Woods Runner (11 page)

The cabin itself could only take two people. Matthew said, “Get inside. What isn’t seen isn’t noted.” He grunted as he heaved the boat out of the mud and into the slow current. Then he jumped in, pulled the sail up—the canvas surprisingly clean and well tended—and stood to the tiller. There were no seats or benches except in the cabin, but a wooden bailing bucket was in the stern. As soon as the boat was moving in the soft breeze, Matthew pulled the bucket over and sat, put a chew of tobacco in the corner of his cheek, smiled through discolored teeth at Samuel and said, “Your ma and pa know you’re coming to get ’em?”

Samuel looked sharply at Abner—he must have told Matthew the whole story. Abner smiled. “We have done a mite of business together. I told him what we were doing. You can trust him with your life, which”—he snorted—“is exactly what you’re doing.”

Abner has a whole network, Samuel thought, to work against the British. People on farms, pigeons, and now the man with this boat. Abner was the most amazing man Samuel had ever met.

“No,” Samuel said. “They probably think I’m dead, killed by the Indians.”

Matthew nodded. “A fair surprise for them, then. It’s good to have surprises for your family.”

And he tended to sailing the boat and didn’t say another word all the way across the river. It was just as well because with the lack of anything productive to think about—Samuel didn’t know where they were going, wasn’t sure what he would find, and didn’t know what he would do when he found or didn’t find his parents—his mind was taken up by the sailing.

The boat must have been fairly heavy, yet it skimmed along over the water like a leaf. It wasn’t so terribly fast—maybe three or four miles an hour—but it seemed … graceful in some way. No, that wasn’t it. Free. The wind moved them along quietly and nobody worked to make it so—it just happened.

The boat nudged into the bank.

“Out,” Matthew said. “And up the bank. The road into town is on the left, sugar mill down to the right a quarter mile. I’ll come back every night at midnight and wait until three in the morning for four nights. If you’re not here by then I’ll figure the worst. What do you want done with the girl if you get scragged?”

“Can you take her?” Abner paused. “Into your family?”

Matthew hesitated. “Well,” he said, “Emily always wanted a daughter. So be it. But we’ll bet against it.”

And he pushed the boat back out into the current and was gone.

Abner said, “Let’s get to it.” And he moved up the bank with Samuel following.

At the top Samuel stopped dead. There were people
everywhere, all along the road into the city and down the side road that led to the sugar mill, maybe hundreds of them, and it seemed that almost every man was wearing a red coat.

Soldiers were wherever you looked, armed and walking next to the buildings, roughly forcing civilians to move out into the street.

“Let’s start down toward the mill,” Abner said. “There might be somebody we can talk to, get a mite of information.”

They hadn’t gone twenty yards when two soldiers, rifles fixed with bayonets, stopped them. “State your business,” one said.

“I’m on the Crown’s business,” Abner answered. “From across the river. Looking to bring food to the prisoners. I was told they’re in the old sugar mill, is that so?”

The soldiers laughed. “Aye,” said one. “There and in warehouses and churches. But don’t waste food on the rebels. You might as well feed it to hogs, for all the good it will do. They’re all marked for the box.”

They went off laughing and Abner started walking again, heading for the sugar mill, Samuel following. What had the soldiers meant by “marked for the box”? He was so engrossed in his thoughts and in keeping up with Abner, who could walk surprisingly fast, that he almost ran full-on into his mother.

His mother.

Right in front of him.

It was a thing that could not happen. Impossible. For the first moment, neither of them believed it.

She was dumping out a bucket of slops in the gutter as he was dashing down the street after Abner. She glanced up at him and then back at the pail, just as he dodged out of her way, hurrying to keep up with Abner.

In that instant, though, their heads jerked back to face each other. And they stood stunned, the world around them stopped.

“Sa … Samuel?” She dropped the bucket to the ground, reaching out her hand, cracked and red and worn, to gently touch his cheek. “Are you … We thought you were … after the attack … Is it … is it really you?”

