Promise Bridge Part 6

"Esther Mae, today's journey was particularly tiring. I shall retire to my room for a restful spell. You may serve me my refreshments there." With each approaching step, the hunch in her back straightened into the usual stern posture of her confident shoulders. Her shadow draped across my face as I offered a modest curtsy.

"Welcome home, Aunt Augusta. I hope your trip was pleasant and successful."

"You are looking gaunt and pale, Hannalore," she said, examining me with more curiosity than concern. She pressed a cool hand to my forehead. "Are you feeling poorly?"

"No, ma'am."

"Attend to your quilt squares on the front porch. The fresh air will do you good." I was relieved when she dismissed me from her query and moved toward the house.

"Yes, ma'am," I called after her with pleasure in hoodwinking her. If she only knew how much fresh air I had enjoyed during the weeks she was away! I was not foolish enough to push the matter further, so I retrieved my quilt squares and settled into the wicker rocker on the front porch. I busied myself adorning the squares with decorative st.i.tching at a pace intended to make up for all that had gone neglected while I was tending to Livie.

Darkness eclipsed my thoughts the moment Livie came to mind, but I forced my concentration back to the unst.i.tched material folded neatly on my lap. Busying my hands with needlework had been my emotional haven for as long as I could remember. Recollections of my mother and me nestled in front of a glowing hearth often soothed me. I held dear the memory of hours tucked safely in her lap as she guided my untrained hands from st.i.tch to st.i.tch. Patterns of stars, sun rays through treetops, forked rivers, and unusual rock formations were her favorites. And mine too, I supposed, because they were easy to learn and did not require the delicate st.i.tching boasted by the icy debutantes gathered in self-righteous sewing circles throughout the county. I hated their air of superiority. They carried themselves with refined importance based on the misguided opinion that they were wildly desirable. I was surprised when Aunt Augusta did not demand my partic.i.p.ation in this social tradition. Perhaps she did not want me viewed as inferior.

It mattered not to me that I and my unrefined needlework were held at bay as awkward outsiders. I cherished those simple patterns of my childhood because they took me home to Kentucky and to the fireside, where I could once again nestle in the warm, comforting memory of my mother. Aunt Augusta allowed me this one indulgence and required I make only occasional appearances in these circles to maintain the appropriate ties. For the most part, I was allowed to sew in the quilting room, where a handful of Runians, who were either too old or unfit to work the fields, were delegated to spinning cloth, making clothes, and working together at the loom, creating quilts.

There was a time when I thought her sisterly attachment to my mother was what stirred Aunt Augusta's cooperation and encouragement in my quilting efforts, particularly because the patterns learned in my childhood were replicated in her household. However, I discovered early on that profit, not sentiment, drove her interest. She garnered great praise from her fellow planters for her inventiveness in gaining cash rewards out of otherwise unproductive slaves. Mr. Watkins of the town mercantile ordered a steady supply of quilts to stock his shelves; a modest profit for Hillcrest, but profit nonetheless. Aunt Augusta expanded this side business to include shops in many towns where she conducted her tobacco business. The demand grew to the point that a large compartment was built beneath her seat in the coach to allow for nearly fifty quilts to travel without chance of exposure to dust or rain.

My disgust in her greediness tempted me to abandon my pa.s.sion; however, it was offset by the fact that many of the quilts that fell short of salable perfection were dispersed among the Runians, or pa.s.sed along to Granny Morgan's blind sister, Mabelle, who was owned by Mr. Watkins. Since losing her sight, Mabelle spent long, lonely days rocking her plump, round body on a wooden stool next to the apple barrel outside the mercantile door. She had withdrawn into her own world, rocking and singing the same mournful spirituals Granny Morgan often sang when she was alone in the kitchen. Every Sunday, Winston took Granny Morgan to town so she and Mabelle could spend an hour or two together. It pleased Granny Morgan each time she took an armful of faulty quilts to Mabelle. Her sister enjoyed giving them to needy slaves who pa.s.sed through town on a master's errand. Instead of being lonely and isolated, Mabelle became so well-known that slaves from across the county sought out the "quilt singer" during their trips to town. Mabelle looked forward to this social allowance, when news and stories were shared until the visitors had to rush off before their pa.s.ses expired. Granny Morgan smiled, knowing Mabelle was alive and vital again, and I found myself purposely adding imperfections to completed quilts so Mabelle's supply would remain abundant. I believed my mother would be pleased at the joy spread by those quilts.

