UNLESS WE DANCE

March 1831 Shoshana woke with a start. Her young body felt stiff, and an excruciating pain shot through her left arm. She tried to stretch her legs and move her left shoulder but found movement to be impossible. Her mind was groggy. She couldn’t think! Where was she? What was she doing here? Slowly, she stuck her head out from under her rough croker sack covering. She saw Sam Hawkins sitting on the flat open seat of the old buckboard wagon, humming softly. The two ancient sorrel mules, lumbering under their load, stumbled their way over the rough path. “Oh, God,” she whimpered. She remembered! Shoshana was a runaway slave. Sam was taking her to Florida—to safety with the Seminole Indians. He promised he would return when it was safe and take her to freedom, freedom in Philadelphia. Clara, mistress of Tanner Plantation, and advocate abolitionist, made arrangements with the Underground Railroad for her passage. Shoshana had her forged freedom papers tucked away with her meager belongings—she would be a free woman of color when she reached Philadelphia. “Put that coverin’ back over ya, little lady,” Sam whispered without turning around. “We’re gettin’ close, and this place is full of soldiers and slave hunters. No tellin’ when we might run inta som’em. I knows Mr. Eli done put a reward for ya, and them slave hunters are on horseback, they’s traveling faster’an us. They’s mean as a snake.” Shoshana eased back under the sack camouflage, to her hiding place in between the water kegs and supplies in the cramped wagon. She knew she dared not make a sound but couldn’t stop the silent tears coursing down her cheeks. Shoshana lost track of time. She couldn’t remember how many days they had been traveling, keeping to the wooded areas and stopping only to eat their meager meals of canned cold beans, fatback, and the corn pone Dot had carefully packed for them. Sam, afraid a fire might draw attention, built a small fire for coffee making in the early morning hours only. He was fearful of the smoke allowing someone to find them. It seemed an endless journey. Just thinking of living with Indians frightened her more than anything else. Would she ever get to Philadelphia? Shoshana squeezed her eyes closed, trying to force memories back, but she couldn’t rid her mind’s eye of her mother’s tearstained face, nor could she forget the sound of her soft voice when she whispered, “Be safe, my child.” The buckboard jolted along the narrow, rough road. Its splintered sides looked worn in the gray moonlight. Sam sat hunched against the cold March night on the rough plank seat laid across the wagon. Dressed like a farmer in worn heavy clothing, he slumped further down on the seat and pulled his broad-brimmed hat over his eyes. “We’ll soon be to the St. Johns River.” Sam’s voice was raspy as he tried to speak in a whisper, ever fearful that someone might hear. “There’ll be a place for ya to hide and wait till Eagle Wings come for ya.” “How do you know he’s coming for me?” Shoshana asked, her trembling voice giving way to her fear. “When I gets aways from here, I’ll be sendin’ a smoke signal. Eagle Wings knows to watch for my signals. Don’t worry, ya can depend on his comin’.” “How will I know it’s him? Ms. Clara said all Indians look alike—that you can’t tell one from another.” “Eagle Wings is a Indian warrior that’s too old to fight. But let me tell ya, he was some warrior in his day—yea, he was. I guess he’s about the bravest person I ever did know.” Sam chuckled, “Them soldiers and slave hunters think he’s off in the head so they’s leave him be.” The bumping of the wagon slowed and then stopped. Shoshana peeked out from under the sacks. Slowly, she climbed out of the wagon and unraveled herself, stretching her long graceful legs in front of her. The hideout was a cleverly concealed dugout constructed barely above water level on the bank of the St. John River. One person could sit up in it; two would be cramped. The front was covered with brush and rock—undetectable by anyone not knowing it was there. “I knows this ain’t too comfortable, but it’s the only place I can leave ya with all them soldiers and slave hunters round.” “How am I going to know when it’s time to come out?” she asked, reaching to wipe away the tears, hoping Sam hadn’t noticed and thought her a coward. “Ya know what the call of a crow sounds like?” “I don’t know. I think so. I’m not sure.” “Ya’ll know it.” Sam imitated the cawing voice of the crow. “Well, when ya hears the crow call, count to three slowly. Then, if ya hears that same call two times more, one right after the other, that’ll be Eagle Wings. Ya wait till he moves this here rock. Then ya go with him to his town. Soon as I can, I’ll come back, and we’ll get ya to the north. But till then, ya’ll be taken good care of. The Seminole treat their black friends good.” It was damp and cold inside the dugout, and the smell of the musty, wet dirt was stifling. Shoshana could barely sit up, and her folded legs were soon cramping. The palm fronds that lined the floor crackled with the slightest movement. She longed for her bed. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the early evening. She recognized most, frogs and owls, but there were grunts and cries that she could not ascribe to any earthly source. She was frightened, and she was bone tired.