Promise Bridge by Eileen Clymer Schwab Read Free Book Online

of color, he quickly added, “He headed downriver, where some say a band of runaways escaped through the Carolina pass. He’ll track them through the Virginia lowlands for a few days.”
    After Colt excused himself, Aunt Augusta and I sat wordlessly until Esther Mae entered through the swinging kitchen door with a steaming tea service balanced in her hands. Moving with well-oiled swiftness, she poured and prepared my morning tea, then stepped away to face Aunt Augusta.
    “Anythin’ else, Miz ’Gusta?”
    “Yes, Esther Mae. Have Granny Morgan fix a plate of griddle cakes and ham for Hannalore.”
    “No, thank you,” I spoke up before Esther Mae could make her retreat. “Tea is all I am suited for this morning.”
    “Nonsense, Hannalore. You must be famished. I will not have you weaken yourself and fall ill while I am away. I have important business with my tobacco traders, and I do not wish to be called home before sealing an agreement.”
    “Surely you do not believe I will collapse because of one refused griddle cake?”
    Aunt Augusta eyed me intently, daring me to sass her again. There was no benefit in agitating her further, and I had more important issues up on the peak, so I surrendered the battle and used it to my advantage.
    “Serve Hannalore her breakfast, Esther Mae,” Aunt Augusta said as she rose from her chair. When Esther Mae disappeared into the kitchen, Aunt Augusta circled the table and stood behind me, where I could not see her scowl, though it was present in her voice. “I see you are dressed for outdoor activity this morning.”
    “Yes, I shall gather raspberries and enjoy a brisk walk before retiring to my needlework.”
    “Indeed, some purposeful activity will be invigorating. I will leave you to your breakfast while I make preparations for my trip.” Then with one last stern glare, she added, “Do not excuse yourself until you have finished your meal.”
    Upon being served my breakfast, I immediately wrapped the griddle cakes and smoked ham in my linen napkin. I shoved the bundle into one of the deep pockets of my dress as Esther Mae returned to clear away Aunt Augusta’s teacup. Her brow arched slightly when she saw my emptied plate. However, she said nothing as she gathered the dishes in her arms.
    “Esther Mae, do we have any clean rags and ointment I could use to treat a deep flesh wound?”
    “Chile, have you done hurt yo’self?” she asked carefully, with a hint of confusion.
    I should have thought through my reasoning before asking. The less attention I brought on myself and my whereabouts, the better. I could not risk confiding my secret runaways to Esther Mae, even if I thought she would be akin to helping me. I was well aware that Mud Run had a social dynamic all its own, wherein the slaves interacted, gossiped, and abided by a pecking order often dictated by those who were in highest favor at the main house, be it with Aunt Augusta, Uncle Mooney, Colt, or even wicked Twitch. In fact, his slave driver, Willy Jack, was kept in sturdy brogans with wooden soles, and his cook fire often smelled of pork drippings simply because Twitch favored him. Willy Jack often carried out Twitch’s fierce orders within the ranks of his fellow slaves. Willy Jack was feared as much as, if not more than, Twitch because his eyes could see all that was transpiring beyond the fields after the master retired to the comfort of his hearth. So rather than chance any suspicious notions being set loose and whispered through Mud Run, I placated Esther Mae with the quickest fib I could fabricate.
    “No, it’s nothing, really. I saw a helpless fawn yesterday. The poor thing was clawed across the haunches by a bear or mountain lion. It was bleeding quite badly and not likely to survive. If I come across it while berry picking, perhaps some comfort can be offered by sealing its wound.”
    Esther Mae chuckled. “Miz Hannah, you know yo’ auntie won’t never let you waste good liniment on some half-dead