushes and starts to run after the carriage. The horse is trotting slower than we thought, so we follow stealthily from the side of the road. Under her breath Tillie says, “You are going to love Cynthia. She used to be a slave.”

  Tillie dodges some trees, then looks back at me again. “Was it her husband, or was it her father? I’m not sure, but one of them bought her freedom, and now she is the richest Negro alive!”

  The horses neigh in front of us, and the carriage suddenly stops. Tillie’s eyes widen as she motions for my silence. We try to go deeper into the bushes, but the underbrush is too loud to walk on. We slowly crouch to the ground while a large man emerges from the carriage.

  “Hello?” he calls out to the trees.

  My heart is almost pounding out of my chest. The man pulls a lantern from the carriage and begins to flicker it the same way the Quakers did. He stands quietly as Tillie and I stumble out of the forest.

  “Quickly, get in,” he says, ushering us into an open carriage as he climbs in the front to drive. “You all fancy yourselves quiet?”

  His ginger beard reminds me of the pirates, but that is where the resemblance ends. He is hefty enough that the carriage tips slightly on his side as we start down the road.

  He turns around for a moment and holds the light up to my face and whispers, “Dear God in heaven. The whole country is looking for you. Good thing I have more money than I can count, or else I might be tempted to turn you in.”

  I think he is waiting for us to laugh, but we are silent. He lets out a boisterous howl, then yells, “It’s all in jest!” He clears his throat and says, “I’m Theodore Hamilton. I run most of the docks around these parts. I know who you both are; you’ve been in the paper for the last few weeks.”

  “The signal you did with the lantern… how did you know?” Tillie asks.

  “I’m a part of the Underground. Rumor has it that you were traveling with Moses.”

  Tillie responds, “Yes, she told us to go to Cynthia Hesdra’s place.”

  He chuckles and says, “Cynthia is the only person in Nyack more successful than me. I know where she lives. I’ll take you there.”

  We are quiet for most of the ride, until Theodore breaks the silence. “Why do they call you a witch?”

  “I… I… don’t know.”

  Tillie says, “People will say anything to get their property back.”

  “That’s true,” Theodore says as he looks me up and down.

  Tillie sees that I’m uncomfortable, so she changes the subject. “I hope Cynthia has some food. I’m starving.”

  We turn onto a long driveway. Tillie
looks around and questions, “Where are we?”

  “Cynthia’s place,” Theodore answers.

  “Wait, did she move?” Tillie looks at me and shakes her head.

  “Now don’t you try anything stupid,” Theodore commands.

  The horses stop, and he jumps from the driver’s bench and grabs us both by our arms. Theodore drags us down the carriage stairs and leads us into a dark barn.

  “Now, you listen good,” Theodore threatens. “Cynthia has enough money to pay your bounty a hundred times over. If she is supposed to guide you, she will pay for you.”

  “I thought you didn’t need the money,” Tillie retorts.

  Theodore backhands her. She falls to the ground and lets out a whimper. I kneel down and wrap my arms around her.

  “Stay put!” Theodore yells as he shuts and locks the door.

  Tillie jumps up and starts to scan the barn. She traces her fingers along the walls, looking for a way out. I see an open window in the loft.

  “Up here,” I whisper as I guide Tillie up the ladder.

  There is fresh hay lining the floor of the loft. In the corner are a pillow and sleeping bag. I wonder if this is Theodore’s bed. Before I can form a full thought, Tillie is hanging out of the window.

  She looks up at me and says, “Come on.”

  She lets go and falls to the ground. As she rolls in the dirt, I make my way out of the window. It seems a lot higher than I thought. I hold on to the bottom part of the frame and lower myself down.

  A voice calls from the distance: “Yemaya, is that you?”

  I drop from the window and land on my rump.

  “Oh dear!” the voice yells as she runs up to us.

  “Mrs. Cynthia!” Tillie exclaims as she hugs her.

  “Tillie! What are you ladies doing? Theodore said that he had you in a safe place.”

  “Theodore is mad! Totally nuts!” Tillie says as she rubs her cheek where he struck her.

  “He is not all there,” Cynthia admits. “He is the farmhand for the Hamiltons. Sometimes he is more trouble than help. I gave him five dollars to tell me where you were.”