‘When the first quail calls’. Nobody ‘membered who it was said it first, but we reckoned they knowed what they was talking ‘bout.

‘When the first quail calls’. When you can just ‘bout see the air you breathing comin’ like a blowed out candle. That's when they say the ‘Hio River was freezed over solid. Good for walking on. That’s when they say you ought to pick up and run iff’n you was smart.

Times was hard on Ol’ Belmaine. Spring decide to show up too late this year. Massa Price had us running ‘round them fields driving that hoe and burying them seeds like if he done made a bet over it with God. Too many whoopins, too many sore backs, too little food. That season alone we lost ol’ Joe and little Tess, both of ‘em for the same reason.

Massa Price been selling his field hands off all summer, almost as quick as he s’posed to be selling his cotton. Them bucks and Bessies and babes that ain’t chose to go in the ground in May end up on the auctioning block come July. So many done left us—gone to Jesus or down the Mississippi—nearly half the slave quarter was empty come August.

It was ‘round August when my Judy and my lil’ Abbie get caught sneaking eggs out that ol’ chicken house. Any of the wild slaves—who ain’t wild no mo’—could have told ‘em that if they was looking to get caught, they should have ‘least not getted caught by Mister Dickson. Mister Dickson the overseer. Every slave who work them fields hate ‘im. He the reason ol’ Joe and lil’ Tess ain’t ‘round no mo’. He the reason me, my Judy, and my lil’ Abbie decides we was gon’ run.

There was a rumor ‘round our parts. Some tall tale ‘bout a freed slave name Haadee or Addie or Armeen or something—Them God awful names was how I knowed all this was a tall tale—just wandering ‘round helping folk get up north. Some tell the story saying he was a magic man done escaped to freedom using his magic powers, a doctor who knew all that science we done forgot from before the big ship. Others tell the story saying he was the devil or his servant, a lost soul who ain’t neva made it to freedom, but instead sank to the bottom of the ‘Hio River and drowned. They say ol’ Satan make a deal with him. He lift him up out that ice and put him to work leading negros astray. Some them tales say we got to watch out for ol’ Haddie or whoever before he drag us right ‘long with him back down to the fire and ice. Then again, some them tales also say he just some ol’ crazy fool slave what keep getting out and wandering ‘round stirring up trouble before he get sent back to whatever plantation he comed from.

As soon as Judy learned ‘bout that story, she never shut her mouth ‘bout it again. She was always talkin’ ‘bout how one day Mister Archie or whoever was finna show up at ol’ Belmaine bringing lightning down out the sky like Jesus, and when he did, she was gon’ be ready.

As for me? Well, before Mister Dickson got hold of Judy and lil’ Abbie, I ain’t give two hollers ‘bout some ol’ ripe-smelling, fraud named Hardy, tryin’ to get his silly black ass strung up on some tree for acting a fool. But after the overseer catch my Judy and lil’ Abbie with they aprons full of chicken eggs? That when it turned into a whole diffunt matter.

Mind you, we ain’t knowed we was fixing to run when we was sitting behind that old oak in August, patching each other’s asses up. Judy tooked them whoopins like she was made of stone, though it sho’ wasn’t the first time Mister Dickson try and comed after her. Lord, do I love my woman, but she too pretty and too rowdy for her own good. She always got eyes on her.

Lil’ Abbie, though. She ain’t neva crossed paths with the likes of Mister Dickson a’fore. He whooped her, alright. You should have seen’t me and Judy hooping and hollering, “Stop, Mister Dickson! Stop! You kill her for sho’!” I think he liked that, cause he only whooped her harder then.

He whooped that lil’ gal so bad she slept for three whole days after. We ain’t think she ever wake up. On the first day, we got down on our knees on that dusty cabin floor, and did some more hooping and hollering. We prayed and prayed for her to wake on up. We promised the baby Jesus we be good pickers, neva ask questions, neva make fun ‘bout Miss Daisy nose when she riding by in her buggy, neva cause trouble again. On the second day, when we see’d all them ‘nevas’ weren’t doing nothing we start getting mad. We start supposing that maybe we ain’t gon’ be so nice after all. Start getting it in our heads that maybe that baby Jesus ain’t the one to ask when you need to get something done in a hurry.

The third day of Abbie sleeping was the Lord’s day. On that day, most the slaves get to rest, get to go to chapel. But me and Judy was still burning mad. First time we eva missed chapel, last time we eva cared. We just sat by lil’ Abbie’s bed a-praying and praying. ‘Course we ain’t know who zactly we was praying to no mo’. Just hoping that somebody what gave a damn would hear us.

