Freedom Stone (27 page)

“How'd you get it, then?” she asked.

“I can't tell.”

“Who did it belong to?”

“I can't tell that, either.”

“Was it a man named Appleton?”

Papa looked at her in surprise and tried to hide it, but Lillie saw through him—and Papa saw that she had. “Where did you hear that name?” he asked.

“Henry,” she answered. “He said the soldiers go to the Appleton land for supplies all the time. Said you went there to fetch water one day and come back with a bag full o' gold.”

Papa thought that over. “I don't know nothin' 'bout what Henry thinks.”

“Papa!” Lillie cried, so loudly that a soldier nearby turned. “Papa!” she repeated, lowering her voice to a fierce whisper. “I got to know! It's what I come here for! It's the only way to save Plato!”

Papa fell silent now and looked down. He seemed deep in thought and far away. When he looked up again, Lillie could see that his eyes were red.

“You know, your mama couldn't get by without you children,” he said softly.

“I know,” Lillie answered.

“And Plato can't get by without you and Mama. You reckon they really plan to sell him off?”

“Bett says it'll happen today or tomorrow.”

“You reckon she's right that they'll sell you too?”

“She ain't been wrong yet,” Lillie answered.

“And she reckons she was right sendin' you here where men is dyin' instead o' keepin' you home where you oughta be?”

“I know it don't seem safe,” Lillie said, “but we ain't s'posed to get killed—on account of the charm.”

“What kind o' charm can promise you that?” Papa demanded.

“The same kind what got us here.”

Papa fell silent once more, then nodded to himself as if he had just made a decision. “All right, then,” he said. “You both need to listen to me hard. I can't leave this battlefield. Times between shootin' like this is when deserters usually run, and the Army's got riflemen posted to see that they don't. A man lights out—'specially a slave man—he gets shot just like a Yankee. But you two can go—in fact you got to go. The fightin' what's comin' is worse'n what's happened already. You'll be killed sure if you stay here, and the Appleton farm is as safe a place as any. You go there, you talk to that farmer, and you see if he can't tell you what you need to know.”

“But why can't you tell us?” Lillie pleaded.

“Because I gave my promise I wouldn't,” Papa said. “Besides, who's gonna believe a slave child carryin' a tale that her papa did no wrong? You gonna have to have a white man's word on the matter, or it won't amount to nothin'.”

Lillie nodded. She hadn't thought of that, but of course it was true.

“Boy,” Papa said, turning to Cal, “can you move on that bad foot?”

“I'll keep up,” Cal said.

“You good at navigatin' the woods?”

“Yes.”

“What about you?” Papa asked Lillie. She knew nothing about navigating but lied and nodded. Papa saw the fib and turned back to Cal.

“You gonna have to get yourself and my girl where you're goin',” he said. “And you gonna have to be ready to use some o' that storytellin' I saw you workin' on the sergeant. You don't think you can do all that, you best say so now.”

“I can do it.”

Papa nodded, then reached down and ran his hand over the ground, smoothing out a patch of mud. With a shard of wood pulled from the toppled wagon, he drew a map from the battlefield to the Appleton farm. Cal and Lillie studied it carefully and listened closely while Papa told them about the landmarks they'd see along the way and the wrong turns they needed to avoid. The children traced the map with their fingers while Papa looked around to make sure no one was watching.

“You got it in your heads?” he asked at last. The children nodded, and with a sweep of his hand, he wiped the map clean.

Papa then walked Cal and Lillie as far as he could before he came in range of the riflemen hunting for deserters. Then he stopped and took Lillie by the shoulders.

“Tell your mama and Plato I love them,” he said.

“They know that,” Lillie answered, choking back tears.

“And I miss them.”

“They miss you too.”

“They got me, child. They got me in you. Your mama's a beautiful woman, and I know you was always disappointed that you favor me, not her. But you're a beautiful girl—the most beautiful one I ever seen. And you're the piece o' me what's gonna live no matter what.”

