Corina could hear crickets chirping all around her. She could feel warm, humid air against her skin and smell the rich, earthy smell of the sky before a rain storm. As Corina took all of this in, her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she began to make out the shapes of trees a distance away. Directly in front of Corina was a narrow, rectangular shadow like that of a small building.
For a long moment, Corina was still, observing her surroundings. Suddenly she felt panic rise in her chest again. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps and she squeezed her father’s hand with all her strength. “Daddy,” she whispered, her voice trembling with tears. “I didn’t mean to, I just wanted””
“Corina, be quiet,” said Connor sharply. Corina shut her mouth, for she had heard it, too: footsteps approaching from her right.
Connor crawled backwards, pulling Corina with him. Corina felt leafy branches brush against her arms and face, and then a wooden wall against her back. They were trapped, and the footsteps were getting closer.
The steps were soft, as if someone was walking on a dirt path barefoot. Connor pulled Corina close to him and wrapped his arm tightly around her shoulder, prying his hand from her grasp and placing it gently but firmly over her mouth. Both of them froze as they heard a female voice. Whoever was coming appeared to be talking to herself.
“Why dey built dis darn outhouse miles from de cabins, de good Lord only knows…” the voice muttered. For some reason, the rough, uneducated accent and prickly tone of the woman’s voice drove Corina’s fear away. She relaxed in her father’s grip. His grip did not loosen.
Suddenly a bright white light shone into Corina’s face, blinding her momentarily. She blinked. The woman had rounded a corner and come face to face with Connor and Corina, who were attempting to hide in the bushes against a building. Her face was that of a dark-skinned woman in her mid-forties, with short, greying hair and keen, intelligent eyes. In her hand she held up a lantern. She stopped in her tracks and stared when she saw Connor and Corina.
“Who are you an’ what you doin’ out here dis time o’ night?” she demanded in a fierce whisper.
Corina glanced at her father, and saw her own panic reflected on his face. What could they say to that? They had no idea when or where they were. Corina looked back at their interrogator. She was of medium height and quite slender. She wore what appeared to be a ragged white nightdress. It was like nothing Corina had seen at home, but something about it seemed familiar. Corina thought hard. Where had she seen a dress like that?
Meanwhile, the woman was waiting for an answer. Connor gave her one. “We, uh…we ran away.” That was safely vague. No matter what time or place, someone was always running away from something.
His answer jolted Corina’s memory, and an image flashed in her mind, a picture of a young, dark girl in a nightdress nearly identical to the stranger’s: Clara, the slave. Was it possible?
“Ran away?” the woman repeated dubiously. “Where you run from?”
Corina took her chances. “We’re runaway slaves. We escaped from…from Atlanta,” she blurted out, giving the first location that came to her mind. Thank goodness we're black, Corina thought. At least there's a chance she'll buy it.
“Atlanta?” said the woman in surprise. “You done run the wrong direction, chile. At least you ain’t got too far. Atlanta’s not far north o’ dis here plantation. But what in de name o’ Heaven is you wearin’?”
Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Place wise, they were still relatively near home, and it seemed Corina had made a lucky guess. This woman appeared to be a black slave on a plantation, and she accepted Corina’s story that she and her father had run away. But how would they explain their clothing? Corina’s denim shorts and bright t-shirt hardly fit the setting, and Connor’s wizard robes were if anything worse. Corina looked to her father for help. Connor scrambled. “We, uh….We joined a travelling circus for a little while. We must have gotten our directions mixed up when we left them.”
This time, however, their questioner was not convinced. “A travellin’ circus? I may not be Pres’dent Lincoln, boy, but I ain’t no fool.” She sighed. “I don’ know who you is, an’ I don’ believe what you’s tellin’ me, but this chile o’ yours can’t sleep out here all night. Y’all had better come on home an’ stay wi’ me, an’ we’ll figgur out what ta do wi’ you in de mornin’.”
