Northern Star (9 page)

Perhaps an hour went by in silence before Abram broke
in abruptly. He seemed to be in a mood to talk, and Perry was a willing listener. “You remember Captain Wade Williams, back at camp?” he asked.

Perry nodded, knowing she’d never forget the disagreeable young officer. She remembered the feeling of evil that shadowed him and fouled the air when he spoke.

Abram continued, “Guess you could say he was the first person I met when I came north. I was nineteen and turned loose in Philly with three dollars and a good-luck pat on the back.

“I remember the town showing another black boy very little kindness. Within a month I was well on my way to starving and stealing.

“Well, one night I was walking along, looking for a dark corner to sleep in. This young kid yelled at me, ‘Hey, nigger, I’ll give you two bits to hold my horse here till I return.’ The kid was Wade Williams. He was only a college boy then, but as sharp-tongued as he is now. I could tell at a glance he’d been drinking. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was planning to play a prank on someone. So he needed his horse ready to be able to get away fast.

“Next thing I knew, up galloped this other fellow, dressed pretty much like the first, only he was sober. They got in a bitter argument right there in the street. Wade kept wanting to fight, while the other kept trying to reason.

“Finally, madder than hell, Wade turned away and grabbed the reins of his horse. Now I was powerful hungry, so I stepped out to remind him of the two bits. Lord! Fire showed in his eyes as he pulled his horse up and trampled me down like I was grass.

“Next thing I knew, I woke up with the other boy staring at me. His gray eyes were filled with worry. I’d never seen a white man care anything about me. Seems he’d stopped Wade from killing me. In the process he scarred Wade’s face over the eye. There’s been bad blood between the cousins ever since.”

“The boy was Hunter?” she asked, remembering the way his gray eyes looked at her.

“Yes—only he was no more than seventeen then,” Abram answered.

Perry found the story fascinating. “Then you went to work for him?”

“Not really. I went back to his house. There he was, a kid living all alone. His mother had just died and his dad was off in Europe. He nursed me the best he could, and fed me. I’ve been with him ever since, but not as his employee. For eight years now we’ve just helped each other out. You may not understand this, Miss Perry, but we are friends. Closer than most family. He even taught me to read. I’ve got a room in his house with more books in it than most men my color see in a lifetime.”

Perry understood Abram better than he knew. She’d heard Noma talk of what a joy it would be to read, and Perry had started teaching her before the war broke out. Silence fell once again between the huge black man and Perry as they each moved into the cocoons of their own thoughts.

The miles passed slowly as they traveled closer to Philadelphia. Abram stopped only briefly to check Hunter and unwrap food from a small supply box. He made no further attempt to build a fire and cook. Perhaps he had no wish of a repeat of the ambush scene. Hunter slept as they traveled, waking only occasionally to ask for a drink. She tried to assist him, but with her bandaged hand she was almost useless. After a. few unsuccessful tries Perry and Hunter found they could work as a team fairly well. She poured the water with her good hand and Hunter held the cup. She watched as the wind softly brushed his blond hair, and longing to remove her filthy hat and loosen her curls in the breeze. Only two people would see her. One, Abram, already knew she was a girl. Yet Perry knew she must continue her disguise, if only to protect Hunter. She sighed softly, resigning herself to her awful clothes.

The following days passed rapidly. Abram drove the team almost continually, stopping only to rest the horses. During these breaks Abram would stretch his huge body out under a tree and sleep.

Perry and Hunter usually spent the time talking. Hunter enjoyed telling about his ballooning adventures, and Perry found this a safe subject. As long as she asked a few questions now and then, Hunter would continue talking.

He told her of one of the first balloon ascents in Paris, in 1783. “The balloon only went six miles,” he said, “but it was the first hydrogen balloon to go up. A young physicist named Charles invented it. When it landed in a small village, it frightened the locals, who mistook it for a monster. The farmers attacked it with pitchforks, destroying it. They didn’t know they were attacking such an important discovery.”

Over her laughter he continued. “Ben Franklin was in France at the time, and it is said he and four thousand others watched the next ascent six months later.”

