The Land

by Mildred D. Taylor

  Before dinner was ready, all the Perry children appeared on the front porch. I figured I was a bit of a curiosity to them, and they mostly just stared at me with only mumbled words to say. Caroline came out, and so did Callie, to order all the children to the back porch to wash up, and their older sister Risten brought a bowl of fresh water, a towel, and some soap for their father and me. Of all the Perrys, only Miz Perry didn’t make an appearance on the porch. When dinner was announced, Sam Perry ushered me into his house.

  The main room of the Perry home was small and full. A bed sat in a corner, a fireplace was on one side, and a long table took up the middle. A bench was on either side of the table, and a chair was at each end. The table was laden with food—butter beans with crowder peas and rice, biscuits and corn bread, fried chicken and beef spareribs in gravy, plus pickled preserves of onions, tomatoes, and cucumbers. There were vinegar beets too. It was a grand spread of food and hardly looked like the table of a sharecropper’s family. Both Callie and Caroline were busy circling the table pouring tall glasses of cold buttermilk as Sam Perry continued to make me welcome, and there was even hot coffee poured for Mister Perry and me. Sam Perry smiled with pride as he gazed down the table to where I was seated at the other end, and I had the feeling he had read my mind. “You know it taste even better’n it look,” he said. Then he let out a loud holler. “Rachel! Rachel! Where you at? Come on now! Come on in here, sugar, so’s we can thank the Lord and show Him how much we thanks Him for His good food!” He then turned to the rest of the Perrys. “All y’all old ’nough t’ sit with company, find yo’selves a seat. Rest of y’all stand back for prayer, and then yo’ mama and yo’ sisters’ll see t’ yo’ plates.”

  Caroline and Callie, along with Nathan and the older brothers still living at home, and the two married children with their spouses, all took seats at the table. But Sam Perry’s wife had not come in, and Sam Perry called to her once more. When Miz Perry still did not appear, he turned to Nathan. “Boy, go get yo’ mama and tell her we waitin’ on her! Tell her not t’ be stayin’ off in that kitchen all through this dinner. We wants her here at the table.”

  Nathan hurriedly carried out his father’s command. He returned shortly, followed by his mother carrying one last dish, which she placed on the table. Then she put her hands on her hips and stared down at her massive husband. “What you doin’ wit’ all that hollerin’ at me, Sam Perry?” she fussed. “I come when I got all my food ready. Ya knows that!”

  “Wanted you t’ meet our company, Miz Perry,” said Sam Perry in explanation. “This here’s Mister Paul Logan from outa Vicksburg. I told you ’bout him.”

  I stood as Miz Rachel Perry seemed to take note of me for the first time. “Miz Perry,” I said in greeting, “I thank you for having me to your home. You’ve certainly prepared a beautiful dinner here.”

  Miz Perry said nothing. She just stared at me while I stood awkwardly waiting for some response. Rachel Perry was a small woman, not at all like her husband in stature. She was a good-looking woman too, pale in coloring, but weary-looking. There seemed to be no laughter in her.

  “Mama?” said Caroline, and Rachel Perry finally gave me a stiff nod in return for my words.

  “Go on have a seat there, Mister Logan,” said Sam Perry, offering no apology for his wife’s cold greeting, “and let’s join hands in prayer.” He stretched out long arms and grasped the hands of his children on either side of him, and all at the table grasped the hands beside them. I did the same.

  After the blessing was asked, all the women, including Caroline, rose from the table and took the children with them to prepare their plates in the kitchen. After some time Caroline and Callie, along with Risten and their sister-in-law, returned. The children, they said, were eating on the porch. Rachel Perry too returned, but she didn’t sit down. She refilled dishes throughout the meal, but she never looked once at me.