Samuel couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. “I … We …”

And then they were holding each other, both crying, until Abner said:

“Leave off! Dammit, leave off! People are watching. Back away!”

They moved away from each other. She was very thin and drawn and looked so small, Samuel thought. “Father? Is he …?”

“Down the road, in that big building. An old sugar mill, full of men, prisoners. I work in this house”—she pointed—“cleaning. I get a corner to sleep in and leftover and scrap food, which I take to your father each night. I’m a prisoner, too, but this family treats me fairly.” She stopped. “What happened to your head?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s scarred—”

“Tell us about the prisoners,” Abner cut in. “Everything you know.”

She looked at Abner, then at Samuel. “He’s helping me,” Samuel said. “Tell him. Everything.”

“Helping you what?”

“We don’t have time now, Mother. Tell him what he asks.” Samuel worried they’d be caught talking and she’d have to go in. “Please.”

“The prisoners are barely fed. Your father can hardly stand or walk.”

“Guards,” Abner said. “How many guards?”

“There are guards inside with the prisoners. At the door—two. But one sleeps almost all the time. The other is by the main door. The back door is nailed and boarded shut. There’s only one way out. If there was a fire—”

“Can you get a private message to your husband? Today or early tonight?”

She nodded. “When I bring the food. The guard goes through it and takes anything good. It’s such a small amount, you’d think he’d just let it be. But I will find a way to hide a message.”

“Tell him to be at the front door at midnight, at the middle of the night if he hasn’t a watch. Tell him to be there hiding close by the guard. Alone. Just him, understand?”

“Yes.”

“Can you slip out at midnight?” Abner was abrupt, terse. “Right here, at midnight?”

“I will. There are a lot of drunken soldiers on the street at night. But yes.”

“All right. Do that. Tell your husband to get by the door at midnight alone, and you be out here at midnight or just a few minutes after.”

She nodded, looking from Abner to Samuel.

“We’ll come for you then, if everything works right. Now say your goodbyes and get back in the house before we get discovered.”

“Samuel,” she said, turning toward him, “you’re sure you’re all right?”

“Everything will be right after tonight, Mother.”

“Please, please, be careful. I thought you were dead and I just got you back. I can’t lose you again.”

“Go inside,” he whispered. He almost smiled. Telling him to be careful now, after all that had happened—that horse was well and truly gone from the barn. “We’ll be back later.”

They looked at each other. She smiled, her lips trembling, staring at him as if to memorize his face. Then, at last, she picked up the slop bucket and went back into the house.

D
arkness.

Like the inside of a dead cow. There had been a sliver of a moon but clouds covered it and with them came a soft rain. Enough to make everything wet and uncomfortable outside. A godsend. Even drunken soldiers didn’t like to be out in the rain.

Abner and Samuel had gone by the sugar mill just before dark to look it over. Samuel’s mother had been right. Only one door was being used and two guards stood there talking. One had a chair. There was a small roof over the entry to keep the rain off.

The building was strangely quiet. If there are hundreds of men packed inside, Samuel thought, there should be more noise. They walked past the guards, who paid them no mind, and down alongside the building. Now and then
they could hear scuffling and thumping against the wall on the inside, but nothing else.

When they had walked completely past the building, they crossed the street and came back on the other side. Because of the rain, there weren’t many soldiers along the walkways and no one bothered them.

They went along the river to a point close to where Matthew would come across and then moved into some trees along the bank. It was starting to get dark. Abner pulled a small oil-soaked bag from the inside of his coat and took out a watch. “Seven-thirty.” He put the watch back, settled down against a tree, hunched up the collar of his coat. “Try to get a little sleep, because later tonight there won’t be any.”

“How are we going to do it?” Samuel asked. “Get him out?”

“Simple plans are best,” Abner said. “Did you see all the bricks around the steps? They probably had more of a porch when the place was new; now the bricks have all fallen down. I’ll distract the guard; you take a brick and hit him over the head.”

“That’s your plan?” Samuel stared at him. “What if both guards are there?”

Abner said, “I’ll be ready for him. You just do your part.”

