An Unlikely Friendship by Ann Rinaldi Page B

do to me?"
    Was I doing this for the runaway slaves, I wondered, or because I wanted to get back at Betsy for keeping me away from home once school started? And then I had another question. If you were doing a good deed to help someone out, did it matter why you were doing it, just as long as it got done?
    But I had no answers for that any more than I had answers for all the other things that plagued me at the moment.

    E VERY W EDNESDAY AFTERNOON Nelson brought the carriage, drawn by two of Pa's handsome horses, to the front door where Betsy was waiting for it. Then, all gussied up in his best livery, Nelson would bow in a most formal manner and hand Betsy up into the carriage so he could take her on her afternoon calls.
    Sometimes Frances went with her. At such times the silk and satin skirts swished delightfully as they settled themselves in. Then Betsy would give some last-minute order to Mammy, who was still standing on the front steps seeing her off. "We'll have those fresh strawberries for dessert," or "Don't forget, George doesn't leave the house until his sums and penmanship are finished." Then they would be off. And we would have at least three or four hours' time to breathe free.

    T HERE WAS A HINT of September in the mild August afternoon. Already the sun, though glowing fiercely, did not have the force of summer with it. Stillness sat all up and down our part of Main Street and the leafy green maples and pin oaks kept their watch.
    I painted my flowers. Sunflowers this time, with long stalks and faces bursting with mirth. The wooden fence absorbed the paint and it soon dried. I painted a gathering of sunflowers on either side of the pristine white gate. And by the time I could hear the grandfather clock in the center hall ring three, I was finished.
    I stepped back and admired my work. It was pretty in and of itself. It needed no other reason for being than its own loveliness. But the reason for its being declared itself.
I'm glad I painted sunflowers,
I told myself as I wiped my hands on my old apron.
Yellow is an easy color to see at night.

T HE AFTERNOON SETTLED into a fearful stillness. I cleaned up my mess and went to the backyard to seek out Nelson for something to take the paint off my hands.
    He obliged me without asking any questions.
Slaves know how to survive,
I thought. They know when to speak and when to stay silent. If only I could learn that, I'd stay out of trouble. But we white people never do learn it.
    I went up to the room I shared with Liz. She was asleep on her bed, curled up with Pierre next to her. He snored gently. The windows were open and the organdy curtains flapped in a sudden breeze. Outside, on the horizon, dark clouds were gathering. Would there be a storm? I hoped the paint on the fence would dry before there was any rain.
    I took my shoes and old apron off and lay down on my bed. Pierre's snores lulled me until I was near asleep.
    I lay there, overcome with the enormity of what I'd done.
    I'd painted my fool flowers on Betsy's new fence without anybody's permission. It wasn't only that; the flowers had meaning. They were a signal to runaways that this was a safe house.
    Should Betsy or Pa find that out, it might result in Mammy Sally being sold downriver. What to do?
    There was only one way out. I must behave like one of the servants. I must learn to be quiet. Or when I did speak, I must learn to play the game as they played it. I must outwit them like Brer Rabbit outwitted Brer Fox.
    It all came back to me as I lay there. Mammy Sally had taught all of us about Brer Rabbit and Brer Fox.
    Brer Rabbit's life was lived in a steady state of war with Brer Fox, who was bigger and stronger, and always out to eat him. I'd grown up on those stories of Mammy's.
    "Be polite to Fox as he is to you," Mammy's story went. "Even though you suspect he is plotting to eat you. When he says, 'I'm gonna ketch you,' tempt him with something better. Tell him you know of a man who has a pen full of