Corina breathed a sigh of relief. They would have all night to think of a suitable story. “Now,” the woman continued, “I’m gonna use dis here outhouse, an’ you gonna stay right dere and not move, unnerstan’?” Corina and Connor nodded vigorously. The woman nodded and turned away, but turned back sharply. “Y’all ain’t told me your names. Dat’s bad manners, dat is.”
“Sorry,” said Connor quickly. “My name’s Connor.”
“Connor? What sort of a Christian name is dat? Oh, well, it is what it is. What about you, chile?”
Corina hesitated. Hers was an unusual name even in the 21st century. Here it was unheard of. She gave the first name that came to her mind. “Clara.”
“Dat’s more like it. Connor an’ Clara. Y’all can call me Aunt Chloe. Now stay put.” Aunt Chloe turned around and opened a creaky wooden door in the narrow building in front of Corina that was the outhouse. She disappeared inside and re-emerged after a minute or so. “Dere. Now dat business is taken care of, let’s get you some decent clothes an’ a good night’s rest. Everyting else can wait til mornin’.”
Connor and Corina followed Aunt Chloe back the way she had come. They arrived at a small wooden shack no bigger than the sitting room of Corina’s home. Inside, a ladder led up to a loft where Corina could see in the lantern light the shapes of several people sleeping. On the dirt floor stood a barrel with a few wooden boards that served as a table, as well as two shabby wooden chairs and a small fireplace for heat in winter. Aunt Chloe headed for a wooden chest in the corner. From it she took a white dress similar to the one she wore. “Dis ‘un belong to my daughter, Eliza. She outgrew it years ago. She’s a mite bigger’n you, but it’ll have ta do.”
The nightdress was indeed large for Corina, but she wore it without complaint. Aunt Chloe extracted a patched shirt and a pair of trousers for Connor. “Now ya’ll look more like runaway slaves. Mind, I still dunno dat you is who you says you is,” she said sternly with a disapproving glance at Connor, “but it can wait. Dis little ‘un needs her sleep. You two gotta sleep down here on de floor, I’s afeared, ‘cause I don’ want my family wakin’ up ta strangers in dere beds, unnerstan’?”
Corina and Connor murmured in agreement. Aunt Chloe nodded her head in approval and climbed the ladder to the loft. As she reached the top, she looked back and said to Corina, “Now don’ you worry, Clara, chile. De good Lord take care of everyting. You jes go on to sleep.” Corina smiled gratefully as she lay down next to her father underneath the loft.
As tired as Corina was, she knew she could not sleep yet. Corina and her father lay in silence for a while, giving Aunt Chloe time to go to sleep. Now that her panic was beginning to wear off, Corina lay there in the darkness, thinking. At first all her thoughts were focused on getting back home, but she could not help but realise that here were all her fantasies come true: she was here, in this time, with these people…and with her magic. Her magic had brought them here, so it was obvious, Corina reasoned, that she had significant power, and her father had a wand. The gears of Corina’s mind were turning, and she smiled at the ceiling, at the possibilities.
Finally, Connor leaned on his elbow and looked directly at Corina, whose eyes were still wide open as she looked back at him. “Corina, I take it you know where we are? That woman mentioned President Lincoln.”
Corina nodded. “We’re back in slave times,” she answered. “Isn’t it lucky that I know all about this time?” she said hopefully.
“It’s very unlucky that we’re here at all,” Connor answered solemnly. “How did you get at my Time-Turner?” He pinched his nose briefly. “Never mind, that’s not important now. Tell me exactly what you were doing when I found you.”
Corina explained how she had been reading her book and wished she could go back in time. “It was only pretend, Daddy,” she pleaded. “I didn’t think anything could happen. I was being really careful.”
“You must have done accidental magic,” said Connor thoughtfully. “How many thousands of turns will it take us to get back?”
Corina was silent, trying to figure out the best way to express what she wanted to suggest. “Maybe…maybe we don’t have to go back right away.”
“What do you mean?” Connor asked sharply.