"Wagon a-comin'!"

Elijah's yelp caused me to p.r.i.c.k my finger. I held my stinging finger to my lips and looked to where Elijah hustled with two large buckets slos.h.i.+ng with water. Elijah was our self-appointed lookout, and rarely missed the appearance of a wagon or horse over the far hill. He delivered the buckets at Winston's feet, and his father paused in grooming the horses to rise on his toes and look over their haunches. An unexpected voice came from the doorway behind me.

"I should have known curiosity would bring Mooney for a visit," Aunt Augusta said, emotionless.

"Perhaps he is simply pa.s.sing through on his way to West Gate," I said casually. "He and Twitch had business in town."

"Naive child." She sniffed. I was taken aback by the hint of disdain with which her remark had been delivered. As intertwined as the two plantations were, I always sensed caution and distrust p.r.i.c.kling beneath the surface of Aunt Augusta and Uncle Mooney's familial partners.h.i.+p. Still, I dismissed her mood as fatigue from her trip.

Aunt Augusta stepped out into full view as Uncle Mooney climbed down from the wagon and greeted her with his usual robust banter. As they exchanged some business details, Twitch jumped down from the driver's seat. When Winston came to hold the bridle of the team, Twitch muttered a few words in his ear that caused Winston to lower his head in obedience. My jaw clenched to keep any words from spilling out that might result in another whipping for Winston. Unfortunately, my anger was fed by brittle emotion left in the wake of watching Livie swallowed by the Horse's Bend. Elijah's voice saved me from a foolish outburst.

"A-comin' a'gin!"

This time, Elijah stood on Uncle Mooney's wagon bench, tying the loose reins around the brake plank. He motioned his head to where Uncle Mooney's wagon had appeared moments earlier. I rose from my chair and clutched my chest as Colt's wagon traced the path of wagon grooves up the road. Aunt Augusta's words naive child naive child stung me from within as I realized how preposterous it had been for me to hold on to even a slim possibility of Livie making it across the river. Any hope I still harbored was dashed by Colt's lone figure atop the buckboard. stung me from within as I realized how preposterous it had been for me to hold on to even a slim possibility of Livie making it across the river. Any hope I still harbored was dashed by Colt's lone figure atop the buckboard.

A rush of despair flushed me, and I reached out for the banister to steady me. My hand fell on Twitch's bony shoulder, as he had slithered halfway up the porch steps and positioned himself intimately enough to whisper, "I could swoon you in ways a spineless fool like Purebred would blush over. He don't understand the desires of a real man."

I shrank from Twitch's words . . . his breath . . . his touch. Ever since he suspected my unexplained absences with Colt were for lascivious activity, Twitch oozed lechery when he looked at me. However, with Aunt Augusta hovering nearby, his boldness of words was loathsome, even for him. I ignored his vulgar remarks and crossed the yard as Colt guided his horses alongside those of his father. The late-afternoon breeze tossed his loose curls across his dark eyes, and when they met mine, they quickly diverted away.

"Welcome, son. We thought you would be gone a few more days."

"Maybe his hunger fo' the finer things at home made him turn tail and come on back," Twitch said with his dead eye staring through me. Finally, my glistening eyes locked with Colt's and held on to them, knowing his stoic gaze understood my hidden heartbreak.

"On my way down the lower ridge road, I came upon a family in need of help for their sick child. She was marble-eyed with fever, poor thing. I used sa.s.safras tea and mild laudanum to break a sweat and make her comfortable."

"Mighty commendable, son. Did you charge them for your services?"

