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"Well," said the man, "they’s plenty o’ drunks about."

I felt in my pocket and pulled out a dollar, but the man turned his head, then said, "Massa Harry don’ like me to have no cash money. Ifn he was to find it on me, he’d think I was planning to run for sure." Then he eyed me closely and said, "You got a petticoat in your case, theah."

"I do?" I whispered.

"Well, you done lef’ the case, so I spied into it."

"I don’t mind." But I did, though only because I thought that he would know I was a woman. But he wasn’t looking at me at all closely, as a few others had, and he said, "You got a use fo’ dat petticoat?"

"No, not exactly."

"Well, my gal would love dat thing."

"How long can I stay, then?" I worked up a pretty loud croak.

"Long as you like, long as you keep out of Massa Harry’s way. You kin spy him out easy enough, ’cause he weahs an eye patch and leans on a stick. He don’ come around much, but he’s mad when he do."

"Why’s that?"

"Well, he’s mad all the time. Missy says he done got hit on the haid sometime. I don’ know."

"Shall I help you with the horses? I’m fond of horses."

"Nah. Dat petticoat’s enough. I got mah ways heah, an’ Massa Harry, he got a way o’ knowin’ ifn I’m workin’ enough. He figures if I ain’ workin’ enough, then I’m plannin’."

"Don’t be planning," I whispered suddenly.

"I ain’ plannin’. Mah gal’s up to Lexington. I ain’ gonna run from dat gal!"

I didn’t know who had urged the man not to plan, whether it was Lidie or Lyman. I said, "What’s your name?"

"Nehemiah."

"Thank you, Nehemiah. I am L—Mr. Lyman." I caught myself, because although Thomas would have invited the man, clearly a slave, to call him Thomas, Lyman, of Palmyra, Missouri, would certainly have not. I opened my case and pulled out my petticoat. Nehemiah took it, looked it over, balled it up, and thrust it under his arm with a friendly smile. I smiled back at him, realizing that I understood him readily now; his way of talking just took a little getting used to. He said, "Nah I’se turnin’ in fo de night. You bettah sleep back in da corner theah. Ain’ nobody gonna see you back theah." And he went off.

Even though it had been a long day, I sat up in the hay for quite some time, marveling at my new situation and listening to the horses chewing and grunting nearby. In such an unpeaceful place, they made only peaceful sounds.

CHAPTER 21

Lyman Arquette Finds Success

It is a well known fact, that mental excitement tends to weaken the physical system, unless it is counterbalanced by a corresponding increase of exercise and fresh air. — p. 43

THINGS WENT ON in this way for three more days. Each night, I came back to the livery rather late, after Nehemiah had made himself scarce, and in the morning I left with the first light. The angry Master Harry was a man I did not want to run into. Cane, eye patch: meeting such a fellow was not an alluring prospect. I continued to linger at the newspaper office, hoping for another chance to ride Athens, but Mr. Morton had enough articles for his next edition, what with all the news of Lane’s army, and so he gave me to Franklin, who taught me to set type. I had the same trouble with setting type that I’d always had with sewing: my fingers were big and clumsy, and the fine work made me fidget and squirm. Franklin, of course, started me on headlines and advertisements, lots of white space and few words. It was tedious, but at least laying the words and letters into the forms backwards meant that I wasn’t as aware of what the articles were saying. In fact, setting type was not unlike making tiny stitches—minute and repetitive but aiming for speed. And I had to concentrate, so that the passing conversation in the office escaped me, and I fell into contemplating any new life in a rather dreamlike fashion. I was not afraid. Something about the handiwork of it lulled my fears. I knew what they would be if I had them, though—not fears for my safey, nor even fears of discovery, but something more primitive and simple, like vertigo.