Copper Sun

  “Shut up, gal!” the man roared. He leaned in close to Polly’s face. “Trespassers! I’ll have the lot of you hanged, lessen there be a reward out for you. If that be the case, I will get my money, then see you hanged!”

  Polly was terrified, but she continued. “There is a large reward, sir, for the return of these slaves,” she said slowly. “I am in the process of bringing them to Savannah. My mother is sick, and we need the reward money.” She managed to make a teardrop fall, although he could not know it came from fear rather than sorrow.

  The man hesitated. He looked at her closely, tightening his grip on the pitchfork. “Do say, now.”

  “Sir, can you help me get home to my mother?” Polly begged. “You can have the reward money. I just want to get home to my family.”

  “You look to me like you be lying, gal. If I find you been lying to me, I swear I’ll kill you all. Nathan!” he called suddenly. “Get in here, boy!”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Lock the barn tight this time. You hear me, son?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “After I eat and you feed the animals, we’ll take them down to Savannah. I’m going to make me some money on this motley lot one way or another.” He strode out of the barn, tossing the key at Nathan.

  Nathan turned to Polly as soon as his father was out of earshot. “You must believe me, I did not betray you.”

  Polly did not reply right away. She stared at him, then, realizing they didn’t have much choice but to trust him, she shrugged her shoulders. “Can you get us out of here? We don’t have much time!”

  Nathan nodded. “If you head due west, you will run into a swamp. It’s not pleasant, but he’s not likely to pursue you there. Hide for a day or two, then head south.”

  Polly gave him a small smile.

  “How we get out from here?” Amari asked, bringing the subject back to the immediate problem.

  “Hit me,” Nathan told them.

  “What?” Polly and Amari said at the same time.

  “Use the handle of the pitchfork. Knock me down. Hit me in the head. Then run for the swamp!”

  “I cannot hit you!” Polly exclaimed.

  “Give me it,” Amari said, picking up the pitchfork. She looked at Nathan and smiled. “You be good person. I hit you not with hate, but with much thank.”

  Nathan nodded as Amari raised the handle of the pitchfork in her hand.

  “Wait!” Polly cried.

  Amari lowered her arm.

  “Will we ever see you again?” she asked Nathan softly.

  “Probably not. My father will beat me for sure when he figures out what has happened. But remember me, will you?” He grinned briefly, looked at Polly for a long moment, then said to Amari, “Do it! Hurry.”

  Amari swung firmly. The handle struck Nathan’s head with a sickening thud, and he crumpled into the straw.

  “Is he dead?” Tidbit asked. It was the first thing he had said all morning.

  “No,” Amari replied as she touched Nathan gently on the neck. “He be fine. Let us flee!” She grabbed Tidbit’s hand and dashed out of the barn. Polly took one last glance at Nathan lying there, then followed them.

  They hurried across the field, past the sharp edges of the palmetto palms, and deep into the darkness of the woods. Amari led them, as if by instinct, it seemed to Polly, due west, far away from their usual southern route. They dared not stop, but they slowed to catch their breath.

  Exhaling with difficulty, Amari said softly, “Follow me.” She led them quickly to an area where the ground they walked on was soft and squishy; water oozed between their toes as they walked. “Swamp,” she told them.

  “Snakes,” Polly added, thinking of the slaves in the rice fields.

  “Gators,” Tidbit whispered fearfully.

  “Safety,” Amari told them all. “Nobody find us here.” They held hands and slowly marched into the sucking ooze. The mud, covered by a shallow layer of liquid slime, seemed to try to grab them and pull them down with each step. Deeper and deeper they ventured into the swamp; soon the muck was to their knees. Thick mud covered their thighs, then their waists.

  Amari had to lift Tidbit onto her hip as it became impossible for him to wade through it any longer. Finally, as deep into the swamp as they dared to go, under the shade of a huge mimosa tree with branches that were covered with hanging moss, they stopped. Birds called shrilly above. Something slithered past Polly’s leg. She gasped but did not cry out.

  They waited. The mud turned cold.