“You ain't gonna die again, Papa!” Lillie said. “You gonna come home!”

“If I'm s'posed to, I'm s'posed to,” Papa repeated.

Lillie threw herself against him and held him tight. He gathered her up in one more long embrace.

“Go now, girl,” he whispered. “You gonna get through.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

LILLIE AND CAL hurried through the battlefield as best they could, both of them struggling against the pull of the mud and Cal struggling with his wounded foot. They kept their eyes to the ground most of the time, figuring that the less they looked around themselves, the less they'd see of the waste and death everywhere. What's more, any soldiers inclined to stop them and question them might decide not to bother if they knew they'd have to call out to them and give chase first. It took more than an hour and a half of such hobbling running before the children began to reach the end of the muddy plain that was the field of war and encounter untrampled grass, unbroken trees and a sky free of smoke. They stopped to catch their breath, their hands on their knees and their heads hanging down.

“I didn't know . . . it'd be . . . so far,” Cal panted.

“We got a while ... still to go,” Lillie answered.

They collected themselves, stood back up and then hurried on, the directions Papa had given them for the rest of the journey running through their heads. Right turn, dry goods store, plank bridge, forked road, Lillie repeated over and over to herself—the words falling into the rhythm of her feet.

Right turn, dry goods store, plank bridge, forked road, Cal recited silently too.

At last they reached the bridge and raced across it—their footfalls making a terrible clatter in the otherwise quiet afternoon. “Over there!” Cal said, pointing ahead.

Lillie looked and saw that the forked road that was the last landmark was just where Papa had said it would be. One hundred paces down the left-hand side of it should be the Appleton farm. Lillie and Cal trotted and hobbled down the road and, as Papa had also promised, came upon a small sign bearing the single name APPLETON in red paint. Beyond it was a dirt drive and a large farmhouse.

“What do we do now?” Lillie asked.

That was a question neither one of them had considered. The farm looked tidy and quiet, with the shutters on the top floor closed and only a few on the ground floor open. There was a carriage house next to the main house and its door was partway open, but no one appeared to be inside. In the distance, Lillie could see the fields—far smaller than those at Greenfog—with just a few slaves at work. It was a quiet and peaceful scene—until it was suddenly broken by an angry voice.

“What do you want?” a man snapped.

Cal and Lillie jumped and turned to the sound, which seemed to be coming from off to their right. They could not see the person who was speaking.

“What do you want?” the voice repeated, more angrily this time.

“We don't mean no trouble,” Lillie called back, her own voice quavering.

“I didn't ask what you mean! I asked you what you want!” came the answer, and now the man who owned the voice appeared. He had been inside the carriage house, hiding behind the partly closed door, and he emerged now with a shotgun at his shoulder, pointed directly at Cal and Lillie. The children took hold of one another and backed up a few steps. The man slowly approached, walking with a terrible limp, but holding the gun steady. He wore an old work shirt, a dirty pair of pants and a battered jacket. From where Lillie and Cal stood, the jacket looked midnight blue. With a start, Lillie realized it was the tunic of a Union soldier.

“What are you starin' at?” the man now barked. “Eyes on the ground and get off this land!”

“Yes, sir,” Cal stammered.

He grabbed Lillie's arm and began pulling her backward. At first Lillie stood her ground, but the man waved the gun barrel at her and she too began to retreat. Then there was another voice.

“Lucas!” the voice cried. “Put that gun down!”

A man came bounding from the house, leapt down the porch steps and raced across the grass. “Lucas!” he said again. “Do what I say.”

Lillie and Cal stood absolutely still as the gunman slowly lowered his weapon and pointed it toward the ground. The other man reached him, grabbed the barrel and wrested the gun away from him. “These're children! Do you know who they are? Did you even ask who they are?”

The man named Lucas shook his head. “I don't care who they are. What I care about is them askin' who I am.”

