Free Soon Be Free by Lois Ruby Page B

hit every inch of it before—”
    â€œBefore the mousetrap tragedy struck.”
    I couldn’t make out his rumbling response, but it was clear this romance wasn’t Romeo and Juliet .
    I closed my closet and lay on the floor watching the shadows under the door. Were they dangerous? Could a man who got his toe caught in a mousetrap actually come after me? Then I heard again the sickening sound Raymond had made—my bones cracking like eggs, like pencils. I knew I’d hear that sound over and over in my sleep, in my dreams. Yes, they were dangerous.
    I propped my eyes open with my fingers to keep from falling asleep and dreaming. I reminded myself that to be awake is to be alive, if I wanted to live deliberately, but somehow I drifted off, anyway, and woke with the pattern of the carpet pocking my cheek and a dust ball in my mouth. I could have missed something important!
    I inched my door open. No one was in the hall. I tiptoed over to the bathroom, where I thought I saw a pinpoint of darting light, although it could have been the low-wattage night-light in a socket close to the floor.
    Slowly, I pushed the bathroom door open. Something blocked it. I pushed harder. The door was slammed in my face!

Chapter Twenty
March 1857
THE FATHER OF WATERS
    Miss Farrell tracked James down to say good-bye at St. Louis, where she was to board a train for Philadelphia. “Why, you’re not even packed up. Aren’t you and the others getting off here, too?”
    â€œNo, ma’am,” James said. “We’re heading down the Mississippi until it hits the Ohio.”
    â€œWhat about the doctor who’s waiting for you in St. Louis?”
    He shook his head.
    â€œThen you’re going on to Owensboro to see your mama and daddy?”
    Again, he shook his head.
    â€œWhy, James Weaver, you rascal, you. That one-legged boy and the Negro and you, you’re all going to Kentucky to help some slaves escape, aren’t you? You’re not raving mad at all.”
    â€œI’m sorry I lied to thee. To you, I mean.”
    â€œAh-ah.” She put her finger over his lips. “I tell you, it’s been a lark. Say, we should exchange tokens.” She buried her head in her carpetbag and pulled out a vial of something wet. “Smelling salts,”she explained. “In case one of your runaways should faint. Oh, land’s sake, you brave baby, you.” She pouted. “I bet you don’t have anything to give poor Alma Farrell.”
    â€œI do, ma’am.” He slid a page of his sketchbook out and handed her the drawing he’d done of her. All the wrinkles were gone, along with about fifty pounds of flab.
    She squinted to study the picture. “Why, I’m even lovelier than I imagined!” She planted a juicy kiss on James’s cheek. He couldn’t wait until her back was turned so he could wipe the greasy red mess away before somebody saw it.
    He watched her promenade down the gangplank. Her skirt swayed like a bridge; and the gangplank buckled, then sprang back into place once she was on land.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Every day the captain of the Francie Mulryan called the passengers together for a little geography lesson.
    â€œHere we go again,” Will muttered, but James noticed that he absorbed each fact as though it were salve on a wound.
    â€œNow that you’re sailing the mighty Mississippi,” the captain announced, “every lady and gentleman aboard my ship ought to know what the Algonquin called this miraculous river. Any guesses?”
    Will shouted out, “ ‘The Father of Waters.’ ”
    â€œHow did you know that, son?” asked the captain, clearly irritated.
    â€œSays so right on my map.”
    â€œAhem. Yes. Well. Here soon we’ll be in Cairo, Illinois, where the Father of Waters meets the Ohio. Some of you good folks will be leaving us and sailing farther down into the south, but the proud