Black Angels (15 page)

When she looked up, there were lots of pine trees, more trees than she remembered seeing around Betty's house, and there were lots of tangled vines and one or two big tree branches that had fallen during a storm. She was farther away than she had ever been from the cabin. She thought maybe she should go back, but she could see the sky through the treetops and it was still almost blue violet. She didn't hear the river that ran behind Betty's house, and she didn't hear the boys any more.

Then she saw a whole bunch of bellflowers up ahead. Betty used them for coughs. The first time she'd had some was when she was getting over the sickness she got in the woods. She looked around to see if there were any bellflowers closer to her, and then she noticed something strange.

A half-smoked cigarette. Right by her feet. Not Betty's, she knew. Betty only smoked a pipe. Whose was it if it wasn't Betty's? And where was the person who had smoked it? All at once the woods seemed to get very quiet. Daylily felt a chill, a chill that reminded her of something she didn't want to remember ever again. She didn't want to think about the bad stuff, but she remembered it all. It just kept coming at her. She was staring at the soggy cigarette, like somebody'd put her in a spell.

And then she noticed next to an oak tree what looked like the print of somebody's foot in the damp mud. She was still standing in the same place and the flowers were up ahead. It seemed to get very dark there in the trees. She raised her head, and on the other side of the flowers was something that looked like an old campfire that had been put out by the rain. There was something not right about that. A person had been there, maybe a long time ago, maybe not. She saw an old tin cup on the ground, but what she didn't see was someone standing in the shadows.

In the stillness of the woods, there was a small sound. She started. A familiar sound. The sound of a dog whining, no, the sound of a dog almost crying, crying like a baby, like he might be hurt or sick. She felt like she was fastened to the ground, too scared to move. She thought about how upset Betty had been last month when the dogs disappeared, and when she thought that, it was the first time she had the sense to move at all, but she was afraid to stay and afraid to go.

The breeze ruffled her cotton skirt. Brown leaves rustled in the slight wind. Goose bumps rose on her arms as she thought about leaving the dog to die, and then the dream came into her head, just like it had never left, and she was back in the woods alone just like before. The men and the screams and the knife and the babies, and the whimpering of Buttercup as she died.

Daylily sagged under the weight of her memory and found herself on her knees, weeping and shaking. She was so scared and so alone. She thought she was going to die in the woods, and she remembered Betty saying what we gonna do with that dream when it come, what we gonna do . . . ask the angels to take it away . . . take it away.

Little by little she could hear herself breathe again, and she stopped the terrible shaking, and she heard the dog again. She knew she couldn't leave him out there to die all by himself, and she came back to her self and felt her body touching the ground. She felt the leaves and the mud and the twigs on the ground under her arms and legs.

She had to take him back home or she had to sit with him while he died. There was nobody to sit with Buttercup while she died cause Daylily was hiding, and nobody to sit with Daylily while she was so scared and alone. No, she didn't care if that ole man came back, whoever he was. Maybe this was one of Betty's dogs, maybe he ran away from whoever took him. Maybe he was really hurt, maybe even dying. She couldn't let the bad stuff come back into her head.

The dog must have sensed someone was near. He whined even louder. She just had to see if it was Yaller Feet or Pretty Boy. It sounded like he was hurting really bad.

Daylily stood up and put one foot in front of the other slowly, quietly. The closer she got to the sound, the more she was sure it was Yaller Feet. “Yaller Feet,” she whispered. “That you?” Then as she looked to her left, she thought she saw a shadow. It was one of those fallen logs, and on the other side of the log was the dog. Yaller Feet was lying on his side. A dirty, old frayed rope was tied around his neck. He was too hurt even to wag his tail at her, but she thought she saw his eyes telling her that he was glad to see somebody from home.

He had been beat up really bad by somebody and looked like he had torn the rope and run away. His face was bloody and his side was cut bad. He whined softly and closed his eyes. The bones in his side kind of poked out from his skin. She wanted to cry. Who would do this awful thing to him? Whoever he had been with, they had hardly fed him for the three weeks he'd been gone. The man with the cigarette, she was sure.