Turn out somebody did hear us, and the reasoning part of my mind tell’d me it weren’t no baby Jesus neither. Because on that same third day, right after chapel was over and through, Mister Dickson fall down off his horse, and hit his head on that big settin’ stone out by the oak. He ain’t eva get up off that ground to whoop no slave bee-hind again. But just to make sure, we all wait to celebrate until we knowed he was six feet under that ground. If we could have, we would have stomped and beat him down six mo’. Get on down to Hell faster that way.

On the afternoon of that third day, Lil’ Abbie woke up, crying a mighty powerful holler. When we ran in, and was a-hugging and kissing her, and asking her why was she crying, she told us it was cause she was dreaming. When we asked her what she was dreaming ‘bout, she said, “Stars, Henry”—that me. I Henry—”I was dreaming ‘bout stars.”

Now, me and Judy couldn’t reason why that lil’ gal would be crying up a storm ‘bout something like that. So, we asks her, “Gal, why you settin' ‘round crying ‘bout some ol’ stars? Shoot, that sound like a mighty fine dream to me. That and you ain’t sleeping no mo’, and ol’ Macie making you corn cakes should make you want to smile!”

That when lil’ Abbie turned to us and sayed, “the man that read the stars is a-coming. He a-coming out the water. I don’t like that man, Henry. He scary.”

Well, you can imagine how confused we all was. At the time we ain’t think to listen to anything the po’ child say, what with it being a dream, you see, and what with the sleep still hanging heavy-like in her eyes. Was only recent that everything start making sense to me. Was only recent that I begin to unnerstand the thing she already knowed.

On the evening of that third day, when everything get too quiet and even the woods is ‘sleep, I go out to make water in the tallgrass. Maybe I check up on them ol’ chickens, see how they was doing now that Mister Dickson gone. Well, them chickens wasn’t too friendly on my account, I have to say. Ain’t even come out to see me. But somebody else sho’ did.

First time I met John Peter, he was settin’ all alone by hisself at the dying cooking fire next my cabin. He was reg’lar sized, reg’lar built, hair a wild tangle mess, with skin just a might darker than polished Tennessee red cedar. His face very fresh, very handsome like if he was born full grown. It was near impossible to tell his age. His eyes was a bit too open, bit too shiny the way they was looking up at that bright night sky. When I asked him what it was he was doing there that hour of the night, he just smile a big smile and say, “Just passing time.”

Well, I wonder what business a slave got to set ‘round and smile and stare like what Massa be doing on hot days. The man say to me, “Time ain’t just for them greedy Massas, and Missus, and planters, and overseers, and trackers to have, Henry. Time belong to us, too. And the world, too. Everything that ol’ Massa Price got, we should have already gots ten.”

Well, this crazy negro sound like a whole heap of trouble to me. Trouble I ain’t need. I kept right on walking. Neva even thought to ask how it was he knowed my name. Neva even bother to wonder how he got there to Belmaine in the first place. Massa don’t go to market on the Lord’s Day, and nobody seem to know who he was when I asked ‘em later on. Was like he just appeared there by that fire, a-staring up at the sky and smiling.

I almost decide to ignore it ‘til I saw ‘im staring. I figured there can’t be no harm in asking what it was he was staring at. So, I asked.

“The stars,” he replied.

“And why you staring at stars like if you ain’t neva seen’t ‘em before?” I asked ‘im.

“Cause I’z practicing my reading, Henry,” he said. “Just like my momma learned me to.”

“Who yo’ momma and when she got time to learn you how to read stars?” I laughed.

“My momma name Medina. I ain’t seen her since I was a lil’ thang. But I ‘member it break her heart when they sell me down river Mississippi way. “We ain’t have nothing on us them white folk ain’t gon’ take away,” she tell’d me. “So, I'z gon’ give you something ain’t nobody can take away. Yo’ great grandma, Aafiya, bring it over cross the water on the ship, and we ain’t lose it yet.’”

I laughed. This fool really was crazy.

“Negro, you ain’t from no Mississippi,” I said. “Any slave get sold down Mississippi way ain’t eva coming back. So, what the hell you think you doing up here in Tennessee?”

John Peter just smiled and smiled. “Practicing my reading, Henry. I already tell’d you.”

