Loving Lydia

******

I hate to do it but I have to think about it. Think about that night.

I was an idiot, and got careless. I met with Dottie a mile or so before the swamp was in sight. It didn't stop the mosquitos from eating us alive that night. There was barely any light from above, all being covered by the shifting clouds. All we could hear was the croaking of frogs and the singing of cicadas. Instead of waiting for backup, I took it upon myself to diverge from the plan and nearly got everyone caught.

I huff in annoyance and continue to pull at the weeds in the backyard. Might as well think about it now, while I can take my anger out. I've been putting it off for too long.

Someone had to have been following me from the beginning and I just failed to notice. I also dropped the ball while training Dottie on how to cover our tracks and keep our eyes out for anything suspicious. This was one of her first missions, so she was stressed enough as it was. I thought I could pick up on anything she might miss. And then when we waited for hours to hear back from Sam, but never did, I jumped out and went ahead anyway.

I walked through the mud, created by the rain from earlier today, and ignored Dottie's pleas to stay. I mean the sun was going to come out any minute and we were going to lose our window. I just thought of the poor slaves that would be waiting for us on the other side of the swamp only to discover no one was going to come. It would only be a matter of time before they sent the dogs out. I've nursed enough torn skin to know some would rather be dead than caught by one of them.

So, I did as stupid does and I left my spot. I was close to reaching them. I went over that trail more times than I could count and I knew just how many steps I needed to get to them. Those waiting by the swamp, waiting for freedom. And then I was caught. My foot got caught by a thick rope and I got dragged through the literal mud, hitting some sharp rocks along the way until I looked up and saw the faces of five men. Those bastards had been waiting for us. They got someone to track our routes and just waited. And I fell into their trap with a cherry on my head. They beat me and beat me trying to get me to talk. For a long time they assumed I was a man so they really let me have it. And then my shirt ripped open when they tried to drag me up and it wasn't long before they put two and two together. They continued to beat me, said they wouldn't waste their seed on me, a sympathizer. And so, they found other ways to torture me. But I wouldn't give them any names. Poor Dottie probably had to run back to the crew and tell them what had occurred. I let them down. All of them.

I pull on the weeds a little harsher than intended and remove my gloves. The sun beats down on my back.

I would first die than give anyone up. I would cut out my own tongue before giving them a name. Our whole mission is to save souls and break them free from the literal chains on their arms and legs. They really thought I would talk and when I didn't and they got tired of beating me, they had one of their youngest recruits take me in the back of a carriage and 'dispose of me'. To them I was as good as dead. It was hard to stay conscious for much of the trip, letting the blood leave my body and being rocked to sleep by the motion of the carriage. I gained some strength, unfortunately lost sight of where I was. He threw me down a ditch and I had enough strength to claw myself out of it before seeing black all over again. As I heard the carriage leave, I realized I should have taken at least a horse if not the whole carriage.

I walked and walked during the day break. And then the sun came out and I continued to walk. I was disoriented. Lost, beaten, low in spirit and determination. I had given up. I was ready to die. But a red headed angel saved my life and nursed me back to health. And now that I have a second chance, I have to make sure I don't waste it.

I have to pick up where I left off.

******

We get into a comfortable routine within the next few weeks.

I work around the house, tending to the animals, the garden, and the crops. Meanwhile she goes to school, cooks and cleans and does all of the duties of a wife. Except of course the most important duty of all. It's harder to deny that I don't see her in that way. Even if she constantly walks around with a scowl and doesn't ever talk to me unless it is absolutely necessary, it is hard to miss her soft moments. I've seen her walk with her class of young little girls around town to get some exercise in. How she looks down at them with pure adoration. I've seen how she has started giving Jerry-who I learned is actually Billy, but I continue to call Jerry- the same leg massage I give him after getting his help. He's recovering a lot better now. I've noticed the way she cooks and sometimes gets lost in whatever world she would prefer to be in. Her face turns serene, there are no wrinkles on her face, just a thoughtful expression. I get those small glimpses and put them away in a little box in the back of my mind.

