her, she seemed to be about my age, slender like her child, like me, in fact. And like me, she was fine-boned, probably not as strong as she needed to be to survive in this era. But she was surviving, however painfully. Maybe she would help me learn how.
She regained consciousness slowly, first moaning, then crying out, “Alice! Alice!”
“Mama?” said the child tentatively.
The woman’s eyes opened wider, and she stared at me. “Who are you?”
“A friend. I came here to ask for help, but right now, I’d rather give it. When you feel able to get up, I’ll help you inside.”
“I said who are you!” Her voice had hardened. “My name is Dana. I’m a freewoman.”
I was on my knees beside her now, and I saw her look at my blouse, my pants, my shoes—which for unpacking and working around the house happened to be an old pair of desert boots. She took a good look at me, then judged me.
“A runaway, you mean.”
“That’s what the patrollers would say because I have no papers. But
I’m free, born free, intending to stay free.” “You’ll get me in trouble!”
“Not tonight. You’ve already had your trouble for tonight.” I hesitated, bit my lip, then said softly, “Please don’t turn me away.”
The woman said nothing for several seconds. I saw her glance over at her daughter, then touch her own face and wipe away blood from the cor- ner of her mouth. “Wasn’t going to turn you ’way,” she said softly.
“Thank you.”
I helped her up and into the cabin. Refuge then. A few hours of peace.
THE FIRE 39
Perhaps tomorrow night, I could go on behaving like the runaway this woman thought I was. Perhaps from her, I could learn the quickest, safest way North.
The cabin was dark except for a dying fire in the fireplace, but the woman made her way to her bed without trouble.
“Alice!” she called out. “Here I am, Mama.” “Put a log on the fire.”
I watched the child obey, her long gown hanging dangerously near hot coals. Rufus’s friend was at least as careless with fire as he was.
Rufus. His name brought back all my fear and confusion and longing to go home. Would I really have to go all the way to some northern state to find peace? And if I did, what kind of peace would it be? The restricted North was better for blacks than the slave South, but not much better.
“Why did you come here?” the woman asked. “Who sent you?”
I stared into the fire frowning. I could hear her moving around behind me, probably putting on clothing. “The boy,” I said softly. “Rufus Weylin.”
The small noises stopped. There was silence for a moment. I knew I had taken a risk telling her about Rufus. Probably a foolish risk. I won- dered why I had done it. “No one knows about me but him,” I continued.
The fire began to flare up around Alice’s small log. The log cracked and sputtered and filled the silence until Alice said, “Mister Rufe won’t tell.” She shrugged. “He never tells nothing.”
And there in her words was a reason for the risk I had taken. I hadn’t thought of it until now, but if Rufus was one to tell what he shouldn’t, Alice’s mother should know so that she could either hide me or send me away. I waited to see what she would say.
“You sure the father didn’t see you?” she asked. And that had to mean that she agreed with Alice, that Rufus was all right. Tom Weylin had probably marked his son more than he knew with that whip.
“Would I be here if the father had seen me?” I asked. “Guess not.”
I turned to look at her. She wore a gown now, long and white like her daughter’s. She sat on the edge of her bed watching me. There was a table near me made of thick smooth planks, and a bench made from a section of split log. I sat down on the bench. “Does Tom Weylin own your husband?” I asked.
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She nodded sadly. “You saw?” “Yes.”
“He shouldn’t have come. I told him not to.” “Did he really have a pass?”
She gave a bitter laugh. “No. He won’t get one either. Not to come see
me. Mister Tom said for him to choose a new wife there on the planta- tion. That way, Mister Tom’ll own all his children.”
I looked at Alice. The woman followed my gaze. “He’ll never own a child of mine,” she said flatly.
I wondered. They seemed so vulnerable here. I doubted that this was their first visit from the patrol, or their last. In a place like this, how could the woman be sure of anything. And then there was history. Rufus and Alice would get together somehow.
“Where are you from?” asked the woman suddenly. “The way you talk, you not from ’round here.”
The new subject caught me by surprise and I almost said Los Angeles. “New York,” I lied quietly. In 1815, California was nothing more than a distant Spanish colony—a colony this woman had probably never heard of.
“That’s a long way off,” said the woman.
“My husband is there.” Where had that lie come from? And I had said it with all the longing I felt for Kevin who was now too far away for me to reach through any effort of my own.
The woman came over and stood staring down at me. She looked tall and straight and grim and years older.
“They carried you off?” she asked.
“Yes.” Maybe in a way I had been kidnapped. “You sure they didn’t get him too?”
“Just me. I’m sure.”
“And now you’re going back.”
“Yes!” fiercely, hopefully. “Yes!” Lie and truth had merged.
There was silence. The woman looked at her daughter, then back at me. “You stay here until tomorrow night,” she said. “Then there’s another place you can head for. They’ll let you have some food and … oh!” She looked contrite. “You must be hungry now. I’ll get you some
—”
“No, I’m not hungry. Just tired.”
“Get into bed then. Alice, you too. There’s room for all of us there …
THE FIRE 41
now.” She went to the child and began brushing off some of the dirt Alice had brought in from outside. I saw her close her eyes for a moment, then glance at the door. “Dana … you said your name was Dana?”
“Yes.”
“I forgot the blanket,” she said. “I left it outside when … I left it out- side.”
“I’ll get it,” I said. I went to the door and looked outside. The blanket lay where the patroller had thrown it—on the ground not far from the house. I went over to pick it up, but just as I reached it, someone grabbed me and swung me around. Suddenly, I was facing a young white man, broad-faced, dark-haired, stocky, and about half-a-foot taller than I was. “What in hell …?” he sputtered. “You … you’re not the one.” He peered at me as though he wasn’t sure. Apparently, I looked enough like Alice’s mother to confuse him—briefly. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“What are you doing here?”
What to do? He held me easily, barely noticing my efforts to pull away. “I live here,” I lied. “What are
Instead, he slapped me stunningly with one hand while he held me with the other. He spoke very softly. “You got no manners, nigger, I’ll teach you some!”
I said nothing. My ears still rang from his blow, but I heard him say, “You could be her sister, her twin sister, almost.”
That seemed to be a good thing for him to think, so I kept silent. Silence seemed safest anyway.
“Her sister dressed up like a boy!” He began to smile. “Her runaway sister. I wonder what you’re worth.”
I panicked. Having him catch and hold me was bad enough. Now he meant to turn me in as a runaway … I dug the nails of my free hand into his arm and tore the flesh from elbow to wrist.
Surprise and pain made the man loosen his grip on me slightly, and I
wrenched away.
I heard him yell, heard him start after me.
I ran mindlessly toward the cabin door only to find Alice’s mother there barring my way.
“Don’t come in here,” she whispered. “Please don’t come in here.”
I had no chance to go in. The man caught me, pulled me backward, threw me to the ground. He would have kicked me, but I rolled aside and
42 KINDRED
jumped to my feet. Terror gave me speed and agility I never knew I had.
Again I ran, this time for the trees. I didn’t know where I was going, but the sounds of the man behind me sent me zigzagging on. Now I longed for darker denser woods that I could lose myself in.
The man tackled me
