Freedom Stone (24 page)

“Girl!” he snapped. “Do I have to talk to your mama'bout you?”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Lillie said hurriedly. “I forgot again.”

“You're too old to forget such things.”

“Yes, sir,” Lillie said. “But I come to see Cal.”

“On what business?” George asked.

“No business,” Lillie said. “I was just hopin' he could come outside and play.”

“Cal still can't walk proper,” Nelly said. “He surely can't play.”

Lillie looked at Cal's foot. It was still puffy, though it had begun to look much more like a proper foot again. “Maybe I can help,” Lillie said.

She walked over to Cal, crouched down in front of him, and took the foot in her hand. Cal flinched and laughed at the tickle against the skin of his sole and pulled the foot away.

“What do you think you're doin', girl?” George asked, and then, noticing the dress ribbons for the first time, added, “And what do you mean to do with them strips?”

“Somethin' my mama did for me once when I hurt my own foot,” Lillie said. She laid the ribbons on the floor, then put out her hand and waggled her fingers, instructing Cal to give the foot back to her.

“You ain't no doctor,” he said. “Whatta you want with my foot?”

Lillie ignored him and waggled again, this time giving him a firm glance—and this time he obeyed. “Cal, you are a lazy boy,” she clucked, taking his foot in her hand. “You ain't never gonna get better just sittin'.”

She unrolled one of the ribbons and began to wind it around Cal's arch and instep. When Lillie was nine years old, she'd fallen from a tree and made the same mess of her foot as Cal had made of his. Mama had wound the foot in the same kind of ribbons Lillie had now, and while that didn't heal her up fully, it did take away much of the pain and allow her to walk and even run a bit. Lillie got good at winding and unwinding the ribbons each day and learned well how to do it, and she remembered it now. The most important thing, she recalled, was to pull hard on the strips while she wrapped.

“Ow!” Cal said. “That's too tight.”

“Hush,” Lillie said. “Don't be a baby.” She continued winding, though a bit more loosely. Then she picked up another ribbon and did the same, then another and another until the ankle and foot were wrapped as snug and tight as if Cal were wearing a boot.

“Where's the shoe for this foot?” Lillie asked.

“Over there,” Cal said, pointing to the hearth. “But it ain't gonna fit over all that.”

“It will if you don't lace it up,” Lillie answered.

She fetched the shoe, slipped it over the bandage and ordered Cal to stand up. He did so and took some careful steps forward, then smiled.

“It don't hurt as much,” he said. “It really don't.”

“Lillie,” George said, “if that foot gets hurt worse, the overseer is gonna want to know why.”

“It ain't gonna get hurt,” Nelly said, with an approving glance at Lillie. “And the girl's right. We been treatin' him like a baby calf, and it's time we stopped. You done with your breakfast, boy?” she asked Cal. He nodded, used his fingers to scoop up the last bit of spoon bread from his bowl and gobbled it down.

“Then go play,” Nelly said, shooing them out. “The both of you.”

Lillie tugged Cal toward the door before Nelly could change her mind. They stepped outside, and when they were several yards away from the cabin, Cal asked, “Where do you reckon you want to play?”

“Nowhere,” Lillie answered, her expression serious. “We ain't playin'. We're goin' to see Bett.”

Cal looked at her quizzically, but she merely took him by the wrist and began walking as fast as the still-hobbling boy could go. She chose the shortest route possible—straight through the tobacco field, seeming not to notice the way the rain had turned the crop soil muddy—and slowed only once, when Cal needed a moment to rest his lame foot. When they arrived at Bett's cabin, Lillie wordlessly climbed the two little steps to the door and knocked. Bett opened it up and took in the sight of them.

“I got to go see my papa,” Lillie said. “I got to do it now.”

Bett nodded, opened the door and stood aside for them to enter.

“I know, girl,” she answered. “I reckoned you'd be comin' today.”

