bucket.
“Lark, it’s me, Zenobia,” the voice whispered, but I didn’t believe it.
“How do I know it’s you and not the devil?” I asked.
“Who else call you Lark?”
The braided rug took on a life and slipped to the side of the table below me. I couldn’t believe what I were seein. A trapdoor slid full open. More cool air come into the room. Two big dark hands rose up again, reached for the mattress, and pulled at the edge of the bed. I took aim.
Up come the scarred face of the tall boy who had carried Zenobia away from me.
He looked at me. “Lark,” he said, “don’t you be droppin that bucket on me.”
He pulled hisself out of the trapdoor, rolled onto the floor, and set up.
He looked clean now and were dressed in real clothes, not the bloodstained filthy rags he’d worn the first time I seen him with the soul drivers.
I lowered the bucket and walked to the edge of the bed.
Seein his face peerin up at me, seein that he were a real boy and not a death sperrit made my stomach settle.
“There someone behind me that you be glad to see,” he said.
The big boy reached down and tugged and up come Zenobia, one arm all wound in strips of fabric and tucked into a sling.
I leapt from the bed, set the bucket on the floor, and wrapped my arms gently around her.
“Quiet,” he said. “We cain’t make no noise.”
Outside, the sound of thunder clapped and rattled the cup against the pitcher, and a steady, hard rain began to fall.
The boy slid the trapdoor closed and pulled the rocker close to us. Zenobia and me set side by side on the bed, holdin hands like we wouldn’t never let go. I felt like someone had lifted a huge rock off of me, like if I didn’t hold on to Zenobia I might float right up to the peak of the ceiling.
We all started to whisper, then we stopped, started up again at the same time, and laughed.
“You first, Lark,” Zenobia said. “What happen to you?”
“No, you first,” I said. “Last time I saw you he were carryin you into the woods, and I didn’t know if I would ever see you again.”
Zenobia let go of my hand and scooted acrost the mattress. She leant her back against the wall, her legs drawed up to her chest, her good arm wrapped round them.
“I cain’t right remember all the happenins,” she said. “First I thought I were dead, next you yank my arm and something big and heavy fall on me. Next I know he is helpin me”—Zenobia pointed to the boy—“and carryin me into the woods like a sack of cotton. Lark, this here’s Brightwell, you met him a few days ago, but not by name. He’s our friend.”
Brightwell nodded.
I looked him in the eye and said, “Thank you for savin Zenobia, but you near scairt me to death when you was talkin at me and tauntin me like a haint. I didn’t know who or what you was.”
Brightwell shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, Lark. First when you was talkin I couldn’t help but tease you, but then, when you sounded scairt, I knowed I needed to get Zenobia.”
I forgave him right quick. And hadn’t he taken a beatin from them slave traders and never told them I were hidin right above them in the tree? I owed him somethin fierce.
Brightwell reached inside his shirt and tugged out my old Hannah doll. He passed her to me, and I held her to my heart.
“I never thought to see her again,” I said, chokin back my tears.
I glanced from him to Zenobia. “Why, she looks better than she’s ever looked.”
“Auntie Theodate nursed Brightwell, me, you, and Hannah,” Zenobia said. “Auntie takes care of peoples who need her help.”
“Who is Auntie Theodate?”
“Lark, you come to her house. You come here three nights ago when you was so sick you couldn’t hardly walk, but you found her, found us.” Zenobia swiped at a tear with the back of her good hand.
I set quiet for a minute and thought about that night,but I couldn’t rightly remember what had made me come to Auntie’s house.
“Are we trapped here?” I
“Lark, it’s me, Zenobia,” the voice whispered, but I didn’t believe it.
“How do I know it’s you and not the devil?” I asked.
“Who else call you Lark?”
The braided rug took on a life and slipped to the side of the table below me. I couldn’t believe what I were seein. A trapdoor slid full open. More cool air come into the room. Two big dark hands rose up again, reached for the mattress, and pulled at the edge of the bed. I took aim.
Up come the scarred face of the tall boy who had carried Zenobia away from me.
He looked at me. “Lark,” he said, “don’t you be droppin that bucket on me.”
He pulled hisself out of the trapdoor, rolled onto the floor, and set up.
He looked clean now and were dressed in real clothes, not the bloodstained filthy rags he’d worn the first time I seen him with the soul drivers.
I lowered the bucket and walked to the edge of the bed.
Seein his face peerin up at me, seein that he were a real boy and not a death sperrit made my stomach settle.
“There someone behind me that you be glad to see,” he said.
The big boy reached down and tugged and up come Zenobia, one arm all wound in strips of fabric and tucked into a sling.
I leapt from the bed, set the bucket on the floor, and wrapped my arms gently around her.
“Quiet,” he said. “We cain’t make no noise.”
Outside, the sound of thunder clapped and rattled the cup against the pitcher, and a steady, hard rain began to fall.
The boy slid the trapdoor closed and pulled the rocker close to us. Zenobia and me set side by side on the bed, holdin hands like we wouldn’t never let go. I felt like someone had lifted a huge rock off of me, like if I didn’t hold on to Zenobia I might float right up to the peak of the ceiling.
We all started to whisper, then we stopped, started up again at the same time, and laughed.
“You first, Lark,” Zenobia said. “What happen to you?”
“No, you first,” I said. “Last time I saw you he were carryin you into the woods, and I didn’t know if I would ever see you again.”
Zenobia let go of my hand and scooted acrost the mattress. She leant her back against the wall, her legs drawed up to her chest, her good arm wrapped round them.
“I cain’t right remember all the happenins,” she said. “First I thought I were dead, next you yank my arm and something big and heavy fall on me. Next I know he is helpin me”—Zenobia pointed to the boy—“and carryin me into the woods like a sack of cotton. Lark, this here’s Brightwell, you met him a few days ago, but not by name. He’s our friend.”
Brightwell nodded.
I looked him in the eye and said, “Thank you for savin Zenobia, but you near scairt me to death when you was talkin at me and tauntin me like a haint. I didn’t know who or what you was.”
Brightwell shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, Lark. First when you was talkin I couldn’t help but tease you, but then, when you sounded scairt, I knowed I needed to get Zenobia.”
I forgave him right quick. And hadn’t he taken a beatin from them slave traders and never told them I were hidin right above them in the tree? I owed him somethin fierce.
Brightwell reached inside his shirt and tugged out my old Hannah doll. He passed her to me, and I held her to my heart.
“I never thought to see her again,” I said, chokin back my tears.
I glanced from him to Zenobia. “Why, she looks better than she’s ever looked.”
“Auntie Theodate nursed Brightwell, me, you, and Hannah,” Zenobia said. “Auntie takes care of peoples who need her help.”
“Who is Auntie Theodate?”
“Lark, you come to her house. You come here three nights ago when you was so sick you couldn’t hardly walk, but you found her, found us.” Zenobia swiped at a tear with the back of her good hand.
I set quiet for a minute and thought about that night,but I couldn’t rightly remember what had made me come to Auntie’s house.
“Are we trapped here?” I
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