Colt tugged his gloves from his hands and jumped down from the rig, all the while avoiding Uncle Mooney's glare. "d.a.m.n it, boy, when will you realize that medical service is a commodity, no different from pork or tobacco? If you insist on wasting time and resources unproductive to our plantation, I expect that at the very least you should profit from your endeavors. Anything less is dag-blamed frivolous!"

"They were a modest family with a long journey ahead. I did not wish to squeeze a few precious coins from them," Colt countered, though his defense fell on deaf ears. Most of Colt's generosity and accomplishments in the venue of medicine were met with impatience and apathy. I ached to offer a word of admiration to offset the lack of respect given to him by his father, but grief had drained me of thought and reason. However, Colt did not slink away to lick his wounds. Instead he s.h.i.+fted his shoulders into fullness.

"Fact is, they did give me something for my efforts on behalf of their child," he said, nodding toward his wagon. The buckboard creaked atop its axles with a subtle movement from within. My heart jolted alive when a pair of large, fearful eyes peeked up over the wooden plank behind the bench seat of the wagon. Livie! Livie!

My mind buzzed with excitement and disbelief. It was all I could do to keep from running past the dropped jaws beside me to throw my arms around her in euphoric relief. With their eyes glued to the battered, dark stranger crawling from the buckboard, Aunt Augusta, Uncle Mooney, and Twitch missed the beaming smile and swell of tears that came upon me before I tempered my emotion. Colt stole a glance my way, and though his expression remained blank and contrived in the masquerade, there was a glimmer of triumphant satisfaction conveyed in the split second when his eyes spoke to mine.

"Have you lost your senses, boy?" Uncle Mooney sputtered. "What do we need with another young wench?"

"And not a prize piece neither," Twitch added as he stepped closer to get a better look. "From the looks of her, she's damaged goods."

Indeed, Livie looked ravaged. Her hair, which had been wound in tight braids when last I saw her, was now pulled loose and standing wild in every direction. She had a dark knot on her forehead, and the lower corner of her mouth was grossly swollen. As Twitch slowly circled around her, Livie struggled to stand strong and steady. Her p.r.o.nounced limp had given her away, and to those scrutinizing her, she appeared frail and deformed in some way as she clutched her upper thigh and slouched to one side.

"What a pathetic specimen," Uncle Mooney said as he lifted his walking stick and pressed the tip against Livie's shoulder, attempting to upright her. "She'll be of no use in the fields." He then lowered his stick and thumped the gold sow head atop the cane in his thick pink hand. "What good is a wench that can't earn her keep, much less contribute to the care and harvest of our cash crop?"

Twitch scoffed as he ran his hand across her arm, toward her heaving breast. "From the mangy look of her, she won't even make a good breeder." Colt stepped over and grabbed Twitch's wrist before his hand reached its destination. Livie glared up at Twitch, causing him to twist his face into a snarl.

"What are you lookin' at, you worthless darky?" He reached for the whip looped on his belt. "I don't know where you come from, but round here you're gonna know your place."

As quickly as the whip unraveled to the ground, Colt moved in between Livie and Twitch. "She is of no concern to you," he said, staring at Twitch. "Or you," he added, turning to look over his shoulder at his father. Then, with his hand he gave Livie a gentle shove toward me. "If Augusta approves, I would like to give her to Hannah."

"What?" Aunt Augusta and Uncle Mooney said in acrimonious harmony. She arched her eyebrow and waved a dismissive hand. "I have no intention of getting involved in this ridiculous matter. And I certainly will not have my household burdened with any more charitable causes."

The bite of Aunt Augusta's remark reflected back at me in Livie's anxious eyes, which softened as she came nearer to me. With her back to the others, she winked devilishly and rolled her eyes up and down toward her feet. Perplexed, I finally glanced down and caught a glimpse of the reason for the prideful smile: a brand-new pair of hard-soled shoes. Livie's bruised face glowed like she was wearing a queen's dowry. The utter innocence of her delight filled my heart, and in spite of the risk, I widened my eyes with excitement, which was all the moment allowed. Colt's determined plea brought me back to the perilous charade we were enacting.

