Speak Right On: Dred Scott, a novel by Mary E. Neighbour

Dred remained standing until Sam was out of sight. Then he stretched back out on the dried grasses and drew the blanket up to his chin. All the excitement of the run to freedom had drained from him, leaving him empty and exhausted. A heaviness pressed him down. He knew it was partly the sickness, but he imagined it was the weight of slavery constricting his chest. He rubbed his chest with the flat of his hand, trying to erase the feeling. Paper crackled under his vest as he did so, and with a sad grin he extracted the sheet from his vest pocket. He had all but forgotten the parting gift Taylor had shyly given him that morning before leaving for the ferry. Dred unfolded the sheet, a map.

"Is this a map of Alton?" he had asked Taylor.

"No," the boy said, "this is the world. The whole wide world. I wanted you to know the places you've been no matter where else you go." Taylor's finger traced the outline of the United States. "See here: this is America and its territories, and over here, where I marked a circle, this is Virginia."

Dred smiled broadly, shaking his head. "This be a wonder, a pure wonder."

Eagerly, Taylor continued, edging his finger to the left. "Now across here is St. Louis."

"Smack in the middle of everything, ain't it?"

Taylor nodded. Then he dragged his finger across the page, down and over to Africa. "And this is Africa." Again, his finger traced the boundary.

"This whole thing? Why, it's bigger'n the U.S."

Taylor grinned and said, "Now, I didn't know where Dahomey was, so I got my teacher at school to help me. He said it's right in here, along this coastline, extending upriver a ways. He said it's a kingdom."

Dred's finger traced the western coast of Africa. Midway along the coast, where Taylor had made another circle, he rubbed the area back and forth, then drummed a quick rhythm on the page. "It don't seem like much on this here sheet, but look: you could have another Africa in this stretch of water betwixt Africa and America."

"It's a long, long ways," the boy agreed.

"Mmmm-mmmm," said Dred. "My kin come all that way." He was flooded with memories of the stories Gran told about Africa and their kin. "Mmmm-mmmm," he said again. "Kinda makes me feel small and alone." Taylor slipped one hand inside Dred's, and Dred squeezed it, adding, "'Specially now that I's running on farther."

"The teacher said maps show us how we're all connected," Taylor said. "No matter how far you go, you'll always know where we are. We'll be here. We'll be thinking of you."

Dred hugged the boy around the shoulders. "Thank you, Taylor. I'll keep it with me always. Just one last thing: show me Alabama. Show me where Gran is."

Taylor did so, then watched as Dred extracted a burnt stick from the fireplace and rubbed charcoal into the spot where Gran was.

Alone in the swamp, Dred examined the map again, fondly tracing the marks and whispering, "Dahomey. V'ginia. Alabama. St. Looey." He fell asleep, dreaming of the varicolored map and all the places and colors yet to explore. He slept deeply, waking in the morning to find himself remembering the words of the free black man he had met. Dred awoke with the first streaks of daylight and looked up at the sun without squinting, thinking: Sure 'nough, freedom's skinny. Skinny and sickly and weak. But I reckon there may yet be ways to feed it and fatten it and make it grow strong.