I know better than to act on my impulses.

She is a woman of God who reprimands me for not going to church and reads bible verses loud enough for me to hear on Sundays after she comes back from worship. She hopes her spouting will cut through my devilish beliefs but the only thing I believe in is how my tongue lashes would change her world.

Today is a particularly hard day in that department. She's wearing a nicer dress, that dips too low into her cleavage and yet not low enough. I find it hard to think of anything else but her. It's starting to mess with my head at the most unfortunate times.

I cut through the wood with more force than I need to, causing it to split at the wrong angle. With a low curse, I push the saw away. This lust is getting out of hand. I remove the long sleeve shirt and leave on the light cotton blouse I'm wearing underneath. I probably shouldn't be showing so much skin, seeing as it I just got rid of the last of dead skin but I feel hot all over. No amount of cutting wood or digging in the dirt takes the heat away. I close my eyes and let my mind wonder what it would be like to lay on top of her. Nothing sexual, just lay in her arms and dig my nose into her fiery curls. I miss being in the comfort of a woman. And this woman has the ability to make me feel like the only person left in this wretched world. Of that, I am very certain.

Damn her.

"Put your shirt back on!" She comes out from inside the house and crosses her arms. "I have neighbors." Her accent is kicked up a notch. "And no more salve to tend to new burns." She's more serious than usual.

I scowl but put the shirt back on.

******

I've been doing some small jobs around the neighborhood. Most of the wives are here alone taking care of everything their husbands left behind to go get that damn gold everyone is willing to die for. That leaves for a lot of leaky roofs, broken doors, and other minor repairs I can help with. I've been able to save up, just not as fast as I would like. Plus, most of the wives left behind are just getting used to balancing their books. Mostly trying to figure out how much money they have left over to pay for services like mine, which isn't much. I've also helped a few with their gardening but it is still not enough.

I need more.

Jody and her mother are the most generous ones, giving me something to eat while I work. They never had a man around, so they know how to get by just fine. Jody also works as an assistant to Lydia's class, which helps bring in a couple of extra coins. And although everyone pretends to be okay with my way of dressing and the way I act, I know they all think of me as an outsider. I still don't go to church, I mostly keep to myself, and I don't want anything to do with their shallow conversations. If it was up to them, they would probably prefer to keep me excluded from their little social groups but much to their annoyance, I am more helpful with a toolbelt than even some of the men that have stayed behind.

The main one being Joseph Bingham. He's the same guy who always offers to take the ladies into town to get whatever they need in his carriage. He also has to ride with them, of course. I'm sure his perverted gaze assaults them every mile of the way as much as his bulging gut digs into their ribs when they ride next to him. I wouldn't have a problem with him if he didn't pretend to be the saint that others have claimed him to be. I know he drinks every night, mistreats his employees, and always goes to the little brothel miles away to get his dick wet. Good ol' Joe then repents for his sins on Sunday and does it all over again the next week. He likes to impose his will over the women in town since most don't have a husband to stick up for them. Some of them actually like the attention from this small-town big shot. I wish they could see what a terrible person he really was. He doesn't do anything because it is the right thing to do, he does it because it is the right thing to do by him. He has no moral compass. That thing has been broken for years and he only does what benefits him.

What makes it worse is that he comes from a lot of money and donates a large sum to the girl's school which puts Lydia under his thumb. He practically calls on her at any hour of the day and she has to endure his conversation lest she loses his generous contributions. I always stay nearby whenever he's around to remind him that she is not alone. She pretends to be annoyed when she sees me in the background but I can sense her nerves drop dramatically when he is forced to keep his distance. He is as rotten as his teeth. At least he knows to stay away from me. If only it was the same for her.

Whenever I think of leaving her behind to deal with him, I'm more reluctant to pack my imaginary bags. We both know I haven't got lick to my name, aside from the tiny bit of savings. Then I have to remind myself that I am not her protector. She has a husband who will be back soon with money or gold. Hopefully enough of it that she won't feel indebted to Joseph.