"Hannah will be celebrating her birthday in a few weeks, and she is coming to the age where a personal servant would be appropriate. Given the circ.u.mstance befallen me, I would like to offer this slave girl to Hannah as a gift."

"Don't be fool- hearted, boy," Uncle Mooney said with disgust. "This coal black wench is not of proper stock for house duties. Cut your losses and send her to Richmond for auction. She may not command much in price, but at least you will profit from your time and trouble."

Following Colt's lead, I jumped in. "I truly don't deserve such a generous gift, Colt, although being the only lady-in-waiting within the circle of girls my age to be without a personal servant has been a bit awkward at times. I suspect Aunt Augusta intends to purchase a slave girl of high value and put those of my peers to shame."

My words nudged Aunt Augusta's frugal nature into the debate. She ran her hard eyes up and down Livie's bent frame and then tapped her pursed lips with an impatient finger. "Mooney, the boy is old enough to make a man's decision. If he has made up his mind, then so be it. I have serious doubts about her stock, but if I find her unsuitable, I will send her to the fields." Aunt Augusta took the owners.h.i.+p paper from Colt's hand and shoved it in her pocket without a glance. "My fields, of course, since she now belongs to Hannalore." fields, of course, since she now belongs to Hannalore."

"Thank you, Colt," I said with a curtsy. "You are indeed a gentleman."

"Esther Mae, take this sorrowful creature down with the Runians and clean her up," Aunt Augusta said, turning on her heels and motioning the two on their way. "Bring her to me in the morning and we shall see what we can make of her."

Colt smiled and offered a soft tug of his hat. I marveled at him as he climbed up onto his wagon and cracked his team into action. Twitch stepped from the cloud of dust that swirled between us and watched Livie hobble down the hill toward Mud Run. "Somethin' don't sit right with that lowly chattel. Did you lay eyes on them st.u.r.dy shoes? She probably stole off with 'em 'cuz she's a-runnin'."

Uncle Mooney shot out a belch of laugher. "Twitch.e.l.l, you think every slave from here to Louisiana is a runaway. Not that I mind, boy," he said, slapping Twitch firmly on the shoulder. "Any profit Colton throws away, you bring back to me tenfold with your instincts and tracking skills. But you are crazed like a hound in the thick of a hunt. I swear you would chew off your own foot if it kept you from hog-tying a runaway. Keep your head about you, boy. That pathetic wench is a throwaway, not a runaway." Uncle Mooney's reddened face appeared over Twitch's shoulder as they watched Livie disappear into a cabin below. "The only thing not sitting right in my eyes is money taken from my till and dropped into Augusta's pocket."

Twitch angled himself in such a way that Uncle Mooney could not see the slow wink offered me from the hollow of his dead eye. "Well, the wench must be mighty good at somethin' to receive such fine shoes from the master of the house."

"Watch yourself, boy," Uncle Mooney said, mounting his wagon. "There is a young lady present. Now, let's get on back to West Gate and take care of our own business."

"Oh, I'll watch myself all right, along with a lot of other things round here," Twitch grunted. He looked at me with penetrating fierceness, then glanced toward the shadowed cabins of Mud Run. " 'Cuz in my my business, the watchin' never ends, and there ain't n.o.body better at it than me." business, the watchin' never ends, and there ain't n.o.body better at it than me."

Chapter 11.

Spring gave way to summer, taking with it the entrenched loneliness I had known within the walls of Hillcrest. I listened breathlessly as Livie told me of her battle across the river. "Every drop of know- how in me told me to fight like a bear 'gainst dat ol' river. It pushed and bullied me every which way. My leg hurt mighty bad, but I kicked as best I could. I thought I was doomed when the water yanked me past the Turtleback. The river was fixin' to swallow me up fo' sure."

