Mustard Seed

by Laila Ibrahim

  Mama and Jordan boiled up greens with some beans in a pot over an open fire. They had supper waiting on the table when Sarah got home from the fields. It was fresher than last night’s meal, but bland since there wasn’t any salt or meat to flavor it. Jordan was on edge, waiting for Mama to tell Sarah about the encounter with Lisbeth Johnson.

  “It look like there ain’t so many folks livin’ in the quarters anymore,” Mama said. “That why you get this place to yourself?”

  Sarah nodded and replied, “They bring men in for planting, then back again to harvest. Jus’ a few mens live here all the time.”

  “When that change?” Mama asked.

  Sarah shrugged. “Few years back.”

  “It feel wrong,” Mama said.

  “The war change ever’thin’. The men leave, and they don’ come back, not even for visiting, it seem like. Not like before.”

  Mama asked, “Where they go?”

  Suddenly the door to the shack banged open; the three women flinched. A large White man stood in the door frame holding a silver-topped walking stick.

  “I heard there were intruders at my home,” the man bellowed. “I came to see for myself.”

  Jordan, heart pounding, started to rise up and introduce herself. “Hell—”

  Mama kicked her hard under the table. Jordan stopped speaking. Mama and Sarah rose without raising their eyes. Jordan followed their lead, adrenaline surging through her body.

  “Good evenin’, Massa Richards,” Sarah said.

  “Who are you? And what are you doing on my land?” he shouted. “And do not tell me any lie about being from Shirley!”

  “We only here for a visit with Sarah, suh,” Mama said. “My son, suh, he had to go to Washington. And we came with him.”

  The man walked up to Jordan and stood so close that his hot breath covered her face. Her mouth went dry, and her palms moistened. Terrified, Jordan needed all her self-control not to step back in retreat. She felt his gaze traveling up and down her body. Her eyes averted, she looked toward the eagle-topped walking stick he gripped in his hand, but in the periphery of her vision, she was fixated on his every movement.

  “Where do you live?” he hissed. She flinched when spit from his mouth landed on her cheek.

  Jordan, eyes still down turned, looked sideways at her mother, hoping for rescue. She feared she would make this situation worse by speaking.

  “Do not look at her for your answer!” he shouted.

  “Ohio,” Jordan said in a shaky voice. Then she remembered to add, “Sir.”

  “Sir, huh? That does not come easily to you.”

  Fury built in him, his whole body tightening, scaring her more. He forcefully tapped his cane up and down against the floor as his hand troubled the metal eagle that topped it. Jordan stared at the sharp beak, fully aware that a stick just like this, perhaps this very cane, had struck and killed Mama’s sister, Rebecca.

  “You are not welcome here, disturbing our way of life,” he said, continuing to hover threateningly close to Jordan. “Sarah, I thought you knew better than to invite these people to my home.”

  “Yes, suh,” she agreed. “I ain’t asked for them to come. They jus’ showed up.”

  “Are you happy here, Sarah?” he demanded, all the time staring at Jordan.

  “Oh, yes, suh! Very happy.”

  “Would you like to stay here?”

  Sarah confirmed, “Oh, yes, suh. I never wants to live anywhere else, suh.”

  “Do we treat you well, Sarah? Fairly?”

  “Oh, yes, Massa!” she said, sounding enthusiastic, though Jordan heard the fear underneath the words.

  He leaned in even closer to Jordan and hissed, “You go back to Ohio, and you tell them that everyone is happy here and that they can stop intruding upon our freedoms.”

  Jordan nodded rapidly, her mouth dry and her heart nearly exploding in her chest.

  “Yes, suh,” Mama said.

  The man’s eyes bored into Jordan. Her heart thumped so loud she heard it in her head, and her legs quivered so hard she feared she might collapse. Jordan stood frozen, staring at the cane, watching for a cue from her mama.

  “Now!” he barked. Jordan flinched.

  “᾽Scuse me, suh?” Mama asked.

  “Leave now!” he ordered.

  Jordan felt Mama’s body jerk. “Yes, suh.”

  Mama grabbed their carpetbag and walked to the door. A mustard seed fell from her hand. Watching it bounce on the ground broke Jordan’s terror, giving her a bit of courage.

  The man stood firmly in Jordan’s path. She slowly inched to the left, mindful of the cane. He didn’t move. Jordan rushed past him into the dark night, abandoning Sarah to the evil man who had killed Aunt Rebecca.

  CHAPTER 11

  LISBETH

  Charles City County, Virginia

  “Momma, what’s a scalawag?” Sammy asked. The three of them were alone, traveling back toward Richmond. They were going to stop for two nights to visit with Matthew’s parents, Granny and Poppy.

  The insult hit Lisbeth like a blow to the stomach. “Where did you hear that word!”

  “Johnny said, ‘Granny and Poppy are scalawags,’” he replied.

