The Mapmaker's Children by Sarah McCoy Page A

than appearance. It was a bounty of colors, free for all but understood best by those who read colors and shape. A blueberry wave:
waterway to freedom
. Pink hearts:
loving people
. Yellow:
safety
. Black:
dangeris near
. Green:
life is here
. Sarah walked the garden rows. In addition to blueberries, she saw orange squash, red beetroot, green sorrel and kale…
    A horse neighed suddenly. Sarah dropped to her knees in the garden shadows.
    Freddy and a man walked toward the barn, leading a speckled mare by the reins.
    â€œMuch obliged to you, Mr. Fisher,” said Freddy.
    Mr. Fisher’s face glinted indigo under the night light. “Glad to help, Mr. Hill.”
    Siby’s pa. Sarah was touched by the way Freddy addressed him, respectfully and with obvious affection. Her father’s vision before her: white and black men, walking side by side as equals.
    â€œWe thought it best to have two horses pulling the wagon,” Freddy explained. “In case we need to move at a quicker pace. A lot of strangers in town. Amazing how people don’t give the time of day to a man doing a good work, but everybody shows up to see him suffer.” Freddy shook his head and whipped the horse’s reins across his palm. “Mankind. We’re a savage bunch. Sometimes I wonder if Gypsy and Tilda look on us with pity.”
    Mr. Fisher sighed loud enough for Sarah to hear from her crouch. “I wonder the same. Mr. George be a man of forgiveness, mercy, and tolerance. I know he preaches them things to the white folk in New Charlestown, but do other towns hear them parts of the Gospel? Sho’ don’t seem like it.” He ran his hand over the horse’s haunches. “My pa, long time ’go, told me God gave animals a different kind of vision from us peoples. They ain’t got as many colors in their head, so they ain’t confused as easily. They sees straight through the rainbow. When I was a young’un, I used to wish I could see for a minute like theys do.” The horse nuzzled his shoulder. “A rainbow be pretty, but if a man try to take hold of it, he learns fast it ain’t nothing but mist in hand.” He patted the horse’s jowl and pushed it back forward. “Speaking of, I hope this fog rolls off for good tonight, otherwise passengers be late.”
    Both men stopped their stroll to look up to the sky. Sarah followedtheir gazes. Surrounded by cloud banks, the moon shone through but not a speck of starlight.
    â€œComing by land or river?” asked Freddy.
    â€œRumor’s they be from Alabama parts, following the Drinkin’ Gourd.”
    Freddy exhaled heavily, surveying the sky. “They’ll be late, to be certain, then.”
    Passengers, the Drinkin’ Gourd: UGRR code. She was right! The Hills and the Fishers shared her father’s secret—hers now, too—and Sarah had seen how secrets bonded people more than blood or love or faith. Her father’s Secret Committee of Six were men above all others. Men he’d been willing to leave his family for. Men he was willing to hang for.
    â€œMargie and Siby put together vittles for the Hill women. I’ll have her add a little extra for them’s that’s coming.”
    To get Tilda moving again, he clicked his tongue, then continued in a low voice: “Mr. Freddy, we didn’t want to be intruding or being of opinion, but I wouldn’t count myself no kind of Christian if I didn’t tell you.” Mr. Fisher stopped then and lifted his face confidently. “You folks be doing a fine thing here with the Browns. My brother be a freed man out west, and he put to pen the good that Captain Brown be trying to do in the territories. Lots of blood spilt, and he hanged for what? For my peoples and Margie’s peoples down in Georgia, so they be free as us. I wouldn’t have picked up a weapon to fight in Harpers Ferry, no suh, but no mistaking…” Fog curled its way