was not as lush as my Lockless, and the quarters were little more than hovels arranged haphazard in the forest. Broadus had not even bothered to have the trees cleared from around. And I thought that if this chaotic arrangement gave any tell as to what it was like to task down here, I well understood why Harriet would like to forget.
It was now Sunday morning, which meant no Task, and no Task meant no count, so the headman would not notice Robert’s parting until the next day. We’d be in Philadelphia by then, with Raymond and Otha, plotting on the next step to Canada or New York. The plan, as much as I knew of it, called for Robert to step out of his quarters just before sunrise, whistle once, and then walk to the woods where we would meet. Once Robert approached, I was to speak a phrase to let him know my intentions, and he would respond with his own. Failing any of that, I would know that something had gone wrong and would immediately then head off myself back to Chase Piers’s cabin. And so I waited, at some distance, until I saw a dark figure step outside and look around. I heard a whistle and then watched the figure begin making its way out from the cabin into the woods. I walked toward the figure and said, “The Zion train is upon you.”
“And I should like to be aboard,” Robert said. He was a normal-sized man, with a sad countenance holding none of the joy or confidence that Harriet’s other family had offered. There was weight to him, and rarely had I seen a man woeful at the prospect of rescue from the Task.
“We leave at nightfall,” I said. “Make all your arrangements, and then meet me here.”
Robert nodded again and headed back to his cabin.
I retreated deeper into the woods. Though there would be no tasking this day, I did not wish to attract any attention. So I walked until the woods rose upwards and, climbing up a hill, found a cave where I kept peace until dark. Then as the appointed hour approached I made my way back. But Robert did not appear. I waited longer, and when he did not show, I wondered if Robert had staked out the wrong time, because I knew I had not. I thought to leave without him, for Harriet would make no exceptions, and I think, were I back in Virginia, I might well have done it. But the months had changed me, and I thought often during those days since the New York Convention of how Micajah Bland had died, of how he could have left Lydia and made his way back. And I thought of how he would have rather faced Otha in the next life than in this one having done such a thing. And I still had my passes should I need them. So there alone I made a decision to return with Harriet’s brother Robert or not return at all. I left the wood to check on his cabin.
As I approached I heard a woman yelling, and through the open door I saw the woman pacing about and Robert on the bed with his head hung between his hands. I watched from outside for a moment as the woman inveighed against Robert with a mixture of rage and pain.
“I know you are leaving me here for some social with that Jennings girl,” she said. “I know you, Robert Ross. I know you are leaving me, and you had better be an honorable man and say it as such.”
“Mary, it’s just like I done said—I am going to see my brother and my ma and pa,” said Robert. “Ain’t nothing but a Sunday. You know this. Look, there’s Jacob”—and at this Robert motioned out the door toward me—“I told you bout him. From the Harrison place. He got people that way too, ain’t that right, Jacob?”
Mary turned to me, standing outside, looked me over, and rolled her eyes.
“I ain’t never seen no Jacob,” she said.
“He right there,” Robert said.
“You ain’t never need any kind of partner for the walk before,” she said. “What done changed? I never seen this man before. I know he ain’t from around here. How bout I walk with you stead of him. I know what you doing, Robert Ross. I know all about that Jennings girl.”