  Despite that and the uneasiness I felt at Rachel Perry’s attitude, I still found that I was enjoying myself. As Sam Perry had said, his wife was an excellent cook, and he hadn’t exaggerated that point. I hadn’t tasted food like what was spread on that table since my mama’s own good cooking. The main meal filled me up, but when the layered pecan cake and the sweet-potato pies were brought to the table, I couldn’t say no. In addition to all the good food was the warmth of being with a family. Throughout the meal Sam Perry, his sons, and his daughters kept up a lively conversation punched by laughter and good-natured teasing, and at the end of the meal we all sat for a while longer as Sam Perry told stories. When the children had finished their meals on the porch, they ran in and out and gathered close, and I felt the warm circle of family. But eventually Miz Rachel Perry appeared and announced, “If y’all finished, then I gots t’ get this table cleared and this food left over put away. Caroline, Callie, Risten, y’all give me a hand.”

  All the Perry girls, as well as their sister-in-law, stood and began to help their mother. At that, Sam Perry invited me outside. “Look like the womenfolk done made it clear we got no further business in here!” All the men and boys then went outside, and once on the porch Sam Perry offered me some tobacco. I took it and filled my pipe, and for a while we sat enjoying the smoke. I had picked up the habit of pipe smoking in the lumber camps, and it was the only frivolous thing on which I spent my money. I enjoyed the aroma of the tobacco. It reminded me of my daddy. As I listened to Sam Perry’s talk and his laughter, I was already thinking on the day’s end and not wanting it to come. Still, I didn’t want to overstay my welcome, and as it grew late, I put out my pipe and made ready to go.

  “Now, don’t be hurryin’ off,” objected Sam Perry. “It’s feedin’ time for my stock. Why don’t ya come ’long wit’ me and my boys and take a look at ’em. I’m just gonna change my pants and get my work boots on.” I agreed to that, and after Sam Perry had changed, we headed toward his pasture. “Got me plenty of fine animals for a man as dirt poor as me, I reckon,” he said. “May be a sin to be so proud, but God gonna hafta forgive me for that, ’cause there’s three things I ain’t shame t’ ’mit I’m right proud of—my wife, my children, and my animals.”

  I figured he had a right to be proud. He had a fine family. He also had chickens and guineas, several cows, a pen full of hogs, and two mules.

  As we stood outside the hog pen, Sam Perry said, “I s’pose you been wondering how a man like me come t’ have animals like these here. S’pose ya been wondering too how I could ’ford fried chicken and spareribs on my table. Well, I works hard and I puts my faith in the Lord, and the Lord done give me a gift. I got the gift of healin’. Learned ’bout healin’ when I was a boy, and that’s how I made my way through slavery, healin’ the white folks’ animals. Now, I might not have much far as land goes, ’cause this here land belongs to that white man up the road. But I got me a fine family and I got these here animals and plenty t’ eat, and I thanks God for ’em all ’cause He done give me the gift of healin’ His creatures. Folks call me t’ tend they animals. White folks come, black folks come, well-t’-do and poor folks too. Folks that can, they pays me sometimes with their litter runts. God and me, we take care of them runts and brings ’em up strong. So if I’m proud and sinful, I figure that’s partly God’s fault too,” he laughed, “’cause He done give ’em all t’ me!” He turned from me then and hollered to Nathan and another of his sons to bring the slop buckets.

  While his boys went to get the slop for the hogs, Sam Perry opened the pen gate and stepped in. “Now, you best stay on that side the wire, Mister Logan,” he advised. “These ole hogs can get t’ be a bit ornery. ’Sides, you ain’t dressed for it.” He glanced past me as a noise arose across the yard. I turned and saw Caroline, a basket looped over one arm, yanking at the gate to the chicken coop. “Pull it hard, sugar!” Sam Perry called. “One of these here days I’m gonna make myself another gate,” he mumbled, more to himself than to me. “That there one’s always gettin’ stuck.” He hollered again to Caroline. “Pull up on it
and give it a yank!”

  “I’ll go see if I can help her,” I volunteered.

  “Well, I ’preciate that. I ain’t already been in with these hogs here, I’d take care of it myself.”

  “Glad to be of help,” I said, and crossed the yard. Caroline was still pulling at the gate when I reached her. “You mind if I try?” I asked.

  She put her basket down and hit at the gate with her hand. “Papa been sayin’ he gonna fix this thing, but he ain’t got round to it.” She hit the gate again. “I ain’t had on this here Sunday dress, I’d just jump it.”

