A New Beginning: My Journey with Addy

I grab Addy’s hand and start running. I have no plan and no destination. I only know I have to get away from the man who thinks we are slaves.

Addy shouts for me to follow her and we start down a narrow alley. A wooden fence looms ahead, twice as tall as we are, and for a second it looks like we have trapped ourselves in a dead end. I glance over my shoulder. The red-haired man is barreling after us, breathing hard, closing the gap with every stride.

I turn back just in time to see Addy vanish into the fence itself. How did she do that? I wonder, and then a loose cobblestone catches my foot and I go down hard, my palms scraping the ground.

Addy is already on the other side, shoving a loose plank aside to open a gap barely wide enough for me to squeeze through, and she calls for me to hurry. I scramble up and dive for the opening, tugging my skirt through behind me, but someone else is tugging it too, from the other side.

I cry out that he’s got my skirt. Addy grabs both my hands and hauls backward with everything she has, promising she won’t let him get me. I hear fabric tear, and then I am free, stumbling into another alley with my heart slamming against my ribs.

Addy pulls me to my feet and tells me to catch my breath. He’s too big to squeeze through that fence, so he’ll have to go around the corner. We’ll cut through here and circle back to the church.

I reach into my pocket, and the coin is still there. I could use it right now and go straight home. But I can’t leave Addy, not like this. I ask instead who that man is.

Addy says he’s a slave catcher, a very bad man. But we’re not slaves, I protest.

Addy looks at me the way I sometimes look at my little brother when he misses something obvious. She explains that we’re Colored, and slavery is still legal in the South. Without special papers proving we’re free, a man like that could grab us off the street and sell us, even here in the North.

Before I can ask anything else, a sound comes from the far end of the alley. Addy tries to pull me into the shadows, but there’s nowhere to hide. We hear scratching, then panting. Something moves in the dark, and a yellow tail flicks into view.

It’s only a dog, I say, relief flooding through me. Its tail wags the same way Nikki’s mutt, Nemo, does when he greets me at her front door. I start toward it, but Addy yanks me back, warning that it might be dangerous. She has gone rigid, frozen to the spot, and I remember what she told me about Master Stevens’s dogs, trained to hunt down people who tried to run. No wonder she’s terrified of any dog at all.

The stray keeps its distance, sniffing at the alley’s trash, then stops squarely in our only way out. Addy is trembling beside me and won’t budge, whispering that it might be a wild dog and that bites can be real bad.

I know I have to convince her fast, because the slave catcher could round that corner any second. I take a few slow steps toward the dog and stop a few feet away, holding my hand out low and steady the way Nikki once taught me, coaxing it closer.

Addy gasps behind me, telling me to be careful.

The dog pads closer, sniffs my open palm, and licks it. After a moment I reach up and scratch behind its ear, and its whole body seems to relax. See, I tell Addy, this dog just wants to be friends.

Addy edges forward, still watching the dog with wide eyes, but she doesn’t stop this time. I remind her that we need to go, and she nods and takes my hand, and together we dash past the dog to the mouth of the alley. We ease around the corner and peek out cautiously, checking both directions. The street is thick with horses and wagons, though only a few people walk along the narrow sidewalk. Nothing seems out of place.

All clear, I whisper, and my shoulders finally start to loosen.

We slip out onto the sidewalk side by side, and for a moment it almost feels like the worst of it is behind us. My legs still ache from running, and my torn skirt flaps loose at the hem, but at least we can breathe.

Then Addy stiffens beside me and lets out a wary, “Uh-oh.”

I whip my head around to follow her gaze, and my stomach drops. It’s the slave catcher.