Then I got it in my head that maybe this fool was making fun of me. So, I turned and headed back to that fire. Thinking back on it, I suppose he knowed what he was doing riling me up that way. “What you mean you ‘reading’?” I spoke the word ‘reading’ all low and quiet. “Everybody know you can’t read no stars.”

“Not reading like in a book,” John Peter said. He was waving his hand at me to come sit.

I reckoned doing that for a second wouldn't be no harm. So, I sits. “What kind of reading, then?” I asked ‘im.

That's when he smiled, a smile so big it ‘bout took up half his head. “Type of reading they was doing back where my great grandma from. My momma used to tell me we was travelers and uh… what’s that word? Mer... mer-chants back then. We was going wherever we pleased, and even writing, and sho’ nuff reading. We read them stars to get us where we had to go before everybody get snatched up like fish, and throwed on the big boat. She tell’d me we was wanderers at heart, we had the science to read them stars. My momma told me that’s why we ain’t got to worry. She say one day we was gon’ wander right back on into each other.”

I start to believe a lil’ of what John Peter was saying. I still ain’t believe him all the way, though. “Iff’n yo’ momma and yo’ grand momma got names like they got back ova the big water, why yo’ name John Peter?”

“It ain’t,” John Peter said. He smiled at me again, and ain’t say nothing else.

I reckoned if he’d wanted me to know it, he would have tell’d me hisself. It was late, or early, and the smell of morning was a-coming. I could see that ol’ yard rooster already picking and scratching ‘round outside Macie’s cabin, so I decides to bid crazy ol’ John Peter a farewell.

“You keep reading them stars, John Peter,” I said to ‘im. “One day you gon’ get to wherever it is you goin’.”

John Peter smiled at me in my face one last time, and then he said, “So will you iff’n you feel to come ‘long with me.”

Them’s the words that make me unnerstand just who it was I was talking to. Them words tell me how John Peter done came all the way to ol’ Belmaine Plantation to sit by that fire in the middle the night. I ain’t even have to think twice ‘bout it. I run on over to ol’ John and I gives ‘im a hug like I ain’t even give my own momma back when I knew her. I invite him into my cabin for a sit. I stay up in the dark, listening to his stories ‘bout what it like to live free. I stay up until that ol’ rooster finally got ‘round to crowing.



“Now see that possum he works hard.”
“Hoe Emma Hoe. You turn around dig a hole in the ground. Hoe Emma hoe.
“But he cain’t work as hard a me.”
“Hoe Emma Hoe. You turn around dig a hole in the ground. Hoe Emma hoe.”
“He sits a horse just as pretty as can be.”
“Hoe Emma Hoe. You turn around dig a hole in the ground. Hoe Emma hoe.”
“He can ride on and leave me be.”
“Hoe Emma Hoe. You turn around dig a hole in the ground. Hoe Emma hoe.

Wasn’t until midday—when the field hands wringed out all they aches and really got on’ down to business—that I gets to thinking there was something strange ‘bout that John Peter. You see, I reckoned the plan was that he would mix in with the rest of us workers, picking cotton ‘til the air got good and cold and it was finally time for running. Instead, everyday for three months I’d watch him get on up in the morning. He always looked to see if I was ‘sleep. Then he reach into his torn up pocket, and pull out a little bag that look like something every slave know ‘bout, but none ever spoke’d 'bout out loud. I watch that John Peter turn that lil’ bag three times between his fingers, whisper something I couldn’t neva hear, and then shove that thing back into his pocket.

When it was working time, and all the field hands was scraping and dragging they feet out into that sea of white and green, I alone watched John Peter take his time making his way out to that ol’ oak tree. He would always set down on that big rock what where Mister Dickson crack open his head. Then he would pull out his carving knife and his whittling stick, and gets to whittling. Sometimes, iff’n he was feeling mighty fine, I could hear him humming a tune so loud it drowned out our picking chants from way out where I was breaking my back, shredding up my fingers, and getting my ass whooped plucking that cotton. That made me hopping mad on account of watching him was the reason I always end up working too slow for Mister Carver’s liking. Mister Carver our new overseer.

One day when I decide I been whooped and hollered on enough, I muster up the gall to ask John Peter, “How come you ain’t eva in the field with the others? And how come ain’t nobody eva seem to notice you out there having a grand ol’ time cept me? It like nobody can’t even see you. Cause I know if Mister Carver could have seen’t you, he would have whooped your backside six ways from Sunday.”