I held tightly to her arm as she continued. "But then I paid mind to your warnin' words about not fightin' the river, so I stilled my arms and used them to protect my body as dat howlin' river threw me 'gainst a big ol' slippery rock, then another, then another, till I jes' stopped thinkin' 'bout 'em. Marcus used to laugh and say, ' ' Livetta, you is powerful stubborn and hardheaded.' Well, I was mighty glad fo' both of them curses when I was in the nasty grip of the current. I flat made up my mind that even though a lowly soul like me can't win a battle with the river, if I was mule enough to keep my chin above the water, then the river couldn't win neither." Livetta, you is powerful stubborn and hardheaded.' Well, I was mighty glad fo' both of them curses when I was in the nasty grip of the current. I flat made up my mind that even though a lowly soul like me can't win a battle with the river, if I was mule enough to keep my chin above the water, then the river couldn't win neither."

"Oh, Livie," I gasped. "You are so brave. I would have been paralyzed with fear and destined to sink to the bottom of the Horse's Bend with a dozen helpless nags waiting to greet me."

"Nonsense, Miss Hannah," she said with a confident shake of her head. "Marcus says you never know the gumption you got down inside of you till somethin' pokes you hard enough to let it loose. I guess I am proof no truer words was ever spoken." Livie tempered a prideful grin, but a giggle unleashed it across her face.

"How can you laugh at such an ordeal? My heart is pounding harder than James's hammer on an anvil. I was frightened to death you were gone forever!"

Livie's expression changed to bewilderment at my emotion. "Why would you waste a worry on the likes o' me?" Before I could answer, the excitement of the story returned to her face. "At sunup, I found myself laid out in a shallow bog, lookin' like I was hog- tied to the back of a wagon and dragged across the fields." She chuckled as she pressed her fingers to the bruised knot on her forehead. "After fussin' with the river, I had to think about what was waitin' fo' me on the other side. The river ain't the only thing a soul like me should never fight against. I didn't want to find out there was worse ways of dyin' than by a fit o' water. So I set off, jittery as a rabbit, and found Mista Colt by the three gray rocks, jes' like he tol' me. I half expected him to be there with his rifle c.o.c.ked. Figured this was his chance to get rid of his problem without you knowin'. Lucky fo' me, he carries mighty special notions about you and him, 'cuz there he was waitin' fo' me with a right smart plan to keep the bad from comin' to me till Marcus gets back."

I refrained from letting my doubts about the return of her brother snuff the joy that lit up Livie's eyes, so I simply reflected her smile and said, "Colt helped you because it's the least he could do after he shot you and foiled your escape."

"Well, I never knowed anybody who gave a second thought to shootin' a colored. All I know is when I saw them fine new shoes propped on the edge of the buckboard and Mista Colt said they was fo' me, I knowed from then on he was fixin' to keep his promise. Now, here I sit on a soft bed in the heart of the big house. Can't help but smile, thinkin' about the strange path I been on since the day I was shot lame in the meadow."

Although we followed vastly different paths to the same moment, I must admit that the thought of it made me smile too. Livie settled in the vacant cabin under the hickories speckling Mud Run. Aunt Augusta ordered Fatima moved from her family's cabin and in with Livie so she could teach her the ways of Hillcrest. There was no disguising Livie's awe when she took her first steps through the pantry door and into the kitchen. She ran tentative fingers over the smooth table and across the gold-leaf china. She drank water from the kitchen pump and ate a dollop of apple b.u.t.ter from a jar in the pantry.

"Won't life be grand in the house? You will have no burdens here," I stated proudly.

Livie shrugged with ambivalence. "Mama always tol' us walkin' through the big house ain't near as bad as trudgin' through the fields, but it sure do make it easier fo' the ma.s.sa to keep yo' soul in a cage when you is right under his nose." She paused and took stock of the strange world around her. "Still, a full belly and warm feet is a mite better than blistered hands and a broken back."

I was confused by Livie's lack of enthusiasm, but I realized more and more how little I knew about the slaves around me. The Runians appeared content enough and treated better than most, but I never paid them much attention one way or the other. Now I was feeling a bit tentative and off balance, but I sensed Livie felt the same, so we relied on the thread of trust we had sewn between us, and forged on.

