The Last Runaway (28 page)

“Thankee, but I know where I’m goin’.”

Honor cleared her throat to ease the words from it. “We must leave these woods. He will come looking here.” As would Jack: in a few hours Dorcas and Judith would go back to the farm for the evening milking, find that Honor was not there, and raise the alarm.

They listened. They could not go north into the hayfield, where even now Honor could hear the distant voices of her family, the jingles of the horses’ bridles, the creak of the wagon. Donovan was blocking their escape east along the track past the farm and Faithwell. Honor did not want to go west: the track through Wieland Woods petered out halfway through, and besides would lead them into unknown territory, away from the main road and Oberlin. If they could get close to the main road between Oberlin and Wellington, they could then follow it, keeping in the fields on either side.

“If we cross the track that way”—Honor pointed south—“there is a cornfield that has not yet been cut. We can hide there till dark, then make our way east to the main road.”

The other woman nodded. “First I got to drink.” She led the way to the creek that bisected the woods, where Honor had rolled Dorcas in the mud to soothe her bee stings. There was little water in it other than a couple of standing puddles scummed over, insects hovering above. The women picked their way along it till they found a small trickle over a rock. The runaway placed her mouth there to suck up the water. After drinking, she stood up and gestured to Honor, who tried to crouch, then went on her hands and knees in an awkward position to accommodate the baby. She hesitated for a moment when she realized she would be putting her mouth where the Negro’s had been. But that thought was a mere flicker, and she lowered her mouth to the rock. The water tasted wonderful.

Afterward the woman helped her to her feet, then led the way south toward the track, clearly in charge. Honor did not mind. It was enough for her to be out walking in the woods on a late summer afternoon with a Negro, going . . . she did not know where she was going. She was running away.

The black woman moved through the woods silently, her feet sure, aware of her body in a way that kept her from brushing against branches or crackling leaves. Honor could not imitate her silence: she rustled through the undergrowth and got herself caught in brambles. She was also slowed by the weight she carried, and the pains along her groin and inner thighs. The woman did not slow down, though, and was soon little more than a movement among the trees. At one point Honor stopped and wiped her brow, and listened. She could not hear Donovan’s horse. He was probably searching the barn and other farm buildings. Behind her she could hear the wagon with its load of hay bumping down the track that led from the hayfield along the edge of Wieland Woods to the pasture and barn. If Jack came upon Donovan at the barn, what would they say to each other? Would Donovan ask if he’d seen the runaway? Would Jack tell him, or lie? Honor shivered, and hurried to catch up with her companion.

She was leaning against a maple at the wood’s edge, the track before them little more than a trickle of crusted mud spreading east and west. Diagonally across it, next to the woods, was the bright green shimmer of the Haymakers’ extensive cornfield. Tall and healthy and ripe, it would be left to stand until autumn when the ears had dried in their husks. Seeing it reminded Honor of first lying with Jack Haymaker in a cornfield. She flushed at the memory; only a little over a year ago, yet it felt as far away as England.

“You can go back now,” the runaway said. “I be all right from here. I jes’ wait in the corn till dark, then go on when no one can see me.”

Honor shook her head. “I will go with thee.”

The woman glanced at Honor’s belly. “You sure you want to go like that?”

“The baby’s not due until next month. I’ll be fine.”

The runaway shrugged and turned to look up and down the track, listening. “Come on, then.” She stepped out of the woods. Honor followed, the sunlight blinding her so that she ran without seeing where she was going. In a moment she was crashing into the corn.

“Shh!”

Honor stopped, the stalks banging together around her.

“Go slow or it makes noise,” the woman whispered. “And we got to go through without breaking the stalks, so no one know we been here. Get to the middle and wait. Follow me, now.”

They stepped carefully along a row, trying not to rattle or break the stalks. Honor kept her eyes on the woman’s back, where a patch of sweat was blooming through her brown dress. Several feet in, the woman turned and cut across rows, zigzagging and pushing carefully through the thick corn. Eventually she turned into a row and walked along it, on and on, for far longer than Honor would ever have gone on her own. “Please,” she almost said. “Please stop.”