  PART NINE

  AMARI

  37. LOST AND FOUND AND LOST

  THEY STAYED IN THE SWAMP UNTIL WELL AFTER dark. No one pursued them. After listening carefully for the sound of dogs or hunters and hearing nothing but the burping of bullfrogs, Amari signaled that they should ease out of the mire. Slowly, the children made their way to the edge of the swamp and collapsed on the relatively solid ground. Thick, black mud covered them completely—it was even inside their ears.

  “Nathan must have told his father we went in another direction,” Polly whispered.

  “He good man,” Amari said in agreement.

  “Amari, we gotta wash!” Tidbit piped up as he tried to scrape the mud off of his arms.

  Amari smiled at the muddy boy. “You look like little dirt ball,” she teased. “But rain be washin’ you soon. Just wait.”

  The rain began about an hour later, gentle at first, then hard enough to rinse off the mud and chill the children as well. It rained all night.

  “I be so tired,” Amari said, shivering, as they stopped to eat some of the food Nathan had given them. She looked at her swollen feet and her insect-bitten legs. The others looked just as weary. “But we gotta use the dark to move.”

  No one spoke much. Amari walked slowly and without much energy. Just before dawn they reached the outskirts of Savannah, but they made a wide detour to avoid the populated areas. The rain finally stopped, and the warmth in the air felt wonderful.

  “Do you think Nathan’s father will look for us near Savannah?” Polly asked.

  “You wonder about Nathan or his father?” Amari responded with a small smile.

  “I don’t think he betrayed us,” Polly replied. “He is not like his father.”

  “He be son of evil man,” Amari told her. But then she added, “Evil man be father of good man.”

  Polly looked thoughtful, then voiced the fear they all had been holding. “What about Clay?” she whispered.

  No one had an answer.

  As daylight approached, they looked for a place to rest for the day. Hushpuppy had a knack for finding huge overturned logs or shallow caves or even abandoned shacks for them each day. He led them this morning to a small wooden shack, not much bigger than an outhouse, hidden in a thicket of trees. Its door, dangling on one hinge, had blown open, so the earthen floor was covered with leaves and animal droppings.

  “It looks like it might have been a hunter’s shelter,” Polly observed.

  Amari looked carefully inside and outside the small building. It was clear that no one had been there for a long time. “Safe for now,” she stated.

  It was so small, the three could barely sit down together, but they were grateful for shelter and a place to sleep, even if they had to do it sitting up. They shared some of the nuts and berries and tried to sleep. Hushpuppy curled up under a tree not far away.

  Amari dozed, then was startled awake by the rustling of leaves and the snapping of branches. Something or someone was approaching fast, and there was no time to hide.

  A furious-sounding voice bellowed, “Patrick! I know you’re in there, man. You can’t hide from your responsibilities out here anymore! You’re as useful as a lighthouse in a bog! If you don’t get home and take care of your family, I swear I’ll—”

  Tidbit shrieked in alarm as the door flew open and a woman, dressed, amazingly, all in buckskin, stared openmouthed at the three children. Equally astonished, they stared right back. She was a large woman
, with ruddy cheeks and stony blue eyes. Thick ringlets of dark hair escaped her bonnet, which also seemed to be made of buckskin.

  “What is this? Who be ye? What you done with my Patrick?”

  Polly spoke up. “We have not seen anyone, ma’am.” She could not think of anything else to say. Amari and Tidbit cowered beneath the woman’s gaze.

  “Where y’all come from?” the woman asked suspiciously.

  “Savannah, ma’am.” Amari hoped the woman couldn’t sense Polly’s lie.

  “What y’all doing in Patrick’s shed?”

  “Sleeping, ma’am,” Polly answered, truthfully this time.

  The woman stared at them with eyes of thunder for a moment or two, then she sat down heavily on the ground and doubled over with gales of laughter. “Well, I’ll be gob-smacked,” she said between laughs. “‘Sleeping, ma’am,’” she said in a tiny little voice, mimicking Polly. “Y’all must be on the ockie—runaways for sure—am I right?”

  Amari could see that Polly was unsure of what to say.

  “What we got here? Two slaves and a . . . What be ye, gal?”

