“Fine notion, that,” Widow Hallahan said. “Jane will have a proper meal laid on the table here by the time you get back.”
I forced myself to curtsy, chin lowered, eyes down. In the distance the fifes shrilled again, louder than the birds and the drums.
We had been forced back into war for our liberty.
CHAPTER XXVI
Friday, September 28, 1781
ANY PERSON MAY APPREHEND A SERVANT OR SLAVE, SUSPECTED TO BE A RUNAWAY, AND CARRY HIM BEFORE A JUSTICE OF PEACE.
–A BILL FOR APPREHENDING AND SECURING RUNAWAYS, BY THE COMMITTEE OF THE VIRGINIA ASSEMBLY, JUNE 18, 1779
I STROLLED SLOW ACROSS THE courtyard in case the widow was watching me out the window. The heat rose from the earth and made the air shimmer, yet I shook with cold fear. I tried to whistle, but my mouth was too dry. My legs wobbled like I was walking on the deck of a ship lost on a stormy sea.
Where could we go? How far did we have to run? Was it safer to head past the hospital or down to the river landing? Could we risk the main road to Richmond, or should we hide until darkness, then head due north?
Widow Hallahan had been surprised to see me, that was clear. Their plan had surely been to capture us at first light. The sun had been up for near an hour already. The movement of the armies had likely caused the delay, but the wagon and the awful men in it could be just paces away.
I entered the laundry, then closed and latched the door behind me. I could not stop shaking.
Ruth sat on a stool by the open door that led to the street, practicing tiny stitches on her best handkerchief. She looked up at me, then returned her gaze to her work.
I crossed the room in three strides, flew up the ladder, and grabbed our haversacks. I tied the old leather reins around my waist as a belt, then tucked my knife and hatchet into it and quickly descended the ladder.
“Ruth,” I said softly. “We’re leaving. Come with me.”
She shook her head.
“Aberdeen is waiting for us.” ’Twas another lie, but told in the cause of our safety. “We must hurry.”
I stole two fresh-washed shifts from a basket of clean laundry and added them to my haversack. I paused, then added a small crock of soap. I rolled and tied our blankets and grabbed two hickory washing bats. If captured, we’d fight as long and hard as we could.
I snuck a look out the window. There was no movement or sound from the tavern. How long until Widow Hallahan grew suspicious?
Ruth studied the cloth in her lap, frowning.
“Put your boots on,” I said. “Make haste.”
“Don’t want to.” She set down the needlework, crossed her arms over her chest, and shook her head again. “I hate boots. You’re mean.”
“Please,” I insisted. “We might need to run on rocky ground.”
Ruth picked up her sewing. “Not running. You hollered at me.”
A dog barked in the street. A distant drum rattled. Three women walked by with heavy baskets in their arms, chattering like mockingbirds. A pair of horses appeared, pulling a wagon driven by a round, red-faced man in a tattered straw hat. I froze.
Was this the man sent to kidnap us?
The man slapped the reins on the rumps of the horses, urging them to hurry. He did not glance at the laundry. The horses pulled harder, and the wagon, piled high with casks and crates, rolled past.
Ruth pulled her needle slowly through the cloth, innocent of the dangers that were chasing us, mouths wide, fangs bared. I needed her to understand and follow my instructions. There was no time to explain, or apologize, or mend the broken parts of her heart.
But I had to try.
I crouched next to her. “Heed my words, I beg you.” I leaned close to her ear. “Mister Walter and Missus Serafina told you to listen to me. So listen: Bad men are coming for us this very moment.”
“Bad?” She drew back a bit and studied me, her frown cutting deeper lines in her brow. “Like Prentiss?”
The name of the Riverbend overseer on her lips startled me. The stark fear in her eyes made me want to hold her tight, but we didn’t have time. I nodded with great vigor.
“Yes! Like Prentiss. Very bad men who will hurt us.” I lifted her foot, slipped her heavy boot on, and quickly tied it. “But Aberdeen can help us. Only we must be quick and silent.” I put her other boot on whilst she stuffed her sewing into her haversack. “Are you ready to run, sister?”
