asked.
“No, we safe, but it’s a long, long story we can talk about tomorrow with Auntie,” Brightwell said. “Auntie and some of her family showed me that there are good white folks. We got real friends here, and they has helped people north to a safe place. A free life.”
The night I had made my way here flashed into my memory. I had been sick, burnin up with fever.
“Lark, I told you to look for signs to a safe place. You done it. You follered the signs and found your way here,” Brightwell said.
I remembered stubbin my toe on a gravestone and then the yellow light from the two windows of the little cabin shinin out at me. I remembered holdin on to the pickets of a fence, one by one, hollyhocks like tall ghosts. I remembered a huge pot over a wicked orange fire.
I remembered Brightwell’s words afore he left with Zenobia: “Look for a sign.” Then I remembered the twig arrows and the lines of shiny white pebbles.
“Was it you left them signs for me?”
“Lark,” Brightwell said, “we slaves, we never tell most folk about the signs. Never tell a white folk. Ever. I were goin to leave you signs, but couldn’t set Zenobia down again and again. Hurt her too bad. I were tryin to sign you when Asa come up. He scare us at first, but he talk and weknowed he would help us. He left you signs, and he made sure we got here safe and that you be safe.”
Thump, thump, thump
. Loud sounds came from somewhere below.
Brightwell raised his finger to his mouth. “The signal,” he whispered.
We didn’t move, just held hands, squeezin tighter and tighter as heavy steps come up toward us.
K nock three times and call up the devil. Knock four times and chase him back
.
T he thumpin stopped. Below us we could hear loud talkin and yellin, and the drawn-out yodel of a hound. Then we heard the sounds of tappin on the wall.
Loud talk again, and then heavy stompin. Tappin again, right close, from the wall at the foot of my bed.
Tap, tap, tap
. Then the sound and feel of someone walkin on the floorboards just the other side of the bricks.
I reached over to the table and knocked soundlessly four times to chase the evil away. As I pulled back my hand, my knuckle hit the side of the cup; it tipped androlled toward the edge of the table, and water spilt onto the floor. I caught the cup just afore it fell, but the water pooled, then disappeared into the crack between the floor and the trapdoor.
It turned quiet. So quiet that all I heard was the roarin inside my head. I held on to the cup with one hand, Brightwell with the other, and looked over at Zenobia. She had her eyes all squinched together, and sweat run down her forehead and along her nose. Brightwell stared straight ahead, never blinked, never moved; it were like he had fallen deep asleep with his eyes wide open.
“Where’d this water come from?” my pa yelled.
I felt like I always did when Pa come for me at home. I wanted to run, find a tall tree and climb up and out of his sight, but I were stuck in a small room just a few feet above him.
We could hear a voice answer softly.
Pa growled, “Bad roof, bad house.”
Another answer, but so soft we couldn’t hear the words.
I started to shakin and set the cup back onto the table afore I dropped it. Pa’s voice, that voice that scairt me more than a kick or a hittin, it near sent me to the floor.
I could hear more yellin and howlin. Were Pa goin to find his way up here—find me, find Zenobia and Brightwell? I wrapped my arms around myself like I were freezin cold. But I weren’t cold, I were scairt, just scairtto my bones and knowin what would happen if he tried to see where that water come from.
Below us a door slammed hard, and the sounds of men and dogs faded.
I still held on to myself, as if I could keep all the scairt inside and all the bad outside.
A few minutes passed afore Brightwell blinked and said, “I think they gone now.”
Zenobia let out a long sigh, stood up, and paced two steps down
“No, we safe, but it’s a long, long story we can talk about tomorrow with Auntie,” Brightwell said. “Auntie and some of her family showed me that there are good white folks. We got real friends here, and they has helped people north to a safe place. A free life.”
The night I had made my way here flashed into my memory. I had been sick, burnin up with fever.
“Lark, I told you to look for signs to a safe place. You done it. You follered the signs and found your way here,” Brightwell said.
I remembered stubbin my toe on a gravestone and then the yellow light from the two windows of the little cabin shinin out at me. I remembered holdin on to the pickets of a fence, one by one, hollyhocks like tall ghosts. I remembered a huge pot over a wicked orange fire.
I remembered Brightwell’s words afore he left with Zenobia: “Look for a sign.” Then I remembered the twig arrows and the lines of shiny white pebbles.
“Was it you left them signs for me?”
“Lark,” Brightwell said, “we slaves, we never tell most folk about the signs. Never tell a white folk. Ever. I were goin to leave you signs, but couldn’t set Zenobia down again and again. Hurt her too bad. I were tryin to sign you when Asa come up. He scare us at first, but he talk and weknowed he would help us. He left you signs, and he made sure we got here safe and that you be safe.”
Thump, thump, thump
. Loud sounds came from somewhere below.
Brightwell raised his finger to his mouth. “The signal,” he whispered.
We didn’t move, just held hands, squeezin tighter and tighter as heavy steps come up toward us.
K nock three times and call up the devil. Knock four times and chase him back
.
T he thumpin stopped. Below us we could hear loud talkin and yellin, and the drawn-out yodel of a hound. Then we heard the sounds of tappin on the wall.
Loud talk again, and then heavy stompin. Tappin again, right close, from the wall at the foot of my bed.
Tap, tap, tap
. Then the sound and feel of someone walkin on the floorboards just the other side of the bricks.
I reached over to the table and knocked soundlessly four times to chase the evil away. As I pulled back my hand, my knuckle hit the side of the cup; it tipped androlled toward the edge of the table, and water spilt onto the floor. I caught the cup just afore it fell, but the water pooled, then disappeared into the crack between the floor and the trapdoor.
It turned quiet. So quiet that all I heard was the roarin inside my head. I held on to the cup with one hand, Brightwell with the other, and looked over at Zenobia. She had her eyes all squinched together, and sweat run down her forehead and along her nose. Brightwell stared straight ahead, never blinked, never moved; it were like he had fallen deep asleep with his eyes wide open.
“Where’d this water come from?” my pa yelled.
I felt like I always did when Pa come for me at home. I wanted to run, find a tall tree and climb up and out of his sight, but I were stuck in a small room just a few feet above him.
We could hear a voice answer softly.
Pa growled, “Bad roof, bad house.”
Another answer, but so soft we couldn’t hear the words.
I started to shakin and set the cup back onto the table afore I dropped it. Pa’s voice, that voice that scairt me more than a kick or a hittin, it near sent me to the floor.
I could hear more yellin and howlin. Were Pa goin to find his way up here—find me, find Zenobia and Brightwell? I wrapped my arms around myself like I were freezin cold. But I weren’t cold, I were scairt, just scairtto my bones and knowin what would happen if he tried to see where that water come from.
Below us a door slammed hard, and the sounds of men and dogs faded.
I still held on to myself, as if I could keep all the scairt inside and all the bad outside.
A few minutes passed afore Brightwell blinked and said, “I think they gone now.”
Zenobia let out a long sigh, stood up, and paced two steps down
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