CHAPTER 15
Marlie couldn’t think of the immensity of what she was undertaking. She couldn’t, or it would freeze her in her tracks. Many people escaping enslavement had passed a night at Lynchwood, but she’d only seen the glory of what they were undertaking. Their hope for the future. It had seemed frightening in theory—like the stories about battles that she read in the paper, which upset her but seemed far removed from her everyday life. She had never truly empathized until she slipped into her own room on stocking feet and tried to figure out what the most important items were—just as she had when she was a girl. But this time, she wasn’t heading to a more comfortable life; she was heading out into the wilds of the Carolina Piedmont. This time, she was running for her life.
She took a deep breath and commenced the unpleasant task. She tried to be practical. A change of clothing wouldn’t do, but she grabbed a couple of pairs of drawers. The scented hair oil she used, because she refused to give up that one vanity. Her brush. She threw together the same materials she grabbed when passengers showed up at their station, except this time she’d likely have to use the things for herself or Ewan. Some biscuits Lace had brought up for her, wrapped up in a cloth napkin. She picked up her Illustrated American Botany, which had served her so well, but that was impractical. She’d get another copy someday, if she survived the journey.
There’s a chance I won’t. Fear froze her then, with the heavy book in her hand and her heart jumping about in her chest like a chipmunk in the underbrush. She slowly put the book down. But if I stay here, I’ll learn that surviving might be worse.
She pulled out the drawer in her desk and popped open the false bottom, from which she removed the greenbacks she’d saved from her sales at the pharmacy. Her free papers, in case they were stopped, though they might not be worth much given the current climate. She snatched up the letters Ewan had slipped beneath her door, too. She hadn’t been able to burn those along with the Loyal League correspondence, although in retrospect it was an unforgivable omission. But if they made it to Tennessee, they’d be all she had of him when they went their separate ways. A few days of companionship and one kiss hadn’t given her any illusions they could have more than that. And even if they had, his comments on her mother’s beliefs had dashed them.
She couldn’t give herself to someone who could hurt her so easily. Sarah had lied, her father had lived under the same roof and treated her like the merest acquaintance. Even her mother had denied her the truth of her lineage and a choice in her life’s path. Ewan had managed to scald her with a mere sentence—she couldn’t let it progress any further. They would travel to Tennessee, and then she would bid him adieu.
She patted at her chest to make sure the John the Conqueror was still tucked against her bosom, and then she pushed aside the pile of stuffing from her mattress and grabbed Ewan’s haversack, which Tobias had filled earlier. They’d need all the provisions they could safely carry. She gave one last look at her laboratory. It was when she ran a hand over the stout metal body of her still that she felt sadness erupt in her like an abscess: a sudden, blinding pain that rocked her back on her feet. She sucked in a breath and swallowed against the roughness in her throat.
Must I really lose all that I have gained?
Yes.
She turned away and silently climbed through the door behind the desk, pretending it didn’t feel as if a part of her was being cleaved away. She’d always thought of Lynchwood as her second home, but really it was her only one, and she was losing that, too.
“You deserve a better life,” she remembered her mother saying. She did. She refused to be forced into sex with men who saw her as a taboo with whom they could slake their dark desires before returning home to their blushing brides. She didn’t know much, but she knew why women like her fetched a good price: White men saw them as a novelty to be tried at least once in life.
Is that what Maman was to Stephen? The thought cut deeply, and was immediately followed by something even more painful. Is that what I am to Ewan?
Marlie couldn’t think on that. She couldn’t conjecture what it meant that he wanted to kill for her, to save her, and to kiss her like he needed it to keep living. None of those things was important anymore. Only getting to Tennessee.
“Ready?” The whisper was followed by a grunt from across the drying room. Ewan’s sleeves were rolled up and the veins on his forearms flexed as he pulled at something with both his hands. He’d tied the strips of fabric together and was testing the knots. That meant . . .
“We’re leaving by the window,” she said. Her stomach lurched and wild fear galloped through her veins.
I can’t. I can’t. I should give up now. How can this succeed?