  I glanced at her. I imagined she would. “Let me take a look,” I said, and she stepped aside. I studied the rusty latch. “Well, here’s the problem. One of the screws is out, so the latch slipped a bit and it’s not fitting right.” I looked at the ground, searching for the screw.

  “Don’t ya be worryin’ none with it,” she said. “We take care of it t’morrow. All I want now is to get in there and gather these eggs. You like eggs, Mister Paul Logan?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Y’all get it open?” Sam Perry yelled from across the yard.

  I looked again at the latch and leveled it up with my hand. I was then able to release the tongue of the latch, and the gate opened.

  “We got it now, Papa!” answered Caroline, and Sam Perry waved his hand in return and turned his attention back to his hogs. “I sure do thank you, Mister Paul Logan,” Caroline said, picking up her basket.

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “But tell me something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why do you always address me by my full name?”

  Caroline smiled at me without any hint of shyness. “’Cause I likes the way it sounds. Always did like that name Paul. It just sounds nice, don’t ya think?” She didn’t wait for an answer as she went into the chicken pen. “You come on wit’ me and see some of our layin’ hens. And be sure and close that gate behind ya so’s these chickens don’t get out. The younguns already fed ’em, so it’s their beddin’ time now, but we got some hens that lay late, so I gotta check for eggs.”

  I did as I was told and followed Caroline through the yard and into the henhouse.

  “S’pose you ’bout ready t’ be quit of us and all our family,” Caroline teased as she went about checking under the hens. “There’s sure a lot of us.”

  “No, actually, I’ve enjoyed being here. I haven’t seen my own family in some time, so this has been a good day for me. One thing, though. It seems to me your mother doesn’t much care for me.”

  Caroline brushed away my comment with a wave of her hand, as if fanning away a fly. “Ah, don’t you mind Mama. She ain’t meant no harm. It’s just that she done had a hard life and it done got into her soul. Ain’t nothin’ you done.”

  “But there’s something about me, isn’t there, that made her that way toward me?”

  Caroline was more open than I had expected her to be. She looked straight into my eyes when she answered. “Nothin’ more’n the fact you lookin’ like a white man.”

  I gazed at her in silence.

  “That there, that’s what it is,” she said, and turned back to gathering her eggs.

  “But didn’t your daddy tell her about me? About me coming to dinner?”

  “Oh, he told her, all right. He done told her he invited Mister Paul Logan, but that’s all. He didn’t tell her anythin’ ’bout what ya look like. Ain’t said nothin’ ’bout you lookin’ near white. He shoulda done told her that, knowin’ how Mama is, but he ain’t, so my mama ain’t ’spected you t’ be lookin’ like ya do, and it took her by surprise a bit. When she done seen ya, other things come to her mind.”

  “Other things?”

  Caroline diligently continued to gather her eggs. “Things ’bout when she was born. Things ’bout when she was a baby. Things ’bout slavery days.”

  “Now, what could seeing me have to do with that? Certainly I’m not the first near-to-white-looking person she’s seen.”

  “Not sittin’ at her table,” Caroline retorted. She stopped and fixed her deep brown eyes on mine. “You see, t’ my mama ya might’s well be white. That there’s what she sees, and she can’t get over that.”

  “Well, I’m not white,” I said.

  “Partly you are. Anybody can see that. But that don’t matter. Part of it you are, my mama done seen it.” Caroline’s eyes were still fixed on me. “She done seen that and not nothin’ much else. She done seen that there man called hisself her master when she seen ya, and she done seen the white woman that was his wife too.” She turned from me and walked on.

  “Well . . . I’m not them,” I said softly.

  Caroline glanced back. “Course you ain’t. But Mama, she ain’t thinkin’ on that. She thinkin’ on the folks takin’ away her name.”

  I watched her without words.

  Caroline continued on with her talk, gathering eggs all the while. “Ya see, my mama was a baby only a week old when she found her name gone.”

  “Her name gone?” I followed her again. “How?”

  “The white folks done took it,” answered Caroline matter-of-factly.

