sons will see to the welfare of my two old wives and my small children. As for myself—I think I will fare alone in search of renewal, or else of death and an end of striving.”
Into their silence, he finished: “I served you as well as I was able. Now let me depart.”
He walked down the knoll and away from them. Never did he look back.
XIII. Follow the Drinking Gourd
A thunderstorm flamed and boomed during the night. By morning the sky was clear, everything asparkle, but the fields were too wet for work. That didn’t matter. Crops were coming along fine, alfalfa so deep a green you could nearly hear the color and corn sure to be knee-high by the Fourth of July. Matthew Edmonds decided that after chores and breakfast he’d fix up his plow. The colter needed sharpening and there was a crack in the whippletree. If he reinforced it, he could get yet another season’s use out of it before prudence called for replacement. Then Jane had a long list of tinkerings around the house for him.
When he closed the kitchen door, he stopped and drew a breath on the top step. The air was cool and damp, rich with smells of soil, animals, growth. On his right the sun had just cleared the woods behind the bam; the rooster weathervane there threw the light back aloft into a blue that had no end. The yard was muddy, but puddles shone like mirrors. He let his eyes run left, across silo, pigsty, chickenhouse, over his acres that rolled away beyond them bearing the earth’s abundance. Could he, could any man ever make any real return for the blessings of the Lord? . Something flickered at the edge of sight. He turned his head fully left. You could see the county road from here, about a hundred yards off along the west edge of the property. On the other side lay Jesse Lyndon’s land, but his bouse was to the north, hidden from this by its own patch of woods. The Edmonds’ drive was also screened from sight, :lined with apple trees whose fruit was starting to swell among pale-bright leaves. Out from between them ran a woman.
Chief, the half-collie, was helping ten-year-old Jacob take the cows to pasture. That was just as well. The woman acted scared when Frankie bounded forth barking at her, and he was only a fox terrier. At least, she shied from him and made fending motions. She kept on running, though. No, she staggered, worn out, close to dropping. All she had on was a thin dress that had once been yellow, halfway down her shins. A shift, would the ladies call it? Ragged, filthy, and drenched, it clung to a skin from under which the flesh had melted away. That skin was the shade of weak coffee.
Edmonds sprang down the steps and broke into a run himself. “You, Frankie, quiet!” he hollered. “Shut up!” The little dog skipped aside, wagged his tail, and lolled his tongue.
Man and woman met near the corncrib, stopped, stared at each other. She looked young, maybe twenty, in spite of what hardship had done to her. Feed her up and she’d be slender and tall instead of skinny. Her face was different from the usual, narrow, nose curved and not very wide, lips hardly fuller than on some whites, big eyes with beautiful long lashes. Hair, cut short, wasn’t really kinky; it would bush out if ever she let it grow. Edmonds thought with a pang how a slaveowner must have forced her mother or her grandmother.
The wind went raw in her throat. She tried to straighten, but a shiver took hold of her. “Peace,” Edmonds said. “Thee is with friends.”
She stared. He was a big sandy man, wearing clothes darker than most and a hat that was flat of crown, broad of brim. After a moment she gasped, “Yo’ Massa Edmonds?”
He nodded. “Yes.” His voice stayed easy. “And thee, I think, is a fugitive.”
She half lifted her hands. “Please, sub, please, dey’s aftuh me, right behin’ me!”
“Then come.” He took her arm and led her across the yard to the kitchen door.
The room beyond was large and sunny, clean-scrubbed but still full of sweet odors. Jane Edmonds was spooning oatmeal into Nellie, not quite one, while four-year-old William stood on a stool and manfully pumped water into a kettle fresh off the stove. Its earlier load steamed in a dishpan. Everybody stopped when Father and the Negress appeared.
“This girl needs shelter, and quickly,” Edmonds told his wife.
Herself fine-boned, hair peeping red from beneath a scarf, she dropped the spoon and clutched fist between fingers. “Oh, dear, we haven’t any real hiding place ready.” Decision: “Well, the attic must serve. Nothing in the basement to hide behind. Maybe the old trunk, if they search our house—”
The Negress leaned against the counter. She didn’t pant or shake now, but wildness still dwelt in her eyes. “Go with Jane,” Edmonds told her. “Do what she says. We’ll take care of thee.”
A brown hand snaked out. The big butcher knife almost flew from the rack into its grasp. “Dey ain’ gon’ take me live!” she yelled.
“Put that down,” Jane said, shocked.
“Child, child, thee must not be violent,” Edmonds added. “Trust in the Lord.”
The girl crouched back, blade bright in front of her. “Ah don’ wanna hurt nobody,” she answered, raspy- voiced, “but dey fin’ me, Ah kill manse’f ‘fo’ dey take me back, an’ fust Ah kill one o’ dem if’m de Lawd he’p me.”
Tears stood forth in Jane’s eyes. “What have they done, to drive thee to this?”
Edmonds cocked his head. “Frankie’s barking again. Don’t wait, let her keep the knife, just get her out of sight. I’ll go talk to them.”
Since his boots were muddy, he went straight out and around the corner of the house to the front porch on the west side. The drive branched off where the apple trees ended, an arm leading south. Edmonds hushed the dog and placed himself on the step before the screen door, arms folded. When the two men saw him, they cantered that way and drew rein.
Their horses were splashed but fairly fresh. At each saddle was sheathed a shotgun, at each belt hung a revolver. One rider was burly and blond, one gaunt and dark. “Good day, friends,” Edmonds greeted them. “What can I do for ye?”
“We’re after a runaway nigger woman,” said the blond man, “You seen her?”
“How does thee suppose I should know?” Edmonds replied. “Ohio is a free state. Any person of color passing by should be as free as thee or me.”
Hie dark man spat. “How many like that you got around here? They’re all runaways, and you damn well know it, Quaker.”
“I do not, friend,” said Edmonds with a smile. “Why, I could name thee George at the feed store, Caesar in the blacksmith shop, Mandy who keeps house for the Abshires—”
“Stop stallin’ us,” snapped the blond man. “Listen, this mornin’ early we seen her ourselves, way off. She ducked into some woods and shook us, but this here’s jest about the only way she could come, and we’ve found barefoot tracks in the road.”
“And up your drive!” crowed his companion.
Edmonds shrugged. “It’s getting to be summer. Children leave off their shoes whenever we let them.”
The blond man narrowed his eyes. “All right, sub,” he murmured. “If you’re so innocent, you won’t mind us lookin’ through your place, will you?”
“She could’a snuck in without you knowin’,” suggested the other. He forced a smile. “You wouldn’t like that, you with a wife and kids, I’ll bet. We’ll jest make sure for you.”
“Yen, you wouldn’t break the law,” said the first. “You’ll co-op-erate, sure. C’mon, Alien.”
He moved to dismount. Edmonds raised a thick, hard hand. “Wait, friend,” he called softly. “I am sorry, but I cannot invite either of ye in.”
“Huh?” grunted the blond man.
Alien snickered. “He’s skeered o’ what his wife’ll do if we track up her floor, Gabe. Don’t you worry, sun, we’ll wipe our feet real good.”
Edmonds shook his head. “It grieves me, friends, but neither of ye is welcome. Please go.”
“Then you are harborin’ the nigger!” Gabe exploded.
“I did not say that, friend. I simply do not wish to talk further with ye. Please get off my land.”
“Listen, you. Helpin’ a runaway, that’s a federal crime. Could cost you a thousand dollars or six months in jail. Law says you got to help us.”