“Well, so far they ain't asked. Now go inside the house,” he ordered. Lucas stood his ground. “Go inside the house, I say, before I'm the one who turns you in!”

Lucas grumbled but did as he was told, stomping up the porch steps on his one good leg and one lame one, and going into the house. He slammed the door behind him. The other man unloaded the gun, put the shells in his pocket and then turned to Lillie and Cal.

“Now, what is it you want?” he asked.

Lillie cleared her throat. “We're lookin' for a man named Appleton.”

“I'm Appleton,” the man answered. “He's Appleton too,” he added, jerking a thumb in the direction of the house.

“The Appleton what owns this farm?”

“That's me.”

“I want to talk to you 'bout my papa,” Lillie said.

Appleton cocked his head at her and studied her face. “I don't think I know your papa,” he said. “I've got mostly women slaves working here, and the two men I do have are too old.”

“He doesn't work for you,” Lillie said. “He works for the Army.”

“A slave man soldier?”

“Yes, sir.”

“A nurse soldier?”

“That's him! Yes, sir, that's him!”

“Come over here, girl,” the man instructed. He said it with a tone Lillie couldn't quite read. She took a wary step forward, and Cal held her arm and stopped her. The man smiled. He opened the shotgun once again and showed the empty barrels, then tucked it backward under his arm. “I ain't gonna hurt her, son,” he said to Cal, “nor you.”

He waved them over again, and Lillie and Cal approached. When Lillie was standing in front of the man, he studied her face once again. Then he smiled.

“This way,” he said.

Without another word, he led them across the grass and up onto the porch and then, remarkably, opened the door of his house to them. Lillie and Cal had never been allowed to walk through the front door of a white man's house before. They stopped, having no idea how to proceed, then looked down at their shoes, which were covered with battlefield mud.

“Don't worry 'bout that,” Appleton said. “There's nothing but rain and mud around here this time of year.” He nudged them inside.

The children entered the parlor and looked around at the sheer loveliness of the place. Beneath their feet was a plank floor that was polished and smooth and covered with colorful rugs. The furniture was polished too, and softened with cushions that were woven with colorful patterns. There were bits of lace on the arms of the chairs and a footrest in front of one of them. A pair of oil lamps with tinkly crystals hung on the walls, and the cut glass caught the light streaming through the lace-curtained windows. Appleton pointed them to the dining parlor, where there was a long table with six chairs around it. There were more crystal lamps on the walls and a cabinet full of delicate-looking china. He pulled out the chair at the head of the table and motioned the children to the ones on either side of him.

“Sit,” he instructed, and Lillie and Cal did as they were told. Then he called out over his shoulder. “Sissy,” he said, “bring some water.”

A slave girl appeared, gaped at Lillie and Cal, then hurried away and returned with a pitcher and three glasses on a tray. She set the glasses on the table and filled each one. Lillie and Cal looked down at their hands and squirmed in their chairs. A slave was serving slaves, and they could not meet the girl's eyes. Lillie murmured, “Thank you,” when the glasses were full, and the girl vanished. Appleton now turned to Lillie.

“I expect you been told that you look like your father,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” Lillie answered.

He next turned to Cal. “This can't be your brother—the boy with the funny name.”

“No, sir,” Lillie said. “That's Plato.”

“Plato, yes,” the man said as if remembering.

“This here's Cal,” Lillie said. “A slave boy.”

“Happy to meet you, Cal,” Appleton said.

“Thank you, sir,” Cal said hoarsely.

“And I'm Lillie,” Lillie said.

“I know,” Appleton said. “I been told. You live in South Carolina, don't you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That's a long way. You runaways?”

Lillie and Cal looked at him and said nothing. The truth—that they'd come here by charm—would be taken as a lie. A lie—that they were runaways as he thought—would land them in worse trouble. They stayed silent until Appleton spoke, and what he said surprised them more than all the other surprising things that had happened today.