  “Took it?” I questioned. “A name?”

  “That’s right. Just took her name. Ya see, this here’s how it was. My mama was born into slavery belongin’ t’ some white folks by the name of Means. Now, my grandmama Rose, she done picked out a name for my mama even ’fore my mama was born, and that name she done give to my mama was Rachel. My grandmama Rose, she done took pride in that name ’cause that there was the name her mama done held. So come the day my mama was born, my grandmama Rose, she give my mama that name of Rachel, and that was the way everybody was thinkin’ of her, the name when she got born, just simply that. Rachel.”

  Caroline pulled one last egg from under a protesting red hen and put it in her basket. Then she fixed her eyes on me again. “But my mama wasn’t ’lowed to keep her name for long. Come a week after her birth, that white woman married to the white man who had hisself papers to my mama said no baby on her place could be callin’ herself Rachel. Said no baby born, ’ceptin’ hers, was t’ have that name, ’cause that was what she was namin’ her baby born a few days after my mama, and she wasn’t gonna ’low no colored child carryin’ the same name as her child.

  “Well, my grandmama still gone on callin’ my mama Rachel, ’ceptin’ when the white folks were around. But then some years later that white woman heard my grandmama Rose calling my mama Rachel, and she got mad. She tried to stop my grandmama from callin’ my mama by her name. My grandmama told her ain’t nobody got a right t’ take my mama’s name away. Well, that ole white woman figured she had the right, so she had my grandmama took to the yard and she whipped my grandmama ’cause she wouldn’t give up my mama’s name. She whipped her, but it ain’t done no good, ’til she gone and threatened my mama. Then my grandmama Rose gone and done what them white folks ’spected said in their hearin’. Whiles they was around, she called my mama ‘Daughter’ or ‘Sister,’ nothing else. But to my grandmama, my mama’s name remained the same: Rachel, and that’s what she called her when they was by theyselves. That was her name. Name she was born. Name now.” Caroline gave me a pointed look. “So, Mister Paul Logan, that’s what she be thinking on when she see you. That’s a fact,” she said with a nod, ending her story. “Just hope you don’t hold how she be actin’ ’gainst her.”

  “No . . . no, I don’t. Fact, I can somewhat understand how she feels. A given name’s important. My mama didn’t have to suffer about my name, but she had a name for me too—my daddy’s name. She couldn’t give it to me officially though, because my daddy said it wasn’t fitting that I be called by his name.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because my daddy had three other sons and none of them had his name.” I hesitated, then added, “They didn’t have his name and they were white.”

  Caroline nodded in understanding. “Well, what was the name?”

  “My daddy�
��s name is Edward. My mama used to call me that sometimes, along with my given name of Paul, when it was just her and me and my sister, Cassie, around. Even my daddy sometimes called me by it when it was just the two of us.”

  “And how’d you feel ’bout that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How’d you feel ’bout not having your name spoken open?”

  “Well, I suppose I felt like it was a secret. But the fact was, I wasn’t a secret. Everybody knew I was my daddy’s son. I just think my daddy didn’t want to hurt my brothers by speaking my name so open, not to mention the fact it wouldn’t’ve looked right to his white friends. But I’ve got to admit, whenever he called me by his name, I always felt a pride in it.”

  Caroline’s dark eyes studied me without another word. Then she put her basket down, turned, and looked around as if she were searching for something. After a moment she went to a corner and brought back a small burlap sack. She stuffed it with straw, then placed half a dozen eggs inside. She held out the sack to me. “You take these. They’re for you.”

  “What?”

  “You said you liked eggs, ain’t ya?”

  “Well . . . yes . . .”

  “You got yo’self a layin’ hen?”

  “No . . . but I can’t just take your eggs.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “Well, what do I owe you for them?”

  She smiled a bright smile at me. “Jus’ a good rockin’ chair for my mama. Now, take ’em.”

  There she was giving orders again. I took the sack and thanked her for the eggs. “Are you always this generous?” I asked.

  “Whatcha mean?” she said, picking up her egg basket again. “You seen we got plenty. Nothin’ generous ’bout that.”