Chapter Twenty-five

LILLIE HAD WAITED a long time to speak the words she'd just spoken. She'd cried them out over and over again in the days after she first learned that her papa had died, but while those words had been full of terrible, grieving feeling, they were also empty of meaning. When Lillie spoke the same words today, she spoke them the other way 'round entirely. These words were empty of the sorrow and grief she'd felt before and filled instead with a cool and deliberate purpose.

“There ain't no more time to wait for a letter 'fore they come to take away Plato,” she said flatly.

“I know,” Bett answered. “But you got to come in 'fore you say anything more. It don't do to be talkin' 'bout such things out on the step.” She opened the door wider and beckoned Cal and Lillie in.

Lillie entered, still holding on to Cal's wrist and pulling him with her. Cal looked wary but went where he was tugged. Bett closed the door behind them and regarded them sternly.

“This is serious business you come here on,” she said.

“I know,” Lillie answered.

“Dangerous business.”

“I know. Still, I got to go see my papa.”

“What are you sayin', Lillie?” Cal asked. “What do you mean, seein' your papa?”

“You puzzled it out, didn't you?” Bett said to Lillie, ignoring Cal.

“I did,” Lillie answered.

“You puzzled it out last night, so that's why you come today.”

Lillie nodded. “Backwards!” she said. “Them stones can send things backwards! You slow down enough, you come to a stop; you slow down more, you start things movin' the other way.”

Bett nodded. “You is a smart child.”

Lillie waved that off. “That means I can go see Papa today. I can catch him 'fore he went to war and tell him why he can't go. Then everything'll be like it was.”

“Lillie!” Cal exclaimed. “I asked you what you're sayin'—what you're both sayin'! Her papa's dead, Miss Bett. Dead since spring. She don't even know where his bones is buried.”

Bett smiled at Cal. “I know he's dead, boy,” she answered gently. “And dead is dead. But now and then, it ain't. This here could be one o' them times.” Lillie nodded in agreement.

Cal spread his hands in confusion. “I don't understand,” he said.

“Sit, children,” Bett answered, pointing both of them toward her eating table, with its two simple chairs pushed up to it. “Sit.”

Cal stepped toward the table, but Lillie stayed where she was and glanced about. The cabin was in its customary order, but Bett's work area was not. Bowls and spoons were set out on her counter, bags of flour and other supplies were open, and a small fire was beginning to grow in the oven. She looked at Bett expectantly.

“Are you fixin' to bake?” she asked.

“I told you to sit,” Bett repeated. She looked troubled. Lillie had not seen this expression on her face before, and the sight of it quieted her. This time she did as she was told, and Bett stood before them.

“You done right to come here,” she said, “and you done right to do it today. The men is comin' for your brother quick. I don't know if it's tomorrow or the next day, but I seen this kind o' thing before—over and over again. By the time the work horn sounds three mornings from now, he'll be gone.”

Lillie looked startled and started to jump up, and Bett gestured for her to stay where she was. “You got to listen to me, girl!” she snapped. She turned to Cal. “And you too, boy!” Lillie settled back into her chair, and Bett went on.

“It'll go hard on your mama when your brother's gone, harder than she knows. Mr. Willis ain't foolin' about the wolf's eye he's got for her, and without the boy to take her attentions, he plans to pay her some o' his own. An overseer botherin' a slave mama don't like no one in the way—and you, child, won't be nothin' but a nuisance to him. Come the spring, the Master will surely need to raise more money, and he'll surely need to sell off more slaves, and this time, you'll be among 'em. That letter o' yours was all you had, but after the business with your brother yesterday, time's even shorter than it was.”

“Miss Bett,” Cal said, “if what you say is so, there ain't nothin' to fix it, 'cept escapin'. I don't got no fight with that, but all this other talk 'bout seein' Lillie's papa, that just ain't talkin' sense.”

“You're right, boy,” she said. “But you're wrong too.” She regarded him closely. “You as smart as I think you is?” she asked.

“I am,” Cal answered, raising his chin a little.

“Smart enough to know things and not talk of 'em?”

“Yes.”

