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"Yes, he was. He was from Massachusetts."

"Is dey all ablishinists deah, too?"

"Seems like it."

"You evah bin deah?"

"No. I’ve only ever been here, in Kansas, and in Illinois."

"My man war reared up in Georgia, den his massa bring ’im to Kentuck, wheah he larn to ride a hoss, den dey come heah, den he gone to Arkinsaw, and de las’ time I heah from him, he war in Tennessee. An’ in between deah, he done gone to Texas for some little time! An’ all I done is sit deah on Massa Richard’s place, goin’ from de quartahs to de house and back to de quartahs! I done wasted my time!"

"You went to Saint Louis."

"Well , now, dat was a sight! Missy Bella send me out every day to do de shoppin’, and de stores deah is something’. And ain’ jes’ niggahs doin’ de shoppin’ nohow! Deah war plenty to see, I tell ya, but dat war a pestilential place, too! When de summer come on, it git so hot, like deah was fiahs burnin’, and den folks start comin’ down wid de fevah and all kind o’ sickness! You couldn’ git a breeze nohow, sometime fo’ days! Ain’ no place to live, even wid all dem stores!"

"My husband was a sailor for a long time, on the ocean. He went to the Indies. His father has a sailmaking factory."

"How long war you married?"

"About ten months."

"Dey comes and dey goes, don’t dey?"

"I didn’t get to know him very well." I longed to tell her all about him, or maybe just to talk about him freely, but I didn’t know how to start, so I held my tongue.

She spoke ruefully. "I knows Ike and Malachi bettah dan I knows my man. An’ I knows Massa Richard bettah dan I knows any of ’em, since I been watchin’ him ever since I war a chile. Too bad fo’ dat!"

We threw our apple cores under the bush, then Lorna wrapped the remainder of the food in her bundle again. She said, "Why you askin’ all dese questions? I ain’ nevah knowed a white woman who asked me so many questions." But she didn’t sound resentful this time, so I said, "My husband was an abolitionist, and I knew a lot of abolitionists in Kansas, but in spite of their sentiments against slavery, most of them hadn’t met too many slaves. I suppose I just want to learn something."

"Well, you know what? I ain’ a talker. Massa Richard always complainin’ dat you cain’ get a word out of me, and Delia thinks I is hard as a nut, and she say to me, ’Lorna, you ain’ got no heart dat I kin see.’ She say dat to me time and time again, ’cause whatever happen, I don’ say nothin’ ’bout it. But tonight my mouth is jes’ runnin’!" She smiled one of her rare smiles, and we got up and went out to the road.

Just after that, we had our biggest scare of the night, when we heard some dogs in the distance, both barking and howling. At this, Lorna stood stock-still and grabbed my arm. She whispered, "Missy! Farm dogs bark, but catchers’ dogs, dey howl! He done foun’ us!" I didn’t think he had—the dogs were far away and didn’t sound like they were getting any closer; but my thoughts didn’t matter. A cold, painful fright seized my flesh right then, so that I couldn’t move and I couldn’t breathe and I started to shiver. I felt that Lorna was shivering, too, right beside me. The only thing that kept me from moaning aloud was the fear of making a sound, as if the dogs in the distance were evidence of enemies all around us, close enough to touch us. I grabbed Lorna around the shoulders and pulled her to me, and then, after half a second, she grabbed me around the waist, and we stood like that, holding each other up, waiting for the inevitable, it seemed, shock of capture.

But it didn’t come. The barking and howling dogs faded away, the night sounds of rustling leaves and owls reasserted themselves, and Lorna and I stepped apart and marched on, still shaken, and also, I think, a little embarrassed that we had been so suddenly and utterly turned into cowards. After that, we didn’t talk for some time, maybe an hour or two. In fact, I rather forgot about her, as I grew dizzier and dizzier with fatigue, and more and more intent upon simply putting one foot in front of the other. Just before dawn, when we