She was about to reach out and touch the woman when the runaway did stop, and Honor almost stumbled into her. She was dizzy and the baby was pressing on her bladder.

The woman sat. “Let’s wait here.”

Honor went a little farther along to squat. It was so hot that the urine dried up just moments after she finished. She came back to sit near the runaway and opened her bundle. This time the woman took one of the plums. Honor savored the fleshy pulp, and sucked for a long time on the stone.

The woman was looking at her sideways. “I like that bonnet,” she said. “You think it’s jes’ gray, then there’s that little flash of yellow to give it spice.”

“A friend made it for me.” Honor felt a pang, thinking of Belle Mills. She had never replied to her letter, and now she would not see her again.

It was uncomfortable sitting in the cornfield. The sun beat down on them, for the stalks did not provide much shade. The leaves caught at her, their surfaces a rough softness. The ears bulged from their husks, but this was feed corn, its kernels too tough for human teeth, and the taste less delicate than the sweet corn Honor had come to love and crave. There was nothing substantial like a tree to lean against, and the corn grew close enough together that it was difficult to find space to lie out. She was exhausted from the sun and the physical exertion, however, and managed to nod off, jerking herself awake.

“You sleep a bit,” the runaway said. “I’ll keep watch. We’ll take turns.”

Honor did not argue. She laid her head on her bundle, curled around the baby and, despite the hot sun, the flies and the dull ache in her belly, soon slept.

* * *

She woke with a dry mouth, the plum stone tucked in her cheek. The sun was arcing down toward the horizon. Honor had slept a long time. She could hear a horse in the distance, clopping steadily along the track, and sat up, startled. The black woman was sitting on her heels.

“Thee should have woken me,” Honor said.

The woman shrugged. “You needed the sleep.” Her eyes grazed over Honor’s belly. “I remember wantin’ to sleep all the time toward the end.”

“Thee has children?” Honor glanced around, as if somehow she could conjure up children in the cornfield.

“Course. That’s why I’m here.”

Honor shook her head to clear her thoughts. Then she froze: it was Donovan’s horse. He rode fast, then slowed, then stopped, then rode slowly again, then turned around and galloped away.

Honor gulped, but the woman seemed unconcerned. She even chuckled. “He been doin’ that a while now,” she said. “Knows we here somewhere but don’t know where.”

“Will he come into the corn?”

“I reckon not. They’s lots of woods an’ fields to search. He gon’ wait till we make a move.”

Honor did not ask when that would be.

“Remember, he don’t know where we are, but we know where he is. We got the advantage.”

Honor wished she shared the woman’s optimism. Unfortunately, Donovan had the advantage of the law on his side, and a horse, and a gun.

At dusk they heard another horse along the track. As he called her name, Honor recognized Jack’s voice. He must have cut short the harvest to look for her: it was good weather and she knew the Haymakers had been planning to work as late as they could to get the hay in before rain came. She could hear anger and impatience in his voice, and winced.

The black woman stared at her. “That your husband?” she whispered when Jack had turned back. “What he callin’ you for? Don’t he know you out here with me?”

Honor didn’t answer.

Then the woman understood. “
You
runnin’ away?” she cried, her voice for the first time that day rising above a muffled tone. “What in hell you doin’ that for? With a baby comin’ an’ all? What you got to run away from?”

With each question, Honor shrank further into herself, taking refuge in silence.

When it was clear she would not—or could not—respond, the woman clicked her tongue. “Fool,” she muttered.

As it was growing dark, they heard horses again, and Jack and Adam Cox calling this time. The woman reached for her bundle and scrambled to her feet.

Honor grabbed her sleeve. “What is thee doing?”

“I gon’ tell them you here.”

“Please don’t!”

But it was Donovan’s voice joining the others’—sarcastic, amused—that stopped the runaway. “Honor Bright, I’m a little surprised you’re hidin’ out there, after all your promises not to help niggers. Guess I can’t trust even a Quaker these days. Time to come out now, darlin’—you’re scarin’ your husband.”

The women remained still, listening to the men shifting about on their horses and talking in low voices. Honor shuddered and took a deep breath.

Then she heard the barking.