Hunter smiled. “You know, boy, if I could, I’d introduce you to a good friend of mine. He’s on leave from the German army to check out ballooning for the military. He’s been crazy about it ever since he went up for the first time in Minneapolis. He’s a count, you know. Name’s Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin. I lend Count Zeppelin my lodgings in Washington whenever he needs them. He junks them up with maps worse than I do.” Hunter laughed and Perry noticed a tiredness in his eyes.

Perry and Hunter’s conversations were usually short, for Hunter was still very weak. When they talked, the warmth in his smile never reached his eyes. He was a private man. Even when he grew excited about ballooning, there still was a silent wall that seemed to keep all others pushed slightly away.

As Philadelphia drew nearer, Hunter’s bleeding lessened. He was growing stronger, and so were Perry’s feelings toward him.

Darkness fell on the weary threesome as they moved through the outskirts of Philadelphia. Perry marveled at Abram’s stamina. He’d hardly slept over the long trip. Now he carefully maneuvered the tired team down the narrow streets of the second largest town in America.

Philadelphia was dirtier than most towns Perry had seen. A menagerie of people wandered the streets, as though they were waiting for adventure to dance into their humdrum lives. Beggars huddled in corners, while soldiers milled aimlessly around, searching for excitement to dispel their nervous energy. The crowd added a carnival-like atmosphere to the town. The aroma of food being cooked over open fires blended with the odors of too many people and animals stabled in close quarters. She heard several conversations at once without understanding any of them.

Abram urged the horses past a carriage pulled to the curb. The black coach was polished until light sparkled off it, giving it a charmed quality in the night. Two women alighted from the rich inner folds and strolled into the yellow glow of the streetlight. Both were lavishly dressed in yards of colorful silk. Perry had seen little fine silk over the past four years, and to see so much at once was almost an assault on her eyes. The ladies looked like huge, beautiful moths fluttering in the lamplight.

The women’s loud laughter drifted through the street like a bell clanging off-key. Perry’s gaze darted suddenly from the bright material they wore to their faces. Her eyes widened as she saw, not two fine ladies but rough women of the streets. Their hair shone an unnatural copper in the light of the lamp, and their faces were covered with makeup thick enough to plow a row through. Their eyes were painted and outlined in black, in sharp contrast to the powder-white of their skin. Each had overemphasized her lips in bright red.

Perry felt the wagon lurch forward. Abram’s mumbling caught her full attention. “Abram, did you see them?” Perry tried to control the excitement in her voice. “Did you see those ladies?”

Abram let out an uneasy laugh. “Them are no ladies. No ladies at all.”

He would have ended the discussion, but Perry persisted. “Did you see the silk? I haven’t seen silk like that in years. It was lovely. But their eyes and lips—I’ve never seen women so made-up. Have you, Abram?” She wiggled in the seat, hoping for another look. The women surely must be as rare as white buffalo.

He seemed reluctant to speak, and when he did, his voice was stern. “They aren’t the type of women you should be seeing. They aren’t proper ladies. No amount of silk will make them ladies, just like no amount of mud will make you less of one. They’re the vultures in a war. They feed off both sides. Don’t matter to them who wins, just as long as whoever does has money.”

Perry remembered hearing Noma talk about women who sold themselves for the night. Women who were not respected by any man.

“Abram, are they whores?” she asked.

Abram’s eyes darted to her face. “Where’d you learn a word like that?”

“They were, weren’t they?” Perry laughed. “I’m not a child. I’ve heard of such women.”

Abram grunted and continued driving the tired team. “My bet is they are worse than any you’ve ever heard of.” He slapped the rump of one horse lightly with the end of the reins as he shook his head, ending the discussion.

Perry checked Hunter. He was sleeping in the wagon bed behind them, his body covered with blankets. He was still very weak. The trip had been hard on him, though he never complained. Perry was glad he would sleep in a hospital tonight, but a part of her would miss being with him.

