| Read An Excerpt From More Than A Slave... Chapter 6: The Chase
That looked like my mother, she thought, recalling the smooth, loving face she had not seen in seven years. Could that be my mother in the stagecoach? Her heart began to race. She had to know. “Pardon me, ma’am! Pardon me, sir!” she called to people as she stepped out from the crowded planks that made up the sidewalk, and took out running up the rain-muddied street after the stagecoach. Up ahead, the stage crossed John Street, and barreled toward Fulton. Katy ran behind, splashing muddy water on her legs and skirts. “Look where you’re going!” called a man balancing with his umbrella as he stepped stone-by-stone across the muddy street. Darting past a horse-drawn wagon, Katy zigzagged and the flour sack fell from her basket. Then the eggs rolled out. “Oh, Lord. I’m losing my supplies!” she cried aloud. “God, help me catch that coach.” The stagecoach bolted ahead. It was now two blocks from the Post Road to Boston. If it reached there, she’d never catch it. She spotted an older Negro man plodding along barefoot ahead. “Mister! Mister! Stop that coach!” The man turned his head and looked at her, never slowing his gait. Katy charged with all her might, her eyes filled with excitement, chest pounding, perspiration trickling down her sides and between her breasts. To avoid a deep rut in the road, the stagecoach driver slowed the horses, which allowed Katy to get almost within arms’ reach. She let her basket go and it flew backward from her, sailing high into the air like a kite before dropping back to the ground several yards behind, scattering her currants, her butter, and their wax paper wrappings. She almost reached the back of the stage. “Momma!” she called. “Stop! Stop! Momma!” People stopped to stare. A white ruffian who’d been loitering in front of the candy store heard the commotion and began to move toward it like a cat stalking its prey. Soon his buddy joined him and they started running behind her. The taller one, wearing a red hat and a blue short jacket, caught up with her just as she reached the Post Road. He ran ahead, dashed in front, then stuck out his buckled shoe. Katy, with her arms outstretched and her eyes fixed on the stage, never saw him. She tripped over his foot, toppled, and slid to the ground. Lifting her head in a daze she saw the stagecoach driver poise the whip high into the air before it snapped above the heads of the horses, who then broke into a fast gallop onto the Post Road. |
| | (The Chase con't) The ruffians’ loud laughter caused shopkeepers and their customers to come to the sidewalk and gawk. They saw the young girl pull herself up, and observed the scratches that crisscrossed her face and arms. Horse-scented mud stained her dress, and stray dogs sniffed at her market items strewn in the muddy street. The older Negro man she’d seen earlier came over and handed her the basket. From inside his shirt he pulled a frayed kerchief which he offered to her to wipe her face. Katy took it. “Did you see that woman on the stagecoach wearing a red bandanna?” she asked, in tears. “Naw, Miss, I didn’t.” “That woman look like my momma!” she cried. “No wonder you was running so hard. Is you all right now?” “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” “I got yo’ basket, though I’m ’fraid all yo’ goods is gone. Can you make it?” “Yes. Thank you. I can.” Stiffly she turned to get her bearings, then started limping down the street--drenched, sore, disappointed, and carrying an empty basket. Merchants, shrugging their shoulders, returned to their shops. “You can go out now!” a harried mother was heard calling. A door crashed open and out ran a boy with a stringy hard ball in his hand. He joined the ruffians as they walked up Broadway. A bedraggled Katy reached home and explained to the missus that some boys had tripped her, that she’d fallen and hurt herself, and that all of the goods she’d purchased had been lost in the street. She apologized, and showed missus her empty basket, which missus eyed suspiciously. Finally missus shook her finger in Katy’s face and shouted, “Don’t let this happen again!” “Yes, ma’am.” By the time Katy reached her room her head had cleared, and something said to her, like the silent whisper of a wave sliding ashore: Why are you still chasing after her? She gave you to me. Katy Ferguson’s Pound Cake
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