Black Angels (9 page)

“Well . . . yeah” was all Daylily said.

“Got to find us a dry spot,” Luke said, breaking into the quiet. There seemed to be mile after mile of trees and flat ground here. No rocks, no caves, nothing to keep out the rain, except the trees. They were in the last few miles before the hills began. He had seen them up ahead this afternoon and knew the hills would lead to the mountains. He had heard the men at home talking about running away, and he knew it was always hills first and then mountains. But here it was all flat, and there was nowhere to hide.

He sat down, worn out, discouraged and hungry, always hungry. He was tired of running, tired of thinking, tired of catching food and stealing food. He wanted Aunt Eugenia, and her warm kitchen, and even her fussing at him. Maybe he should never have left the place after all. Maybe he'd never catch up with anybody he could fight with.

Maybe if he was just by himself, he'd be better off. He could leave, be on his own. He'd have a better chance of finding some Union soldiers if he was without this boy and girl to look after. But then he thought, What would they do without him? Get lost, that's what, and probably die out here.

Daylily could see something was wrong. “Come on, Luke,” she said brightly. “Us got to plan for the night. It coming on night fast.”

“You plan,” he said. “I's tired and I's gonna sleep right here.” And he spread out his old jacket on the leaves.

She didn't want to upset him. She didn't want to make him mad at her. She couldn't stand to think about being alone.

Caswell sat nearby, looking sleepy and about to fall over under a tree. She went and took him by the hand. “You need to do something?” she said.

He shook his head.

“Don't be wetting your trousers,” she told him. “You been good so far. And you ain't got no more. If you wet your pants, you be cold over in the night.”

He shook his head again as if to say, no, I won't.

She led him over to Luke, put both their coats down and said, “Lie down. Sleep time.” Caswell obeyed. She put herself down next to him and pulled her coat over both of them.

Around midnight, Luke stirred. He sat up, realizing that he had not made a fire. They were in the deepest darkness he could imagine. He shivered and wrapped his coat more tightly around his legs.

They just had to run into some Union soldiers soon. He was so homesick for Aunt Eugenia that he had dreamed about her. And, he had been dreaming about his mama. He could feel her face bending over him, smell her as if she was really there, but he didn't see her face in his dreams ever.

He remembered the creek she told him about when he was little. The creek where she went to bathe and where she felt like a lady. That was before his mam went bad in the head.

Aunt Eugenia had told him something about a plan some folks had to run away, and then Massa killed his mam cause somebody told him she was gonna take her boy and run. Aunt Eugenia said it was not right for friends to tell on each other. They were supposed to look out for each other. He tried to remember the story. It would help him to stay awake. He was terribly sleepy, and his head bobbed every few minutes.

Then he'd be awake and look around, afraid of wild things, afraid of soldiers too, or stragglers. He heard a rustle in the leaves. Some mouse or possum on the prowl, he thought.

He should get some wood to make a fire. But that would mean leaving Daylily and Caswell alone. He was scared to move, and scared not to move. He tried to think himself into a warm piece of fatback and greens from the pot. And then that hurt his stomach and he couldn't think of food anymore. Mam was better. He'd try to remember her face.

All he could usually remember was how it felt to stand with her skirt wrapped around his face and her mama smell. And how she said, “Take care of your friends, Luke baby. A friend is a blessing from the Lord in this evil world.” He could almost hear her saying it. He tried to remember her laughing. She had a high thin laugh.

She used to think he was a funny boy. Told him he was smart
and
funny, and to be careful cause White folks didn't like that in a Black person. He closed his eyes real tight so he could remember his mam before her sickness in the head came on. He could feel her hands scrubbing his face clean, washing his arms. It made him sad that he couldn't remember her face.

Somewhere in this remembering he realized that something was moving near them. At first he heard it only in that part of him that said it wasn't so. And then he knew it was so. There was no fire and no wood near him. Something coming closer. Luke picked up his rifle. Thank you, Jesus, he thought, it was loaded and ready.

