The Letter Writer by Ann Rinaldi Page A

sat up.
    "They're coming. You'd best get up and get dressed."
    "Who's coming?" But I knew. When they came for you, you always knew.
    "Some people. Nobody knows yet. But they've been riding and attacking and burning and killing all night."
    "Killing?"
    "Yes. White people. That's their main purpose. They're killing white people. I ran all the way here to tell you. Couldn't find the others. Word has it that they've already killed Travis and his wife, then the people at the Williams plantation. They've hit six homesteads already.
They started with three or five in their band. And now they have a force of fifteen, and nine of them have horses. Come on, get up."
    "They're coming here?"
    "Yes. Where's Violet? And Margaret? I've got to hide them."
    I pulled my blue-and-white-check dress over my head. "She's colored. They won't bother her."
    Owen gave me a peculiar look. "Do you know who
they
are, Harriet?"
    It had not occurred to me to ask. Nat Turner, of course. But Owen did not know what I knew about Nat. Owen had brought me the warning, but Owen believed that Nat was too good a person to do anything but preach at someone.
    "No," I said.
    "Nat Turner. He's started an uprising."
    "What does that mean?"
    "If you stay around you'll find out. Seventeen white people have been killed already."
    "How do you know, Owen?" I was sitting on the floor, buttoning my shoes.
    "I was with him. Earlier this morning, he asked me to be with him. I stayed until I saw what he was doing.
Harriet, you must run. Into the woods. Go north to the Jacobs place. Warn them. I'll hide Violet."
    "And Emilie? And Pleasant? And baby William?" I asked. And my question went on. "And Mother White-head? And Margaret? Where will you hide them all? And Richard? What about Richard?"
    "Shut up, Harriet!"
    I did as he said.
    "Just sneak downstairs and out back and run to the Jacobs place. Somebody has to warn those on the outside."
    "Can't I get a horse?"
    "No. He's probably got someone stationed in the stable area right now. Just go." He hesitated and looked at me. His eyes went soft and then he did a peculiar thing. "This is in case I never see you again, Harriet."
    And he kissed me on the cheek. A brotherly kiss. Tears came to my eyes and it was then and only then that I knew that everything he'd said was true. It was really happening.
    ***
    I had overslept, so breakfast was already over with. Sleeping late was an unforgivable sin in my house because Richard conducted prayers before breakfast and I'd
missed that, too. But this morning no one had come to wake me except Owen. The family was all scattered by now, and the house was eerily silent. They thought they'd done me a good turn by letting me sleep.
    I went out the back door. There, just coming into the barnyard, was Nat Turner and his scraggly army of fifteen men, nine of them on horses. Two of them had pine-knot torches still lighted from the night before.
    When they leave here,
I thought,
they will all be on horses. They will take ours.
    Nat stopped when he saw me. He was not on a horse but walking in front of his men. He held up his hand and they stopped behind him.
    "Is this the one what give you trouble, Nat?" one of the men asked. "Let me at her."
    "No!" Nat thundered. Then in a softer voice he asked me, "Where is everybody?"
    "I don't know."
    "You mean you won't tell. Heard about last night already, did you?"
    "Nat."
    "I thought you were with us. You hated mistreatment of the negro so. You despised what happened on the Gerard plantation. You hate that nincompoop brother of
yours. 'S'matter of fact, you pretty much hate everybody. And you gave me the map. I have the key to the gun room, you know."
    "You gave it back to Richard."
    "You never heard of locksmiths?"
    "They wouldn't make a key for a negro."
    "When you have a forged letter from a white man they will."
    My voice shook. "Did you want to see Richard? I'm sure he's around and will give you whatever it is that you want."
    "I want that sly fox of a