When they reached the woods it took her no time to find the path through it because big-cityrevivals were held there regularly now, complete with food-laden tables, banjos and a tent. The oldpath was a track now, but still arched over with trees dropping buckeyes onto the grass below.
There was nothing to be done other than what she had done, butSethe blamed herself for Baby Suggs' collapse. However many times Baby denied it, Sethe knewthe grief at 124 started when she jumped down off the wagon, her newborn tied to her chest in theunderwear of a whitegirl looking for Boston.
Followed by the two girls, down a bright green corridor of oak and horse chestnut, Sethe began tosweat a sweat just like the other one when she woke, mud-caked, on the banks of the Ohio.
Amy was gone. Sethe was alone and weak, but alive, and so was her baby. She walked a waysdownriver and then stood gazing at the glimmering water. By and by a flatbed slid into view, butshe could not see if the figures on it were whitepeople or not. She began to sweat from a fever shethanked God for since it would certainly keep her baby warm. When the flatbed was beyond hersight she stumbled on and found herself near three coloredpeople fishing — two boys and an olderman. She stopped and waited to be spoken to. One of the boys pointed and the man looked over hisshoulder at her — a quick look since all he needed to know about her he could see in no time.
Noone said anything for a while. Then the man said, "Headin' 'cross?"
"Yes, sir," said Sethe.
"Anybody know you coming?"