Leaves cracked and rustled, and the moist smell under them reached up to Luke's nostrils. He could smell everything—their sour clothes, mold and decaying trees—and he could even see outlines of rocks and bushes in the dark. His sweat smelled like salt. Unc Steph had said animals could smell fear on you. He could taste his own saliva.

Where was the thing? He didn't dare move. Caswell murmured in his sleep about Mamadear. Luke was too far away to hush him up. God, please God, he prayed. Don't let him start whining and get up.

Then he saw them. Two yellow eyes through the underbrush. He was afraid whatever it was could hear his heart, it was beating so fast. The angels, the god of winds, some good something blew across the moon and uncovered it. And now he could see it was a mountain lion. The light brown fur, the pointed ears, the arched back. They stared at each other.

Luke knew with a country boy's instinct that the thing would attack if it was afraid. The cat had probably come down out of the mountains to find food. If it was hungry, it would be bold. He waited, praying, “Lord Jesus . . . ,” trying to remember what Aunt Eugenia had told him about praying, but he could only remember, “Oh, Lord Jesus, oh, Lord Jesus,” so he said that over and over.

The big cat started over toward Caswell, slowly sniffing, not desperate, only mildly interested in human aroma. It gave Luke a chance to lift his rifle and get ready to fire.

Caswell whimpered. If he fired and missed, Caswell would be a dead boy. The cat sniffed again. Something in his body told Luke there was no more time. He knew if Caswell woke up with that cat in his eyes, he would holler and bring death down on all of them. He fired.

The explosion echoed violently, ringing through the dark woods, a hawk shrieked somewhere, leaves trembled and fell, and startled birds went crashing through the foliage. For once, Massa Higsaw had done something good, and he didn't even know it. He had probably saved three children by teaching Luke about guns. The cat screamed in a death dance and fell on top of Caswell. The smell of the cat's blood rushed out into the dark.

Daylily cried out and at the same time, Luke was trying to load the rifle again, packing it with his musket ball, but it wasn't necessary. The cat was dead.

Luke pulled the hysterical Caswell out from under the cat's belly, and while the little boy clung to him and wailed, and Daylily hung on to his neck, Luke realized he was glad Caswell was alive, really glad. He was awfully glad Daylily was alive too.

Glad they were together in the lonesome forest, where, truth be told, nobody knew for sure if they'd ever come home again anywhere, or see anybody they called family. He felt they were all kin now. And right then in the middle of the trees under the moonlight, with the smell of dead mountain lion and pines all mingling together, he was sure he knew what his mama had meant when she said, “Take care of your friends, Luke baby. A friend is a blessing from the Lord in this evil world.”

CHAPTER 13

FEVER

On the eighth day, they walked until close to sunset, still following the river on their left. Trees were not as thick as they had been on the right, and there was a farm in the distance, but on the other side of the river were trees thick as ever, and also there was a peculiar-looking hill. From where they stood, Luke saw a small cave or maybe a place that had been dug out in the dirt on the side of the hill, and sticks laid across the dugout, like somebody had made a place to sit out of the rain.

“Can you swim, Daylily?” Luke asked, looking at the river. She shook her head violently.

“Not me.”

“I can swim,” Luke assured her. “I can save you. You swim, Caswell?” Caswell moved his head up and down slowly.

Dalylily said, “You lying, you can't do no such thing.”

“Can too,” insisted Caswell, his small chin sticking out as far as it could go. He was determined to prove himself. “You don't know anything about what I can do!”

“Us should cross over,” Luke said, pointing to the place in the hill that looked like a perfect campsite. The river was not deep here, and there was a fallen tree that formed a perfect bridge. “This is what us gon do. Us can use that log for a bridge.”

Daylily peered sideways at him. She didn't like this, but a place to stretch out and rest sounded wonderful, and she still didn't feel good. She was tired and hungry. They could make a fire there. She nodded her agreement. She was to go first and then Caswell, then Luke so he could watch them both and hang on to Caswell's pants to make sure he didn't fall in. The log was wet and looked slippery, but nobody thought about sitting down and scooting until it was too late. It looked like it'd be easy.

