“She is correct, not that you are deserving of an explanation.” Aunt Augusta leaned out from her window as though scolding a child. “I have deemed Livetta’s presence in my household as disruptive and not in Hannalore’s best interest. My niece has grown misguided by Livetta’s manipulation and plea for sympathy. I am selling Livetta to teach them both a lesson about the necessity of maintaining place and order.”
I followed Aunt Augusta’s lead and burst into orchestrated tears, an easy feat, since my emotions were so close to the surface. “I hate you, Aunt Augusta! And I will never forgive you for taking Livie from me. Upon learning of your vicious plan, I demanded Colt bring me to you, so we could stop you.”
“Did you really think I would give consideration to your ranting?” She delivered her words with the sting of a viper, but when she looked at me, her eyes no longer masked the kindness behind the charade. “Child, you will thank me for this one day.”
Twitch scowled at me, satisfied I was finally getting the discipline I deserved. His horse plodded a few steps so he could angle his eye on Livie, who sat with her head down and hands folded.
“Not feelin’ so uppity now, is you, girl?”
“No, sah, Marse,” she said contritely, without looking up.
“What do you know about James runnin’ off?”
“Don’t know nothin’, sah. Ain’t seen him since you fetched him from the cabin. Don’t care none neither; ’cuz o’ him I ain’t gonna see nor hold my baby no more.” Livie spoke in a detached monotone reflecting the spirit of a broken slave, complete with tears of resignation. “Hope he rots at the bottom o’ de swamp fo’ what he done.”
“You brought it on yourself, girl,” Twitch said carefully, examining her demeanor and words. He then leaned in and taunted her with a smile. “I warned you I would be watchin’ you. By midday comin’, your child will be sold to the highest bidder. Remember me when you think of your lost child every day fo’ the rest of your worthless life.”
With a kick of his heels, Twitch pulled the horse back around toward Aunt Augusta. He tugged his hat with obligatory impatience rather than respect. “Sorry for holdin’ you up, Augusta. I best be gettin’ back to the hounds befo’ that darky’s tracks get cold. Let’s go, Willy Jack.”
Aunt Augusta nodded as the two men pointed their horses to leave, but before the knot in my stomach could unravel, a baby’s soft whimper rose in the air, causing us all to freeze. It stopped as quickly as it started; however, Twitch swung his horse back toward Livie. His ears were alive like his awakened hound’s scanning for a sound in the night.
“What in the devil was that noise?”
Not one of us breathed. Our eyes shifted from one to the other, hoping someone could snuff the powder keg about to explode. They strode back toward us, Twitch’s eyes targeted on Livie. He opened his coat, revealing the pistol tucked in his belt.
“It came from her, Marse,” Willy Jack said evenly. To our surprise, he was pointing at me.
As if on cue, I sniffled and whimpered just enough to mimic Jameson’s cry without overdoing it. “Please, don’t take Livie away, Aunt Augusta. I beg of you.”
Aunt Augusta chimed in before Twitch could look closer. “Twitchell, take Colton and Hannalore back to Hillcrest with you. I am weary of her whining, and I do not wish to lose any more time. Obviously, Colton is swayed by her tears, so I need someone I can trust to see her home.”
Her request unbalanced him enough to distract him from questioning the cry further. Willy Jack’s declaration had satisfied Twitch, and the thought of being in Aunt Augusta’s good graces at Colt’s expense stroked his ego.
“I will be happy to chase these two on their way,” he said, losing interest in Livie. He growled at Colt and me, knowing there would be no reprimand. “Let’s go. I got a slave to wrangle.”
Though the danger had passed, my tears did not end. Their flow was real and deeply tapped. Livie and I were about to be parted. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she pressed the palm of her hand over the ring hanging from her neck. I pressed mine to my heart as well, and held out my hand, knowing our promise bridge was ever connected, even though our hands could no longer touch. I mouthed four final words
.
In my heart always
.
Chapter 32
“P
lease forgive me, Colt,” I said, clinging to his waist as he halted his horse in the front yard of Hillcrest. “I did not mean the harsh things said to you earlier.”
Colt shifted in his saddle to disengage me. “Your words delivered the damage they were meant to inflict.” He braced me by the arm and lowered me to the ground. Colt did not dismount, but looked down at me with eyes dimmed by strain and sadness. “Your attack on my character has pierced my heart.”
“Say it isn’t so.” I reached out, desperately seeking to reconnect. “I was crazed with fear for Livie’s life. Nothing made sense, and in my panic I struck out at you unfairly. I am so sorry and ashamed. Please come inside so we can talk.”
“It is more than that,” he said stoically. “You sometimes seem a stranger to me.”
“You cannot blame me for not offering my heart in its entirety if the whole of you has never been presented to me. Loving someone comes with knowing them completely. Please give me that chance.”
His glistening eyes fluttered, revealing the depth of his wound. “We will always be bound by family love.”
