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“Nothing worse than a man who can’t take no for an answer. I wouldn’t have been as polite as you.” “You have a shorter fuse than I do,” Penelope said, her smile fading a bit. “And you have a husband to shelter you.” “I suppose there are some advantages of being married.” “And plenty of disadvantages.” Penelope downed the rest of her drink. “You should hear my cousins. From their talk you would think they were considering sprinkling arsenic in their husbands’ coffee.”
“You might not have the choice.” Hetty wrinkled her nose. “After he left us scrambling about, it might be his funeral you’ll be attending next.”
“Nothing changes if we stay quiet and don’t raise our voices,” Hetty retorted.
There were deaths in this city—deaths in both the north and south—due to tensions between the races.
“You’re worrying about unknowns again. Don’t let what she said bother you. We helped people who were probably going to run with or without us.”
As terrible as it was, it was almost a relief to find the dead man. This new murder gave them something to talk about. Something that wasn’t about the angry words they tossed at each other. Something to fill the empty air between them.
“Life rolls on.” Benjy shrugged. “It’s too big to slow down or to pause over something as commonplace as death.”
“Practical is the last word you give pretty dresses, unless it’s the manner of their removal.”
“There’s so much enthusiasm when there’s fighting, but no one cares when soldiers come back injured. The government promised pensions for soldiers who fought for the Union, but the Colored Troops got left behind. None of our boys have seen any money. Which is expected, but I had hoped for more from the community. You can’t say ‘support soldiers’ and then turn a blind eye to those that come back injured beyond words.”
“Did you break the game?” “It still works,” Benjy said rather innocently. “The piece he used to keep the test at a certain level is most certainly broken, though.”
“Some things are as hard to escape,” Hetty said, “as they are to forget.”
“We belong nowhere. Our past is stolen, our present is lost, and our future hangs in the balance. That won’t change for a long, long time. This country thrived with our people in chains. You think it’ll take just a few years to change all that?”
“Change happens when you face it directly. Hiding away will do nothing.”
After doing it a few times, I found I don’t mind making arrangements. The settling of the church, the arrangement of the services. Helping give people some peace and allow others to grieve. It’s quiet work and it’s a job that needs doing.”
“Worried about me?” He went quiet for a moment, weighing and disregarding each word before he selected the perfect one. “Only the right amount.”
“I never seen you look so scared.” “It’s easy to be brave when you have someone you trust at your back,” Hetty replied. “But you do—you have me! He breaks your heart, I poison him, and we run off and join a traveling show. You’ll have to learn to take care of my plants, but you’re very bright and I’m sure you’ll pick up on things.”
In the song, slaves dropped hoes in the fields and sprouted wings, escaping to new horizons. The slaves’ names referred to safe houses or landmarks nearby. Other songs varied from location to location, and once you knew one, it was easy to tease out the meaning of the others.
There could be a trap inside. Or a dead body. There probably was one of both, knowing her luck.
“You focused so much on what you wanted, you forgot about what you already had. Why are you looking so hard for a sister when you have plenty of family right here?”
But it eased Hetty’s confusion as she finally understood all the things that had gone wrong between them. Hetty had hurt her friend. Whether it was on purpose or not didn’t matter. That hurt cut deep and festered. But now Hetty could see the ending of this bitter and private war.
They traveled together and for some time, but they would not all reach the same destination. For while they were true companions for the journey, there were places that not all could go.”
“Friends,” Penelope concluded for Hetty, “they may stay in your life always, but there may come times for them to go separate ways.”
Why don’t people ever spread good things about others?”
“To say what?” Penelope asked innocently. “Do you think we spend our time talking about your relationship?” “Or that we made bets,” Darlene added. “And that Maybelle owes us five dollars?” Penelope said.
“George,” Hetty sighed, “you have quite the way with words. You say all the right things, but your tone makes it hard to take you seriously.”
If anything happens to him, I’m going to find a way to make Charlie pay.” “But,” Penelope protested, “he’s dead.” “Yes,” Hetty said, “but I’ve never been afraid of breaking taboos.”
This was the Benjy most people chose to see: the brute, the blacksmith, the force of nature. Not the gentle and thoughtful person she had spent so much time with.
“Benjy,” Hetty interrupted, “if I get swallowed up by a set of stairs, I will be the ghost that forever haunts you!” That got his attention, like she hoped it would.
How could someone who called them a friend do this? This was more than selling the dresses that Hetty had made for his wife as a gift. This was more than leaving his tenants to live in squalor. This was stealing. And it did not matter if he had done it out of greed or because he was fending off creditors, or out of fear of losing his fragile freedom. He took money he didn’t even earn.
“He always saw freedom as the things he owned and the comforts that came with them.”
“Power comes from belief. We believe in a curse. It becomes a curse. I think it was a warning to keep us away . . . or draw us in.”
When strangers are murdered, we discover their secrets. But when it’s someone we know that’s dead, we end up learning secrets about ourselves.