She studied Hunter’s hand as it rested outside his blankets. Heat trailed over her body as she remembered the way his strong fingers had touched her so gently. He’d spoken of longing and needing her, but she knew his strength of character would never accept her. To love her in reality would dishonor him. They were separated by an ocean of war, with her on one side and him on the other. She’d seen the strong sense of honor in his eyes when he’d talked with his cousin in camp, heard it in his voice when the deserters had tried to rob them. If his sense of honor had been strong enough to put him in a war he hated, surely it would make him turn her over for trial.

Perry glanced at Abram. How much of a lady would he think she was if he knew the game she played with Hunter?

Abram slowed before a large square building, void of any style or color. All was quiet around them. This street stood deserted, in sharp contrast to the hustle and bustle only a few blocks away.

As Abram stepped from the wagon he warned, “You better stay in the background while I get Hunter checked in. Wait for me over there on the steps. I’ll find you a place to sleep later.”

Perry followed Abram’s instructions as he disappeared with Hunter into the hospital. She pulled her jacket tightly around her. The night was cool, even for early spring. She huddled in the corner by the steps like a homeless child. Clouds slowly gathered above the chimneys, promising yet
another April shower. Tucking her knees beneath her, Perry curled into a ball and melted into the corner shadows. The few people who passed paid her little heed. She closed her eyes in exhausted sleep.

Perry was awakened by a man calling her name. For a moment, location and time had no meaning. She jumped up to find a hospital orderly only a few feet from her. He was a youth not much older than herself with a bored expression permanently tattooed on his face.

“You the boy that came in with Captain Kirkland and that huge blackie?” he barked, annoyed that she’d startled him.

“Yeah,” Perry answered, trying to lower her voice to match his. She pulled her hat over her face.

“Well, that one called Abram said they’ll be a long while. I’ve been told to offer you somethin’ to eat if you’re hungry. There’s a kitchen, second door on the right. Nobody’ll be there this late, but you can eat somethin’. You can sleep on the table there. I told the blackie I’d see about you. I reckon the kitchen quarters are good enough for a rag like you.” He snickered, pulling at a few chin hairs that struggled to serve as a beard.

Though Perry was hungry, she could see the boy thought she was a bother. “No, I’m fine right here,” she answered. “Go away and let a guy sleep.”

The young orderly needed no further encouragement. He vanished, leaving Perry behind on the cold steps.

Huddling back into her corner, she tried to get comfortable once again. It must be after midnight, she thought as she longed for a real bed. The cloudy sky hung menacingly above her. Where before only a few clouds gathered, now a stormy mob rumbled, waiting to unleash its rage upon the night. The wind whipped between the buildings, whispering an unwelcome melody.

Perry watched a lone figure in the distance moving toward her, fading in and out of sight as she ran from one circle of yellow light to another. The woman was large,
but she moved rapidly, like a beetle scurrying across a busy sidewalk.

As the bundle of woman approached, Perry saw half of her aging face. Gray hair sprouted in all directions from beneath her colorful shawl. One of her hands held her shawl together, while the other hand pushed a scarf to the cheek. As the old lady hurried closer, Perry noticed that the scarf pressed against her face was soaked with blood.

The old woman didn’t see Perry as her blood-covered hand opened the entrance door of the hospital and she darted inside. Perry sat frozen in her dark corner. The woman’s face was bleeding! Someone—or something—had ripped into her flesh. Perry reminded herself that this was a hospital. Anyone hurt would come to this door. A hundred accidents could have caused such a cut. But what if it hadn’t been an accident? What if someone in the shadows had jumped out at the woman? Perry glanced up and down the lonely street and wished she had another place to wait.

Several minutes passed. Perry watched every shadow, waiting for one to take human form, but no one came near. Her head ached from listening for any sound.

The hospital door suddenly flung open with a loud pop. The young orderly and the old woman twirled before her like dancers without a pattern to follow. The orderly held the woman’s elbow as he hissed into her face. Perry rose to her feet, pressing her back into the building, trying to remain out of their sight. An instant hatred solidified in her veins for anyone who would treat an aging woman so unkindly. Her knuckles whitened into fists with the knowledge that she could do nothing to stop him.

Though he whispered, Perry heard his words. “We’ve no time to treat the likes of you. There are dying soldiers in here. We have no place for old whores. Be gone with you, Old Molly, before you get blood all over the steps.”