Read Kindred for Free Online Page B

sniffed.
    “No, she’s not dead. Is there water in the house?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Go get me some.”
    She ran into the cabin and returned a few seconds later with a gourd dipper of water. I wet the mother’s face a little, washed blood from around her nose and mouth. From what I could see of her, she seemed to be about my age, slender like her child, like me, in fact. And like me, she was fine-boned, probably not as strong as she needed to be to survive in this era. But she was surviving, however painfully. Maybe she would help me learn how.
    She regained consciousness slowly, first moaning, then crying out, “Alice! Alice!”
    “Mama?” said the child tentatively.
    The woman’s eyes opened wider, and she stared at me. “Who are you?”
    “A friend. I came here to ask for help, but right now, I’d rather give it. When you feel able to get up, I’ll help you inside.”
    “I said who are you!” Her voice had hardened.
    “My name is Dana. I’m a freewoman.”
    I was on my knees beside her now, and I saw her look at my blouse, my pants, my shoes—which for unpacking and working around the house happened to be an old pair of desert boots. She took a good look at me, then judged me.
    “A runaway, you mean.”
    “That’s what the patrollers would say because I have no papers. But I’m free, born free, intending to stay free.”
    “You’ll get me in trouble!”
    “Not tonight. You’ve already had your trouble for tonight.” I hesitated, bit my lip, then said softly, “Please don’t turn me away.”
    The woman said nothing for several seconds. I saw her glance over at her daughter, then touch her own face and wipe away blood from the corner of her mouth. “Wasn’t going to turn you ’way,” she said softly.
    “Thank you.”
    I helped her up and into the cabin. Refuge then. A few hours of peace. Perhaps tomorrow night, I could go on behaving like the runaway this woman thought I was. Perhaps from her, I could learn the quickest, safest way North.
    The cabin was dark except for a dying fire in the fireplace, but the woman made her way to her bed without trouble.
    “Alice!” she called out.
    “Here I am, Mama.”
    “Put a log on the fire.”
    I watched the child obey, her long gown hanging dangerously near hot coals. Rufus’s friend was at least as careless with fire as he was.
    Rufus. His name brought back all my fear and confusion and longing to go home. Would I really have to go all the way to some northern state to find peace? And if I did, what kind of peace would it be? The restricted North was better for blacks than the slave South, but not much better.
    “Why did you come here?” the woman asked. “Who sent you?”
    I stared into the fire frowning. I could hear her moving around behind me, probably putting on clothing. “The boy,” I said softly. “Rufus Weylin.”
    The small noises stopped. There was silence for a moment. I knew I had taken a risk telling her about Rufus. Probably a foolish risk. I wondered why I had done it. “No one knows about me but him,” I continued.
    The fire began to flare up around Alice’s small log. The log cracked and sputtered and filled the silence until Alice said, “Mister Rufe won’t tell.” She shrugged. “He never tells nothing.”
    And there in her words was a reason for the risk I had taken. I hadn’t thought of it until now, but if Rufus was one to tell what he shouldn’t, Alice’s mother should know so that she could either hide me or send me away. I waited to see what she would say.
    “You sure the father didn’t see you?” she asked. And that had to mean that she agreed with Alice, that Rufus was all right. Tom Weylin had probably marked his son more than he knew with that whip.
    “Would I be here if the father had seen me?” I asked.
    “Guess not.”
    I turned to look at her. She wore a gown now, long and white like her daughter’s. She sat on the edge of her bed watching me. There was a table near me made of thick smooth