She nodded. “Aye, Isabel.”
We shouldered our sacks and put on our hats. I peered out the door, made sure there were no strangers with wagons waiting there, then grabbed Ruth’s hand in mine.
“Now!”
CHAPTER XXVII
Friday, September 28, 1781
IF THE ENEMY SHOULD BE TEMPTED TO MEET THE ARMY ON ITS MARCH, THE GENERAL PARTICULARLY ENJOINS THE TROOPS TO PLACE THEIR PRINCIPLE RELIANCE ON THE BAYONET.
–GENERAL ORDERS OF GEORGE WASHINGTON, SEPTEMBER 28, 1781
A GREAT COLUMN OF RED dust rose in the sky to show me the path to safety.
Near twenty thousand soldiers on the march, plus their wagons and horses, threw up such a gigantical red cloud that King George over in England could have spotted it himself. It would be easy to hide in such a maelstrom of confusion. Before that moment the thought of hiding in the middle of the pack of soldiers would have seemed to me as safe as hiding in the mouth of a serpent.
But we had no choice.
We hurried down alleys and slipped through the narrow spaces betwixt buildings. Ruth shushed the barking dogs and startled chickens we encountered. I forced my feet to walk steady, feigning a calm I did not possess, until well beyond the extent of the town itself, then we ran as if we were speeding to catch up to our company.
We soon reached the end of the long line of men and supplies, the lumbering wagons filled with spades, shovels, axes, tents, flour casks, and iron kettles. I checked over my shoulder one last time but saw no sign of Hallahan, nor a wagon in pursuit of us. In fact, we had walked so far, so quickly, that I could no longer see any sign of Williamsburg.
I slowed my pace. “Does your foot hurt?”
Ruth matched her steps to mine and gave a quick shake of her head. “When we gonna find Aberdeen?”
“Soon,” I said with a confidence I did not feel.
We walked along the edge of the road, overtaking the slow wagons one by one. No one remarked about our presence. I noted the air of purpose with which the people around us walked. I imitated it, acting like I knew exactly where I was going and was certain that I would get there soon.
As my fear of Hallahan faded a bit, my apprehension about what to do next grew. We had to eat. We needed a safe place to sleep. Mayhaps we could work for the French; they paid with silver coins. We could leave as soon as we earned enough to get to Philadelphia. But what if Aberdeen was right? What if the British won the coming battle? Should we, in fact, make our way to Yorktown and seek him out?
The image of Curzon’s face drifted across my mind. I gave my head a good shake to get rid of it. I wouldn’t ask for his help, not ever again. I didn’t even know what regiment he belonged to. Before I turned to Curzon, I’d seek out Ebenezer Woodruff. He’d find us work among trustworthy fellows.
As the sun reached the middle of the sky, we caught up to the drovers herding the cattle and sheep that would feed the army. I tried to step with care, but the dung on the road could not be avoided. Ruth would have happily lingered with the animals, but I urged her forward until we came to the ragtag band of women and children that I knew would be walking at the rear of the mass of troops.
They were called “women of the army” or “camp followers”; wives of soldiers who had permission to accompany the troops so long as they cooked and cleaned and mended and cared for the sick. They were a rough sort, used to a life of hardship. A few carried babes on their backs, but several walked with children pulling at their skirts. A few lads of six or seven helped their mothers by carrying sacks of dried peas. They would have been babes the
mselves when the war started. If it didn’t end soon, they’d be shouldering muskets and fighting alongside their brothers and fathers.
“Good day!” I called to a group of women closest to us. Acting cheerful was a part of my disguise.
The three of them turned back to look at me. They were all white, one no older than me, the other two of middling years.
“May we walk with you?” I asked.
The older women studied us in an unfriendly manner, but the youngest, dressed in a blue jacket and a much-patched skirt, grinned broadly, showing the absence of several teeth.
“Sure enough,” she said. “Lasses needs to band together, keep usselves safe from redcoats prowling in the brush!”
