Black Angels by Linda Beatrice Brown Page B

again. The heavy waterlogged coat she was wearing pulled her down. She reached out for an overhanging branch before Luke could get to her and pulled herself up. As soon as they saw she was all right, Luke and Caswell broke out laughing. They were all hysterical with relief.
    Daylily’s hair dripped into her eyes, and the heavy coat streamed with river water. She lay on the riverbank, coughing and laughing. Crying and sputtering, too exhausted to move. “Ooh, Lordy,” she said, “I thought I was a goner for sure!” She suddenly realized how wet she was between coughing and spitting up water. “Got to get out of these wet clothes. It be cold now. Night comin on.”
    â€œSilly gal, I told you to stand up! Givin me and Caswell such a turn! Wouldn’t that be somethin!” Luke laughed, taking off his wet shoes. “Drownin in two feet of water! You take my coat,” he said. “I’ll make the fire. Come on, Caswell, us got to hurry!”
    Luke walked off barefoot, moving like someone used to walking in the woods with no shoes. The trousers would dry in the breeze before nightfall. Stripped down to her shirtwaist, Daylily wrapped up in Luke’s coat.
    The cave they thought they had seen was really a small indented place in a hillside. Luke went first to check it. He walked slowly to the dugout. And now he could see there was more than one. Soldiers been here, he thought. They dug these places in the side of the hill, just big enough to lie down in or maybe to load a gun. He could see where wooden boards had been put up to keep the dirt from falling in.
    â€œDon’t y’all come any closer,” he called to them. “Wait there for me.” He walked around a little farther on the other side of the hill. Inside the dugout on the ground was a pile of old rotten cloth. He kicked at it. And then he gasped and covered his mouth with his hands. It was a human skull. Then he could see there was more. A whole soldier’s skeleton, someone left dead a long time ago, maybe when the war had started two or three years before. He backed away silently. He could hear Daylily calling him.
    â€œLuke, where you?”
    â€œI’m comin,” he yelled shakily. “I’m comin.” When he got back to where they were standing, he lied. “Nothin round there. Let me look in here,” and he walked into the first dugout they had seen. It was empty and dry. “This is good,” he said. “We can stay here tonight.”
    By the time they had a fire going, night crickets were starting up and the waning moon was showing behind some clouds. They could hear the Shenandoah flowing over the rocks. At least Luke hoped it was the Shenandoah; that’s what he’d heard folks called the river that ran through the mountains. If it was the Shenandoah, that would mean they were in Virginia, and that would mean they were closer to the north. It should be Virginia by now, he thought. They had been walking for eight days.
    Luke’s shoes were propped up on some stones near the fire. Daylily slept heavily in Luke’s coat, and he stuck three dead branches into the ground and draped her coat and dress over them, facing the fire. He took a small piece of soggy, leftover fish from his pocket and divided it with the younger boy.
    Daylily coughed under his jacket. The sound of her coughing came and went, but it was gentle. An owl hooted, and Luke thought about bears and wondered if there were any in this part of the woods. These woods were pretty thick.
    Caswell whispered, “Luke, you know any more stories? Gran Susie used to tell me stories. She used to tell about the mud turtle and about the rabbit.” He had stretched out on his coat on his stomach.
    â€œDon’t know no mud turtle,” Luke muttered.
    â€œI can’t sleep,” Caswell whined. “Sweetbriar could tell stories too,” he said wistfully. His eyes filled with tears, and he wiped