  “Indentured servant, ma’am,” Polly said quietly.

  “Hmmm,” the woman replied. “You ever see a pothook, lass?”

  “By the hearth?” Polly asked, confused.

  “No, around your neck,” the woman said. “That be the punishment round these parts for runaway indentured gals. An iron collar with hooks on it.”

  “Oh, please, no, ma’am,” Polly pleaded. “Please, not that.”

  The woman laughed again. “You’ve no call to be askert of Fiona, child. I ain’t going to turn y’all in. I’m just telling you what the punishment be for runaway indentures. Punishment for runaway slaves be a lot worse, now,” she said, looking at Amari and Tidbit.

  Amari spoke softly. “Who you be, ma’am?”

  “Me? I am Fiona O’Reilly. My pa brought me to this place from Ireland when I was just a wee snip of a thing—’bout the age of that cub you be holdin’ on to. He be yours?”

  Amari started to say no but thought better of it. “Yes, ma’am. He be mine.” She pulled Tidbit close.

  “Well, you can’t stay here, none of you. My Patrick is a good man but a hard man—a mite lazy, mind you, one who would rather be a-hunting than clearing the fields for harvest, which I guess explains my clothes. He brings me skins, and I make my clothes! I can sew a garment from anything!” She looked down and laughed at her buckskins.

  Tidbit could not stop staring at the large, unusual woman. “Your man kill many deer to make that dress for you,” he said solemnly.

  Fiona erupted in laughter once more, smacking her large thighs with her hand as she chortled, “Little one speaks true, but there be no telling what my Patrick might do if he finds you here. For sure he won’t be a-laughing.”

  “Well, we’ll just be on our way, then, ma’am,” Polly said as she motioned to the others to gather their belongings to leave. “We don’t need any more trouble. It has been a long, hard journey.”

  “Savannah’s only half a day’s walk from here,” Fiona said quietly. “Methinks you not speak true before.”

  Polly bowed her head and glanced at Amari. Her look seemed to say, Trust her.

  “We could use some help, ma’am,” Polly admitted. Amari hoped they were doing the right thing.

  Fiona seemed to think for a minute, then said firmly, “You’re coming with me. Be quick about you, now!” She picked up the edge of her heavy skirt and hurried through the woods.

  Amari, Polly, and Tidbit had no choice but to follow the woman, who in spite of her size moved nimbly through the woods. Hushpuppy dashed after them.

  Fiona’s home, larger than the cabin that Nathan and his father shared, sat neatly between several rows of corn and beans. Amari noticed small shacks off to the right—slave quarters, she knew.

  Fiona led them to the barn, which held two wagons, three horses, and numerous pieces of farm equipment. “Climb into the back of that one and hide,” she commanded, pointing to the smaller of the two wagons, “until I think of what to do with you.”

  “You keep slaves here, Missus?” Amari asked meekly as Fiona bustled around the barn, muttering to herself.

  “Of course, child. Everybody has slaves. How do you think we handle this land? But my Patrick is a good man and does not mistreat his property. Our slaves like it here.” Amari couldn’t understand how the woman could see no wrong in owning slaves as long as they were well treated.

  “Then why are you helping us?” Polly asked.

  Fiona looked at her carefully and thought a moment. “It’s like this: If my Patrick brings home a new slave like he did last week, for example, that’s his right as master and man of this house, and I dare not interfere. As a woman, I ain’t got muckle to say about those kind of decisions. But when I got the chance to decide for myself, I find it gives me pleasure to choose to help you be free. That’s the truth, and I did not know it until I spoke the words.” Fiona looked immensely pleased with herself.

  “Thank you,” Amari murmured as she helped Tidbit climb into the back of the wagon.

  “Wait here,” Fiona told them. “I will send someone in here to hitch up the wagon.” She hurried out of the barn.

  Amari nervously looked around the barn. “She be good woman?” Amari whispered to Polly.

  “Yes, but she is afraid,” Polly replied. “I do not think she has ever made her own decision before. I hope her husband does not return soon.”