  “That is not language we use in our family,” she chastised. “It’s a disrespectful name for Southerners who support the cause of the Union.”

  “Are they? Scal—” He stopped himself. “On our side?”

  Lisbeth nodded. “Yes. And it has not been easy for them or your uncles. Some of their neighbors are unkind.”

  “What do they do to them?”

  “After your uncle Mitch joined the Union army, Uncle Michael was put in jail.”

  “That’s not fair!” Sammy exclaimed.

  “People aren’t fair, or kind, during war. One Union tactic was to burn fields. Poppy’s crops were spared by the Union troops, but someone set fire to them after the Northern soldiers retreated.”

  Sammy slumped his head over and thought for a while. Eventually he said, “I never thought about what it was like here. For our family.”

  “It’s difficult to think too long or too hard about the other side when there is a conflict. It’s easier not to be too sympathetic to their sorrows.”

  “Is that why Uncle Michael and his family moved to California?” Sammy asked.

  “Yes. He didn’t believe he would have opportunities if he stayed here.”

  “Why do Granny and Poppy stay?” Sammy questioned.

  Lisbeth chose her words carefully, explaining to him what they had told her. “This is their home, the only place they have ever lived. Their brothers and sisters live here. They are proud Virginians and proud to be a part of the United States. Like us, they hope we leave this conflict in the past and move forward together, as one country.”

  “You keep saying that we won, but it doesn’t seem like it,” Sammy observed.

  “Why do you say that?” Lisbeth asked.

  “Mrs. Bartley spoke so rudely to Mrs. Freedman until she realized she was your Mattie. Then she acted like she was glad to see her, but I could tell she wasn’t. And Mr. Richards was furious when Sadie said she saw Miss Jordan. You pretend the Negroes have freedom when they don’t.”

  “Oh, Sammy.” Lisbeth looked at her son, proud of his observation and insight, and torn about how to make sense of something for him that still confused her.

  Sammy continued. “He left the room, but we all heard him yelling about the—you know, that word we don’t use—‘rabble-rousers’ who were going to destroy his way of life. I got scared, and I couldn’t even see him.”

  “Me too,” Sadie chimed in. “He pretends to be nice, but he is a bad man.”

  Lisbeth’s stomach dropped. She hadn’t realized Sadie had heard Mr. Richards’s fit of rage . . . or that she was listening in on this conversation.

  “It was confusing and scary to be at Fair Oaks. We went to my old home full of excitement. Mr. Richards was nice, to us.” Lisbeth struggled to find the right
words. “Now you understand more about why Poppa and I decided to live in Ohio, where we do our best to be respectful to everyone. Here children are taught to show kindness and respect to some people but not to others.”

  “Not to Negroes, you mean,” Sammy replied.

  “When can we go home?” Sadie asked. “I miss Poppa.”

  “I miss him too,” Lisbeth sympathized. “We came to Virginia to care for Grandfather in his last days. There is no knowing how long we will be required to stay. Death comes in its own time. After the visit with Granny and Poppy, we will go back to Richmond, and we won’t have to visit any plantations ever again.”

  Lisbeth was saddened at the toll the years and the conflict had taken on Mother and Father Johnson’s dwelling. The cost of the war was apparent everywhere in Virginia, but her husband’s childhood home was especially changed for the worse. This once impeccably maintained property had green paint peeling from the front door, and no marigolds surrounded the scraggy rosebushes anymore. Corn, a subsistence crop, grew in the surrounding fields instead of tobacco, which would have brought in income.

  As soon as Lisbeth stopped the horse, the house’s weathered door flew open. Mother and Father Johnson rushed out to greet them. It had been more than a year since the elderly couple had visited Ohio, but Sammy and Sadie didn’t hold back from hugging their grandparents.

  “You have both grown six inches since we saw you!” Mother Johnson exaggerated.

  “Give us some sugar!” Father Johnson leaned over so Sadie could kiss his cheek.

  Lisbeth smiled at the scene. After all the stress of Fair Oaks and Richmond, it was especially good to be here for a few days. Once again this family would be a sanctuary.

  “This is your uncle Mitch,” Father Johnson said, introducing the children to Matthew’s brother.

  Lisbeth hadn’t seen him in years, and she’d never known him well. He looked like her husband though, so she had a tender space in her heart for him. He shook Sammy’s hand and gave Sadie a sweet, if awkward, sideways hug.

  “It’s nice to see you, Sister,” he said to Lisbeth. When he leaned in to kiss her cheek, he stepped on the edge of her shoe. He blushed and apologized a little too loudly.

  “I’m so glad the children have a chance to meet you. We still hope we will get you to visit us someday soon.” Lisbeth smiled at her brother-in-law.

