of them who rise up thinkin’ they deserve more, ’cuz no one beat sense into ’em when they start believin’ what them Yankee abolitionists say. We know how to handle our slaves here in this part o’ the Virginny hills. That’s why me and Mooney are gettin’ rich fetchin’ them runaways over in Kentucky. They wanna know how come our stock stays put here on the Ridge, and I tell ’em its ’cuz Twitchell Grayson can smell a runaway from a hundred miles. Fact is, I can see it in their eyes and hear it in their voice before they even get a foot out the door. It all starts with the believin’. And I have a knack for whippin’ the believin’ out of them who needs it. No abolitionist is gonna find a believer in these parts. That’s why the path runnin’ north is worn bare across the bluegrass of Kentucky, but not even a paw print dares to cross these blue-shaded peaks of Echo Ridge.”
Twitch laughed heartily as he wiped the back of his hand across a trickle of brown tobacco juice moistening the hair framing the corners of his mouth. Aunt Augusta remained cool and unimpressed, although I knew from the Vigilance Committee meetings often held in the parlor of our home that she was a strong leader in opposition of the Northern-funded abolitionist movement pervading its way south. In spite of being the lone female in an organization of concerned men of commerce, it was often her voice I would hear above all others, making plans and outlining strategies that would keep their slave labor from being threatened. True to form, Aunt Augusta did not so much as blink an eye when she said, “Fine, Twitchell, do what needs to be done. But I will be making a trip to Cumberland Gap in two days, and I expect Winston to be at the reins of my carriage as he always is. I have no interest in breaking in another driver at this late date.”
“Don’t worry, Augusta. Your business won’t be interrupted on his account, even if it means draggin’ him up onto the wagon mount myself. But I guarantee, once I have his hide, he won’t be thinkin’ anyone owes him please for his efforts.”
“Be quick about it, then,” Aunt Augusta said as Twitch led Winston toward the stables. “I want to get these quilting supplies home.”
“Aunt Augusta,” I pleaded as she turned back toward the carriage, “don’t let him hurt Winston. It was entirely my fault.”
Her eyes bore into mine and grew harder as she approached. “Your foolishness has hurt Winston more than any bullwhip, my dear.” Her cold hand reached up and clenched me under the chin. “I have a reputation to uphold in this county and well beyond. I’ll not have you cast doubt on all I have worked for.”
The hiss of her words and sizzle of the whip blended as the distant crack ignited Winston’s cry in the afternoon air. I took off and ran from the sound as fast as my feet would take me.
“Hannalore!”
Despite Aunt Augusta calling after me, the snap of another lash drove me into the thicket at the edge of town. The flounce trim on the bottom of my skirt tore as I escaped deeper into the woods and across the cedar knoll leading to the upper meadow. When I broke into the sunshine of the meadow, I pulled my bonnet from my head and collapsed into the plump milkweed. Using my bonnet to muffle my sobs, I thought of my mother and wished I had her arms around me, so I could feel the protective embrace of an understanding heart, and my feelings would not be scorned as foolishness. Stretched out on my back amid my tears and the scent of honeysuckle, I was, as always, alone and afraid.
“Hannah?” A deep, rugged voice floated down from above. “Why are you hiding here with the grasshoppers?”
I pulled the bonnet away from my swollen eyes and saw a shadowed face staring down at me.
“I do declare, Hannah, you look a sight. What has you running up here to the meadow all by yourself?”
Holding up a hand to block the brilliant rays that gleamed over the broad shoulders hovering above me, I saw the familiar gold-flecked brown eyes of the only soul on earth who would not judge me in my mortified state.
“Colton Reynolds, is that you?” I asked as he knelt down on one knee beside me. He