Samuel still stared. “We’ve come this far and you tell me to just hit him over the head with a brick?”

“Hard,”
Abner added. “Hit him over the head
hard
.
Then we open the door, grab your father and run like hell. Or as fast as we can go. Scoop up your mother, get in the boat, get across the Hudson, hook up the mules, get in the wagon and head out. A good, simple plan.”

And in the end that was exactly the way it worked.

Almost.

Samuel surprised himself. After an hour of his thoughts tumbling over each other without sense or reason, in spite of the rain, a veil slipped over his mind and he slept, leaning against the same tree as Abner.

“Let’s get to it.” Abner shook him awake close to midnight. Samuel rubbed his face and stood.

Abner was gone in the darkness and Samuel had to hurry to catch up. Their path took them past the house where Samuel’s mother worked. She was already outside and saw them approach. “I’m coming with you,” she said softly as they neared. “To help.”

“No. Hold. Hold here. We’ll be back,” Abner whispered. “Shortly.”

As they walked closer to the sugar mill Abner took off his coat and wrapped it so that it seemed he was carrying a bundle. There was a tiny glow from a lantern near the guard, the kind with a small candle inside and a slit to let out a sliver of light.

It was enough for Samuel to see some bricks. He picked one up before they moved within range of the guard.

“Halt!” the guard said as he saw them. Samuel held the brick behind him. “State your purpose.”

“Bringing food,” Abner said, holding up the bundle, “for the prisoners.”

“Advance.” The guard stepped forward, interested in the package.

They climbed the steps to the entrance, Abner in front of the guard and Samuel slightly to the side, gripping the brick.

Abner held the bundle out. The guard put the butt of his musket on the ground to free one hand to open the package. He leaned forward and Abner said, in a soft, conversational tone, “Now, Samuel.”

And Samuel hit the guard with the brick.

Hard
.

A moment’s hesitation, then the guard fell. Abner caught him, slid him off to the side of the door, laid him on the platform, turned to the door. “Padlocked.” He swore.

Gently, delicately, he worked the keys off the guard’s belt and unlocked the door. He flung it open.

Samuel’s father was in the doorway and even in the dim glow Samuel could see that he was in bad shape—face skull-like, eyes sunken. He almost fell into Samuel’s arms.

But he wasn’t alone.

Thirty, forty more men were waiting with him, and as soon as he was outside they piled out, scattering like quail, a stream of prisoners, thin as cadavers, pouring out of the shed in a strange silence, moving off in all directions.

“Come.” Abner took Samuel’s father’s arm. “No time.”

With Abner on one side and Samuel on the other, they
carried Samuel’s father, toes dragging, through the darkness. Samuel’s mother was waiting and hurried over to help. Twice they tripped and stumbled in the darkness, but they were up fast and moved as rapidly as possible to where Matthew would be with the boat.

He wasn’t there.

“I’ll look up and down the bank,” Abner said. “Stay here and watch.” He vanished upstream in the darkness. Minutes that seemed like hours passed before he came back.

“Nothing—I’ll check downstream.”

Again, an interminable time while the three of them stood in silence. Abner came back shaking his head.

“Are you sure Matthew—” Samuel started to ask.

They heard a dull thump in the darkness on the water and then Matthew’s voice.

“Here, over here! Caught a crab of wind on the way over that kicked me downstream. Had to tack back up. Here—over here.”

They found the boat almost by feel, out in a foot of water. Samuel half-carried his father to the side, and he fell into the boat.

“He needs help,” Samuel said. “Get him up and in the cabin—please, help him.”

Matthew pulled him into the cabin, then helped Samuel’s mother onto the boat and into the cabin as well. Abner jumped in and Matthew pulled up the sail, which filled in the freshening breeze. He said to Samuel: “Push off as you come aboard.”

Samuel did so, tripped, flopped into the mud and water, lost the boat and was nearly left behind. In one lunge he caught the gunwale—the boat was picking up speed rapidly—pulled himself up and in, and nearly fell in Abner’s lap.