After dark, Brightwell disappeared through the trapdoor and backed down the pantry shelf-steps. Zenobia and me both leant over and watched him open the narrow door and put his eye up against the bright crack of light. “C’mon down. All safe,” he said as he reached up, grabbed our waists one at a time, and swung us to the floor. When we walked through the pantry door, the warm kitchen welcomed us. Auntie walked back and forth carryin food to the table and callin for her cat to come for supper. We set down together and held hands, and tonight I knew what to do. We said our silent prayer and then began our meal. Between bites we talked—nothin about what was goin to happen durin the night, nothin about us never seein each other again; we just talked about the North and the peoples who had made a new life there. Some of them, with the help of others, were slowly findin family they thought to never see again and helpin to move them north too. “Just a few years ago thee would have found shelter in Pennsylvania, New York, Ohio, any number of places, but not now—not with the Fugitive Slave Act.
What do You think about Running Out Of Night (2014)?
