Marsh said, "I know he raped you repeatedly over a period of years. I know he fathered at least one child with you, a daughter named Ruth. I know he sold that child to erase evidence of his crimes. And I know he sent you here to ensure you would never return to Charleston to cause him embarrassment.
Dinina felt tears burning behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Crying was weakness, and she could not afford weakness. Who are you? A friend, Marsh said.
Or at least a friend of people who were your friends. He reached into his coat and withdrew a folded piece of paper. Without taking his eyes from the road, he handed it back to Dinina. Read it.
Dinina unfolded the paper with trembling hands. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the words made her breath catch. Dinina, if you are reading this, you have been purchased by Jacob Marsh, and that means the first part of our plan succeeded. Jacob works with people who help enslaved people reach freedom.
He has been preparing for your arrival in Savannah for 3 months. Trust him. Do what he says. He is risking his life to help you.
The letter was unsigned, but at the bottom, carefully drawn, was a small symbol, a bird in flight, wings spread wide. Dinina recognized it immediately. It was the mark her mother had taught her. The mark women in their family had used for generations to identify themselves to each other to say, "I am here.
I am with you. I have not forgotten." "Where did you get this?" Dinina whispered. "From a woman in Charleston named Bethy.
She is elderly. Works as a cook in Elias Cartwright's household. She has been watching you for years, watching what Elias did to you, what Constance allowed to happen." When she learned you were being sent to Savannah, she contacted people she knew, people who operate what we call the Underground Railroad. Those people contacted me.
Dinina's mind reeled. Bethy. Bethy had been part of the Cartwright household for decades, so old and seemingly harmless that white people stopped seeing her as a person at all, simply as furniture that occasionally moved and performed tasks. But Bethy had been watching, had been connected to networks Dinina had never suspected existed, had arranged this rescue.
The Underground Railroad, Dinina said slowly. I have heard stories. Stories are true. Marsh confirmed.
There are people, black and white, who help enslaved people escape to free states, to Canada, to places where the law does not recognize property rights in human beings. It is dangerous, illegal and it requires careful planning. But it is possible. You are saying you are going to help me escape.
I am saying I am going to try. Whether we succeed depends on many factors, most of which are outside my control. The most immediate danger is Thornton Graves. What about him?
Marsh's hands tightened on the res. Graves is not just a cruel plantation owner. He is also a slave catcher. He makes additional income hunting fugitives, returning them to their owners for reward money.
He has connections throughout Georgia and South Carolina. Men who owe him favors. Men who will help him if he asks. And I just humiliated him publicly.
Spent $1,200 to prevent him from acquiring you. He will want to know why. He will investigate. And if he discovers that I am involved with the Underground Railroad, he will come after both of us.
Then we need to leave. Dinina said we need to go now tonight as far and as fast as possible. We cannot, Marsh said. Not yet.
Why not? Because Graves will be watching the roads out of Savannah. He will have men at checkpoints asking questions, looking for anyone matching our descriptions. If we run immediately, we will be caught within 2 days.
Then what do we do? We hide in plain sight. Marsh turned the wagon onto a smaller path, barely visible through the underbrush. We go to a place Graves would never think to look, and we wait until he stops watching so carefully.
Then we move. Where is this place? You will see. They traveled deeper into the forest, following paths that seemed to exist more as animal trails than as roads meant for wagons.
The afternoon light filtered through the canopy in dusty shafts, and the air smelled of decaying vegetation and standing water. Finally, after nearly an hour of slow progress, they emerged into a clearing. In the center stood a cabin, small and weathered, its walls made of rough hewn logs, its roof covered with wooden shingles that had turned gray with age. Smoke rose from a stone chimney, indicating someone was inside.
Marsh stopped the wagon and climbed down. He helped Dinina descend, then led her toward the cabin door. Before he could knock, the door opened. The woman who stood in the doorway was perhaps fifty years old, her hair wrapped in a blue cloth, her dress simple but clean, her skin was dark, her eyes sharp and assessing when she saw Dinina.
Her expression softened. You got her. I did. Any trouble more than expected, Marsh said.
Thornton Graves was at the auction. The woman's face hardened. Graves, that man is a demon. Did he see you?
He saw me bid against him and win. So he knows your face, he knows I exist. Whether he knows anything else remains to be seen. The woman stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter.
Inside the cabin was larger than it appeared from outside. A fire burned in the hearth, and the room smelled of cooking, something with beans and salt pork. There was a table, several chairs, a bed in the corner. Another woman, younger, perhaps 30, sat at the table, mending a shirt.
She looked up when Dinina entered and her eyes widened. "Lord have mercy. She is just a child." "Dinina is 22," Marsh said.
"She is stronger than she looks." The older woman moved to Dinina, took her hands, examined her face with the intensity of someone looking for signs of illness or injury. "What is your name, child?" "Dinina." I am Sarah. This is my daughter Hannah.
You are safe here. No one knows about this cabin except people we trust. You will stay with us until Jacob can arrange the next part of your journey. How long will that be?