Corina took a deep breath and blurted it all out in a rush. “Maybe we got put back here for a reason. Maybe we can help these people. With magic.”
“We are here for no such reason and we cannot help these people in any way,” Connor answered, so quickly and harshly that Corina flinched. “We are here because you went snooping where you didn’t belong, and I wasn’t careful enough to prevent it. We must return as soon as possible. We cannot, we must not change the past. Do you understand me, Corina?”
Corina swallowed her disappointment and nodded. Connor softened. “We’re both tired. Go to sleep. We’ll discuss this in the morning.”
“But what will we tell them?” Corina asked, referring to Aunt Chloe and her family.
“We’ll tell them what we already told them: we’re runaway slaves who got a little misdirected,” Connor answered.
“But she didn’t believe us,” Corina pointed out.
Connor sighed. “I know,” he said softly. “But it’s the only story we have.”
Corina woke to sunlight just beginning to filter through the wooden slats that formed the walls of the shack. Dust floated down a sunbeam to the floor next to her hand. Corina snatched at it sleepily. Her dusky hand left tracks in the loose dirt on the floor. Distracted, Corina began writing her name in the dust. C…o…r…
Wait. That was not right. The memories of the night before flooded back to Corina. If she was going to play this part, she would play it wholeheartedly. Corina smoothed the dirt and tried again. C…l…a…r…a. That was more like it.
Corina took a breath of fresh morning air. It was cooler now than it had been when she arrived. The air was still moist, and as Corina lay there, the golden light disappeared, replaced by the shady dimness of clouds. Had the rain she had smelled the night before come and gone? Corina wanted to go outside and find out. She was about to sit up when a sound made her freeze. Someone was moving and talking in the loft.
“Why do I gotta fill the bucket? Can’t ‘Liza do it?” complained the petulant voice of a young boy.
“I did it yesterday,” said an older girl.
“Benjamin, don’ you talk back ta your mudder.” Corina recognised the third speaker as Aunt Chloe. “Jes git down dere an’ fill de bucket. Won’ take long.” There came a clattering as someone descended the ladder from the loft. Corina turned her back and held as still as possible, hoping not to be noticed.
It was a vain hope. No sooner had his feet touched the ground than Benjamin exclaimed, “Mama! Dere’s two people in de house, an’ I ain’t never seen ‘em before!”
“Shoot!” Chloe whispered loudly. “Be quiet down dere, Ben. I nearly forgot. Dose are two run’way slaves who got lost. Dey’s stayin’ here for now. Don’ wake ‘em up; dey was travellin’ all night.”
“How long dey gon’ stay wid us?” Ben asked in a softer voice.
“As long as dey need to,” Chloe answered. “Now fill dat bucket if you want ta eat afore de bell.”
As soon as Ben’s footsteps were gone, Corina rolled back over and sat up. Her whole body complained as she did so, sore from sleeping on the hard dirt floor with only a thin blanket to cushion it. It was daybreak; the rising sun nearly blinded Corina as she turned her head toward the open doorway. Looking through, Corina could see the back of a small boy about her age dragging a large wooden bucket down a narrow path away from the cabin. Ben’s hair was shaved close to his head, and he was clothed in only a too-small pair of trousers. The bucket bounced and bumped along the rough path behind him as he walked.
The ladder creaked again as Chloe descended. She was already dressed in a faded blue dress that was much too long for her, and it got in the way of her feet as she climbed. She reached the ground and saw Corina watching her. “Oh, Clara, chile, you’s awake. Eliza, you dressed yet?” she called up the ladder.
“Nearly,” replied a sleepy girl’s voice, the same that Corina had heard arguing with Ben.
Chloe shook her head dubiously. “Get down here an’ find some old clothes of yours for Clara while I start breakfast,” she ordered. She turned back to Corina. “Come an’ help me make the johnnycakes, chile.” Corina stood up and followed Chloe over to the table. A shallow pan sat on the hearth and a fire flickered in the fire place. Chloe took a wooden bowl down from a shelf as Ben came back with the bucket, now full of water. He set it down awkwardly on the doorstep and straightened up, yawning. He shut his mouth when he saw Corina.