By the time the maple trees yellowed and acorns dropped from the oaks, Livie had grown accustomed to the favored position of house slave, though occasionally I would find her gazing from my bedroom window toward the bent figures that labored in the distant fields. Free from physical strain and given time to heal, Livie grew stronger and her limp all but disappeared. Fatima and I taught Livie some basic st.i.tches so she could join in the quilting. In spite of hands accustomed to field work, Livie learned quickly and developed a delicate touch. Her talent gave me great satisfaction, because I was confident these skills would give Livie greater value in Aunt Augusta's eyes.

With Livie sharing my days, I was content in warm companions.h.i.+p. She accompanied me on walks, helped with the sewing, and rode with me into town to buy fabric and supplies. I had no idea I had such fondness for chatter. Perhaps my years at Hillcrest, sequestered in my un.o.btrusive existence, had me believing I was shy and complete in my own company. But sprinkled with Livie's attentiveness and curiosity, I unfolded in ways I never dreamed possible. In fact, we both unearthed surprises in each other.

After much prodding, I discovered Livie could read. "Why you lookin' so slack-jawed? Jes' 'cuz a colored got no time nor means fo' learnin' don't mean we ain't got smarts in our head."

"Livie, my surprise is not that you are bright," I said, not wanting to bruise her pride. "My surprise is in you having access to a book. I cannot imagine any of the Runians entertaining such boldness."

"Nothin' bold about it," she said with a raised eyebrow. "The ma.s.sa and overseer can watch and command our hands and our footsteps, but 'tain't a soul born on this earth can oversee the thoughts in our heads. Mud Run ain't no different."

"Who taught you to read, Livie? Was it a kindly white abolitionist? I have heard tell of their efforts to educate slaves."

Livie shook her head in disgust. "I never met a kindly white anything anything . Befo' you, I mean. Didn't even know there was such a creature. My mama kept a Bible no bigger than a thick slice o' bread hidden under the floorboards of our cabin. Many a night we huddled round the fire and she would whisper stories 'bout sweet Jesus and the land o' milk and honey. She read stories about a better life in the Promised Land. Mama always finished by sayin' it didn't matter none if the stories was hard to believe at times. She said learnin' how to read the words would bring the Promised Land to our doorstep. After Mama was gone, me and Marcus found great comfort readin' them stories." A wave of melancholy gave Livie pause. "Where's the tin box I gave you in the cave? Mama's Bible is inside with some other keepsakes." . Befo' you, I mean. Didn't even know there was such a creature. My mama kept a Bible no bigger than a thick slice o' bread hidden under the floorboards of our cabin. Many a night we huddled round the fire and she would whisper stories 'bout sweet Jesus and the land o' milk and honey. She read stories about a better life in the Promised Land. Mama always finished by sayin' it didn't matter none if the stories was hard to believe at times. She said learnin' how to read the words would bring the Promised Land to our doorstep. After Mama was gone, me and Marcus found great comfort readin' them stories." A wave of melancholy gave Livie pause. "Where's the tin box I gave you in the cave? Mama's Bible is inside with some other keepsakes."

"While you are here in my room, you can read any book you please," I said, fetching her box where it was hidden in my wardrobe. I immediately blushed, knowing that would do little to ease the ache in her heart. "I am sorry, Liv. I know it will not bring back your mother."

"Don't feel sorry, Miss Hannah. All I need of Mama is right here," she said patting her bosom. " 'Tain't never gonna lose that." She opened the box and removed the Bible. It was tattered and cracked at the edges, but glimmered like a treasure in Livie's eyes.

Conversations such as this one left my head spinning. Little glimpses into a life so different from mine added texture and depth to the connection between us. I was humbled by how pale my own confessions were compared to those of Livie. But they were all I had, and who I was. Without judgment, Livie took them in and held them as gently in her heart as I did hers.

"I ran away once," I let slip one afternoon.

