Free Stand the Storm by Breena Clarke Page A

shreds upon her pate would balk at losing it all—or most of it. Mary didn’t cry. She agreed to the sense of it.
    Gabriel questioned his own resolve and his plan. Was he unable to gird himself for a trip like this one? He envied Mary’s sturdiness. Mary had, in fact, no choice. She had to go—to run. Ought he to be going with her—to look after her, to make certain she reached?
    At midnight, Mary and Daniel Joshua set out upon the path. Told to follow closely and silently, Mary sidled and crab-crawled through Georgetown alleyways behind Daniel Joshua until the cobblestones fell away under their feet. Threading through brush and tangles behind the cemetery for colored that bordered the creek, Daniel led Mary out of Georgetown. She breathed shallowly and quickly, and Daniel slowed his walking to steady the enterprise.
    When they reached the Maryland side of the creek some ways from where they’d begun, Daniel dropped back to let Mary move ahead of him.
    “Don’t look back. Keep on a’ goin’. Go all the way,” he whispered at the back of her head. “God keep you, Mary.”
    Mary froze at Daniel Joshua’s voice. She’d been expecting it. She knew he’d not go the distance with her. She knew he was bound to take her only as far as the District border. She knew he’d gone on a pace or two beyond that for sake of lookout and affection. She heard his words and was beguiled by them. “Go, Mary, go on.” The whisper pushed her along and she followed the directive. She didn’t turn to look back at him. She felt the urge to make water and to fall to the ground and wail. Her body quaked and dripped sweat. She settled her guts and walked on as she’d been instructed.
    She went on solidly and surely—avoiding puddles and sharp sticks and loud crackling branches. She remembered that Annie had cautioned her not to wet her feet if she could avoid it. She remembered Daniel’s words: walk on cat feet, run like a rabbit, sly as a fox ’round the henhouse, chew the bear’s paw. She remembered that Gabriel had simply held her hand and warmed it in his palm and held her eyes with his own. And she had savored his thirst for her.
    Now there was a place to reach before her—a person. This was a steadying knowledge. She was going toward a place and a person and a refuge. She would get there.
    She walked throughout the first night in the weak light of the waning moon. When light of morning came back, Mary’s feet were still dry.
    The sign Mary had been looking for—the ray of hope, the rest for her two feet—was on the horizon. It had come into view as she climbed the rise of a small hill. CHESTER COOPERAGE COMPANY.
    C-H-E-S-T-E-R.
    Mary had repeated the letters in her mind for all of the journey. Daniel Joshua had drummed it in that she was to reach the town of Clearwater and proceed upon the road northwest of town to a crossroads where the barn with its sign would be.
    CHESTER COOPERAGE COMPANY
    Mary squatted next to a tree until the sun dipped down. The socks were no longer on her feet. She’d taken them off to keep them dry. Now she rubbed off as much dirt as she could and put the socks back on. Her legs and feet were weary and at the end of their day’s strength, but she thought to present a decent picture.
    CHESTER COOPERAGE COMPANY
    Shooks, Barrels, and Staves
    Daniel had assured her that the white man who owned and operated this concern on the outskirts of town was a friend of the runaway. This man was of the Quaker people and he and his wife assisted any who were fleeing from slavery.
    “Wait out by the tree for the signal. If it be clear to come in, Missus will put a sign on the windowsill that says to come on in,” Daniel had schooled her. “Don’t be fearful of them. They’re good people of God who can’t abide slavery.”
    Mary kept her eye on the windows facing toward the hognut tree behind which she stood. When most of the light had faded in the sky, Missus did come to open the shutters on the window