I remind myself that she is not of my concern.

******

There are only so many times I can repeat that though.

On a particularly bright morning, I planned on starting my day off with some follow up treatment on the potatoes out back. Unfortunately, Joseph's unexpected visit has me sitting on the front porch and paint instead. I bought three cans of white paint with my own money and it was all worth it when I saw Lydia's face. She all but kicked me out for spending the few cents I had saved up but I know she's secretly excited to have a white porch. I could have sworn she almost grinned when I told her why I was doing it. She let it slip during dinner once that she always dreamed of a white wrap around porch. It was one of those rare times that she offered more information about herself. I finished the foundation of the porch, all that is left is to make it pretty for her.

Of course, then that brought on questions about my handyman skills. She was relentless with her inquiry. Where have I learned to do what I do, how long have I been doing it, why do I do it. I gave vague answers to avoid lying, not sure how honest I should be with her. I still don't know how she would react to me confessing to my past. Would she appreciate what I do, how I helped build halfway homes for runaway slaves to take shelter in on their way north? I learned whatever skill was necessary to help the cause. Anything they needed, a cook, a guide, a carpenter I did it all to help as many as we could. It was something others did as well, I wasn't the only one.

I slam the bucket of paint on the porch to stop my mind from going too far back. No need to think of all the faces that I've left behind. I will see them again one day. The ones on our side as well as those that left me for dead.

I make sure to keep the front door open and shut the screen door to stop the bugs from going in. I just need to be able to see her and hear their conversation. Joseph is sitting on the table watching as Lydia moves around the kitchen, preparing some coffee. It's a Saturday morning, no school. He will try to milk this visit for as long as he can. I glare at him as he continues to look at her. Is that how I look when I stare at her? Am I as depraved as he is? I see the perverted way he follows her curves. The grey dress she is wearing is not flattering by any means but he looks at her as if she is wearing nothing at all.

I clear my throat to remind him I'm here and he jumps, wringing the hat in his hand while practically glowering at me.

"I hear the revolts down south are getting worse." Lydia sits next to him and offers him milk and sugar.

His eyes fall to her cleavage but he makes some comment that I don't quite catch.

My mind races as I think about where in the south this could be happening. I get up and walk up closer to the screen door. I grab the bucket of water and start to clean the wood first. I should probably do the whole house, let it dry, and then start to paint but I can worry about the process later. Right now, I need to catch as much of this conversation as I can. I didn't know Lydia would know anything about the revolts, surely Joseph does. For once I am glad, she's engaging him. Maybe he will be stupid enough to give me some clues. If only they can use names, plantation locations, anything that can help me know where to head next. I've sent word to Tom about my current location. I avoid thinking about his old wrinkled face for too long. Although he's old, he's still the best leader we've had.

It's a waiting game now, unless I can get a jump start on where he and the others might be. I need to help keep the momentum going. I need to gather support and lend a hand. But where?

"Must they be so barbaric?" Joseph takes a sip of his coffee and then leans in as if to let her in on a secret. "I hear they are punishing all the slaves involved plus every single one from the plantation as well. It is the only way to make sure they learn from others' mistakes." He shrugs his shoulders as if there isn't any other way to avoid this. As if beating innocent human beings is not the true definition of barbaric.

"Is it true those that did escape are breaking into people's homes and doing ungodly acts?" Lydia sounds concerned.

I roll my eyes. In what world would it make sense for a wanted fugitive to call attention to themselves by breaking into someone's home and wreaking havoc? They would be caught immediately and killed on the spot. I guess this is how the narrative is changed when you listen to it from the oppressor's point of view.

He puts his hand on top of hers. "Don't worry dear. They never make it far. And if they do, I will be here to protect you."

Her eyes are wide and they flicker towards me. She gives me a fleeting look and removes her hand to bring the cup of coffee to her mouth.