“What’s your name?” he asked her abruptly. Before Corina could answer, he kept talking. “Is dat your fadder?” he asked, pointing at Connor, who was still asleep. Corina nodded. “Is it true you run away? Where’s your mudder? Din’t she come wid you?”
“Ben!” Chloe exclaimed. “Stop pesterin’ de poor girl an’ go wake your fadder.”
Ben headed for the ladder, but turned back at its foot. “Well?” he asked Corina. “Can’t you talk?”
“Of course I can talk,” Corina retorted. “My name is Clara, yes I ran away, yes that’s my father, and my mother’s dead.” Ben blinked.
“Oh,” he said, turning quickly and scampering up the ladder.
“Don’ you mind him, Clara,” Chloe clucked. She was pouring a measure of cornmeal into the wooden bowl. “He don’ mean no harm. Come. I’ll show you how to make it.” Using a hollowed-out gourd, Chloe poured some water into the bowl with the cornmeal and began mixing it with her hands, forming a thick, sticky dough. “Bring dat pan here,” she told Corina as Ben came down again and stood by the table, watching.
Corina fetched the pan as Chloe took a bit of dough and shaped it into a thick, round cake about the size of a flat muffin. She put it in the pan and motioned for Corina to help her. “Jes like that, see?” Corina nodded and reached into the bowl. The gooey cornmeal squished between her fingers and stuck to her skin. She had just finished her first cake when a new face appeared in the room.
Arriving from the loft was a pretty young woman of about sixteen. Her hair, unlike Chloe’s, was long and tucked under a small white cap. Her skin was lighter than Chloe’s and Ben’s, and the hem of her pink skirt hung just above the tops of her shoes, which were clean and fit well. “You’re Clara, then?” she asked Corina, giving the younger girl an appraising look. “Let’s find you something to wear.” Corina brushed off her hands and followed Eliza into the corner, where she was bent over the wooden chest. Eliza straightened up, holding a pale green dress which she handed to Corina. “There. Go up and change,” she told Corina, pointing to the ladder.
Draping the dress over her shoulder, Corina climbed the ladder into the loft. She found that the small space was divided into two areas by a blanket draped over a string tied to the rafters. A broad-shouldered man was sitting near the ladder, pulling a linen shirt over his head. Corina crawled past him to the other side of the makeshift curtain and changed clothes. When she came back, the man was gone. Corina left her nightgown in a corner and climbed down again. The johnnycakes were sizzling over the fire, and Connor was awake.
“Chloe tells me you’s runaways.” The man Corina had seen in the loft was sitting at the table, pulling on a tattered pair of work boots. “Where’s you from?”
“Atlanta,” Connor answered as Chloe wrapped her apron around the hot pan handle to remove it from the fire. “We got a little lost.”
“Atlanta?” repeated the man in surprise. “You’s city slaves, den. I’s surprised. Not many city slaves has de guts or de motivation to run.” Connor shrugged.
Ben spotted Corina as she reached the floor and approached the table, holding up her over-long skirt so as not to drag it in the dirt. “So you’s an inside girl, Clara, like ‘Liza,” he said impishly. “What you run ‘way for? Ain’t you in love wi’ your missus like dem udder girls, like ‘Liza?” Eliza frowned at him but did not comment. “Or did you make her mad? Ain’t you bring her coffee fast enough?”
“No, and I cried when she beat me for it,” Corina retorted, glaring at him.
Chloe quickly intervened. “Ben, you hush now an’ eat your breakfast while it’s hot,” she scolded him, tipping the golden corn cakes back into the wooden bowl and setting it on the table. “Uncle John, you, too. Connor an’ Clara be our guests; don’ be pesterin’ dem so.”
Ben seized a johnnycake and stuffed half of it in his mouth at once. “You don’ talk like no slave,” he remarked to Clara with his mouth full.