Nobody had been here in a while, though. She felt the fire and the ashes were stone cold. She had to get back. It was beginning to get darker, and she had to find her way. And she would have to carry Yaller Feet.

All she had with her were her flowers that she had dropped on the other side of the log, nothing to help carry the dog. She looked around in the twilight. She saw where a piece of log had rotted and broken off. It was almost as long as the dog. If she could drag it over to Yaller Feet and pick him up or put him on it, she could push him back home. He needed water. She knew that. Without it he would die soon.

His bloody face was dry. It looked like more than one day since someone had beat him and left him for dead, and he had tried to get all the way back home.

Daylily pulled the wooden shell of a log over to the wounded dog. He was too weak to growl when she picked him up, but he yelped in pain. She didn't have far to lift him, and that was good because he was not a little dog. Then she had to push him or pull him all the way back to the cabin, and which way was that? She remembered where she saw the blue flowers. She took a big breath and started off pulling. The dog was heavy. Almost a dead weight. Grunting, puffing and blowing, she said out loud, “Don't you die on me, you Yaller Feet dog, don't you die on me.” She heard Betty's voice in her head saying, “There's always someone carin for you, a whole passel of angels and spirit animals.” Lord, Daylily thought, I need them angels, now, Lord. Tell me which way to go. Guide my feet, Lord.

It was almost dark. She had gone maybe forty feet. He was still alive. Her legs were scratched up from brambles and twigs, and her hands were really sore when she heard the river water, and then she knew they were somewhere near the house. It's not too long now, she thought.

“Just you hang on, Yaller Feet,” she said in a whisper. “We almost there. Just please hang on.”

When she bent over to start pulling the hollow log again, she saw two well-worn moccasins out of the corner of her eyes.

She almost jumped out of her skin until she recognized Betty's legs and looked up into three worried faces.

“Little Bear,” said Betty, “you are some kinda fierce mama bear. Next time you run off to save a dog, tell somebody. You had us worried almost to death! Luke, run get me a quilt. Let's see can we save Yaller Feet here!”

CHAPTER 21

DISGUISE

One late November day, Betty told them she had a mission to carry out. Luke's heart tightened. It made him scared to think of her doing these dangerous things. If she'd just leave it alone, he thought. Just let it be.

But she had a plan. It was true she had almost been captured on that October night she came back scratched up. Now she needed another disguise and another plan that would be almost foolproof. She said she had people depending on her messages and couldn't let them down.

They weren't looking for a woman with a child, she told Luke. There were so many people wandering around looking for food, they could be just another hungry mother and child, and if something happened and she was caught, well, Caswell was an orphan, like as not, and one of their own. They'd probably put him in a home for orphans. If they didn't get back by sundown, Daylily and Luke should strike out for the North. Harper's Ferry was not too far up the road.

So the next morning, while Luke was finishing his cornmeal patty, Betty was explaining the plan to Caswell. “We going on a great adventure, and leave the big ones at home. We going to meet some friends of mine, just the two of us.” She made up a bundle with tobacco and gunpowder, dried fish, and one gold coin, tied it in a piece of homespun cloth and gave it to Luke.

Caswell was excited. He babbled on about how he had to be in disguise so the Yankees wouldn't snatch him if they were in the woods, and how his daddy would be proud of him.

Luke didn't much like to think of Betty helping Caswell's daddy, but he didn't say so, knowing it would hurt Caswell's feelings. He remembered the field of dead soldiers he had seen, and thought to himself, He just don't know how scary this gon be.

Daylily and Luke watched while Betty worked on the disguise. She made a mixture of red clay and coffee and then painted it on Caswell's skin with a piece of cloth.

“His face look dirty,” said Daylily.

Betty nodded. “That's OK. Poor folks get dirty. Nobody have time to haul water during war.” She daubed some of it onto his hair, and combed it through, then tied it back with a leather thong. “Give me that cap, Luke.”