"Have you heard about who is behind these revolts? There is only so much they can do on their own." She places the cup closer to her, probably trying to place as much distance as she can between them.

He leans back and looks tired of the conversation. "They're close to being caught. I know one was captured and killed a few months back."

I move away from the door and lean back against the wet wood. Oh God, who was it? I think of Sam's old friendly face, Tom's right-hand man. Timmy's boyish features swim behind my lids. What if it was his wife, Cindy? I don't dare think of Tom on his death bed, I can't take it. I drop the rag on the floor and control my urge to kick the bucket aside.

There is silence. Then some murmuring and then more silence.

I walk away from the house, not caring at the moment that he will be left alone with her. Maybe she is just as bad as the rest. Maybe they deserve each other. I could give her the benefit of the doubt but I know better. This is the south after all. Even those who grew up with intolerant parents and have witnessed generations of hate, come together with one common goal: to help the innocent. There are always those that see it for what it really is. Slavery is morally wrong. This is black and white. Either she is for or against us.

I make it to the outskirts of town and walk over to a big boulder.

Finding the side that blocks the sun, I sit down and clear my mind. Looking off into the distance I see a vast open space. The ground is all dry dirt and dead plants or bare twigs that were maybe once small bushes. Further than that are big boulders, valleys, mountains. Absolutely breathtaking but deceiving. They look so close, yet I know anyone ill equipped to travel to those mountains will only make it halfway through before becoming a nice snack for the vultures. That was supposed to be me.

Where there is no mountain there is an open sky. A wisp of white cotton clouds separating the dying ground from the water blue sky. Sam would love the scenery. Would even try to replicate it on a canvas. His drawing skills make him the best person to handle our maps, escape plans, and false documentation. I can't see the sun but I know it is as bright and unforgiving as the time I cooked under it. What must they be up to right now?

"What brings you here?" Jody's voice scares the living shit out of me.

"Well, fuck!" I sit up and grab my chest.

Her pale blue eyes widen and she turns pink. "You look like you've seen a ghost." She motions to the spot next to me. I want to mention that her yellow dress will get dirty but I'm sure she's aware.

I move over and wipe some dirt from my pants.

"I may as well have." The fact that she snuck up on me without making any noise has me unnerved. "What are you doing here?"

We both stare off into the distance and she waits a moment before answering.

"I went to Miss Lydia's house to visit. Then I heard Mr. Bingham's voice and decided to steer clear." She looks at me and wrinkles her nose. "He gives me the creeps."

"You're not the only one." I look away and lean my head back.

Could someone from our little crew really be dead? It could also be someone who played a small role. Maybe the guy who helps Sam forge documents or the lady who gives extra rations of food. We don't use real names with them to stay safe on both sides. No matter who it was, it is probably a heartfelt loss. Did they have a family?

"You're more quiet than usual." She pushes her shoulder against me.

"Just getting home sick." I lie. Or maybe not completely lie. Those people are my home.

"Do you have enough saved up?" Her concern is genuine. "I don't have much but maybe enough to get you back there. Wherever home is."

She doesn't outright ask questions when she wants to. Just leaves it hanging in the air hoping I'll offer information.

"I'm fine." I give her a small smile and look back out into the distance.

"My mom wants to have you and Miss Lydia over soon." She picks at some weeds on the ground.

This invitation has been open since I started helping them around their house. I've avoided going because I don't want to build any relationships. Don't need to immerse myself with the likes of these folks. By the time I leave here they will have already forgotten all about me. And hopefully, I of them.

"I'll see what works best with Lydia's schedule." Does she hear the way my tongue turns into molasses as I say her name?

We sit there a bit longer but I know I have to go back soon. I need to make sure Joseph is gone too. I don't care to have him around any longer than necessary. He's either filling her head with useless and wrong information or staring her down like some lamb chops.

"Will you come to our class one day?" She looks up at me as I stand. I help her up and try to hide my surprise. "The girls have been curious about you and I know Miss Lydia is too polite to ask."