Part 22 (1/2)
They moved silently, except for the occasional whimpers when Carter Louis stubbed his bare feet on roots or sharp twigs.
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”It's been two days,” Florence said. ”Do you think he's safe?” She chopped off a chicken leg, rolled it in corn batter, and set it in the skillet. The oil sizzled.
”That boy knows them woods,” Abraham replied. ”He knows about running too-I learned him good.” Abraham set his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands.
Florence studied her husband. The man was tired. Those eyes, they'd lost their sparkle. Was he blaming himself? It wasn't his doing. Isaac had made his own decision.
”The boy'll be fine,” she said. She wiped her hands on her ap.r.o.n, then kneaded Abraham's shoulders. ”Let it go. He's off to Petersburg, or Hampton, maybe even Philadelphia. We'll get word by and by.”
Tempie wandered in and took a seat by the fire. ”Any word, Mama?” She poked the coals.
”No word,” Florence said. ”It means he's safe. The Lord will provide.” That poor child wasn't back to her old self, at least not all the way, but she was coming around. Florence smiled. She must be over that Cato boy by now. It was about time.
”Pa?” Joseph dragged a stick behind him as he entered. He swatted the side of the door, then tapped the edge of the table before settling onto the bench. ”Is dinner ready, Mama?”
”In a bit. You looking for you Pa?”
”Ma.s.sa Patrick, he said could Pa come see him. Something about business.”
”Must be he's hired me out again,” Abraham said. ”He's been mighty quiet. You reckon he's over that fit he tied his self into?”
Florence shrugged and returned to her cooking.
Abraham stretched. ”Well, I'd best go see what he wants, but I'll be thinking hard on that fried chicken.” He pointed to the skillet and smiled. ”I'm feeling mighty hungry.”
That smile was the first she'd seen from him since their son departed.
”I'll be back shortly.” He closed the door behind him.
”Joseph,” Florence said, pointing to the bucket beside the door. ”Take that pail and fetch me some water, then get more firewood.”
Joseph grabbed the pail and skipped out the door.
”Tempie, you finish getting everything cleaned up at the big house?”
”Yes, Mama.”
”Good, then check that *pone and tell me if'n it's done.”
Something crashed on the porch, then Joseph rushed through the door, waving his arms. ”Mama, Mama they has Pa, they has Pa!”
”Who has Pa? What's you talking about?” Florence wiped her hands on her ap.r.o.n as she raced out the door. Two horses. .h.i.tched to a buckboard wagon stood beside the big house. Near the rear of the wagon, Abraham struggled with two men who were trying to hold him down. His hands were tied and Big Jim knelt trussing his feet. Patrick stood on the porch, hands on his hips.
Florence ran to her husband, grabbing at the men who held him. ”Leave my man be.”
One of the men turned and shoved her hard to the ground.
Clancy?
Abraham struggled, but he couldn't escape.
Joseph and Tempie rushed to Florence's side and huddled with her on the ground. She glared at Patrick. ”What's this you's doing, Patrick McConnell?”
”Your husband has become what we refer to in business as a liability. It's time I cut my losses.”
”Y-you's selling my Abraham? You can't do that, he belongs to Ma.s.sa McConnell.” Florence started to rise, then Clancy c.o.c.ked his fist as though to strike her. She retreated, clutching her children as she dropped onto the hard-packed dirt.
”I'm sorry, Florence, but Abraham has caused me too many problems. I can put an end to those problems now, or later I might need to find buyers for these two.” Patrick pointed at Joseph and Tempie.
”Florence, I's coming back, I's coming back . . . .” Abraham called as the two men heaved him into the wagon.
”Sure, you'll be back,” Patrick said. ”After you've picked all the cotton in Mississippi. Give my regards to Natchez.” He saluted with his riding crop, then turned and strolled into the house.
”I loves you, Florence. Don't you fret,” Abraham called. ”I'll be back.”
She rose to her knees as the wagon lurched forward. ”I loves you, Abraham. I'll be here waiting.”
Chapter Thirty-one.
April 1862 ”Stay close and keep to the shadows.” Isaac surveyed the clearing, then signaled Moses and Carter Louis to follow him. He darted across the muddy field to a split rail fence that wormed along the crest of the open ground. Crouching beside the fence, Isaac motioned for the others to get down.
”The moon's too bright; we's casting shadows. This is a bad night for running.” Isaac pointed. ”Them tracks bend to the east and into them woods yonder. Once we's in the woods we'd best hold up for the night.” He slowly shook his head. ”I ain't got good feelings about us being out here tonight.”
The field appeared to be a half-mile across. At the north end they came to a gully that ran into the forest and toward the tracks. ”We'll follow this,” Isaac said.
”The boy's feet is real bad,” Moses said, ”and he's cut up all over from last night. I don't reckon he can go much further.”
Isaac glanced at the boy. ”Another hour, then we'll bed down. Can you make it?”
Carter Louis nodded.
”Come on, then.” Isaac stayed low and stepped carefully to keep from snapping twigs. The gully ran along a dirt road, parallel to the railroad tracks. Isaac held up a hand. They crouched and listened. He pointed in the direction they had come. ”Train. It's running east. Be here within the quarter hour. We'd best keep moving.”
”I can't.” Carter Louis sat and grabbed his foot. He began to cry.
”The boy's done for tonight, Isaac. Can't we hold up?” Moses' face showed a mix of frustration and fear.
”Stay here,” Isaac said. ”I's gonna scout ahead, maybe find us a hiding place away from that road.” He slipped away. After a quarter mile, the ditch turned and cut under the road. Logs supported a double bridge, wagon road on one side, railroad on the other-a good hideout. The train drew closer as he scurried back to Moses and his son.
”I can't make it, Isaac. Can't walk none.” Tears streaked Carter Louis's cheeks.
Isaac tugged the boy's sleeve. ”A quarter mile-you can make it.”