“You right sure this gonna work?” said Luke, handing her the hat.

“Luke,” she said, looking at the older boy's worried eyes, “we need supplies for food. We need supplies for the winter. Starvin to death is worse than bein shot.” She pulled the hat down low over Caswell's forehead.

“This is the way Betty Strong Foot get supplies. For four people, need more supplies than for one. Yes? Caswell and Betty have to work.” Then she pulled a shawl around her face. “Back soon. You'll see.”

She bundled Caswell in a shirt and a little jacket she had made for him. She took his hand. Luke watched as the late morning sun started on its daily journey while they walked into the woods. The river water shone in the November sun.

Daylily stood with him and watched them disappear. They went into the cabin and sat down in front of the fire. Neither one of them spoke a word. Finally, Daylily broke the silence. “Guess we better do our chores, Luke.”

“Guess so,” he answered. “It something to do anyway.” Luke's job was to see that the woodpile didn't get down too low. He wasn't too good yet with the saw, so he got smaller branches. Daylily was supposed to cut up apples for the drying rack, and they were both supposed to weed the winter garden where their winter vegetables were planted.

They worked very slowly. The day seemed to drag on and on. To pass the time Daylily worked on some doll clothes she was making.

Betty had left them some midday dinner, squirrel stew and biscuits. They ate quietly, each one feeling the other's mood.

“I can't stand this quiet,” Daylily said. “Why you so sad? They comin back. Ain't she always come back before? Why she ain't comin back this time? You look like death done come in the house, Luke.”

He shook himself. He didn't want her to know he was scared. “So what we gon talk about? You don tole me all the stories you got to tell, and I reckon I done the same. Let's play blind man's bluff.”

After blind man's bluff in the house, they played hide-and-seek outdoors until it was almost dark and they had run out of places to hide. Night came on early in November. They didn't want to get too far away from the cabin or from each other. They played guessing games until they were exhausted and the darkness had caught them. The fire had almost burned out in the cabin, and they were getting sleepy.

“Got to feed the dog,” said Luke, realizing it was getting late. He took some dried meat Betty had kept for the dog and went outside. “Here, Yaller Feet,” he said. His voice was low and small. “Here, boy.” Yaller Feet got up slowly. He was still healing up from his ordeal. Betty had been tying him up in front of the house since the thief took him. When Luke saw the dog at the edge of the clearing that was Betty's garden, he threw the meat down and went back inside.

“Must be past Caswell's bedtime,” Daylily said as Luke came through the door.

“Should be back by now,” said Luke almost in a whisper.

“First time we ain't been together since . . . you know . . . that night.” Daylily frowned.

“Yeah, sho is.”

“Can't do nothin bout it though . . . I don't feel so good, Luke.”

“Lie down. Rest yourself. You don't wanna get poorly again.”

“Where she go, you think?” Daylily stretched out on her pallet.

Luke threw a sharp look at Daylily. “You ain't thinking she got caught . . . ?”

“Naw, just wonderin where'd she go. Ain't no towns around here. Nothin but the river and the trees. Don't know where that Harper's Ferry place is she talks about.”

“Where there's a river, there's a town,” Luke said. “Always like that sooner or later. Harper's Ferry on the Shenandoah, Betty said.”

He wanted to sit up, stay awake, and watch for Betty and Caswell, but he kept nodding off, so he built the fire for the night and ate a piece of corn bread he found, fussing around the cabin, just keeping himself busy. What if she had turned Caswell over to the rebel soldiers? They'd come and find the rest of them, that's what. And he and Daylily would be put in jail or worse, or so he thought.

 

By the time they reached the farmhouse, it was noon and Caswell was hungry. They stood in front of a very small run-down house. It needed painting, there was no glass in the one window, and the door was hanging half off. Caswell thought it looked like nobody had lived there for a long, long time.

Betty said, “That's the house, Caswell. You just stand next to me and be quiet.” She stood outside the door and gave three knocks. Then she said, “Gather roun the flag, boys.”