"Looks like the devil," said Amy. "But you made it through.Come down here, Jesus, Lu made it through. That's because of me. I'm good at sick things. Canyou walk, you think?"
"I have to let my water some kind of way."
"Let's see you walk on em."
It was not good, but it was possible, so Sethe limped, holding on first to Amy, then to a sapling.
"Was me did it. I'm good at sick things ain't I?"
"Yeah," said Sethe, "you good."
"We got to get off this here hill. Come on. I'll take you down to the river. That ought to suit you.Me, I'm going to the Pike. Take me straight to Boston. What's that all over your dress?"
"Milk."
"You one mess."
Sethe looked down at her stomach and touched it. The baby was dead. She had not died in thenight, but the baby had. If that was the case, then there was no stopping now. She would get thatmilk to her baby girl if she had to swim.
"Ain't you hungry?" Amy asked her.
"I ain't nothing but in a hurry, miss."
"Whoa. Slow down. Want some shoes?"
"Say what?"
"I figured how," said Amy and so she had. She tore two pieces from Sethe's shawl, filled them withleaves and tied them over her feet, chattering all the while.
"How old are you, Lu? I been bleeding for four years but I ain't having nobody's baby. Won't catch me sweating milk cause..."
"I know," said Sethe. "You going to Boston."
At noon they saw it; then they were near enough to hear it. By late afternoon they could drink fromit if they wanted to. Four stars were visible by the time they found, not a riverboat to stow Setheaway on, or a ferryman willing to take on a fugitive passenger — nothing like that — but a wholeboat to steal. It had one oar, lots of holes and two bird nests.
"There you go, Lu. Jesus looking at you."