Livie looked at me in astonishment. Taken off guard, she laughed. "Escapin' the horror of all these riches, I suppose."

My cheeks stung with embarra.s.sment as she chuckled with sarcasm. "Well, it was not as perilous as what you have been through, but to a heartbroken little girl, alone with an aunt who did not want her, it was quite a frightening ordeal."

Livie softened when she heard the hurt in my voice. She came over and wedged in next to me on my chair. "Tell me what happened?"

"Oh, nothing, really." I shrugged, wis.h.i.+ng I hadn't mentioned it. "The next day, Mr. Watkins found me behind the mercantile. I wept the entire ride back to Hillcrest."

I looked over at Livie, who had slid her arm around my shoulders. "You must think I am a silly ingrate for running off from someone who clothed and fed me, and provided me fine things."

Livie rubbed her hand against my back. "I won't never think yo' feelings are silly, Miss Hannah. 'Cuz they is yours, and that makes 'em important to me. Anyway, runnin' off ain't always about gettin' away; sometimes it's jes' a soul tryin' to get to somewhere else. Someplace better, where you find what you're longin' fo'. Truth is, there is pain in every kind of runnin'."

Sharing my secret thoughts and experiences was intoxicating. As I revealed and sorted them out with Livie, I felt more defined as a person, instead of a detached illusion of what Aunt Augusta allowed me to be. However, I began to notice a subtle s.h.i.+ft and coolness in Livie's demeanor. By the time the last of the northern snow geese disappeared over the southern horizon and the first mountain squalls announced the bleak winter months were upon us, I noticed most of our time was spent with me talking while she nodded and agreed. Even my efforts to coax the ease back into our conversations were met with "Yas'sum, Miss Hannah" and "Whatever you likes, Miss Hannah." At first the coolness concerned me. Then it frightened me. I missed the warmth and eagerness between us. Finally, one evening when she stayed with me at the house while Aunt Augusta was in town at a vigilance meeting, I sought out what was troubling her.

"I ain't troubled, Miss Hannah." She shrugged without looking up from her task of polis.h.i.+ng my vanity. "Jes' keepin' up with my duties and bein' a proper house slave like the others."

I walked over and placed my hand over hers where she circled a rag against the glistening oak finish. "But you are not like the others, Livie. Not to me."

After a moment of hesitation, Livie finally looked up at me with detached eyes. "I ain't no different from the others, Miss Hannah. I is a Runian now, same as the rest. Only difference 'tween them and me is you gettin' to know me from the inside. You found hurtin' scars on my heart same as yours. You've seen what raises my tears, and what haunts me come sundown. But that don't make me different from the other Runians. They all got scars and tears they live with, same as me."

"I didn't mean to sound callous," I said, still holding tight to her hand. "But I want you to know how special you are to me."

"I is jes' a slave girl, Miss Hannah, doin' fo' you what a slave girl is supposed to do."

Livie's declaration stung me because I had a.s.sumed our arrangement made her happy. Her life was far better than what she had known before coming to Hillcrest. Yet I could not take offense at her words, because she had indeed been doing for me what any slave girl would do: fetching my water, was.h.i.+ng my clothes, turning down my bed, and even emptying my chamber pot. I believed these activities were important to maintain appearances and keep suspicion at bay. Over time and without me noticing, we had fallen into traditional roles even when we were behind closed doors and the veil of appearance was not necessary. Livie wasn't complaining; she was simply stating the truth.

"Livie, please call me Hannah."

Livie grew stiff. "I can't do such a thing, Miss Hannah. If anyone heard, they would stake me to the ground and whip me dead."

I squeezed both her hands now. "I have tried to protect you by having you address me as your mistress, but when it is only you and me, you have nothing to fear. I do not want the charade we must abide by to come between us. I am heartsick that my insensitivity was not clearer to me sooner."

"But I is is yo' slave girl," Livie said. "Can't be nothin' else." yo' slave girl," Livie said. "Can't be nothin' else."

