Lillie did not know how Henry’s wife and boy would react to what she came to tell them, but once the moment was over, she knew she’d never forget it: how they didn’t believe Henry was alive at first; how they wept with happiness when they did come to believe it; how they asked and asked when they could see him; how they wept again when they thought of the suffering he’d endured.

“Does it hurt him—the place the leg was?” the wife kept asking.

“No, it don’t,” Lillie answered, having no idea if that were true or not, but sparing the woman more cause for tears.

“Does he think about us?”

“He don’t seem to think ’bout nothin’ else.”

Even as Lillie was bringing them such joy, she felt a familiar sadness rising inside her. What Henry’s family was feeling, after all, was a happiness she and Mama and Plato would never know. Papa was dead—well and forever dead—and no strange slave girl was going to come knocking on their door late one night to tell them otherwise. When Henry’s wife was done with her questions and told Lillie she’d best go, she felt strangely relieved. The two of them exchanged a long, teary hug, then Henry’s wife peered out the window to make sure no one was prowling and opened the door a crack.

“Go,” she said. “Go fast—and be safe!” Lillie slipped outside, looked around and made a quick sprint through the soft grass and into the cover of the woods.

With the magic of the oven and the stone now gone and nothing but her own legs to carry her back to Bingham Woods, Lillie suddenly felt all the fear she’d been spared during her charmed run to Orchard Hill. The road between the plantations was filled with the same bats and slave catchers and chilling darkness as before, but she could no longer outrun or sidestep or breeze past them. She was just an ordinary slave girl, out at night when she wasn’t supposed to be—a runaway child who was breaking the law and would pay dearly if she was caught.

Picking through the thin patch of dark woods, she quickly came back upon the road and looked far down it in the direction of Bingham Woods—or as far down it as the black of the night would allow. She took a few steps and winced at the sound her feet made against the dirt and stones. When she was running here under the spell of the baking, she had made no such noise. She had felt as if she were practically flying—as if little more than her toe-tips were grazing the road. Now that she heard how loud a road it could be when you truly trod on it, she reckoned she had been correct.

All the same, Lillie had to run, and she set off as fast and as light-footedly as she could. Her legs, she noticed, ached terribly, surely from the hard work they’d done bringing her here. At the same time, they had an odd tingliness about them—a little like the crackle in the wind that could make her hair stand up before a lightning storm. She liked the feeling and idly wondered if it would last—if maybe it was something the charm had left with her forever.

Lillie was beginning to make good speed. When she looked down, the light of the moon revealed streaks and scattered pebbles in the soil below her feet, which she reckoned were the tracks she’d left as she was coming in the other direction. It made her smile and reassured her that she was going the right way. All at once, however, she snapped her head to the right and her blood ran icy. She was sure she’d seen a flicker of light deep in the woods—the same light she’d seen from the torches of the slave catchers earlier. She stopped cold, almost losing her footing and risking making even more noise as she fell into the road, but she caught her balance and held her ground.

She scanned about, with her breath catching. The woods in these parts were full of fireflies, Lillie told herself. She’d seen them; she and Plato had even hunted them. That was surely all she had noticed. Then, with a deep sense of relief, she saw the unmistakable cool blue light of one of the little creatures hovering right in front of her. She allowed herself a nervous laugh; she’d been a fool girl after all! No sooner had she thought that, however, than her laugh stopped cold in her throat. Further away, deep among the trees, she saw the equally unmistakable orange-yellow light of a fire. And it was a fire that moved in the bobbing way of a torch being carried by a person. Behind it was a second fire, moving the same way. It was indeed the slave catchers—and they were on the move. Lillie felt fit to swoon, but stayed collected and bounded over to the far side of the road, where she threw herself down in the dirt.

“Whazzat?” she heard a man’s distant voice say from somewhere in the direction of the torches. She was surprised and alarmed at how far the voice carried on the cool night air.

“What’s what?” another man responded.

“That noise.”

“Didn’t hear no noise. Maybe some night critter.”

Lillie held her breath. The men said nothing and she dared peek up slightly. The torchlights were still in the distance and had moved no closer—but neither had they moved farther away.