John Peter smiled that same ol’ smile. I starting to hate that smile by then. “Science,” he said to me. “Science what y’all field folk done forgot. ‘Else y’all be right beside me whistling Dixie, too.”

“That science what you stay shoving in that pocket of yours, thinking I ain’t seeing?” I asks him. Thinking back, that sho’ was a stupid thing for somebody like me to say to somebody like that.

Lucky for me, he smile again. “Sho’ is,” he said. “And ain’t nobody gon’ see me neither. Not ‘til I’z good and ready.”

I ponder on that a bit. “‘Til we ready to run?” I ask.

“‘Til we ready to run,” he say.



On another night some time after, to my surprise, I sees John Peter talking to Stanley. Stanley the buck what tend to Massa Price horses in the stable. Stanley got a chip on his shoulder on account of Mister Dickson and now Mister Carver always finding reasons to beat on ‘im. They don’t like that he good-looking and strong. I s’pose it make them feel like something when they beat on a buck like that, and he can’t do nothing back.

I sleep eight spaces down from Stanley, but on that pa’ticular night, even I could have seen’t that he weren’t too fond of that John Peter from where they was sitting at the fire outside his cabin. Stanley probably reckoned he was a troublemaker, and Stanley a slave what had too much trouble following him ‘round already. Wasn’t too bright neither, but far be it from me to say he brought a few them whoopins on hisself.

Next day while we was all in the field and John Peter was settin’ out by his oak, I spy out the corner of my eye Stanley standing up by the stable. His big arms was all squeezed together, and he was staring and staring out ‘cross them fields at something what look’t to have made him as mad as a wet hen. Only took a second for me to know it was John Peter and his too happy, too hopeful songs. Them songs burned me up, too.

...But ‘least I weren’t no snitch.

Next thing I know, I sees Stanley marching on in the direction of Mister Carver horse. I already knowed what was ‘bout to happen when I saw’d it. At first, I looked on over in John Peter’s direction, hoping that maybe he might look up from his whittling and see me. Maybe he might know then what Stanley was ‘bout to do. He ain’t look up, though.

I gets a idea. I start hustling my fanny, picking that cotton faster than anybody ever seen. I pick my way all the way up ‘til I was standing right in Stanley’s path. When ol’ Stanley set to walk past me on his way to Mister Carver, I cough out loud. He catch my meaning and walk slower.

“Don’t you do that now, Stanley. John Peter gon’ help us. John Peter gon’ get us free,” I say so quiet nobody ‘cept him could have heard me. My straw hat big, so nobody can see my face under the brim neither.

Stanley look surprise. He ain’t think I knowed ‘bout ol’ John Peter, too. He get even madder. “You go on ‘head and hush up, Henry,” he say to me. “‘Fore you get some of what’s coming to John Peter.”

I gets scared. I hush up. When I look back out at John Peter, he looking at Stanley. He looking kinda cross. Good.

I watch Stanley walk on up to Mister Carver. Mister Carver look down on ‘im like if he crazy. “What you want, boy?” Mister Carver ask ‘im. “You git on back to them horses now ‘fore Mister Price see you and I get mad.”

“Yessir,” Stanley say at first. And then he sing like a canary. He tell Mister Carver everything ‘bout John Peter, ‘bout the whittling on the settin’ stone, ‘bout the running. I just thankful he ain’t say my name in all of it, so I stays quiet.

Mister Carver face go three diffunt colors after that. He fix his hat from falling off his big ol’ bald head, and turned ‘round to look where Stanley was pointing out by the oak.

Wasn’t nobody there.



Lots folks got they tail whooped that September and October on account of Stanley. Mister Carver and Massa Price was trying to root out them negros what wasn’t good behaved, and what they called a ‘bad ‘fluence’ on the rest of us. Mister Carver whooped me, too, of course. He even fix his mouth to ask me ‘bout ol’ John Peter.

...But I weren’t no snitch.

John Peter was long gone. That day after Stanley speak to Mister Carver, both John and Stanley disappear. ‘Course only I notice that John weren’t there. Everybody else was missing Stanley. Not me, though. I don't know what happen to that Stanley to make ‘im run, but I hope his ass tripped and fell’d in a deep ditch.

I go ‘bout my business again after that day. I do my work, take my blows, try to figure a diffunt way for Judy, and Abbie, and me to ‘scape. Nothing I come up with very good. Belmaine Plantation right smack dab in between a river, a town, and ‘bout three more plantations. Gon’ be a hard ways trying to run through all that without getting caught.

