Northern Star

Chapter 6

An hour before dawn, Perry climbed back into her dirty old clothes. She took great care to rub a thin layer of mud over her hands and face. She even smeared a few smudges of rancid lard across her shoulders to ensure that Hunter would no longer think she smelled nice. Remembering the feelings he'd awakened in her had robbed her of sleep. After much thought she'd come to one firm conclusion: She couldn't allow Hunter to be part of a crime. If he knew she was a traitor and didn't turn her in, he would be just as guilty as she. He was not the kind of man to take his honor lightly.

Abram was waiting for her at dawn with the wagon ready. Hunter was awake and looked rested, but his gaze watched the sunrise. He was silent, but his eyes showed longing.

Perry climbed onto the seat and looked over her shoulder at Hunter. Her heart tore apart as she saw the sadness in his stormy gray eyes: A sadness not from his injured arm and shoulder but from his heart. She knew he was remembering last night and longing for the feel of her in his arms, and she equally longed to be there. A part of her wanted to crawl into the back of the wagon and hold him forever, but she'd seen the strength in his character. The question weighed heavy in her mind. Would he accept her if he knew the truth? Would she still see the loving warmth in his eyes if he learned that they fought on different sides? She'd seen no weakness, no compromise in him when he'd faced the deserters the day before. Would he be as unyielding to her if he discovered what she had done?

The cook hurried to the wagon and handed Hunter another cup of her hot herb tea. "You drink this, Captain. You'll sleep for several hours and wake up feeling a mite better."

His words for the old woman were kind, but the sadness never left his gray eyes. Almost before he'd finished the last drop, he was sound asleep. The cook pulled the blankets close around his shoulder as Perry watched, wishing she could do the chore for him.

Abram thanked the soldiers and slapped the team's rumps to start them moving down the muddy road. He seemed in high spirits and unmindful of Perry's quiet mood. "We've a long ride to Philadelphia. Soon we'll have Hunter where he can get proper care, not that your brother didn't do his best under the circumstances." Abram urged the horses forward. He glanced back to make sure Hunter was asleep. "I promised your brother I'd see you safe on the road to your grandfather's, and I will, too, as soon as I get Hunter tucked away."

"If I had some money, I could get back on my own." She remembered the one piece of jewelry she'd taken with her when she'd left home. Unfortunately it was in the packet with her mother's papers. The papers were miles away in a loft she doubted she'd ever find again.

"Hunter's got some folks not more than thirty or forty miles from where your brother told me your grandpa lives. He can lend you money, and you could pay him back after the war,'' Abram said matter-of-factly. "Just look at it as a loan from a neighbor."

Perry's brow wrinkled in thought. She hated to take money from anyone. However, she felt her grandfather would make it good. At least she hoped he would. Her correspondence with him had been sparse, but he was a Southern gentleman. Perry suspected a brooding feud between her father and her mother's father, though neither ever spoke about it. The one time she'd seen the two men together, there had been a coldness in the air.

Turning her attention back to Abram, Perry asked, "Isn't Hunter a Yankee?"

" 'Course he is. But his mom was a Southern lady. Her folks still live in the South. I suppose that's why Hunter hates this war so badly, feeling a part of himself on both sides. He told me more than once about visiting his mom's folks when he was a boy. She died years before the war. Maybe it was for the best; don't know if she could have stood seeing her world divided. Anyway, Hunter's not been back in years, but ever once in a while he gets a letter smuggled through from his grandpa. If this fighting ever ends, I have a feeling that will be the first place he heads."

"Abram, will you go back with him?" Perry asked.

"Guess I will. Though my memory of the South isn't nearly as fond as Hunter's. I was born in Virginia, and from the time I walked, I don't remember much except beatings. I ran away the first time when I was about six. Didn't make it free till I was nineteen." Abram pushed his hat back and continued. "No, can't say I look forward to going back below the Mason-Dixon line, but I will if Hunter goes. I've been with him so long, can't see changing now."

Abram paused, deep in private thoughts of his own. Perry watched the countryside slowly rolling past them. The trees lined the road in thick huddles, as if they'd gathered to watch people pass. Everything was turning green with spring. As the buckboard moved farther north, Perry saw fewer signs of war. Here the farms were peaceful and quiet. She saw no hastily abandoned campsites or burned farmhouses. The war seemed far away, almost unreal in this countryside.

Perhaps an hour went by in silence before Abram broke in abruptly. He seemed to be in a mood to talk, and Perry was a willing listener. "You remember Captain Wade Williams, back at camp?" he asked.