“Oh Lord, they got a dog,” the black woman whispered. “Oh Lord.”

“That’s Digger.”

“He know you? Well, when he find us least he won’t tear you apart. Get ready to run.”

“He hates me.”

“Your own dog hate you? Oh Lord.”

Honor could hear stirring among the corn, and then made out Digger’s shadowy form trotting up the row. He did not bark, though, but came to stand at Honor’s feet. He gazed up at her, ignoring the runaway, and growled low. Then he turned and ran back down the way he had come. The women stared after him.

“That’s him lettin’ you go,” the black woman murmured. “Good thing he hate you. Thankee, Digger.”

“There he is,” they heard Jack say. “What has thee found, Digger? Nothing?”

“Thought he was after somethin’ there,” Donovan said. “Damn dog. That’s why I don’t like to use ’em—noisy and unreliable. I trust my own senses more than a dog’s.”

Eventually the men rode away again, and the women began threading their way east across the rows of corn. Honor’s legs ached from inactivity, and she shook and stretched them. She could see two stars in the sky. More would soon appear.

At the end of the cornfield they passed through a wood, taking them south of Faithwell. As it grew black Honor kept her eyes on the woman’s back again, finally reaching out to touch her so that she could be guided through the dark.

Eventually they reached the familiar main road between Oberlin and Wellington. It was quiet, but Honor suspected Donovan and possibly Jack were somewhere along it, waiting for them.

“We’ll go into that corn,” the woman said, gesturing across the road. “Stay off the road, but near it so we know where we at, and where the hunter at too. Always better to know that, so you don’t get surprised.” She spoke with the confidence of someone who had done this often. She hurried across the road, which was a pale river even without a moon. As Honor followed she thought of being in this very spot a few months back, looking for Donovan in the night. Now she was hiding from him. The darkness brought with it the same metallic taste of fear. Honor swallowed but the taste remained, though muted, for this time she was not alone.

In the cornfield the woman turned south. When Honor did not follow, she stopped. “You comin’ or what?”

“We should be going that way.” Honor pointed at the pole star. “Toward Oberlin.”

The woman shook her head. “I jes’ come from Oberlin. From the woman in the red house—make one fiery stew. Who said to stay away from you. Now I start to understand why,” she added. “Don’t you understand? I’m goin’
south
, not north. Already been in the north.” She crossed back to Honor. “You don’t remember me, do you? I expect we all look alike to you.” She clicked her tongue. “Well, I tell you somethin’: white folks look the same to us too.”

“I do remember thee,” Honor whispered. “Thee left water by my bed when I was ill.”

The woman’s face softened. “I did.”

“But I don’t understand—why is thee going south?”

“My children. See, after I got caught I ran away again first chance I got. I even stopped at your farm one day, got the victuals you left under the crate. This time I made it to Canada. But once I was there, I couldn’t stop thinkin’ ’bout my girls, and worryin’ ’bout them. It felt good up there, the freedom. Ain’t nobody tellin’ you what to do. You make your own decisions, where you live, what you do, how you spend the money you earn. You earn money! And livin’ with other black folk, it’s—well, it’s like you livin’ with your Quaker kind. It feel right. I want my children to feel that too. So I’m goin’ back for them.”

“Where are they?”

“Virginia.”

“But that is far! What if thee is caught?”

“If I is caught I’ll jes’ wait till I can run again. That the thing about slavery. They needs you to work, they can’t always be lockin’ you up. You wait long enough, you always find a time to run. That’s why I don’t worry if I get caught. They take me back to Virginia, and I’ll run again, with my children this time. I done tasted freedom now. I always gon’ be wantin’ that taste again.”

Honor felt as she had done when playing a game with her brothers and sister, where they blindfolded her and spun her round, and when she removed the blindfold, she discovered she was facing a completely different direction from what she thought. It was as if she were standing in the corn, and it had turned around her 180 degrees, so that north was south and south north. She had been expecting to walk to Mrs. Reed’s in Oberlin, then make her way northwest to Sandusky, a town on Lake Erie where she could get a boat across to Canada. That was what fugitive slaves did. Now, though, she would have to go the opposite way, or go north without a guide.