Which Way Freedom (8 page)

He opened the sack and took out a potato and a piece of bread. Rummaging inside the sack again, he found a package of dried, salted beef. He put it back, so that they could have it to eat in the evening. While he ate his breakfast, Easter crawled out of the thicket.

“Mornin',” Obi said, handing her a potato. She ignored him, got her own food out of the sack, and ate in silence.

Obi was unable to stand her stubborness any longer.

“We couldn't help it, Easter. We had to leave Jason.”

She stared at him mutely.

“
You
say you want to run.
You
say you want us to be together,” he said accusingly, picking up a small stone.

“Us mean Jason too,” she said.

He threw the stone into a clump of bushes. “I have to find my ma! Jason be fine. They not sellin' him in the Charleston market like me.”

She turned her back on him and lay down to rest again. She did not say another word to him. While Obi finished eating, Buka left the shelter. Obi watched anxiously as Buka tried to control his hacking cough. When he stopped coughing, Obi handed him a potato.

“This a good spot to hide,” Buka said, looking around at the dense growth of trees and brush.

For the rest of the day, they slept on and off until nightfall.

Before they continued their journey, Buka took Obi aside
and cautioned him. “Watch Easter. She mind might tell she to go to Jason.”

“She don't know these woods. Get lost if she leave us,” Obi said.

“The dumbest woman be smarter than man, remember that, Obi.”

Once again they walked all night, covering more miles than they did the night before. Obi watched Easter carefully, though he didn't think she would try to leave them. He was more worried about Buka's coughing and the faint sounds of barking dogs.

“It have a lot of hunters in the swamp. That be their hounds,” Buka told him. They trekked through the woods until the ground began to soften under their feet. “We nearin' the swamp now,” Buka said and paused. “We walk till the light come up.” He started to walk again and stumbled.

Obi reached for him. “Let me carry you, Buka,” he offered.

Buka shooed him away. “I fine. We stop soon an' find shelter.” They continued walking until the ground became muddy. They stepped carefully, making sure that what looked like a tree branch in the dark was not really a snake.

As the sky began to lighten, they reached an area of firmer ground covered with tall grass. They decided to stop and sleep. Obi wished he knew what Easter was thinking as she helped him gather branches and leaves for them to crawl under.

Easter took shelter first. “Keep watch a while,” Buka whispered to Obi. “Make sure it safe here.” Obi sat down, holding the shotgun across his knees. He thought about Wilson and John Jennings and wondered how far they'd tracked them and in what direction they'd gone.

Obi couldn't keep watch very long and soon fell asleep from exhaustion. When he woke up, he immediately reached for the shotgun and checked to see whether Easter was still in the shelter. She slept soundly next to Buka.

He stood up stiffly and looked around. Though sunlight
had brightened the swamp somewhat, shadow and mist seemed to be there permanently. Greyish-brown moss hung heavily from the large oak trees. These, along with high grasses, created a natural shelter.

Obi listened carefully for the dreaded sound of dogs and spun around when he heard a slight rustling near him. Easter crawled out of the shelter. She opened the sack and took out a potato, acting as if Obi wasn't there.

“Easter, you tell me you want to run,” he said, pointing his finger in her face as she leaned over the sack. “I tell you it best you stay, but your head hard as stone.” Easter sat down, took a bite out of the potato, and stared at a lizard as it slithered over a log. Obi gave up. He walked over to a little brook a few feet away. Dousing his face with the cool, clear water, he decided not to worry about Easter anymore.

She head too thick to understand why we have to leave Jason.

Buka crept slowly and painfully from under the pile of leaves. He barely nibbled at a piece of meat while Obi and Easter prepared to start out. “Children, you keep walking east,” he said slowly. “The way the sun rise. Remember, when you get to the river, you see the farm. Gabriel take you 'cross the river in the boat. Remember he name—Gabriel.”

Obi peered into Buka's creased, black face. “You talk like you not goin',” he said anxiously.

“Who know what happen in this life, Obi,” Buka mumbled. “You get there. I see to that.”

Obi looked at Easter. She had turned her face away from them.

