“No, no,” Oliver hurried to reassure her. “They are well. Polly is fine, too.”
“Come in,” Judy said. Before he could take a step, Tan darted into the room, startling them both.
“That’s his dog,” Oliver said. “She followed us all the way down. It’s Cornelius. I found him outside in the snow, wandering without a coat. He didn’t know me at first. But then he started weeping and I couldn’t leave him there.”
“Of course not,” said Judy. “It’s good of you to take him in again.”
“No,” Oliver interrupted. “I couldn’t take him home.
There’s barely room for all of us anymore, and he’s in a real bad way. He would have scared the boys and so, well, I’m sorry to tell you, but I took him to the workhouse.”
Judy understood. Cornelius was dying.
“The reason I came here,” said Oliver, “is that by the time we got to town, he was raving. First he called for his mother, and then he started calling for you. He was wailing, and, well, he was saying other things, too.” Oliver lowered his voice. “Of a personal nature. I figured you ought to know right away.”
She touched his arm. “I’ll get my cloak.”
In the year since Judy had visited Ruth in the workhouse, it had grown even more desolate. The floor was slack and no one had bothered to sweep it for some time. As her eyes adjusted to the chilly dimness, a loud voice announced,
“This must be Judy come for her nigger.” A large, blowsy woman smirked from a bed in the center of the room.
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Cornelius was huddled on a cot in the back corner, farthest from the scant warmth thrown off by the stove. She threw off the dirty blanket covering him, laid her wool cloak over him, and folded her scarf for a pillow.
“Is there no water?” Judy asked.
The woman tried to hide the jug beside her bed. “We got nothing here till morning. And they don’t want us moving nothing,” she warned as Judy picked up a stool and placed it beside Cornelius, sitting with her back to the room.
His eyes glittered in the dark. She took his hand and whispered, “Sleep now, my dear. I’ll be here when you wake up. Take your rest. Judy’s here.”
In the morning, the matron gasped at the sight of them lying in each other’s arms and rushed out to find Easter, whom she knew to be Judy Rhines’s friend. Judy and Cornelius were still asleep when they returned, her pale hand resting upon his dark cheek. Easter sighed and shook her head. She’d been right then, all those years ago.
“Let’s get him out of here,” Easter said, tapping Judy’s shoulder.
“He’s coming home with me,” she said, instantly awake.
“You sure that’s wise?” Easter whispered, as though they could keep anything secret in that place.
“I don’t care. He’s coming with me.”
Oliver arrived soon after, and the three of them got Cornelius on his feet and out into the blinding sunlight and melting snow. Passersby stared as the haggard African staggered down the street, with Oliver supporti
ng him on one side and Judy on the other. Easter brought up the rear and watched as heads turned and the whispering began: she knew the story would be all over town before noon.
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Judy threw an extravagant number of logs on the fire and sent Oliver to find her a fresh-killed chicken. After she got Cornelius out of his filthy clothes and settled in bed, Easter took her aside and asked, “What’s the Judge going to say when he finds out about all this?”
“I don’t care,” Judy announced, in a voice that was new for her. “I do not give a tinker’s damn what he says, or anyone else.”