  Her in-laws greeted her, and after asking about her father they led the way up the rickety wooden stairs onto the porch and then into the house. In the doorway of the living room, Lisbeth remembered the moment that had changed her life forever. At twenty-one, hardly more than a sheltered child, she knew that she could not in good conscience marry Edward once she understood what kind of a man he was. She threw away tradition and everything her parents had planned when she proposed marriage to Matthew in this very home; she’d been so nervous she feared she might actually faint. He agreed to her bold question, and they began their new life in Ohio. She now shuddered to imagine how close she’d come to marrying Edward Cunningham. She would have had no Matthew, no Sammy, and no Sadie. That would have been a tragedy.

  CHAPTER 12

  JORDAN

  Fair Oaks plantation, Virginia

  “Mama, do you think he’s going to kill Sarah? Should we go back?” Jordan rushed to keep up with her mother as they crashed their way through the woods toward Samuel.

  “I think she safe so long as we stay away. We ain’t gonna go back till we have Ella and Sophia. Then she gonna come with us,” Mama replied without pausing.

  “How are we going to find them?” Jordan asked.

  “The Freedmen’s Bureau ain’t closed yet, right?” Mama turned her head so Jordan could hear her as she walked.

  Jordan nodded.

  “That how. We gonna go to Richmond and ask the folks at the bureau to ask the folks at the other bureaus until we figure out what happen to those little girls. Your brother gonna put his law schooling to use,” Mama declared.

  “Of course! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it.” Jordan looked at her mother in admiration. “That’s why you wanted to come now—before it closed.”

  “Jordan, you and Samuel book smarter than most folks, but that don’ make you world smarter too. Don’ ever forget that.”

  “Yes, Mama!”

  Jordan heard the cock of a gun in the bushes. She froze, her heart hammering hard, and she tasted metal in her mouth.

  “Samuel!” Mama yelled. “It jus’ us.”

  Mama moved toward the sound. Jordan followed cautiously. Pushing through a bush, she saw her brother standing alone, holding a weapon in a shaky hand.

  Samuel tipped his head back, let out a huge sigh, and said, “Thank you, Jesus!” His voice quavering with emotion, he continued. “That was the worst wait of my life. I never thought anything could be as worrisome as the night when Otis was born, but I was wrong!”

  He pulled his mother and sister into a long, tight embrace.

  “Did you hold your mustard seeds?” Mama asked Samuel after their hug.

  He nodded with a smile. “I did, Mama.”

  “Did it give you a bit more faith?” Mama wondered.

  Samuel shrugged and nodded with a lopsided smile. “Yes, it did. I don’t understand why or how, but it did.”

  “You don’ have to know how or why faith work—you jus’ got to make sure you find some when you feelin’ lost.”

  Jordan and Samuel exchanged a look—the “we both know her beliefs are superstitions, but we do love her” look.

  Mama leaned in and whispered, as if there were someone else nearby listening, “I lef’ a mustard seed in the quarters. That gonna give Sarah some of my faith when her own gets lost.”

  Early the next morning they set out for the half-day ride to Richmond. Jordan had wanted to just get going, but Mama insisted it was safer to travel by daylight. Jordan, as tense as Mama, rode facing backward to give warning if need be. Halfway through the journey Jordan became alarmed when the wagon stopped for no apparent reason. She scrambled around, looking for the cause. She didn’t see anything blocking the way. She looked at Mama and then at Samuel. His head was slumped over. Worry started to rise, but then she heard a soft snore coming from his lips.

  He’d fallen asleep with his hands still holding the reins. Sleepless nights had taken a toll on him. Mama roused him. He was embarrassed and insisted he could keep driving, but eventually he agreed to lie down in the wagon bed to sleep. Mama slid into the driver’s seat, Jordan joined her up front, and they got moving toward Richmond again.

  Just before they got to the Manchester Turnpike on the outskirts of the city, they woke Samuel up. Mama said he would draw less attention driving the cart than an old Negro woman. Jordan breathed to steady her nerves as they waited to pay the toll, but once Samuel handed over the money they were waved through.

  Richmond wasn’t as big as Cincinnati, more like Cleveland, but everything was packed in close. Samuel had read that the last census in 1860 counted nearly 38,000 people in Richmond, about one-third of them colored or Negro. Like most cities, it had grown significantly during the war, especially with freedmen.

  The turnpike was a wide, smooth gravel road, unlike anything they had ever experienced. It took some coaxing, but eventually the horses accepted that they could move as fast as the other carts and wagons. Jordan was too distracted by the hustle and bustle around them to feel worried. Colored men, as well as White men, worked on steamships and barges on the James River to the south. Full wagons carried goods into and out of town; sometimes loads were so wide that Samuel was forced to stop or pull over to let them by. Single riders on horseback galloped past them in both directions.

  “I had no idea it would be this crowded!” Samuel said.

  “How are we going to find the bureau?” Jordan wondered. “Where are we going to stay?”

  “Remember, we gonna find this church,” