cheek against it and soak the heat from the fire. My eyes get heavy and close, and I let go.
Two days of sleeping and waking and tending follow. Two days, I think. Might be three. I turn feverish myself late in the first day. Feverish, and tired, and even though I cook up the squirrel, I can’t keep much of it down. It’s all I can do to hobble the horses so they can forage, and get back in my dry clothes and wrap the other girls with the drawers and shimmies, and try from time to time to let the dog come and go or force a little water down Juneau Jane. Missy still won’t take any, but her little half sister’s getting stronger.
The first day I get my wits again, Juneau Jane opens her strange gray-green eyes and looks up at me from the red chair cushion, dark hair splayed out all over it like a nest of snakes. I can tell she’s seeing me for the first time and can’t make sense of where she is.
She tries talking, but I shush her. After all the days of quiet, even that much noise makes my head pound. “Hush, now,” I whisper. “You’re safe. That’s all you got to know. You been sick. And you’re still sick. You rest now. It’s safe here.”
I figure that much is true. Rain’s been falling, day after day. Water must be up high everywhere, and whatever tracks we left behind, they’re surely gone. Only worry is how long it might be till Sunday, when somebody comes. I got no idea by now.
Question answers itself when Dog sits up and barks me awake early in the morning. Scares my eyes wide open.
Outside, a voice sings,
Children wade, in the water
And God’s a-gonna trouble the water
Who’s that young girl dressed in red?
Wade in the water
Must be the children that Moses led
God’s gonna trouble the water….
The voice is deep and strong. Can’t tell, Is it a man or a woman? But the song brings Mama to mind. She’d sing it to us when I was little.
I know I need to move, stop whoever that is from coming in here, but I can’t help it. I listen at a few words more.
They come in a child’s voice this time.
That’s good. Good for what I got in mind to do next.
Wade in the water, children, the little voice sings loud, not afraid.
Wade in the water,
And God’s a-gonna trouble the water.
Then the woman again,
Who’s that young girl dressed in white?
Wade in the water
Must be the children of the Israelite,
God’s gonna trouble the water.
I whisper the lines along with them, feel my mama’s heartbeat against my ear, hear her say real soft, This song ’bout the way to freedom, Hannie. Keep to the water. The dog, he can’t find the smell of you there.
The child sings the chorus again. It ain’t far away now. They must be almost to the clearing.
I get up and hurry to the door, press my hand hard against it, get myself ready.
Who’s that young girl dressed in blue
Wade in the water…
I swallow hard, think, Please, let them be good people coming up the path. Kind people.
They sing together, the big voice and the small one.
Must be the ones that made it through
Wade in the water.
Behind me, a scratchy whisper says, “Wade…wahhh-ter. Wade in…wahh-ter.”
I look quick over my shoulder, see Juneau Jane pushing herself up off that red velvet cushion on one wobbly arm so weak it wiggles back and forth like a hank of rope, her eyes open halfway.
And God’s a-gonna trouble the water,