I found my silver apple corer in my traveling case, thinking that the sharp edge of the small knife would work well for opening the stitches, then sat on the edge of the bed. Just as I was about to slit open the first stitch, there came a rap on the door. Thinking it was Hester, I set the jacket aside, but when I opened the door, I found no one there. I stepped out into the dark hallway and looked about but still saw nothing. Back inside, I convinced myself that it was a noise from the storm, but when I sat again to pick up the knife and jacket, another, more urgent rap came, quickly followed by another and then another. Then I realized my mistake. The persistent knocking was coming not from the interior door but from the door that opened to the outside.
I slipped the knife into the pocket of the old jacket and tossed it on the bed, then grabbed hold of the pistol from atop the dresser. The knocking grew more insistent, and after a short hesitation I pointed my pistol forward and swung open the door. It took me a moment, between the heavy rain and the dim lamplight, to recognize Sukey.
SHE PUSHED IN and slammed the door shut behind her. She waved her trembling hands in the air, indicating that she needed paper to communicate.
“We got to go now!” she wrote. “They find out it was me who got Pan out. Trader come in saying that Jake see you in Norfolk and tell Thomas that you a nigga. Patrollers getting together, but Thomas all fired up and send for Rankin!”
She kept clutching at my arm and trying to pull me toward the door, making it difficult to read what she had written, but when I made out the words, I went numb with terror. As Sukey frantically tugged on me, I stood rooted in fear. Where could I hide? Then I thought of the barn. “Sam is armed,” I said. “We can hide out in the barn!”
Sukey shook her head vehemently as she scribbled. “They think nothing a killing him. We got to get to the swamp.” Again she pulled on my arm, but I yanked my arm away as I tried to gather my thoughts.
What should I take? I flung the gun on the table and grabbed my small satchel. Frantically, I looked about, wondering how to best fill it. Seeing the jacket on the bed, I dropped the satchel and lifted the jacket, intending to lock it away in the trunk. As I was about to do so, the door flew open.
“You got to go! Patrollers comin’!” Sam hissed the words.
Sukey left through the open door as though shot from a gun. Sam rushed in and pushed at my back. “Go! Go,” he said. Suddenly, I was running, with only the jacket in hand. Through the rain I saw Sukey’s form cutting across the open field, moving so fast that I had to push myself to catch up with her.
“Mr. Burton! Mr. Burton!” The call for me came through the rain. Hearing Pan’s anguish, I turned back to see his small figure coming at a run. “Don’t leave me! I’m coming with you! Wait for me, Mr. Burton!” he cried.
Sukey was a distance ahead, but she, too, heard Pan’s cry and stopped. I took hold of Pan’s shoulders and shook him. “Go back! Mr. Spencer will get you out tomorrow in the wagon. It’ll be safer for you that way. Go now!” I tried to turn him around.
“No!” the boy pleaded, grabbing hold of my wet shirtsleeves. “Take me with you. I don’t want to be alone! Don’t leave me here. Please, Mr. Burton!”
Sukey came running toward us, uttering frantic guttural sounds. Seeing her desperation, I grabbed Pan’s hand, and we sprinted after her when she lit out once again.
We stayed low to the ground, racing through the storm that crashed around us. By the time I realized we were heading toward Southwood, I didn’t know what to do but follow, hoping that Sukey had a plan.
She didn’t stop to rest when we reached the safety of the bushes that defined the two farms but picked up her pace as she ran down what appeared to be a deer path. We followed, Pan clinging to my hand, all three of us panting for air, until we reached the backside of the Southwood quarters. There, a Negro man waited in the shadows.
Sukey and I both sank onto a fallen log, while Pan dropped to the ground. I had scarcely caught my breath when I realized I had left the gun behind. I was furious with myself, but it was too late to go back. The man rubbed Pan’s bare feet with some strong-smelling grease, then had me remove my boots and replace them with some odorous deerskin slippers.
“Indians make these. It the bear grease that stink. Throws the dogs off.” He knelt and slipped a pair over Sukey’s bare feet, and as he did so, she arched her back. With a shock, I saw her advanced pregnancy. How had she run like that? Surely she couldn’t hope to escape in that condition.
The two of them exchanged a private look as he helped her to her feet. “You gon’ be all right?” he asked her. She nodded. “Keep usin’ this,” he said, handing her a package of bear grease. He took her face in his hands. “You ’members where to go?” he asked, looking deep into her eyes. “First get to that big barn with that weather vane on top. The man there get you goin’ the right way.” She gave another nod, and after she grunted something unintelligible, he kissed both sides of her full face before gently pushing her away. “Go on, then, we got everythin’ in place here to throw ’em off. We make sure you get a good start.”
We moved quickly, this time along a tight path through brush and brambles. When Sukey began to slow, I thought she might have lost her way, but after she found the trail that ran alongside the river, her speed picked up again. We moved faster still at the sound of dogs in the distance. I almost barreled into Pan when Sukey stopped suddenly and pointed down toward the water. Pan clutched my arm. “I can’t swim!” he whispered.
“Neither can I,” I said. “Sukey!” I whispered as loud as I dared, but she was already gone, sliding down the embankment to the river’s edge. We dared not lose her and slid down the hill to find Sukey alongside the river, tossing away branches to uncover a small wooden raft. The barking of the dogs grew closer as we pushed the raft to the water’s edge. Sukey waved for the two of us to get on the craft, then shoved us off before she heaved herself up. Pan, terrified, clung to the raft as Sukey and I each grabbed a pole. My arms shook from the strain of the strong undertow, but we were close to the opposite riverbank when a lone hound shot out of the woods and began a wild bark. The answering howls from the pack were distant but bone-chilling.
I jumped off the raft into thigh-high water and reached for Pan, catching him by the waist of his pants. Sukey, too, leaped off, then pushed the craft back out for the current to take hold of it. As it swiftly swept away, we slogged over to the riverbank and pulled ourselves up onto the land and into the dense undergrowth. We lay there, winded, scanning the other side of the river, where the lone dog continued to yowl.
Sukey grunted softly as she turned to her side, readjusting the pressure on her swollen stomach. I, too, felt pressure on my stomach and realized it was my old jacket. In the fray, I had stuffed it into the waist of my trousers. Though the answering call of the other dogs was receding, when Sukey again rose to her feet, Pan and I followed close behind.
We traveled due north. Though the land was flat, it dipped and rolled to accommodate the numerous small streams we crossed on foot. When in water, Pan clung to the waist of my trousers, but when we traveled the dry land, he made a point to walk on his own, keeping pace with me and glancing up often, I suppose to gauge my mood. We rested only after a particularly difficult water crossing and it was almost daybreak when we came upon what appeared to be a small forest. There, Sukey kept us to the periphery of the dark woods. As the sky began to lighten, we could see the outline of some outbuildings and a white clapboard house. Sukey pointed to a large barn topped by a weather vane—a large arrow encircled in metal and showing up dark black against the sky.
“Quakers,” she scratched into my palm, then motioned for us to follow her. For the first time since our departure, I felt something akin to relief.
“What she say?” Pan whispered.
“Quakers,” I answered. He asked for no further explanation, and I didn’t offer one.