“That ain’t the sound a night critter makes,” the first voice said at length.

“It don’t do to chase everything you think you hear.”

“It don’t do not to.”

To Lillie’s horror, she now heard the sound of the men’s footsteps crunching through underbrush, and she peeked back up to see that the torches were once again bobbing. She also, for the first time, heard panting. The men had a dog—a slave hound surely, a small, ugly breed of beast that was not good for much at all except for smelling fear. Lillie had no doubt that just such a smell was coming off her powerfully now. She reckoned the hound was not yet close enough to pick up her scent, but when it was, she’d be done for. The animal was known both for its fleet speed and its powerful bite, and once it had hold of a slave, it never let go. A tiny whimper escaped Lillie, and she immediately silenced herself—but too late.

“Over there!” one of the men said. Immediately, the speed of their footsteps picked up and an excited yip came from the dog. A wave of helplessness overcame Lillie. Her wits may have dreamed up the plan that brought her here tonight and her courage may have carried her this far, but her fear—the fear of a child—had finally betrayed her.

But Lillie wasn’t just a child. Lying by the road, feeling her heart pound, knowing that that heart was sending out a drumbeat of scent to the slave hound’s nose, she thought of her papa. Papa was Ibo; Papa’s papa had been Ibo too. And that meant Lillie was Ibo. She was part of a tribe whose girls hunted alongside the boys, whose women went to war alongside the men. Lillie might be nothing but a slave child in South Carolina, but she was an Ibo warrior too—and no laws or slave-catchers or cruel, fool dogs could ever change what was in her blood. And with that thought, she felt her heart slow. And with her heart slowing, she felt her breath grow even. And with that, she sprang to her feet.

“Again!” one of the men’s voices cried. “I heard it again!”

Lillie lit out down the road again and heard the slave catcher’s footsteps pursuing her as fast as they could and the crashing sound of the dog racing along with them. But as surely as she knew anything, she knew that the dog was running blind. If she’d left a fear scent before, it was now gone. The animal would be fighting through the blackness of the night just like the men were. And the men—carrying their torches and still stumbling through the woods—would not be moving fast until they reached the clear running of the road. This was a fair race, Lillie reckoned—and one she could win if she kept her wits.

She held that thought in her head, thinking only of the safety of the slave dance that lay far ahead and not the danger that approached from behind. As she did, she felt calmer still, stronger still, charmed now not by the workings of an old woman’s magic but by her own renewed courage. If she didn’t shake off the slave catchers, she knew, she might at least beat them back to Bingham Woods, where she could rejoin the party and get lost among the other slaves. The whip men there wouldn’t care for men from another plantation stumbling in and causing a disturbance as they chased after a shadow they and their dog hadn’t even seen.

Finally, far ahead, Lillie saw another light—the warm sky-brightening orange of lanterns and a large cook fire. Faintly, she could hear music, and more faintly still, voices. She had the length of about three plow rows ahead of her before she could break through the woods and be back at Bingham Woods. Soon it was two lengths, then just one, and then she plunged into the thick stand of trees that bordered the plantation and at last was on the grounds. In front of her was a dancing, laughing swirl of slaves and everywhere around her was the sweet smell of roasting meat. She ran even faster toward the crowd—head down, feet pounding—when suddenly, off to her left, someone who was running just as fast in the same direction collided with her hard.

Lillie was shoved to the ground, her head striking the soil and her vision filling with flashes and stars. The wind was knocked entirely out of her, preventing her from crying out. She felt a weight on top of her and realized that she was pinned to the ground. The road men had caught her! They had doubled back, circled the plantation and hit her from the other side! Any moment she would be feeling the terrible pain of the slave hound’s bite. But then she heard a voice, and it was not the voice of a slave catcher at all.

“Lillie!” it said. “Lillie! What is this about?”

Lillie tried to make her eyes line up properly, but they were loose and swoony from the fall. She sat up and closed one eye to focus better on the face in front of her. It was, to her astonishment, Miss Sarabeth, looking back at her crossly.

“Lillie!” she repeated. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Miss Sarabeth,” Lillie said. “Why . . . why did you hit me?”

“I didn’t hit you!” Sarabeth answered. “You hit me!”