The air get cold. Harvesting time long gone. By then all them field hands was hog-feeding, and rye-raising, and barn-fixing hands instead. I work on the barn half day, carve fresh furniture and chop wood for the smokehouse the other half. I thinks ‘bout John Peter the whole time. Wonder how he doing. Wonder if he ever coming back. We coming up on December soon. Sun coming back steady, by and by. Reckon that ‘Hio River gettin’ nice and stiff. Gon’ have to leave soon. I hopes and hopes John Peter coming back.



Late one night in December, something stir my soul. Wake me right up out my sleep. I smells mischief and magic in the air. I smells a-sneaking and plotting and running. I smells John Peter.

When I walk outside to take a look, I sees ‘im settin’ ‘round that same glowing fire where we first talked. Them stars look just as bright, too. This time he with Ben, and Macie, and my Judy, and my lil’ Abbie. He tellin’ them stories. All them laughing at whatever he saying except for lil’ Abbie. She look terrified of ‘im. She keep trying to hide behind Judy.

Still, I laugh too, even though I can’t hear none of what they saying. I just happy as a pig in shit that he come back. We gon’ be free for sure.



Tomorrow night. That when he say we got to go. Me, and Ben, and Macie kind of put off.

“That too soon,” Ben say. “What ‘bout my girl, Didi? She ain’t coming back from the big house ‘til ‘morrow.”

“Didi ain’t coming with us,” John Peter tell’d him. “‘Least not yet.”

When Ben ask why, John Peter say cause Didi a bed wench. She stay too close to Massa Price and Mister Carver and they sons to be trusted. Ben get mad. He say that ain’t her fault, and that they make her stay up there on that big hill, and that she hate ‘em. John Peter know that don’t matter. The rest of us know that, too. By the end our talk, Ben agree to go without her. John Peter say he gon’ come back fo’ her. She gon’ come quieter later on iff’n she know Ben was a-waiting fo’ her elsewhere. The rest of us think that sound alright. I look at my Judy and my lil’ Abbie, and I feels proud. I know John Peter picked them cause they ain’t loud ‘bout our kind’s business. They don’t mess ‘round with freedom talk.

John Peter set outside our cabins all night, and follow us ‘round all day, making sho’ ain’t none us gon’ snitch, ‘specially not Ben. None us did snitch. The next night, we all get in a ring ‘round the fire. John Peter put that lil’ sack he always carrying in each our hands, tell us turn it three times and kiss it. None us ask questions. All us lil’ bit scared. Still we do it. John Peter say not to be ‘fraid. He say he can read lots things in them stars. The stars said we gon’ be alright.

Later on, we all head off to the woods in the dark, easy as pie. Judy pulling Abbie ‘long by her hand. Ol’ Macie with her walking stick, and Ben scraggling ‘long in the back. Macie even sang lil’ bit, happy to be on her way even though she old. We know it gon’ take one week reach the ‘Hio River if we lucky. Still, we all smiling. Even John Peter smiling. Guess we was feeling lucky.



First two nights was tough. We had to walk right past the town I mention a’fore, cause a small river was on our other side. When we get past and back into the cover of some woods, Macie drop to her knees and thank sweet Jesus. She say it his miracle why nobody seen’t us. I ain’t say nothin’. I know Jesus ain’t had squat to do with it. John Peter just smiled and smiled.

Third night we hear hounds a-yipping and a-hollering in the distance. We knowed then they was looking for us. Lil’ Abbie start whimpering so bad, Judy had to pick her up, and carry her on her back. John Peter watch her do this, and Judy smile when she catch him looking with his dark, too shiny eyes. He smile back lil’ bit. He look like he want to say something to her but neva say nothing. I feel lil’ cross ‘bout it but I don't know why.

Ben keep breathing real hard all night. His eyes was wide as dinner plates. He keep mumbling something ‘bout hangings and things like that ‘til Macie get tired of it, and tell him to hush up. Ben the only one John Peter don’t smile at. John just stare at ‘im, then look up at the stars, then stare at ‘im some mo’.

Them hound dogs follow on our tail all night. We hole up in a ol’ abandoned barn all the next day. By that sunset, lil’ Abbie start coughing. It getting real cold, and none us got but last Christmas’ fresh linens and thin shawls for comfort. Judy looking worried.

