way her clothes were always so crisp and fit just so. Miss Lucy wore her hair in a bun and the thin metal of her eyeglasses lent her a severe aspect, but her quick smile told the story of the woman beneath.
“How are things?” Miss Lucy asked.
“Think I’m gonna spend a quiet night in the quarter, Miss Lucy,” Bessie said.
“
Dormitory
, Bessie. Not
quarter
.”
“Yes, Miss Lucy.”
“
Going to
, not
gonna
.”
“I am working on it.”
“And making splendid progress!” Miss Lucy patted Bessie’s arm. “I want to talk to you Monday morning before you head out for work.”
“Anything wrong, Miss Lucy?”
“Nothing at all,Bessie. We’ll talk then.” She gave a little bow and walked to the office.
Bowing to a colored girl.
—
BESSIE Carpenter was the name on the papers Sam gave her at the station. Months later, Cora still didn’t know how she had survived the trip from Georgia. The darkness of the tunnel quickly turned the boxcar into a grave. The only light came from the engineer’s cabin, through the slats in thefront of the rickety car. At one point it shook so much that Cora put her arms around Caesar and they stayed like that for a good while, squeezing each other at the more urgent tremors, pressed against the hay. It felt good to grab him, to anticipate the warm pressure of his rising and falling chest.
Then the locomotive decelerated. Caesar jumped up. They could scarcely believe it, although therunaways’ excitement was tempered. Each time they completed one leg of their journey, the next unexpected segment commenced. The barn of shackles, the hole in the earth, this broken-down boxcar—the heading of the underground railroad was laid in the direction of the bizarre. Cora told Caesar that on seeing the chains, she feared Fletcher had conspired with Terrance from the very beginning and thatthey had been conveyed to a chamber of horrors. Their plot, escape, and arrival were the elements of an elaborate living play.
The station was similar to their point of departure. Instead of a bench, there was a table and chairs. Two lanterns hung on the wall, and a small basket sat next to the stairs.
The engineer set them loose from the boxcar. He was a tall man with a horseshoe of white hairaround his pate and the stoop that came from years of field work. He mopped sweat and soot from his face and was about to speak when a ferocious coughing wracked his person. After a few pulls from his flask the engineer regained his composure.
He cut off their thanks. “This is my job,” he said. “Feed the boiler, make sure she keeps running. Get the passengers where they got to be.” He made forhis cabin. “You wait here until they come and fetch you.” In moments the train had disappeared, leaving a swirling wake of steam and noise.
The basket contained victuals: bread, half a chicken, water, and a bottle of beer. They were so hungry they shook out the crumbs from the basket to divvy. Cora even took a sip of the beer. At the footsteps on the stairs, they steeled themselves for the latestrepresentative of the underground railroad.
Sam was a white man of twenty-five years and exhibited none of the eccentric mannerisms of his co-workers. Sturdy in frame and jolly, he wore tan trousers with braces and a thick red shirt that had suffered roughly at the washboard. His mustache curled at the ends, bobbing with his enthusiasm. The station agent shook their hands and appraised them,unbelieving. “You made it,” Sam said. “You’re really here.”
He had brought more food. They sat at the wobbly table and Sam described the world above. “You’re a long way from Georgia,” Sam said. “South Carolina has a much more enlightened attitude toward colored advancement than the rest of the south. You’ll be safe here until we can arrange the next leg of your trip. It might take time.”
“Howlong?” Caesar asked.
“No telling. There are so many people being moved around, one station at a time. It’s
“How are things?” Miss Lucy asked.
“Think I’m gonna spend a quiet night in the quarter, Miss Lucy,” Bessie said.
“
Dormitory
, Bessie. Not
quarter
.”
“Yes, Miss Lucy.”
“
Going to
, not
gonna
.”
“I am working on it.”
“And making splendid progress!” Miss Lucy patted Bessie’s arm. “I want to talk to you Monday morning before you head out for work.”
“Anything wrong, Miss Lucy?”
“Nothing at all,Bessie. We’ll talk then.” She gave a little bow and walked to the office.
Bowing to a colored girl.
—
BESSIE Carpenter was the name on the papers Sam gave her at the station. Months later, Cora still didn’t know how she had survived the trip from Georgia. The darkness of the tunnel quickly turned the boxcar into a grave. The only light came from the engineer’s cabin, through the slats in thefront of the rickety car. At one point it shook so much that Cora put her arms around Caesar and they stayed like that for a good while, squeezing each other at the more urgent tremors, pressed against the hay. It felt good to grab him, to anticipate the warm pressure of his rising and falling chest.
Then the locomotive decelerated. Caesar jumped up. They could scarcely believe it, although therunaways’ excitement was tempered. Each time they completed one leg of their journey, the next unexpected segment commenced. The barn of shackles, the hole in the earth, this broken-down boxcar—the heading of the underground railroad was laid in the direction of the bizarre. Cora told Caesar that on seeing the chains, she feared Fletcher had conspired with Terrance from the very beginning and thatthey had been conveyed to a chamber of horrors. Their plot, escape, and arrival were the elements of an elaborate living play.
The station was similar to their point of departure. Instead of a bench, there was a table and chairs. Two lanterns hung on the wall, and a small basket sat next to the stairs.
The engineer set them loose from the boxcar. He was a tall man with a horseshoe of white hairaround his pate and the stoop that came from years of field work. He mopped sweat and soot from his face and was about to speak when a ferocious coughing wracked his person. After a few pulls from his flask the engineer regained his composure.
He cut off their thanks. “This is my job,” he said. “Feed the boiler, make sure she keeps running. Get the passengers where they got to be.” He made forhis cabin. “You wait here until they come and fetch you.” In moments the train had disappeared, leaving a swirling wake of steam and noise.
The basket contained victuals: bread, half a chicken, water, and a bottle of beer. They were so hungry they shook out the crumbs from the basket to divvy. Cora even took a sip of the beer. At the footsteps on the stairs, they steeled themselves for the latestrepresentative of the underground railroad.
Sam was a white man of twenty-five years and exhibited none of the eccentric mannerisms of his co-workers. Sturdy in frame and jolly, he wore tan trousers with braces and a thick red shirt that had suffered roughly at the washboard. His mustache curled at the ends, bobbing with his enthusiasm. The station agent shook their hands and appraised them,unbelieving. “You made it,” Sam said. “You’re really here.”
He had brought more food. They sat at the wobbly table and Sam described the world above. “You’re a long way from Georgia,” Sam said. “South Carolina has a much more enlightened attitude toward colored advancement than the rest of the south. You’ll be safe here until we can arrange the next leg of your trip. It might take time.”
“Howlong?” Caesar asked.
“No telling. There are so many people being moved around, one station at a time. It’s
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