“We are bound by more, are we not, Colt? We are no longer the sheltered children who strolled in the meadow, prisoners of expectation. We dared to follow our hearts, and have stood together through life-altering trials, never losing faith in one another.”
“I once believed those words to be true, until you said you despised me for my weakness.”
“Please, Colt.” I paused as tears overflowed my eyes without care. I remembered what Livie had taught me about poking a sore.
Leave it be. Even the deepest wound can heal if washed clean and given air to breathe.
I needed to respect Colt’s feelings and give him time to heal. I stepped back as he turned his horse around.
“I will be returning to Lows Hollow in the morning. Dr. Waverly and I are making a trip to the borderland in northern Virginia. There is growing tension and reports of a band of Southern marauders terrorizing the region. We have decided to take medical supplies and help with innocent casualties caused by the unrest.”
How could I have doubted his character even for a second? High on his steed, Colt was a warrior of action. With courage and conviction as his weapons, he waged a steady battle every day. He sought no recognition or reward, only the quiet satisfaction of being true to his heart.
“Will you be home for the lighting of the Yule log?”
He had already spurred his horse into a gallop, so my question floated unanswered on the breeze. A piece of my heart had gone with Livie when we said good-bye. Now, watching Colt disappear down the lane, the other half of my heart was torn away.
Not a day passed without my thoughts trailing behind me, remembering Livie and our time together. She would remain forever imprinted on my soul, making me lonely, but never again alone. I was reborn the fated day our paths converged on the mountain. The runaways inspired me to purpose and conviction that uncovered the legacy left in me by my parents. I embraced it as I would them. Upon Aunt Augusta’s return from Cumberland Gap, she sat me down and revealed the intricacies of her hidden gateway.
“We are a safe house for escaped slaves following the river north. The lamp in my room remains lit in my window, serving as a beacon to those traveling through the night. When we feel there is risk, such as when we have guests at the holiday, the lamp is darkened. We also snuff the lamps in the front of the house if the danger is pressing.”
“I remember,” I said, thinking of the image of Uncle Mooney scolding Winston for unlit lamps at Christmas. “And you have managed to maintain such a ruthless reputation while you are doing so.”
“Oh, my dear, I have the easy part. I merely built a clever ruse to protect those courageous enough or tortured enough to break free of their chains and claim their life as their own. I am not alone in my efforts.”
“Who else knows?”
“There is a small circle of us who have worked in secrecy for years. Your father was a staunch abolitionist who believed the institution of slavery should be attacked from all sides. Pressure for change from the North has been a long, slow battle and has yielded no true results to date. Your father was a man of immediate action. He preached to us, ‘Let us do for imprisoned slaves today what the North promises to do for them tomorrow.’ He believed there were two kinds of sympathizers: those who fought the fight out in the open in hope of swaying public opinion, and those who secretly entrenched themselves throughout the South, extending a quiet hand to slaves daring to flee their present hell.
“Soon after I was married and came to Hillcrest, your grandfather fell ill when fever swept the county. As you know, your grandmother died when your mother was an infant, so when Father succumbed, your mother came to live with me here at Hillcrest, along with Father’s two remaining slaves.”
“Granny Morgan and Winston.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “When your father began courting your mother, he spent a great deal of time at our home. He may have won your mother’s heart, but he also won my complete confidence. When the first runaway came to the back door leading to the root cellar, Granny had instructions to feed him and let him stay the night. So began our secret enterprise.”
I laughed in astonishment. “Are you saying runaways have been coming and going from our root cellar all this time?”
“With help from Granny and Esther Mae,” she acknowledged. “Winston, of course, has a key role in passing information and signals, both in town and during our travels. Fleeing slaves have been led to us through him. He knows of my arrangements in Cumberland Gap and is trusted in every aspect.”
“Now I have a better understanding of why he always smiles at me like we share a secret.”
“I think perhaps he sensed in you the same unsettled resistance that was evident in your mother and father. He recognized it before I did. I always kept you at a distance for your protection. When Colton told me you were nursing an injured slave girl hidden in the cave, I realized I could not protect you forever.”
“You knew Livie was a runaway?”
Aunt Augusta smiled. “Who do you think drew up the false ownership papers?”
“Why didn’t he tell me it was you?”
“Colton is an observant young man. He figured out what we were doing three years ago. Thankfully, he is his mother’s son, and insisted on being involved. I allowed it, contingent on him vowing he would not speak of it to anyone, not even to you.”
“Are there others involved from the plantation in addition to Winston, Granny, and Esther Mae?”
“If our activities were common knowledge, we would have been revealed long ago. We are unseen supporters of the cause, although there may be some Runians who have fleeting suspicions. Elijah is very perceptive, especially with his family playing a key role in our success. Granny’s sister, Mabelle, God rest her soul, helped pass the word to slaves moving through town. Her songs carried messages that pointed runaways in the right direction. A tug of the ear, white to black, signaled a friend. The quilts did their part too. Your mother designed them.” Aunt Augusta held up a quilt and ran her fingers from one square to the next. “Points of reference as clear as the North Star on a moonlit night.”
