Chasing the North Star by Robert Morgan

had, if only he could find pencil and paper.
    After he’d rested maybe half an hour, it was time to go. If he was going to climb the mountain wall, he might as well go ahead and do it early in the day. He washed the knife and washed his hands and placed the matches in his pocket. And he started following the creek deeper into the side of the mountain.
    Around the next bend he came to a waterfall leaping off a rock shelf twenty feet above the pool. There was no choice but to climb up the steep side of the hollow, through ferns and spray from the falls, pulling himself up on roots and rocks, bushes and saplings. When he reached the shelf where the waterfall milked over the rim, he saw the cliffs far above. To reach the top he’d have to climb between the cliffs, crawling on hands and knees through laurels, looking out for snakes and stingworms on logs. As Jonah began to climb through briars and vines, he saw there was no secret to the labor of climbing but to go slow. Rising a foot at a time, one step at a time, he could mount to the summit, picking a way among rocks and brush. It would take him much of the day to get across.

Four
    Jonah
    Once Jonah reached the top of the ridge, he stepped out on a jutting cliff and looked to the north. A wide valley spread as far as he could see, to the chains of higher mountains to the west and north and east. The floor of the valley below was almost completely flat. The faraway mountains appeared to float in blue-white haze, and the air above the valley seemed to have smoke in it, the smoke of heat and full summer. Directly below the ridge where he stood stretched a wide pine woods, with clearings here and there and roofs of big houses and a church that looked as if it came from another country, a church of pink stone with a tower, sitting on a rise.
    Jonah turned and walked out the ridge until he found a trail, which he followed down the steep north side. The path switched back and forth among boulders and trees, always going down, and Jonah felt the fish in his belly gave him strength. He jumped from foothold to foothold, swinging around saplings, banking off of boulders. It didn’t take long to reach the valley floor.
    There at the head of a creek valley he saw the first house. It was a long three-story dwelling with porches across the front, the biggest house he’d ever seen. The walls were painted blinding white. The big house had barns and outbuildings, slave quarters, and a woodshed behind it. A black woman was cooking over an open fire outside the summer kitchen. A large dog barked from a pen near the barn. Jonah stepped back into the woods and skirted the field and pasture that flanked the mansion. When he saw two more big white houses farther down the valley, he guessed he must have reached Flat Rock. Only Flat Rock would have such fine mansions deep in the mountains. He tried to recall the name of the family Mrs. Williams and Betsy and Johnny were visiting, but he couldn’t. He knew Mrs. Williams had mentioned where they were going, to visit her sister, but he’d forgotten the name.
    He picked his way carefully along the edge of the farthest outlying fields, his goal being to go around Flat Rock. Word of his escape might have already reached the community there. A man and woman on horses galloped near him, and he crouched in the ragweeds until they were past. As he walked on, Jonah heard voices and the clopping of more horses. When he reached the pine woods he could move faster, for there was little undergrowth or brush beneath the tall pines. He heard the creak of a wagon and the rumble of carriage wheels on gravel, and soon a road came into view. Two men on horses passed, and then a cart pulled by oxen. Jonah backed out of sight behind a large pine tree and watched.
    Farther down the road another white house rose among pine trees. Its lawn was wide, and boxwoods lined the driveway up to the front porch. Flower gardens and trellises with vines decorated