By the third night of running, their bodies seemed to melt into the shadows and take the shape of the trees and bushes. Buka “saw” with his ears, hands, and feet as well as his eyes. Once he limped into a spot and immediately backed away. “Quicksand,” he had said, feeling the ground with his hands and practically crawling. “Walk here—this firmer ground.”

Obi noticed that Buka had slowed his pace quite a bit
after they had walked a while. “I carry you.” Obi said. This time Buka accepted his offer.

He lifted the old man onto his back, and Easter picked up the sack and the gun. “Step careful,” he rasped into Obi's ear. “Put one foot before the other. You feel sinkin', then you stop. We goin' through thick mud an' then a creek. After that the ground firm up. When you feel it firm, you near the farm.”

“You goin' there with us. Why you waste breath for so much direction?” Obi tried to sound confident, but he was nervous. He listened to the barking, which had started up again.

“You have to know what to do,” Buka said. He began to cough and choke. Obi put him down until the old man caught his breath. Easter stood silently, still holding the sack and gun, watching while Obi patted Buka on his back. When Buka's cough quieted, Obi noticed that another sound had also ceased—there were no more sounds from the dogs. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or whether the silence was an ill omen.

“Another two hour—if you walk fast—you reach the river. Nobody lookin' for me. I slowin' you down. Leave me here.”

“I ain't leavin' you, Buka,” Obi said firmly.

“Yes—I meet you on the other side. I know the way, Obi.”

“No, I ain't leavin' you,” Obi insisted. “You stay, then I stayin' too.” Obi bent down so that Buka could climb on his back. The old man got on hesitantly.

They moved on again, but Buka's breathing was heavy and labored. Soon they were sloshing through thick mud.
Least we gettin' near now, an no one find us yet,
Obi told himself.

Easter, the sack slung over her shoulder and the shotgun cradled in her arm, stumbled a few times but kept her balance. Besides the clothing intended for Jason, the only articles remaining in the sack were a few slices of bread, the pass, and Buka's hunting knife.

After walking a while longer, they came to the creek.
We almost at the river an the island!
Obi realized. He was afraid to get excited about being so close to what he'd always dreamed about—afraid he would wake up in the hayloft at the Jennings farm and find that he'd only been dreaming.

The creek water felt cool and refreshing around his long legs after wading through so much mud. Obi wished he could take off his clothes and wash. Though he'd vowed to ignore Easter, he spoke to her as they crossed the creek.

“Be careful, the rocks slippery.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than she slipped and fell in the water. Obi, reaching for her, almost lost balance himself. Buka held onto Obi's shoulders. “Lawd,” he mumbled. “Should a use me own foot for this trip.” Obi managed to steady himself.

“My foot surer than yours,” Obi teased him.

“Thank you, Obi,” Easter murmured as she took Obi's outstretched hand. On her feet again, she pulled the straw hat, the sack, and the gun out of the water.

“You welcome,” Obi said, surprised that she had spoken, let alone thanked him. Easter shook the water out of the hat, and they completed their crossing. He couldn't bear to look at the water rolling off the gun.
That gun can't shoot nothin' now.

“Put me down,” Buka demanded as soon as they got to the other side. He cleared his throat. “I can walk some.”

Easter was soaked from head to foot and tried to wring out the water from the legs of her overalls. Obi did the same, but it was hard to wring out clothes while still wearing them.

He looked at Buka and smiled. “See, you the only one who dry, an' you complainin'.”

“An' I the only one who almost die in that creek,” Buka joked. They trudged along until the trees stood farther apart and the bushes and shrubs thinned out. A chink of light in the east indicated sunrise, but there were still enough trees and predawn darkness to hide them.

After a while, Buka stopped. “We rest here,” he breathed
heavily. “Only for a bit. We almost to the river.” He sat down wearily under the dangling branches of a willow. Easter and Obi joined him. The delicate leaves hung like tassels over them. The nearest tree, about fifteen feet away, was a cypress, its roots protruding from the ground.

Easter opened the sack and removed some soggy bread.

“Don't think the birds even want that,” Buka told her when she threw the bread in a clump of bushes. He turned to Obi. “Put the gun in the sack. You gonna have to clean that good, else it won't work again. Water ruin it.”

Obi rested his head against the tree and looked up at a piece of sky, painted mauve by the rising sun. Then he sat up quickly and slapped his forehead. “Buka, that pass. It probably ruin like the bread! Now we—” He didn't have time to complete his sentence. Just beyond the cypress, a group of white men carrying rifles was headed toward them.

When de War begin dey carried Young Marster off … and
dey sent me to wait on him…. Colonel Farrabow …
told us to go to the breastworks and work.

George Rogers, ex-slave
From
Voices from Slavery

Easter let go of the sack, and Obi stared while Buka rose stiffly from the ground. A man with a long, thick, hay-colored beard and a slouch hat like the one Wilson wore approached them.

Three others, one of them black, followed. Obi's heart raced as Buka steadied himself, placing his gnarled hand on the tree.

“Caught us some big rabbits, boys,” the man with the beard said, grinning.

“Never know what you might catch in these woods, Corporal,” a tall, skinny man replied. He wore a straw hat with a wide brim.

Obi stood up, drawing closer to Buka.

“Bet they runaways, Corporal Jameson,” said a youthful looking fellow. He had pale blue eyes and thick yellow hair. “We give 'em back to their owners, maybe get some money for 'em.”

Except for the black man, the rest of them laughed at
the yellow-haired boy. “Don't be stupid, Simon,” Corporal Jameson said. “We got a war to fight.”

The black man said nothing. He was tall, with a large frame and a round, tan-colored face. He wore overalls, straw hat, and carried two croaker sacks and a rifle. One of the sacks bulged as if it contained a couple of rabbits.

“We not runaways, suh.” Buka spoke calmly to Jameson, who seemed to be the leader of the group.

“What you doin' in these woods, then, old man? Huntin'?”

Obi glanced at Easter, who kept her head lowered. He felt like a little bird he'd seen once, flapping its useless wings against a raging storm.

Obi guessed that they were soldiers because they called the bearded one Corporal, but he wasn't sure. These men, with their light-brown trousers, shirts, and different hats, were sloppily dressed.

Then he noticed that the young boy named Simon wore a soft, grey cap. He recognized it—maybe they
were
Confederate soldiers. Buka, like an actor, changed his tone of voice. “Suh, we ain't no runaways,” he said humbly, addressing Corporal Jameson again.

“We let the Colonel figure out whether you runaways or not,” Corporal Jameson said. He pushed Easter in front of him. “Boy, you walk ahead of me,” he ordered.

Least the disguise workin',
Obi thought.

“Smith,” Jameson said to the skinny man, “you get behind that tall one.” He pointed to Obi.

Obi studied the black man who walked next to Smith. For a moment, Obi thought the man looked at him with sympathy.

Jameson moved Easter quickly along. Obi reached down and quickly picked up the sack that Easter had left.

“Gimme that,” Smith demanded.

Snatching the sack from Obi, Smith pulled out the shotgun. “We better show this to the Colonel,” he said to Simon.

Simon pushed Buka ahead of him and Buka stumbled. Obi winced when Simon poked Buka in his back with his rifle. Without thinking, he pushed the soldier aside and clasped his hand around Buka's arm. “He old. He can't move fast,” he said angrily.

Simon stared at Obi in surprise, and Smith aimed his rifle at Obi's head. “Boy, you're in trouble now. I should shoot you for that!”

Obi's large eyes seemed to sink deeper inside his head as he stared at Smith.

“The boy grab for he grandfather—he push Simon by accident,” the black man said, grinning at Smith.

“You sure about that, Daniel?”

“Yes, suh.” Daniel kept his round face grinning.

“Suh,” Buka said, “the boy know I sick and he afraid I get hurt.”

“Old man, you live this long 'cause you had sense enough not to fight no white man.” Smith stepped close to Obi, who could smell the scent of tobacco in the man's rumpled shirt. “Don't have no more accidents, hear?”

“Yes, suh,” Obi said softly.
Long as that farm boy don't have no more accident with he rifle.
“Can I carry my grandfather, suh?”