The log seemed wide enough to walk. Daylily stepped out on the log, but she was suddenly as stiff as a tree, and her legs wouldn't work for her. She was scared to move. The cold water running under the dead tree had her hypnotized.

“Hurry up,” Luke yelled. “Hurry up!” You makin it harder! Just walk natural like you goin cross a field!”

But she couldn't look down into the bubbling water without getting dizzy. The water looked as deep as the well back at the Riversons' place. If she drowned, would she go to Heaven? Then all at once, rigid with fear, she was over the side into the river.

“Hold on to the log!” Luke screamed. “Hold on to the log, it ain't deep!” The water was shallow, but it was fast moving, and she was fighting for her life with her eyes closed.

Luke jumped the last two feet onto the bank, holding Caswell around the waist, and set him down on the ground. Daylily was already three or four feet downriver, sputtering, arms fighting the water with every gasp for air.

“Stand up!” Luke was screaming. He threw off his coat and jumped in trying to get to her. “It ain't deep! Stand up!”

She finally heard him and found the bottom. Still close to the bank, Daylily saw that land was within reach, started toward it and fell again. The heavy waterlogged coat she was wearing pulled her down. She reached out for an overhanging branch before Luke could get to her and pulled herself up. As soon as they saw she was all right, Luke and Caswell broke out laughing. They were all hysterical with relief.

Daylily's hair dripped into her eyes, and the heavy coat streamed with river water. She lay on the riverbank, coughing and laughing. Crying and sputtering, too exhausted to move. “Ooh, Lordy,” she said, “I thought I was a goner for sure!” She suddenly realized how wet she was between coughing and spitting up water. “Got to get out of these wet clothes. It be cold now. Night comin on.”

“Silly gal, I told you to stand up! Givin me and Caswell such a turn! Wouldn't that be somethin!” Luke laughed, taking off his wet shoes. “Drownin in two feet of water! You take my coat,” he said. “I'll make the fire. Come on, Caswell, us got to hurry!”

Luke walked off barefoot, moving like someone used to walking in the woods with no shoes. The trousers would dry in the breeze before nightfall. Stripped down to her shirtwaist, Daylily wrapped up in Luke's coat.

The cave they thought they had seen was really a small indented place in a hillside. Luke went first to check it. He walked slowly to the dugout. And now he could see there was more than one. Soldiers been here, he thought. They dug these places in the side of the hill, just big enough to lie down in or maybe to load a gun. He could see where wooden boards had been put up to keep the dirt from falling in.

“Don't y'all come any closer,” he called to them. “Wait there for me.” He walked around a little farther on the other side of the hill. Inside the dugout on the ground was a pile of old rotten cloth. He kicked at it. And then he gasped and covered his mouth with his hands. It was a human skull. Then he could see there was more. A whole soldier's skeleton, someone left dead a long time ago, maybe when the war had started two or three years before. He backed away silently. He could hear Daylily calling him.

“Luke, where you?”

“I'm comin,” he yelled shakily. “I'm comin.” When he got back to where they were standing, he lied. “Nothin round there. Let me look in here,” and he walked into the first dugout they had seen. It was empty and dry. “This is good,” he said. “We can stay here tonight.”

By the time they had a fire going, night crickets were starting up and the waning moon was showing behind some clouds. They could hear the Shenandoah flowing over the rocks. At least Luke hoped it was the Shenandoah; that's what he'd heard folks called the river that ran through the mountains. If it was the Shenandoah, that would mean they were in Virginia, and that would mean they were closer to the north. It should be Virginia by now, he thought. They had been walking for eight days.

Luke's shoes were propped up on some stones near the fire. Daylily slept heavily in Luke's coat, and he stuck three dead branches into the ground and draped her coat and dress over them, facing the fire. He took a small piece of soggy, leftover fish from his pocket and divided it with the younger boy.

Daylily coughed under his jacket. The sound of her coughing came and went, but it was gentle. An owl hooted, and Luke thought about bears and wondered if there were any in this part of the woods. These woods were pretty thick.