It start snowing bad on that fourth night. We seen flickers of red and hear voices coming through the woods, all while white and cold swirled ‘round us. A shotgun go off somewhere in the dark. We all scared; too scared to make a sound. John Peter say we gon’ be alright and to keep going. He say to just trust them stars, and then he walk us right past them hunters and guns what was looking for us.

Folks starting to get mad. Ben saying that ol’ John Peter crazy, and that he gon’ get us all killed. I ain’t got the courage to ponder on something like that.

Fifth night, lil’ Abbie sleeping too much again. She real sick, and won’t wake up. Her breathing ain’t sounding right. I make us stop every now and then to try give her some water. Everybody know we losing time. Nobody don't say nothing out loud, though.

Last time we stop, John Peter say it alright if we stop for good. We huddle round in a circle and he ask Judy to give him lil’ Abbie. When she ask why, he say so he can fix her up. I kinda worried what he was fixing to do, but all it end up was that he wrap her up in his shawl, and hold her close to him. He talk in her ear half the night, even until all the rest of us fall asleep. When I wake’d up in the middle of the night, I saw’d Judy settin’ up with him. He and Judy smiling and laughing at each other. Lil’ Abbie still laying in his hands. Her breathing don’t sound too bad no mo’. I feel lil’ sad inside when I look at ‘em whispering there in the dark. I hope we cross that ‘Hio River soon.

We make up lost time all the next day. Ben won’t hush up. He keep saying it ain’t safe to be traveling in the daytime, and keep going on ‘bout how much he miss his Didi. He keep looking over his shoulder. His eyes bigger than dinner plates. Now, John Peter don’t just stare at him. He frowning.

We take a rest at sunset when we find a ol’ prospector cave. I’z too tired and feeling kinda down, even though John Peter say we almost at the river. Judy always smiling at him now, even when he ain’t lookin. She don’t smile at me no mo’.

I fall ‘sleep and when I get back up I see ‘em: Judy and John a-talking quiet and close-like in the dark. I see they hands touch, and then hold tight. I see ‘em both rise up, and walk off deeper down into them caves. I decides I ain’t gon’ listen to nothing I hear. I gon’ get a lil’ more sleep before we head off.

The sixth night, I wake up to hear Judy and Ben going at it. The cave walls sound like they hissing at us to be quiet. I get up to see what was the matter. Judy tell’d me Ben was a coward to the bone. I tell’d her everybody already knowed that. Then she say Ben was thinking ‘bout turning back. Then I unnerstand why everybody was settin’ ‘round looking mad as hell.

Ben say John Peter leading us to nothing but trouble. He said he out his mind. Rest of us try to calm ‘im down. Try to remind him how it was John Peter came to get us. How Mister Dickson die, and lil’ Abbie wake up from her sleeping the day he arrive. We tell ‘im it was John Peter who got us past them dogs and hunters. It was him who healed lil’ Abbie sickness and him who could lead us to freedom by reading stars.

Ben ain’t seem to care no mo’. He say “To hell with them ol’ stars,” and start stomping off back down to the road. Judy was ‘bout to jump on ‘im and get to whoopin’ his ass—and I would have helped her—when John Peter stepped on in between us.

He walk forward and hold Judy ‘bout her shoulders, trying to settle her down. All a’sudden I feel something burning up in my chest. All a’sudden I can’t ‘member who it was I s’posed to be mad at.

John Peter turn to Ben, and tell ‘im he can go back iff’n he wanted to. Nobody could believe it. Macie start her praying again, and Judy start her yelling at John like if she had the right. I ain’t said nothing. I just watching.

John Peter say to Ben he ain’t gon’ find the road by hisself through all that dark woods, but he welcome to try. Otherwise, he likely end up crying in a ditch somewhere.

Meantime, I wondering if that dark ditch he talking ‘bout the same one Stanley fell’d into way back when.

Ben say he ain’t want to try finding the road alone, and ask John if he can’t help him.

For the first time in ever, John Peter smile at Ben, big and bright. “Sho’ I could do that,” he say. He slap Ben on the back when they leaving like if they ol’ friends.

I could have sworn I seen’t John Peter’s smile turn into a frown again. Could have sworn that maybe that frown turn into something else right after.

Took one whole hour ‘til we see’d John come on back through them tall bushes. We hurried up, and gathered up our lil’ things, and high tailed it out that cave. Ain’t nobody asked after Ben again after that night, and I reckoned somewhere deep down, we was all in an agreement ‘bout why we wasn’t gon’ ask.