The two girls got clumsily to their feet and began to straighten their clothes and collect themselves. “Look at this, Lillie,” Sarabeth moaned, holding out a handful of her skirt that was stained green with grass and brown with dirt. “There’ll be no explaining this to my mother when she catches sight of it.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Sarabeth. I am,” Lillie said. “I can help you try to clean it.”

“There’s nothing we can do for it here,” Sarabeth answered, giving up on the dress and turning back to Lillie. “What were you doing running like that anyway? There isn’t anything over there but the woods.”

Lillie looked at Sarabeth, broke the gaze, then looked nervously back at the woods—half expecting the slave catchers and the hound to burst through at any second. “Weren’t doin’ nothin’,” she said. “I just needed the privy.”

“Isn’t there a slave privy near the cabins?”

“It was busy,” Lillie answered. “I had to use the woods.”

“Then why were you running back?”

Lillie kept her eyes fixed on the ground and took a moment to respond—a moment that said that whatever her answer was, it wasn’t going to be a truthful one. “I was afraid.” She shrugged. “Woods are dark; no tellin’ what animals are about.”

Sarabeth scowled disbelievingly and scanned Lillie up and down. Her clothes were rumpled; her hair was undone; even now, she didn’t seem fully to have caught her breath. Sarabeth took all that in, and her mouth dropped open as she realized what it must mean. She craned her neck around Lillie toward the woods.

“Lillie, you wicked girl!” she said. “Is there a boy out there?”

Lillie looked up, this time meeting Sarabeth’s eyes square.

“No! No, there’s not! My mama would flog me herself if I did such a thing.”

“You don’t get your clothes all tangled and leaves in your hair from using the privy,” Sarabeth said.

Lillie reached up and felt her hair. There was a scrap of leaf clinging to it, and she plucked it away. “Miss Sarabeth, you has to believe me. I’m not a girl what would behave like that.”

“Then what were you doing?”

Lillie said nothing and Sarabeth studied her closely once more. This time, her gaze settled on the slave girl’s shoes. They were covered with fresh dust, road dust, and so, for that matter, were Lillie’s legs. Sarabeth snapped her gaze back up.

“You ran off!” she said. “You went somewhere.”

“No!” Lillie stammered. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t!”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“I ain’t lyin’!”

“Do you know what happens to runaway slaves?”

“I ain’t no runaway!”

“They get sold off is what happens. They never see their families again.”

“But I’m here now, Miss Sarabeth! How could I be a runaway?”

“Maybe you got lost. Maybe you got scared of the roads. But you were doing something you’re not supposed to do.”

“Miss Sarabeth,” Lillie implored, “whatever I done I had to do, and I come straightly back. Please don’t tell nobody!”

“If I stay quiet, Lillie, then I’m doing something I’m not supposed to do. There’s strict rules about reporting runaways.”

Lillie’s face now showed true fear and she frantically shook her head no. “Miss Sarabeth, we ain’t never done nothin’ to hurt each other before,” Lillie said. “You’re my friend.”

“I was your friend,” Sarabeth answered. “You don’t want that anymore.”

“But I do, I do! Just don’t tell nobody I’m a runaway,’cause I ain’t!”

Lillie looked at the other girl beseechingly. Sarabeth’s expression began to soften, though she kept her eyes narrow and her arms folded. As the girls stood there, fixed on one another’s faces, a voice called out.

“Lillie!” it said.

Both girls turned. From the crowd of dancing and feasting slaves, they could see an arm waving. It belonged to Lillie’s mama, who was standing on tiptoes to see over the crowd. The part of the evening had now arrived when the grown slaves and the child slaves would mix for family dances, and all the mamas and papas would be looking for their boys and girls.

“Lillie,” Mama called again, “come here ’fore I have to fetch you.”

Lillie waved back and nodded a big yes that her mama would be sure to see, then turned back toward Sarabeth.

“Go,” Sarabeth said flatly. “Before you get yourself in even more trouble.”

Lillie struggled for something to say, but before she could, the Master’s daughter turned on her heel and walked away. From deep in the woods, Lillie faintly heard the barking of an angry hound, but it was too far away to do her any harm.