Where trees had thinned, lichen gave way to Trumpet flowers touting a splendid meadow. The white down released from butter-colored dandelions billowed past Jack-in-the-Pulpits that praised Mother Nature’s beauty. Adjusting to the blinding sunlight, Eubie covered his eyes with his hand. Through the slits between his fingers, he spied a ribbon of painted ponies streaming across the landscape heading straight in his direction. In the lead, a coffee colored man sat majestically astride a magnificent dappled stallion. A flick of the man’s gloved hand made the horses stop and lower their heads in a regal bow. “The Amazing Francois at your service,” the man said doffing his cap which revealed a head of heavily pomaded hair that reeked of bear grease. “But in this god forsaken land…” He wrinkled his nose as if met with a bad smell. “I am reduced to Frenchie, purveyor of prancing ponies,” he said just under his breath.
Eubie removed his own hat which exposed months’ worth of hair locks that could easily rival unshorn sheep. “I’s named afta mah pa, but peoples call me Eubie.” By no means had he ever seen such finery worn by any white man let alone a black man with an aristocratic air and French accent. Frenchie’s fringed leather jacket was as smooth as the softest doe and his ornately carved boots were worthy of any plantation owner. With the exception of Miss Porterhouse, Eubie never knew anyone to act so regal. “Are you an African king?” he asked not knowing whether to bow or to shake the man’s hand. Frenchie laughed.
“Where I’m from I’ve always been a free man of color - but at a very high price.” Eubie wanted to ask what price, but was in awe of meeting a black man who had never worked in the fields or cooked somebody’s food.
“Mama say I’s a treasure too.”
“And so you are.” He regarded Eubie with curiosity, but had too much breeding to remark about the size and shape of his head. He was more concerned about how a young boy managed to be in the middle of nowhere where any horrible fate could befall him. “Are you lost, mon petit?”
“First I was goin’ to ….” Eubie was so far removed his initial intention and his sense of direction was so turned around that that he couldn’t remember where he had been or where he was going. His confusion erased the focus his original plan, “Ain’t lost”, was the only thing he could come up with.
“Then where might you be going, MonsieurEubie?
“Any place I be free.” Frenchie was impressed with the boy’s strong sense of self.
“I someone to assist me with my travels. Come with me and you will have your wish.” Eubie could not have been more pleased. After the strange encounter with man in the forest, he knew that what lie ahead was far more important than anything he’d left behind.
Frenchie’s stallion knifed through the twilight as the trail of horses blazed fast behind. Eubie held on tightly, for the woods now seemed even more foreboding with the luminescent eyes of unknown creatures. Yet nothing could surpass the biggest threat of Slavers who scoured the area with bloodhounds. Through the fleeting light of fireflies, Eubie thought he saw the horned masks they sometimes wore to make themselves look more threatening.
***
At the crest of a deep gully, a doleful harmonica wailed from below. Frenchie cautiously led his charge down to a low-lying campsite dotted with makeshift tents. In the dark of night, the campfires were nothing more than embers and Eubie had to strain his eyes in order to give form to the many silhouettes. As he held steadfast to the horse’s mane, his thoughts were still with the unknown price Frenchie had to pay for the price of freedom. “No need to be afraid,” Frenchie said helping him down from the horse. “Here you can be free forever.”