We keep up our walking when the sun come up. John say that the ‘Hio River only a day’s travel away. It be better if we keep going. Ol’ Macie bones starting to ache her. She been praying out loud since Ben go away. I reckon she finally realize something nasty ‘bout ol’ John Peter, jus’ like I did. Either that or just her bones aching real bad. I feels sorry for her. I feels sorry cause I knowed she wanted John Peter to be just like her Jesus come to save her, and sweep her up into peace and love and all that. I think she realize John Peter ain’t like the man in the Bible at all.

Ain’t nobody talking to nobody no mo’. John Peter don't seem to mind it. He seem like the type that don’t talk ‘less he need to.

I watch ‘im out the corner my eye when it get dark. I always see ‘im looking the same way at Judy. I wonder what he be thinking. Then I ‘member how Judy stop looking at me at all, and I just start getting mad all over again. So, I stop thinking ‘fore I start ruminating on doing something bad.

Freedom more important.

I keep saying that at myself when the air get colder and the forest open up. I keep saying that at myself when we come out the woods and stare out ‘cross a wide stretch of swirling white. I keep saying that at myself when Macie get down on her knees and start singing her ‘hallelujahs’ and when Judy jump straight into John Peter arms. Judy laughing. I don’t think I ever seen’t her smile that big and pretty a’fore.

When we all settled ‘round a fire, John Peter tell us we gon’ have to wait one more day ’fore we can cross the river. He say it only just snowed, and it be better if we give the ice ‘nother day to get harder. Be shame if we fell through after getting so far.

When we all lay down to sleep, it seem none us even mind the sound of hound dogs yapping on the winds. I could tell John and Judy ain’t mind either when they run off into the brush again. Just like I knowed to do, I close my eyes and go ‘sleep.

I wake up in the middle of the night. My bones bit cold, and I want to get closer the fire. When I open my eyes, I see John Peter settin’ up by hisself by that fire, just a staring out over that big river and up at those endless stars. He had his carving knife and whittling stick, and was going at it. I don’t even think he knowed what it was he was whittling no mo’.

At the time that didn’t very much matter to me. I saw’d a chance to pick the bone with him what needed picking, and reckoned I’d take it.

John Peter just sit there, stark still. Even after I walk up and set down in front him like when we first met, he ain’t say nothing. He just staring at me. Staring and staring with them too shiny eyes. It like he already knowed what was coming.

This time I stared right on back. “You been stickin’ it to Judy,” I says to him plain, just like that.

He look like he wanting to laugh. Still he ain’t say nothing. I bet he knowed that burned me up.

“Know what I think?” I says to ‘im. “I think you ain’t like no Jesus at all. I don’t even think you good.”

This time he did laugh. “Never said I was,” he say.

I ain’t expect him to answer yet. I lose my thoughts a little bit. “I know what it is you done to Stanley and Ben,” I says to ‘im.

Now, he looking kind of tired with me. He start whittling a little bit faster. “Is that right? What I done to Stanley and Ben?” he ask.

Just then I realize I ain’t have the stomach to say nothing else 'bout that. I just stay quiet, ’fore I end up tripping in a ditch somewhere, too. “Iff’n you the one slaves always talking ‘bout, John Peter,” I says to him, “seems nobody can’t decide whether you the second coming, a wizard come take us back ova the water, or Satan hisself.” I lean in real good and close. “Which one you think you is, John Peter?”

He don’t even ponder on it a bit ’fore he answer. “Don’t matter what I think I is. I always just gon’ do what I got to do. All what should matter to you is what you think.”

His words confusing me. It burning me up inside, again. “I thinks you’s the devil,” I says. “Who else go ‘round reading on stars, and pulling roots out on people? And after you come ‘round, me and Judy ain’t neva gon’ work again.”

He shrugs at me. “Well, iff’n that is what you thinking, then I must be the devil. But I tell you one thing, Henry: maybe iff’n you had stopped asking baby Jesus for freedom lil’ sooner, you might have see’d that he weren’t neva the one to ask 'bout it no how. Lil’ baby Jesus the one what gon’ tell you to listen to yo’ Massa. He the one that gon’ say be good, and say it wrong to run away. Jesus for them well-behaved negros way down yonder what ain’t neva gon’ ask for more. I ain’t looking for Jesus’ flock.” John Peter scrape real hard on his whittling stick with his knife. “So, I reckon that ol’ devil know the ones I’z looking for. I reckon the devil is for the ones what want to get free. Iff’n that’s true, then it don’t very much matter if I’z stickin’ it to yo’ Judy or not. I gon’ see all you free negros in hell just for your crossing that ol’ ‘Hio River anyhow. Maybe I’z the one taking you down there, too. And just like yo’ freedom what waiting for you over that there river, maybe Hell ain’t as bad as all them blue-eye Jesuses and Marys stay telling you it is.”