Perry nodded, knowing she'd never forget the disagreeable young officer. She remembered the feeling of evil that shadowed him and fouled the air when he spoke.

Abram continued, "Guess you could say he was the first person I met when I came north. I was nineteen and turned loose in Philly with three dollars and a good-luck pat on the back.

"I remember the town showing another black boy very little kindness. Within a month I was well on my way to starving and stealing.

"Well, one night I was walking along, looking for a dark corner to sleep in. This young kid yelled at me, 'Hey, nigger, I'll give you two bits to hold my horse here till I return.' The kid was Wade Williams. He was only a college boy then, but as sharp-tongued as he is now. I could tell at a glance he'd been drinking. I didn't know it at the time, but he was planning to play a prank on someone. So he needed his horse ready to be able to get away fast.

"Next thing I knew, up galloped this other fellow, dressed pretty much like the first, only he was sober. They got in a bitter argument right there in the street. Wade kept wanting to fight, while the other kept trying to reason.

"Finally, madder than hell, Wade turned away and grabbed the reins of his horse. Now I was powerful hungry, so I stepped out to remind him of the two bits. Lord! Fire showed in his eyes as he pulled his horse up and trampled me down like I was grass.

"Next thing I knew, I woke up with the other boy staring at me. His gray eyes were filled with worry. I'd never seen a white man care anything about me. Seems he'd stopped Wade from killing me. In the process he scarred Wade's face over the eye. There's been bad blood between the cousins ever since."

"The boy was Hunter? she asked, remembering the way his gray eyes looked at her.

"Yes-only he was no more than seventeen then," Abram answered.

Perry found the story fascinating. "Then you went to work for him?''

"Not really. I went back to his house. There he was, a kid living all alone. His mother had just died and his dad was off in Europe. He nursed me the best he could, and fed me. I've been with him ever since, but not as his employee. For eight years now we've just helped each other out. You may not understand this, Miss Perry, but we are friends. Closer than most family. He even taught me to read. I've got a room in his house with more books in it than most men my color see in a lifetime."

Perry understood Abram better than he knew. She'd heard Noma talk of what a joy it would be to read, and Perry had started teaching her before the war broke out. Silence fell once again between the huge black man and Perry as they each moved into the cocoons of their own thoughts.

The miles passed slowly as they traveled closer to Philadelphia. Abram stopped only briefly to check Hunter and unwrap food from a small supply box. He made no further attempt to build a fire and cook. Perhaps he had no wish of a repeat of the ambush scene. Hunter slept as they traveled, waking only occasionally to ask for a drink. She tried to assist him, but with her bandaged hand she was almost useless. After a few unsuccessful tries Perry and Hunter found they could work as a team fairly well. She poured the water with her good hand and Hunter held the cup. She watched as the wind softly brushed his blond hair, and longing to remove her filthy hat and loosen her curls in the breeze. Only two people would see her. One, Abram, already knew she was a girl. Yet Perry knew she must continue her disguise, if only to protect Hunter. She sighed softly, resigning herself to her awful clothes.

The following days passed rapidly. Abram drove the team almost continually, stopping only to rest the horses. During these breaks Abram would stretch his huge body out under a tree and sleep.

Perry and Hunter usually spent the time talking. Hunter enjoyed telling about his ballooning adventures, and Perry found this a safe subject. As long as she asked a few questions now and then, Hunter would continue talking.

He told her of one of the first balloon ascents in Paris, in 1783. "The balloon only went six miles," he said, "but it was the first hydrogen balloon to go up. A young physicist named Charles invented it. When it landed in a small village, it frightened the locals, who mistook it for a monster. The farmers attacked it with pitchforks, destroying it. They didn't know they were attacking such an important discovery."

Over her laughter he continued. "Ben Franklin was in France at the time, and it is said he and four thousand others watched the next ascent six months later.''

Hunter smiled. "You know, boy, if I could, I'd introduce you to a good friend of mine. He's on leave from the German army to check out ballooning for the military. He's been crazy about it ever since he went up for the first time in Minneapolis. He's a count, you know. Name's Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin. I lend Count Zeppelin my lodgings in Washington whenever he needs them. He junks them up with maps worse than I do." Hunter laughed and Perry noticed a tiredness in his eyes.

Perry and Hunter's conversations were usually short, for Hunter was still very weak. When they talked, the warmth in his smile never reached his eyes. He was a private man. Even when he grew excited about ballooning, there still was a silent wall that seemed to keep all others pushed slightly away.

As Philadelphia drew nearer, Hunter's bleeding lessened. He was growing stronger, and so were Perry's feelings toward him.