MERCY'S HART

SLAVE CATCHERS

"QUICKLY!" he yelled. 

They all followed the red haired man into the woods, down by the creek, where a boat was tied to the bank.

"I'll do my best to throw them off, but you best git in and lay low... let the creek take you on to the split, -which will go several ways.  ...Take the leftmost bent.  When you all make it to the big river?  Just let it carry you until it's a trickle again... Then you'll be well on the northside in Ohio and near your final stop.  Get out on the right-side where it's rocky and walk up  and away from the bank for a few miles.

Look for the big house with the lantern in the right window.  Three calls of the warbler and someone will come out to help.  Ask them what day it is.  If they are there to help? The answer will always be 'the seventh'".

All four of them acknowledged this with nods, and Solomon squeezed the man's shoulder in gratitude before they jumped into the boat.

And it was good that they had... for no sooner had the boat floated down a piece that they heard a gunshot and saw the man that had been helping then, -now so very small from this distance, fall to the forest floor.

A large bearded white man stepped out from the trees, leveled his rifle at the boat, and fired.

Mercy felt the immediate tell-tell searing burn, in her right ankle, that indicated she had been hit.  She cried out in pain and peeked from where she was hidden to see the group... five men strong, drag the body of the white man away.

The one who had fired stared for a moment before walking away.

They didn't pursue the boat.

»»-------------¤-------------««

Mercy's ankle was a mess.  Solomon had done his best to tend to it, digging the ball out with her  hidden knife, but all there was to bind it were were dirty rags.  Festering blood oozed from the nasty wound as they drifted on for a day, and she took a turn for the worse.

They'd done as the man had instructed and took the left-most bank in the split.  After that, they drifted on for two more days.

At this point, Mercy was slipping in and out of consciousness, but they'd made it into Ohio.  They were technically in free territory.  Still, they had been warned that they weren't truly safe until they were well North.  The last stop on the Underground, would help them get to their final destination... Canada.

Solomon, Henrietta, and Paul all worked together to drag the boat onto land. Henrietta and Solomon held up Mercy between them, as they slowly moved into the brush... As the day began to break, they came upon what they hoped would be their final destination before true freedom.

The land was remote, but tended to, which indicated a nearby home.  Paul pointed to a small wooden fence. The boy had been taught caution, but Mercy was hurt.  So, he crept ahead against his mother's protests, and sure enough... A lantern was in the window of a house up ahead.

He warbled three times, went back to hide with his family and Mercy, and waited.

A few moments later, a white man stepped out into the open with a pistol in hand, pointed down at the ground.  He looked around cautiously.

Solomon remained hidden, but quietly ventured... "What day is it?"

The stranger replied, "The seventh."

Solomon came out out of the brush first.  "One of us is bad hurt." he said.  

"Who?"  the white stranger asked, as he holstered his weapon. 

 "A housegirl that came wit' us... Been shot three days ago.  -I think is' festering," Henrietta supplied, her son now holding her hand. "-Is just us, -my husband and my boy, and her."

The stranger glanced down at the prone bundle of a person they were referring to and did not see a house'girl', but what appeared to be a young octoroon boy.  That was common enough, though.

Of the 'cargo' that came through his home, very often the girls were disguised as boys.  ...Safer that way.

"Okay.  You'all go up to the house... My sister will get you settled in.  I'll get the girl."

They went up to the house, where a young white girl who looked similar enough to the man, that she had to be related, stood on the porch.  Like so many others they'd seen on the underground, she had a lantern in hand.  

When the stranger squatted down next to Mercy, she quickly unsheathed her knife and pointed it at him, her hand shaking in her delirium.

The stranger raised his hands in surrender.  "I'm not gonna hurt ya.  I just need to get a look at your hurt."

Mercy's vision swam, and he managed to reach over and quickly disarm her.  She fell back in the grass.  She was too weak to fight any further.

He gently lay the back of his hand across her brow to check for fever, which she did have and briefly looked her over... The right cuff of her pants were tattered and stained with old blood and she was breathing heavily. He lifted it and could see, her ankle looked a mess.  

"Can you hear me?"  he asked.

Mercy was in immense pain but she nodded.  

"Good. Now, I'm here to help you, but I've gotta pick you up and that's gonna jostle you a bit.  It'll hurt like hell, but you have to be quiet.  Okay? We're isolated but sometimes folks cut through."

She nodded again.

He hefted her up into his arms.  She squeezed her eyes shut, bit into her own sleeve to stop any noise and grimaced but didn't make a sound. The sky, trees, and this man's face blurred, as her head lolled on his shoulder in her pained delirium. 

"You can't rest just yet.  Hang in there..."

Those were the last words she heard before she passed out.

»»-------------¤-------------««

Mercy opened her eyes in a strange room and a strange bed.  She was clean and wearing a fresh chemise that was a bit overlarge on her.  Her injured ankle was cleanly wrapped and set on a high pile of rolled cloth.  A white adolescent girl was sitting next to her with a steaming cup of some pungent broth in hand.

The girl was functionally dressed in a work dress, and apron with no frills; her curly light-brown hair was braided away from her face.  Her blue-gray eyes were kind, but held a little mischief in them. 

"The dead has arisen." she said. "..How're you feelin?"

"...I don't know.  Where am I?" Mercy replied.

"North.  ...Ohio to be exact.  This is my brother's house.  I'm Jo.  -Joanne Hart."   

The girl had pronounced her own name like Jo and Anne were her first and middle name.  She stuck out her hand and at first Mercy couldn't discern what she wanted.  But then it came to her.  She'd seen enough men greet each other this way.

She clasped her hand and shook it.

 "Henrietta told me your name is Mercy."

"Yes. It is," she replied.

"-Odd name." Jo said.

"It is that too," she added.

"Well, you got to drink all this down, it'll ward off the fever and help you heal up.  Your ankle is busted up, but good.  I cleaned it best I could and it drained and swelling has gone down.  My brother Eli says, that's a good thing.  You were lucky you got here when you did."

Mercy took the cup and swallowed dryly, and her excess thirst was immediately apparent. How long had it been since she'd had a drink?  She took the cup and downed the liquid quickly despite its awful taste.  

"Good.  Now, you rest.  -You made it.  You're safe now."