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She swelled. She was limping badly.
Behind them, they heard the men reaching the edge of the gorge.
Go down there!
No, go around the other side and cut them off!
Marcus muttered a curse. He looked at Amelia.
Can you climb?
She looked at the steep walls of the gorge.
I don’t know.
Try, he said.
They found a less steep spot. Marcus climbed first, then reached out to help Amelia. She took his hand and tried to climb up. Her feet slipped on the wet rocks and she fell.
She tried again. She made it halfway before her ankle gave way. She fell again. The voices were getting closer.
She said in a broken voice, “I can’t. Go without me.”
Marcus said, “No. You have to live. You have to tell them about Thornhill. Make them hear.”
Marcus went down to the bottom of the gorge. He held Amelia by the shoulders.
I won’t leave you. Either we make it together, or no one does. Now get up.
She looked into his eyes. She saw something she hadn’t seen in a long time: determination, hope, faith.
She got up.
Marcus helped her up. It was slow and painful, but they reached the top. They rolled over the ledge and kept running.
The voices behind them were close now, so close she could make out the words.
I see them!
Don’t let them get away!
A terrifying sound boomed in the distance, and the bark of a nearby tree whipped up. She sped down instinctively, and the bark flew everywhere. She lowered herself and kept running.
Another shot. This one went away.
They were making a loud noise to scare them and stop them.
Then they emerged from the trees.
Ahead of them was a clearing.
In the clearing were houses.
Real houses, with smoke rising from their chimneys.
People were outside, working in the gardens, hanging out the laundry. They stopped and stared.
Amelia and Marcus stumbled into the clearing.
Behind them, the three men emerged from the woods, saw the settlement, and stopped. One of them raised his rifle.
“These are fugitives,” he said. “They are ours.”
An old man stepped forward from the crowd. He was dark-skinned, with white hair and a beard, and leaned on a cane. But his voice was strong.
“There is no king here, only free people. And you are trespassers.”
“We have a right,” one of the men said.
“You have only one right,” the old man interrupted, “and that is to leave now, before things get any worse.”
More people came forward. Men and women. Some carried tools, some simple tools for work and defense. They formed a line between the three men and Amelia and Marcus.
The men exchanged glances. They were fewer in number. They knew it.
“It’s not over yet,” one of them said.
“Yes, it is,” the old man replied. The men retreated slowly, then turned and disappeared among the trees.
Amelia’s legs gave way completely. She collapsed to the ground.
Marcus knelt beside her.
The Elder approached and looked at them.
Where are you from?
Marcus said, “From Thornhill Farm. And there are forty others still there who need help.”
The Elder’s face hardened.
Thornhill? That place is supposed to be over.
Marcus said, “It’s not over. They’re still enslaving people, pretending the war never happened.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
The Elder looked at Amelia.
Is it true, girl?
Amelia nodded. She couldn’t speak.
The Elder turned to face the crowd.
Bring the Sheriff. Bring the Federal Marshal. We’ll finish this today.
Two days later, Amelia sat on the porch of a small house in the settlement. Her feet were wrapped in clean bandages by now. A woman named Clara washed her wounds with warm, soapy water, rubbed them with ointment, and wrapped them in a clean white cloth. She also gave her a new blue cotton dress, decorated with tiny yellow flowers. It was the first new thing Amelia had ever owned.
She watched the road.
She had been watching it since dawn.
Marcus sat beside her. He was watching it too.
He said, “They’ll come.”
Amelia replied, “Promises mean nothing.”
He said, “This time they do. I made sure of it.”
The old man who had rescued them was named Samuel. He had been born enslaved in Alabama and had escaped when he was sixteen. After the war ended, he had gone back south and helped build this settlement. He called it New Hope. It had forty families. They farmed, they built, and they lived as free people.
Samuel sent word to the federal marshal in Jackson, telling him about Thornhill Plantation and about the people who had