Jesus, please help me as I travel this unknown road. Only you can lead me on the right path. Keep me in safety beneath your wings of love. Amen.

Mama talks in my head. I do what Mama says. I finish all my morning chores in the kitchen, stick a couple of biscuits with ham in my apron pocket, and slip off toward the woods. The men have been in the fields for hours, bent over the plants beneath the hot sun, those big sacks hung over their shoulders, dragging on the ground almost filled with white cotton balls. I hunker down, watch the field boss as he rides on patrol along the end of the rows, then run for the cover of the trees when he turns the horse in the opposite direction.

It was time. I had been in the kitchen shining the silverware while Mama stirred up a big pot of gumbo for the Massa's lunch. She'd put the ladle down after having a taste to see if she'd put enough file powder, then beckoned me close. I saw the sad look in her eyes right before she hugged me close, placed a kiss on my head and whispered, "Jesus, hold my Glory's hand as she travels. God and Peace, Child." She nudged me toward the back door and when I'd stopped to look back at her, she gave me a nod, the signal I'm to do what we'd talked about many times before.

Mama told me to follow the path through the lower side of the woods. Under and around those piney trees had been my playground when I was younger, before I was old enough to go up to the big white house. I haven't seen much of the area lately but someone has. The path's not much but I can still see where it wanders off.

The trees smell nice, all spicy like. Their trunks are scaly and cool on the side away from the sun. It'll soon be fall and the trees will be dark from the rain. The smell in the coolness of the winter would be different, too. When I was very little I carried pine cones back to the cabin with me, to make dolls in the summer, turkeys at Thanksgiving time, and Christmas trees later. Today I pick a nice one, tuck it into my pocket--it's something of home I'll keep.

I don't know how far I walk until I come to the river. My stomach's growling I do know, so it must be time to eat. I better pick a clear part of the stream, so I can get a drink to go along with my biscuit. Just as I leave the trees and run through the grass toward the river, I see him.

And stop--real quick like.

He has a cane pole with the line reaching out in the middle of that old river. His straw hat's frayed around the edges and what I see of his shirt is faded almost white, most worn out. A thin swirl of smoke curls around his head. He's a big man, too big.

I begin to slowly edge backwards.

"Might as well sho yoself, child."

My heart about bursts out of my throat as I walk around to get a better look at him. Then it settles. He's just an old colored man, probably fishing for his dinner.

"You needs a rest, child. Here," he hands me a bent tin cup, "dip that in right there where the water is deep. You best only eat half that biscuit. It'll have to last. You won't reach the place until tomorrow sometime."

I almost drop the cup and can only stare at him now for sure. "How do you know that?"

"I know the path." He gives me a hard look. "You best do as I say."

Jesus, are you there? Mama promised me if I called your name you would keep me from harm.

Somehow he knows what I'm up to. Scary. And that means someone must be following me, someone from the big house. Who's to say this old man won't tell Massa Jack I passed this way? I frown. But then, why's he telling me the right things to do?

I eat half of the biscuit.

He knows it's time for me to go, reaches out to touch my hand. "Right afore dark ya'll come to a clearin' where some folks are raisin' a bunch of chickens. They'll have a bed for you." He tells me which trail to take until I see the marker Mama described.

I run off. When I turn around for one last look, he's winding the string around his pole getting ready to leave.

It all happens just like the old man said. The house is old and run down, a lot like our cabins back home and the elderly white couple don't say anything when they answer the back door. But they do have a corn shuck mattress on the floor in the cellar.

I'm up and gone at first light the next morning. This turns out to be a long spell of walking. I grow mighty thirsty but don't dare leave the way. The trail is almost invisible now and I'm afraid I'll lose it if I take my eyes off it even for a little time. So I walk on. And right before the sun is middle of the sky, I see the marker.

There's a house, not as large as the one I came from but big enough. The bar is painted a bright red and there's a log fence all the way around these people's property. And hanging on that fence is the prettiest quilts I've ever seen. Anyone who didn't know different would think the misses of the house was just airing out all her covers before the cold nights arrive.

I know better. Mama told me what to look for. I hang back in the shadows of the wood lot and read those quilts.

The logs on the first one are pointing northwest--the direction I'm to travel.

The Prairie Queen--the next place I come to must be called Prairieview or Prairie Dog, or some name like that.

The tulips mean the guide is waiting in a garden.

The star in another means it'll be night when I get there. At first, I feel excitement bubble up as I read the last pattern hanging on that ole fence. Then a heavy sadness takes hold of my heart. That's a long way from Mama.

What if I never see her again? And when Massa Jack finds me gone will he beat Mama? Surely not. She's his best cook, he always said so. Oh, Mama!

Tears wet my cheeks as I gaze at the quilts on that fence. Then I hear Mama's voice in my head.

"Glory, you is young, only twelve, got a whole life ahead of you. I don't mean for you to have no dreams. Me and some good folks set it all up. Now, you follow my words. Go on. We'll be together one day, by and by."

Mama's with me, right here in my heart, as she always will be. This is what she wants. I can't do nothing now but make her proud. I wipe the tears away from my eyes, straighten up, and take one more look at the last quilt.

Canadian Goose is the pattern.

Canada.

My last stop on the Underground Railroad.

Thank you, dear Jesus. You are my beacon, my light along this path. With you beside me, I will see the light on those other shores.

Once there, I will have freedom at last.