I was awestruck by the complexity of the plan carried out by only a handful of people, cooperating and trusting each other with no motive other than to do what was right. Yet, as Aunt Augusta pointed out, what she was doing represented only a few safe hours for a runaway whose perilous journey often stretched from weeks into months. I was humbled by the courage of those whose simple wish was to find a better life.
Uncle Mooney and Twitch remained in a sour mood for the better part of two months. When we returned to the plantation on the day Livie left, Tessie misdirected Twitch by saying James had come to the cabin and taken the baby. Twitch never suspected the bundle Tessie held in her arms when last he saw her was nothing more than rags. He immediately sent out the hounds, but the only scent they tracked had been laid down by Elijah leading them west through the tobacco fields, then back again. To maintain fear among the slaves, Twitch claimed they had chased James up a tree, where Twitch took pleasure in shooting him like a cornered raccoon.
“We left his darky guts splattered in the dirt for the wolves to feast on, didn’t we, Willy Jack?”
“Yas’sah, Marse,” Willy Jack confirmed. “Nothin’ but guts all over de ground.”
Instead of avoiding each other, Aunt Augusta and I now sought out each other’s company. Sometimes we would take a walk and chat about my mother or discuss the growing unrest between North and South. One afternoon as we watched the stacks of harvested corn begin to rise from afar, thoughts of Livie washed over me.
“Do you miss her?”
I looked over at Aunt Augusta and soaked in the warmth she was offering.
“I miss her terribly,” I said, grateful for her motherly concern. “Not knowing their fate haunts me.”
“As it does me,” she said, pressing a hand to my cheek. “Yet our torture is a mere pittance compared to the countless slaves who endure their loved ones torn from their arms and sold away, never to be heard from again.”
I shook my head. “That is why I direct my melancholy into making quilts and contributing to the cause in any way possible. Granny says busy hands are the best cure for a busy mind.”
“We shall leave for Roanoke in a few days,” Aunt Augusta offered with solace. “A fortnight away from the plantation in preparation for the holiday will be uplifting for all.”
“Would you mind very much if I respectfully decline? The shucking celebration holds special memories for me, and I believe will provide a degree of comfort.”
“As you wish, Hannah.” Aunt Augusta nodded with understanding. “You are a young woman who knows her heart and mind better than most.”
When the shucking fires grew high, I made my pilgrimage into Mud Run. I carried with me two large baskets of corn bread I had prepared during the afternoon while Granny and Esther Mae were free of our kitchen. Fiddle music and laughter floated through the night, blanketing me with thoughts of Livie. I was uncertain if my appearance would be awkwardly received without her by my side, but Winston and Elijah rushed to greet me and bring me into the fold.
“Well, look at this fine basket o’ treats Miz Hannah brung us,” Granny shouted, making a great fuss. She applauded my attempt at baking, even though my corn bread was dry and bland compared to any made with her expert touch. “Come sit here wit’ Granny, chile,” she said, patting a bale of hay. When I settled next to her, she took my hand and smiled. “Guess we is both missin’ someone we love tonight.” With the presence of Livie and Mabelle in both our hearts, we let the music heal us. It felt wonderful clapping and laughing along with so many people I had come to know and care for, but as couples formed and swayed with the music, my heart ached for Colt. Not a night passed without me longing for his strong embrace, but here among the Runians, my sense of loss was unbearable. I slipped away without notice to lie in bed alone, with the revelry below weeping in my ear.
My emotion grew even stronger as the weeks passed and Christmas was upon us. Colt did not return from the borderland, and I had received no letters since his departure. I saw Colt differently since learning of his involvement with Aunt Augusta. I had misjudged him over the years. At times, I had thought him weak and intimidated by Aunt Augusta. I now realized he knew of things I did not, and acted accordingly. As with his doctoring, Colt conducted himself for the benefit of others. My fondness and respect for him grew as the full portrait of the man came alive with detail, and was enriched by his legacy of kind words and selfless actions. The truth should have brought us closer, but instead we were driven apart. In a cruel twist of suffering, my longing for Colt stirred a deep warmth and gentle tug in my tummy, once explained by Livie as the seeds of a woman sprinkled by thoughts of the right man. If only he were here to ease my ache.
As winter pushed into spring, Aunt Augusta and I were called one night from our evening supper by the arrival of an unexpected guest.
“Miz ’Gusta,” Winston said, looking shaken as he entered the dining room. “You better come right quick. Ol’ Doc Waverly is here with word on Mista Colt.”
My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach at the sullen declaration. We rushed to the front entrance, where Dr. Waverly slouched on a chair, his clothing mud-soaked and torn, his face bruised and unshaven. When we gasped at the sight of him, he looked up through watery eyes.
“Colt is in grave danger,” he said with ragged hoarseness. “I barely made it out with my life. I cannot say the same for Colt. We may already be too late.”