“Follow me,” I said to Ruth.
Ruth refused, shaking her head.
“No shenanigans,” I hissed. “Please!”
She shot me a look that could have stopped a bear in its tracks, then sighed and clomped behind me.
“Name’s Rachel,” the youngest girl said when we caught up to the women. “You get left behind?”
“Indeed,” I said, shaking my head with feigned rue. “My sister, she come down with a terrible flux of the bowels. Slept in the privy, she did. But she’s all cleaned out now.”
The older women grunted, nodded their heads, and commenced to arguing about the best remedies for ailments of the belly and bowel. Ruth glared at me but said nothing, thank all of the angels in God’s heaven.
“How much farther till Yorktown?” I asked.
“Not far.” Rachel shaded her eyes with her hand. “See that rice field and the woods ahead? My man says them woods, that’s a sign we’s close. Bloody lobsterbacks hiding in the trees, he says, ready to pick us off one by one.”
The women on the other side of Rachel interrupted their doctoring argument and laughed.
“Pshaw!” said one. “Them lobsterbacks are all holed up in Yorktown, wetting their breeches in fear and hoping for a rescue boat. Only thing to be afraid of in them woods is skunks.” She tilted her head some and gave us a close looking-over. “Where do ye hail from?”
I swallowed hard, not daring to respond. If she questioned me too close, she’d know in an instant that we didn’t belong with the army. I did not know enough of the life of camp followers to bluff my way into their midst. If we were found out to be imposters, we could find ourselves captured and headed to the auction block. The thought near made me retch.
There was only one path left to take: to the British.
“Oh, gracious!” I said loudly.
“Are you poorly too?” Rachel asked.
“Nay, but my sister here, she’s got that look on her face again. Methinks I ought find a spot of privacy for her in the woods. Many thanks for your company.”
I grabbed Ruth’s arm and pulled her with me, half running for the woods.
“Should we wait for you?” called Rachel.
Her friendly tone caused a pang within me. I looked back at her over my shoulder. “You best move on.”
CHAPTER XXVIII
Friday, September 28, 1781
ABOUT 700 NEGROES ARE COME DOWN THE RIVER [WITH] THE SMALLPOX. I SHALL DISTRIBUTE THEM ABOUT THE REBEL PLANTATIONS.
–LETTER OF BRITISH GENERAL ALEXANDER LESLIE TO LORD CORNWALLIS ABOUT HIS DECISION TO SPREAD SMALLPOX IN THE VIRGINIA COUNTRYSIDE A FEW MONTHS BEFORE THE SIEGE OF YORKTOWN
DON’T LIKE THE WOODS,” RUTH said as we walked under the first trees.
“We spent weeks in the woods when we left Riverbend,” I reminded her.
“With Aberdeen,” she said.
Mayhaps it had been a mistake to use his name as a tool to get her away from the laundry.
“He keeps me safe,” she added.
The tone in her voice caused me to turn and study her face. She was clearly sweet on him, though not old enough to be courted. Even if she were sixteen, I would never allow a fellow of such questionable honesty to spend time with her. But that was a problem for another day. For now I’d say anything to keep her walking beside me.
“Aberdeen’s in Yorktown,” I said, hoping it might be true. “It’s on the other side of those woods.”
“Woods have ghosts. Don’t like them.”
“We’ll look for animals as we walk,” I gently suggested. “Squirrels. Foxes. Maybe we’ll see a possum with babies on her back.”
“Skunks?”
“Not in the daytime,” I said. “Don’t worry.”
“Ghosts steal souls.”
“I’ll keep you safe,” I promised.
* * *
It took at least an hour to go the first mile and another mile after that, until the distance muffled the army’s rattling drums. The travel was tortuous slow on account of fallen trees and thick-growing bushes armed with thorns. The sharp smell of death, like blood spilled on a hot iron pan, made me wrinkle my nose from time to time. It likely came from dead possums or a wounded deer that had fled from the hunters to die in the forest.
