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"I went out to Kansas with my husband, who gave you that money. We lived in Lawrence."

Now Lorna gave a big grin and whispered, "Massa Richard say dat’s de devil’s own town!"

"Well, folks in Lawrence say that Missouri is the devil’s own country."

"An’ it is, for me. As soon as Massa Richard and his cronies got so heat up about Lawrence, well, me and Jake, we thought dat war de place for us!"

"But it’s been burned once, and my husband was shot there! You can’t escape into a war that’s getting fiercer and fiercer. There are all sorts of bands of men roaming about, looking for a chance to kill someone."

"Dat’s de closest place."

"Maybe, but you have to listen to me. The men who shot my husband didn’t stop to find out anything about him, or us. They rode up to us, took a look at us, and shot him. They shot our horse, too, for no reason. Kansas is different, even from Missouri. Nothing stops anyone there. Whatever builds up here in the east, in Kansas folks let it out. If you and I go into Kansas, a white woman and a black woman, someone on some side will stop us, because there’s three types of people there—the ones who want slavery, the ones who don’t want slavery, and the ones who don’t want slavery or any Negroes in the state. All of them will wonder about us. All of them will think they can stop us and torment us and take us up for some reason or another. Lorna, you never see a black woman and a white woman together in Kansas."

"I cain’ stay in Missouri. I’m in slavery in Missouri. I cain’ do it." She went over to the chair by the door and put her face in her hands. I lay down on the dirty bed and stared at the floorboards of the room above and the rickety joists holding them up. I fell into an uneasy sleep, so exhausted that I couldn’t wake, though repeatedly disturbed by half-heard sounds of boots in the hallway outside the room, boots above us, yelling and shots outside. In my dreams, I missed the peace of Day’s End Plantation, because surely that quiet, whatever it boded, was better than this disquiet. Then I woke up, and I saw that Lorna, in her chair, had fallen into a doze, too. My spirits were low, and I felt a good deal of fear, but I didn’t long for Day’s End Plantation. That was something. I lay there, and shortly Lorna woke up. She looked over, saw that I was awake, and sat up. She took her time adjusting her clothes and the kerchief on her head, standing and even trying to use the tiny looking glass that was hanging on one wall. When she was entirely straight and neat, she went over to the corner where we had talked earlier, and so I got up and joined her there. She no longer looked fearful but appeared settled and ready. She whispered, "I see what we got to do, Missy Louisa. We got to go on de boat as missy and gal. We got to sink into de wallpaper, like, an’ stay wheah we look like we belong."

"Lots of women and children and servants are moving east. We’ll fit right in."

"But we got to leave dis town. We done slep’ now. We got to leave as soon as de darkness come."

I nodded.

"Wheah are de pony and de cart?"

"I put them in a livery stable."

And that was the last we spoke of them. We both knew that in spite of our best intentions and greatest care, to return to the pony and the cart was to put ourselves in danger, especially as the cart was a gaily painted one, green with red striping. If we had escaped detection so far (and there was no telling if we had), we would risk it unnecessarily by drawing attention to the pony cart. And so, here was another thing I thought I wouldn’t do that I did when the time came. I realized then that there was no telling what you might do if it looked like you had to do it. That was the lesson of K.T., wasn’t it?

I had no bag now, so Lorna wrapped the provisions in her bundle, which itself was none too large, and she stationed herself against the door while I went out to look for the stage to Lexington. I was soon disappointed. The stage company was over-burdened with business—they were sending folks east in all sorts of