“Her missus be one o’ dem who like to educate dere slaves a bit,” Chloe explained, before Corina thought of a suitable answer. “Clara, here, honey, eat some. We ain’t got no butter, but dey’s fine enough plain. Eliza, take a couple wid you to de house.”
As Eliza hurried out the door, Corina quickly took a bite to avoid further questioning. Although it would have been better with salt and butter, she found the warm, textured patty quite tasty and filling. Corina finished two and was halfway done with her third when she heard the clanging of a cow bell.
Immediately Chloe, John and Ben stood up from the table. Ben grabbed the last johnnycake and shoved it into his mouth. “What is it?” Connor asked Chloe.
“It’s de call to de fields,” Chloe answered. “De best way for you to blend in here is to work, so dat’s what you better do ‘til you decide what you’s gonna do next. Come on.” Connor and Corina glanced at one another and shrugged. They followed Chloe past the outhouse where they had arrived the night before, around a corner and into a sea of fields. Corina saw thousands of tall, brown plants. White, fluffy clumps of cotton clung to the branches, dripping with water from the storm the night before. Burlap sacks hung on a post at the edge of one of the fields. Chloe took one and gestured for Connor and Corina to do the same. “Massa got so many slaves, he ain’t gonna notice two more.”
Chloe showed Corina how to pull the cotton fibres from the plant and drop the clumps into her bag. The work was simple, but as the sun rose over the tops of the trees the air grew hot, and Corina’s back began to ache from bending over the cotton plants. Once every couple of hours a drinking gourd would be passed down the line, but it was not enough to stop Corina’s throat from becoming parched with thirst. Two men, one black and one white, stood at the edge of the field overseeing the work. The white man stood with his arms crossed, watching the workers keenly with a critical eye. The black man held a whip loosely in his right hand. His other hand was stuffed in his pocket, and he seemed to be looking everywhere but at the workers.
The sun was just past its peak, and Corina wondered how long she could go on. Suddenly an elderly woman in front of Chloe collapsed to the ground with a low moan. Chloe moved to help her as she struggled to stand. She stumbled again and lay there without moving.
The white overseer gestured to his partner, who approached the old woman somewhat reluctantly. “Get up,” he told her, grasping her by the arm and pulling her to her feet. A drinking gourd was handed to him. “Here. Drink some water.”
The woman attempted to drink, but only succeeded in spilling the precious water down her dress. Her knees buckled and she fell, crying out in pain. The black overseer looked around. “You,” he said to Chloe. “Help her.”
“No,” interjected the white man. He walked over and stood above the old woman, sneering at her down his hooked nose. “Get up, woman.”
Desperately, she tried once again to stand, but without success. The cruel overseer snorted and glanced up. He was a full head shorter than his black counterpart, but the latter cowered under his gaze. “You know what to do, boy,” said the shorter man, smiling coldly and stepping back.
For one fleeting moment, Corina saw regret and sorrow on the young man’s face, before he set his jaw and his eyes flashed cold and hard. He raised his right arm above his head. “No!” Corina burst out, trying to run forward. Connor grabber her from behind and clapped a hand over her mouth. The whip sliced the air with a sickening crack and tore through the woman’s thin cotton dress, leaving an angry red slash on her back. She grunted in pain, struggling with all her might to keep silence.
Again and again the whip was raised, until the woman’s back was cut to ribbons, dripping crimson blood that soaked into the thirsty soil. Corina’s tears washed the dust from her father’s hand. Finally, the white man motioned that it was enough, and the other stepped back, breathing hard. Corina met his dark eyes and searched for remorse or compassion, but found only blankness. In turning her gaze away from the black man, she found the keen blue eyes of the other, who was watching her with interest. Corina clenched her teeth and glared at him with all her might. He smiled slightly in amusement and turned away.
“All right, all of you,” he called out as he walked out of the field. “Show’s over. Now you see the reward that sluggards earn. Get back to work.”