"You are not my slave girl, Livetta. I do not own you, remember? We are only pretending, plain and simple. You are my friend, and my friends call me Hannah. So here, where you are safe, please call me Hannah. I hope you think of me as a friend too."

"Of course I do, Mi-" Livie hesitated with warmth filling her eyes. "Of course I do, Hannah. Jes' a mite confusin' is all. I never knowed a white heart and a colored heart could beat together in friends.h.i.+p."

I smiled. "My mother once told me that a good heart is one of life's greatest treasures, and it doesn't matter if it's dressed in black or white. So I believe when you find a good heart, you ought not let it go." I turned Livie's hands upright between us and formed the promise bridge taught to me by her brother. "You are my friend friend, Livie. And I promise to treat you with proper respect, so you will never doubt my feelings again."

Livie's intertwined fingers tightened among mine as her voice quivered with emotion. "You are my friend too, Hannah Blessing. I promise when we pretend and fool folks, if I get to feelin' lowly, I will tell you why I'm hurtin' like a true friend is supposed to do."

The tears straining against my lashes burst free. We fell into each other's arms and let our tears flow. Clinging tight to Livie, I realized how true and committed I was to my words and feelings for her. Her warm embrace told me her feelings ran as deep. Contrary to the world around us, our lives had grown together in friends.h.i.+p, and in spite of the risks it presented for each of us, I knew the wall we had broken through would never rise between us again.

Livie eased into life at Hillcrest like a stray goose blending into the s.h.i.+fting pattern of the greater flock. After some initial coolness and resentment by some of the field Runians, Livie was slowly taken in as one of their own, and she was at home among them. This was largely the result of Esther Mae and Granny Morgan taking Livie under their wings. They carved a place for her in the long-standing and well-defined hierarchy of Mud Run. Generally, new purchases added to the lot struggled to find their place, but the respect and honor commanded by Granny Morgan, as well as by Winston and Esther Mae, signaled approval of Livie's presence even though her instant station in the main house could have left her ostracized by the more burdened Runians.

The Virginia sun drained of its warmth, as the final weeks of Indian summer slipped away, beginning what Livie called "shoe-wearin' time." The sun of early winter was no more than an obligatory glare, and in its shortened presence, the earth was left waning, void of its mild caress. Once the harvest feast had pa.s.sed, the plantation settled into a new routine. Contrary to the shortened days, Hillcrest was burgeoning with activity. Soon, the eve of the annual corn shucking was upon us, marking the day when Aunt Augusta and I would depart on a pre-Christmas journey to visit a distant cousin in Roanoke. There we would join in the social events and festive atmosphere offered by a city alive with holiday activities. The adorned streets would welcome us with carolers huddled under lampposts. Shopkeepers with windows laden in ribbon would dip hot cider into porcelain cups meant to warm the chilled hands of shoppers, who ducked from one establishment to the next. On most of the trips made by Aunt Augusta, Winston would drive our coach, but this time he would stay behind in Mud Run. Colt occasionally took the reins in Winston's absence, which made my time in Roanoke fun and exciting, as he accompanied me to formal b.a.l.l.s or escorted me around town. However, more often than not, Aunt Augusta requested that Twitch make the journey, much to Colt's chagrin. One year as Colt pleaded his presence, I overheard her tell him that taking Twitch to another county during the shucking celebration was her gesture of goodwill, rewarding the Runians for another fruitful year. Colt shook with laughter, which made Aunt Augusta's hardened face soften momentarily into an unguarded smile. However, the good humor it stirred in me was fleeting, because with Colt on an extended stay in Richmond for the purpose of education and medical study, my time away would be spent within the restraints of Aunt Augusta's shadow, while Twitch disappeared into the gin halls that peppered the back alleys in the lower part of town. He would eventually resurface, bathed in the scent of stale liquor and bordello perfume.

So now, gazing down from my window at the combined gathering of West Gate slaves with our own Runians hauling harvested corn up onto mountainous piles near the cribs in the far field, I knew it was time for me to stop dillydallying. Aunt Augusta wanted my bags packed by sundown. At first light, we would be on our way.