Bett nodded. “You ain't got no cause at all to believe what I'm about to tell you, 'cept that it's the truth.”

Then, in a slow and patient way, Bett told Cal the story of her oven—of the stones that came from Africa, of the charm they worked in that well-loved land and still worked in this enslaved one. She told him of the baking she'd done to save him from the slave driver's whip when the appraiser came to call. She told him of the baking that had quickened Lillie's feet and sped her to Orchard Hill and slowed the dogs and horses so that Benjy and Cupit could escape. She also told him that Lillie was right, that if you baked long enough and hot enough, you could slow things so much they'd run in reverse—far enough back to let a child go see a papa who was dead in this world but had been alive in an earlier one.

Cal said nothing, simply taking in all that Bett had said. Lillie was right that he was a smart boy, but smart boys could also be practical boys, not given to fanciful thoughts. Cal, however, had a feel for things that were so and things that weren't so—which was one of the other things Lillie liked about him. She watched his eyes as Bett spoke and could see by looking at them that he knew what he was hearing now had the feel of truth.

“That's why you got that fire goin'?” he asked quietly. “To send Lillie back today?”

“Yes,” Bett answered. “I expected she'd figure it out, but what she ain't tellin' you is that I said it's dangerous. I reckon that's why she brought you—busted foot and all. Reckon she thought I wouldn't let her go 'less someone went with her.”

Lillie nodded, and Bett looked hard at both of them.

“Lillie, girl,” she said, “I'll send you back if you want, but you was right—only if this here boy goes with you. And only if you both know why I said it's a dangerous thing to do.” She drew a breath. “The truth is, for a long time, I didn't even know it was possible to go backwards. I discovered it by accident one day when I fell asleep while a cake was in and didn't wake up till it was baked black. When I looked outside, there was slaves comin' to work in the fields what had already come there before I put the cake in. The overseer blew the startin' horn like the day was just beginnin' but he'd already blown it once before. It was only when I put out the fire in the oven that things caught up to where they was supposed to be.”

“Then it worked,” Lillie said.

Bett shook her head. “But you was right that before things can go backwards they have to come to a stop, and things that stop can get stuck.” She looked for a moment as if she didn't want to say what she was about to say. “There was a barn cat what used to come 'round my cabin to catch mice for me—a good animal with a fine nature, and I liked him dear. I came outside after puttin' out the oven that day and he was just standin' there, froze solid as marble. The magic took hold o' him and never let go.”

“He was . . . dead?”

“Not straight away, but he got there. It took that poor animal two days to cool down from cat temperature—and two days more for its cold eyes to stop shinin'. I expect that meant it was alive that whole time, knowin' it was trapped inside that stone and just waitin' to die. It ain't nothin' but luck that no people got caught the same way.”

With that, Bett turned and stepped toward the small wooden trunk she kept at the foot of her little bed. She knelt down in front of it, opened it up, and pulled out something about the size of a large loaf of bread, wrapped in a soft cloth. Then she returned to the table and set it down. She carefully opened up the cloth to reveal the awful thing inside.

Staring lifelessly at Lillie, Cal and Bett was a cat—a stone cat. It was the size of a proper cat and the colors of a proper cat, and it looked as if it would feel soft and warm and living like a proper cat. But neither Lillie nor Cal dared reach out to touch it. Even from where they sat, the thing gave off a cold, dead chill, one that actually made them shudder, as if the very air of the cabin had gone wintry. Worse than that was the terrible look in the cat's lifeless eyes—a look of fear and misery and the need to cry out, if only the stone that imprisoned it would release its hold.

Lillie covered her eyes in horror. “Put it away, put it away!” she said. Even Cal could look at the thing for only so long before he felt sick and lowered his eyes too.

“This kind o'magic is like a log fire,” Bett said softly. “If you're careful, you can keep it in place, but a spark can still pop free. Could be a cat what gets burnt this time, could be you, could be me. That's what you got to know—and that's why I showed you this poor thing.” Bett then swaddled the cat in the cloth, carried it back to its place in the trunk and returned.