I listened close, hoping to hear the trickle of a stream, but the only sounds were the whine of bloodsucking insects and Ruth’s careful footsteps behind me. She did not complain about her empty belly, though I knew she was as hungry as me.
The smell of death came again on the wind. It so distracted me that I walked face-first into an enormous, sticky spiderweb. I lashed out and cleared it off my face, then chuckled low. “Did you see that? I must have looked a right fool.”
Ruth did not answer.
“Did you not see that?” I turned around.
She stood some ten paces behind me and a bit to the left, pointing at something under the ferns at her feet.
“Dead,” she said.
“Dead?” I walked back, bracing myself for the sight of a rotting critter. “Come away from . . .”
I could not finish the sentence.
’Twas a hand poking out from the ferns. Its fingers curled gently toward the palm, as if beckoning us.
“Dear God,” I murmured.
I crouched for a closer look, flinching as a thick wave of angry flies rose in the air. The hand belonged to the body of an ill-dressed black man, old enough to be my father. His face was a mask of agony, his skin covered with horrible smallpox pustules leaking their poison. His belly hadn’t bloated up, nor was he showing signs of rot, though the air was hot enough to melt wax. I felt on his wrist but found no sign of his heartbeat. He had not been dead for long. He had woken up that morning, same as we had, but then he’d walked unto death.
Ruth crouched next to me.
“Smallpox,” I murmured. “Don’t fret. We had it when we were little.”
Smallpox had been slow-burning its way through the country as long as I could remember. Some said it was a sign of God’s anger, but they couldn’t agree if God was angry at the Patriots for declaring independence or at the British for denying it.
I touched his fingertips. His hands were callused by a lifetime of work, and his feet were bare. He had freed himself, of that I was certain. Had he been on his way to find the wife he loved, or his children, or to see if his parents still lived? Whose name had been on his lips as he passed from this world to the next?
Ruth wiped the tears from my face.
“We can’t leave him like this,” I said after a while.
Ruth didn’t move.
“I think we should bury him,” I said.
She took a deep breath, then nodded. “Aye.”
It was much harder than I figgered. We tried to dig using our washing bats, but the thick woven roots of the forest floor made the task near impossible. I tried to chop through the roots with my hatchet but achieved little except dulling the blade. Digging with our hands would have taken days. In the end we covered him with branches and leaves, fashioned a cross from two sticks, and laid it on the ground above his head.
I said a prayer.
“Amen,” Ruth whispered.
* * *
Despite our walking farther and farther from the nameless man’s g
rave, the oppressive stink of death grew stronger. I was so mired in melancholy, I did not pause to consider the oddity of that. There had been no talk of smallpox in Williamsburg, at least not that I’d heard mention of. The Continental troops were all required to have the variolation, then endure the disease in quarantine to prevent its spread. Had that man been infected where he lived, or had it cut him down as he ran?
We stooped under branches, backtracked when the brush grew too dense, then turned again in the direction of the river. Aberdeen had not mentioned how difficult the journey through these woods would be, which made me worry that we were lost. And the smell of death was growing stronger.
When we entered a clearing filled with golden light from the setting sun, the horrible truth revealed itself. The shock of the sight stopped us cold, rooting us both to the ground like saplings. Ruth gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth. A sob rose from my chest.
“Dear God!”
Five people lay on the ground, each covered with a thin shroud of fallen leaves. Two men, two boys, one woman. All dead. All of them so thin, they were more bone than muscle. The boys lay with their arms around each other. One of them reached for the woman, who had died curled up in a ball. One man lay facedown near the three of them. The other was a few paces away, alone.
Nature had started to consume them, a sign that they had lain here in death for days.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
These were children of Africa, like me. Like my sister, and our mother, and our father. Like Curzon, Aberdeen, Serafina, Walter, the woman in the green skirt at the market, like the countless souls, some in their natural state of freedom, many, many, many more kidnapped, stolen, and forced into the unnatural state of slavery.
I wished that I knew their names. I would speak them out loud in quiet moments, in beautiful places, and in so doing, keep a part of them alive. Your true name was one of the few things they could not take away from you, hard though they tried.