Free An Undisturbed Peace by Mary Glickman

you that set at a discount, lad, considering the damage done en route.” Heads popped up all around. A dozen black faces stared at him. He lifted his hands, palms turned upward to the heavens. “What is it, people? Why do you regard me so?” One of them, a slight old woman who, thanks to a lifetime of hard labor, possessed huge arms and hands so muscled they looked to belong to some other body—a man’s, perhaps, or a working beast’s—spoke up. “No one’s ever offered us a discount, sir, on goods broken or whole,” she said. “Not even you last year when you come by.”
    Abe blushed, his head went down, studying the ground. “I was tightfisted then,” he said. “Now, I’m something different.” While they returned to fondling his goods, selecting only a few for most were too rich even with a discount, he realized that he’d spoken the truth. He was different this year. During his first foray into the foothills, his only concern was knocking off his debt to Uncle Isadore as quickly as possible, and yes, there were occasions he’d made outrageous deals in his own favor, even at the expense of those as poor and miserable as the slaves before him. He felt shamed over his greed now. He could only think it was love that had changed around his head and softened his heart. Yes, he thought, warming to the idea, it was brave, independent Marian who’d made a mensch out of him without even trying. Thoughts of Marian always ended lately with the mystery of Dark Water. He decided to find out what the slaves had to say about her. Slaves, he’d been told, always had their ears to the ground. They knew many things their masters did not.
    First, he needed to find a slave he could persuade to speak to him openly on the matter. He decided the boy who bought his mother a teacup would do. After the others finished purchasing what they could afford, he asked the boy to help him pack things up and load them on his horse. Once that chore was done, he mentioned to him that he was curious about a person who was much feared in these parts, a certain Dark Water. He needed to know more about her should he find himself in peril as he made his rounds through the countryside. “Why I might give something as valuable as another of those teacups for the right information,” he said. Abe took a teacup out of the pack in which he kept china items wrapped in cloth and unwound its covering slowly at the boy’s eye level. “Hmm?” he said, pointedly. “Hmm?”
    The boy was thrilled, no doubt, by the chance to earn another teacup adorned with violets. He looked to be about to jump out of his skin over earning treasure for the sake of a little information. His hands shot forward. Abe held the cup just out of his reach.
    â€œTell me about this Dark Water first.”
    â€œDark Water is a murderess,” the boy said in a rush, his hands yet outstretched. “She murdered the master’s son but covered it all up and made sure her daddy’s black slave caught the blame. That man ran for his life to Echota. That would be the in the Cherokee Nation. It’s their capital, like Washington is to you all. But also, it’s a city of refuge. Do you know what that is, sir? It’s a place where low-down murderers can spend their evil lives in each other’s company without fear of arrest.”
    Abe nodded. He knew of such cities. Jews had them in ancient times. It was a revelation to hear that Cherokee had them too. He’d heard of Echota. It was a far place from the Rupert plantation, some two or three hundred miles south over the mountains of North Carolina, through South Carolina, and into Georgia. His rounds took him no place near it.
    â€œBut,” the boy continued, “there’s stories he died in battle trying to win his freedom, which is the Cherokee way. They say his ghost must be trapped down there or else surely he’d