“I told you I’ve done my fair share of escaping,” he said, and then had the audacity to smile. “I don’t think it would be incorrect to call myself an expert. Trust me, Marlie.”
She wanted to, but this was more than a kiss. It was her life.
“We have to go now, before Cahill arrives,” he said calmly as he tied one end of the rope to a solid support beam. He tested that it could hold their weight by planting one foot on the beam and tugging at the makeshift rope with all his might.
“Sturdy as an oak. All right. Remember something, now.” Marlie looked up at him, tearing her gaze from the window and the forest beyond. “Two things: First, don’t look down. I’ll go before you, and direct you if need be. Second: You’re in control here.”
“Excuse me?” She didn’t hide the agitation in her tone. This wasn’t the time for a philosophy lesson.
“Melody wishes to master you, and in this house she has that power. But this?” He walked over to the window and opened it. “Climbing out of this window, down this rope, and heading into the woods? This is in your control.”
“What about when we get outside?” she asked, taking a step toward the window and faltering.
“I will never make you do something you don’t want to do, Marlie.”
Marlie looked at him, then past him at the stars studding the night sky and the full moon that glowed bright amongst them.
Full moon means a parting of ways.
She didn’t know where Sarah was, and trying to reach her would lose valuable time. She blinked against the tears in her eyes and bit back the sob rising up in her. Sarah was her aunt, not her sister. Sarah had withheld the truth for years. But that didn’t mean Marlie didn’t love her.
“Let’s depart at once,” she said. Ewan hung his sack around his neck and shoulders, tested the give on the tied-together fabric one last time, and shimmied through the window. The rope was pulled taut over the sash, and bounced with his movement as he climbed down. Then he was gone.
Marlie took a breath and stepped forward, and Ewan’s ginger head popped up above the sash again. “Remember, don’t look down!” And then he was off.
Marlie took hold of the rope.
Ancestors, help me.
She threw her legs over the sash, planted her feet against the wall, and let the rope take all her weight. The wind whipped about, blowing her hair into her face and tugging at her skirts. At her back she felt the awful press of nothingness. She closed her eyes tightly.
She carefully slid one foot down, and cringed at the noise she made. She fought against the cry of fear rising in her throat, lifted a foot, and placed it firmly but quietly down. She needed her hands to follow suit, but they held on to the rope and refused to budge as if they had their own free will.
You are in control. You are in control.
She thought of Melody walking around the house and finding her frozen with fear, of the way the woman would laugh and sneer. Marlie’s hands loosened one at a time and she began to move. After a few steps she had a rhythm. Left hand, right foot; right hand, left foot. She focused only on finding a stable place with her foot, and on the reverberation of the rope that transmitted Ewan’s own climbing rhythm to her. His words echoed in her head with each sure jerk of the rope.
You are in control.
It was when they were halfway down the house that another sound filtered in: hoofbeats. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw scattered torchlights jumping down the road in the distance, moving at a good clip. Cahill and his men were returning from their marauding. They had no care for the upkeep of the lawn, and would sally up to the area of the yard where Ewan and Marlie were descending.
The rope gave a violent jolt. “Hurry!” Ewan’s agitated whisper pulled her senses back to her. She was no great adventurer, but she was certainly not going to allow herself to be caught if she could help it. She began climbing down again, trying to recapture the rhythm she’d had, and then increasing the pace.
Her breath came as a rasp in her ears and throat, the sound unbearably loud to her, but less disquieting than the approaching hooves. Now she could hear the yells of the men, the snorts of their horses.
God, God, God. I won’t make it.
Marlie broke a cardinal rule and looked down. Ewan was already on the ground, his gaze pulled in the direction of the arriving militiamen. His fists were balled, his stance solid—he was unarmed, but prepared to fight instead of flee.
He looked up at her, and the truth of their situation was clear: She wouldn’t make it at her current rate. Despite that, Marlie no longer felt afraid. Calmness overtook her, and she felt the sensation of rightness that always came to her when she got the measurements for a tincture just right by sight alone.
She closed her eyes and released her grip on the rope.