I ain’t know what to say to all that. I just look at that odd man, John Peter, the one whose momma taught him how to read the stars like his people done before the big ship. His too shiny, too dark eyes were all a-flickering in the firelight. I used to could tell when he was smiling or when he was frowning. But in the gleam of them flames, it look like he was doing both and none.

I get up and turn to leave. It starting to feel too hot ‘round him. It starting to feel too new, and bad, and wonderful at the same time. My freedom coming on the ‘morrow, and I had that ol’ devil John Peter to thank for it.

At last minute, something make me feel bold inside. I wonder if it was a lil’ bit of devil growing in me. I turn back ‘round to look at John. “What really happen to Ben?” I asks him. “Where he go off to?”

John Peter just keep on with his whittling. His eyes moving between the fire and the stars up above. “Well, I reckon he go wherever Stanley run off to,” he say.

I nod my head. “I thought so.”



When we was set to walk ‘cross that frozen river on the eighth night, it weren’t no tears or long goodbyes or nothing like that. It seem everybody want to leave as fast as possible, all for diffunt reasons. Macie weren’t looking at John Peter no mo’. She just reciting her prayers, and asking for grace. Judy ain’t looking at him neitha. She just fixing her mouth like she gon’ cry and scream and yell. Lil’ Abbie still quiet after John Peter fix her up for the second time. She still hiding behind Judy when he come near to see us off from the bank. He was twirling his carving knife in one hand, and shoving the other in his magic pocket.

Abbie and Judy, they was the first ones out on that ice. Ol’ Macie go next. None of ‘em ever did say goodbye or thank you. Maybe they was trying to pretend they wasn’t interested in what he offered ‘em. Maybe they was preparing to pick up they Bibles right when they gets to freedom’s shore.

It was only me that weren’t scared of no ol’ devil no mo’. It was only me what stayed behind a lil’ while for to say goodbye. “I reckon you ain’t comin with us,” I says. Looking back, I s’pose that was already clear.

“Nah. I ain’t finish yet,” John Peter laugh, spinning his carving knife. “Still got plenty more souls I got to lead astray before I’z through.”

I smiles at ‘im. “Well, God bless you,” I says to ‘im cause I know he ain’t gon’ like it. “And thank you.”

He don't say nothing. Just stare and stare for a minute. Then he reach into his pocket, and pull his hand back out one time. Something in his fist when he hold his hand out to me.

I a lil’ scared. But still I reach out my hand, and let him put whatever in it. When I look again, I sees that same lil’ brown sack he always spinning and spinning between his fingers. To tell you the truth, I a lil’ too curious to refuse it and a lil’ too humble to say thanks and be gone. I look up at him. Something feel strange when I look at his face, almost as if I already forgetting what he look like, even while he standing right in front of me.

I close my fist ‘round that lil’ bag and shove it down into my pocket. Abbie, Judy, and Macie already a quarter way ‘cross the river now. That tiny devil in me start acting up again. I smile lil’ bit.

“What your real name?” I ask that John Peter. “Is you really that one all them slaves be talking ‘bout? Or is you a diffunt one?”

He ain’t answer me. Just smile big and wide like how he did that first night by the fire. I find myself smiling back.

I puts my other hand down in my pocket for to keep it warm, and nodded my head at ‘im. Then I turn ‘round to leave. Took ‘bout nine or ten shaky steps out on that ice ‘fore it begin to feel reg’lar to me. “You keep reading them stars, John Peter,” I calls out to ‘im. I turn my head 'round to look back at the shore. “One day you gon’ get to wherever it is you goin t—”

I blinks, and rubs my eyes, and spin 'round, and rubs my eyes again. I guess I a lil’ too cold, and lose track of time. Cause weren’t nobody out on that bank.

I reach my hand in my pocket, just make sho' that lil' satchel still there. It is.

I hear Abbie and Judy and Macie calling out for me. They already done crossed the middle point of that big river. I turn ‘round and hurry on behind ‘em.