Celia sat in the little rowboat, the rhythmic sound of wooden planks slapping the waves all to keep her company as she floated further from the bank of the river.
The current took the boat westward away from the looming plantation, white as bone, its windows full of soft yellow light. She felt as thought it was watching her and took only shallow breaths until it passed from sight.
The forged papers were carefully stashed in her satchel along with a small sum of money she hoped would quiet whoever might ask too many questions regarding where she came from, where she was going.
Ahead was a lone woman with a rifle slung over her shoulder, waving her on. Soon they’d be running, but for now she let the ebb and flow carry her onward to days when she could breathe easy once more.