Amelia saw the man’s eyes flicker. Going somewhere always aroused interest. He shook his head, but did not speak. Amelia looked away. The road seemed to quiver in the sun.
“You see, I’m starting on a journey.” Now she looked full at him—she looked at him as one looks at a friend and she said softly, “I’m heading toward the north star.”
Perhaps the man’s hands tightened on the reins. At any rate the mule jerked up his head. The black face froze. For one instant everything stood still. Then the Negro looked up and down the road and to the right and to the left. There were only dust and fields, and here and there a tree.
He climbed down from the cart and picked up her bag. He spoke without looking at her.
“Jus’ remembered, ma’m, Ah might could drive toward St. Michael. Jus’ might could.”
“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” The warmth in her tone forced a smile from him.
“Reckon Ah could fix up a seat for you in back.”
He did fix a seat, shoving aside sacks and cords of wood. It was not an upholstered carriage, but it got her to St. Michaels. She alighted at the market, to arouse less attention. But he insisted on carrying her bag to the pier.
“Ma’m,” he said, turning his hat in his hands, “hit seem mighty funny, but Ah—Ah wishes yo’ luck!”
And Amelia, eyes shining, answered, “Thank you—Thank you, my friend. The same to you!”