  The barn door opened then, and a thin, stooped black man limped over to them. “I’m to harness the wagon,” he mumbled, not even glancing at Amari and Polly.

  Amari jerked her head suddenly. She knew that voice! “What be your name?” she asked.

  “Buck,” he answered slowly as he led the large brown horse to the wagon. “They calls me Buck.”

  Amari knew the perfect modulation of that voice, the deep bass edged with gold. Her mind ran quickly back to the reddish dust of the road that led to Ziavi, the shrieking of the blue turaco birds at dawn, the taste of her mother’s groundnut stew. She shook her head to hold back the tears. “Are you my Besa?” she asked in Ewe.

  The man looked up quickly. On his face was a small, faded birthmark, shaped a little like a pineapple. “Amari?” he said softly.

  “My Besa, my love, I have found you. It is I, Amari!” Her heart thudded as she allowed all her memories to come rushing back. She jumped from the wagon and ran to him.

  But just as she reached him and was about to embrace him, he held his hand out and stopped her. “No, don’t!” he pleaded.

  “Besa!” she cried with urgency. But then she saw—the Besa she had known no longer existed. His right eye was missing. His face, deeply scarred on that side, looked like old leather. Half of his teeth seemed to be missing as well.

  “Oh, Besa, what has happened to you?” she asked him, finally touching his arm softly.

  “I have had five owners since I saw you last, Amari. Owners!” He spat on the ground in disgust. “To even say the word makes me hate them more!”

  “We are alive,” she said gently.

  “I’d rather be dead!” Besa replied bitterly, glaring at her. “You have been treated well, then?”

  She bowed her head. “No. I have not. I have been raped. I have been beaten. I have been made to feel like I am nothing. But I live.”

  “My spirit is dead,” he said, his voice empty. “They beat it out of me with their whips, cut it out of me with their knives, shot it out of me with their guns. I can barely see, and every step causes me pain.”

  Her stomach churned as she listened to his ordeal. “Come with us!” Amari cried suddenly. “We have run away—all the way from Charles Town. We are heading to Fort Mose, a place where everyone can be free.”

  Besa looked at her as if she were crazed. “There is no such thing as freedom, Amari. I tried to escape several times. Each time I was caught by their dogs, beaten, and then sold. You will be caught as well
.”

  “We will not be caught,” Amari insisted. “We have already come this far. Give yourself a chance to believe once more,” she pleaded. “Please come with us, Besa.” Amari reached out to him again, but he jerked back. She felt her heart turn inside out.

  “I no longer believe in anything,” Besa told her harshly.

  Amari inhaled sharply. What have they done to you?

  Besa looked up at the faces of Polly and Tidbit, who were peering over the side of the wagon. “You travel with a white girl?” he asked with surprise. “First chance she gets, the white one will turn on you. Trust no one.”

  “She is my friend,” Amari told him stiffly, realizing, as she said it, that it was true. She softened then. “Please, my Besa. You are my past. Come be my future as well.”

  “No,” he said with finality. “I will take no more risks. I have found a woman here—a good woman. She keeps me warm at night, and she carries no dreams in her heart. She is safe.” He turned slowly from Amari and finished harnessing the horse to the wagon.

  She stood there in the dust, one hand reaching toward Besa, but the distance between them had become so vast that she knew she could never touch him again.

  Fiona returned to the barn then, full of orders. “Put fresh hay in the back of the wagon, Buck,” she commanded.

  “Yes’m,” he said, lapsing back into lazy English.

  “You’re to say nothing of this to the master when he returns, you understand?” Fiona said to him.

  “Oh, no, ma’am. I knows how to keep my mouf shut.”

  “Well, get on with you, then. I thank you for your help, Buck.”

  Besa turned and gazed at Amari, a mask of resignation on his face. He limped slowly out of the barn. He did not look back.

  Polly touched Amari on her shoulder. Amari covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders heaved; she could barely contain her grief and her anger. It’s not fair! she screamed to herself. Look what they have done to him! I hate the whites! I hate them!

  “What is the problem, lass?” Fiona asked with concern. “You know that God prefers prayers to tears.”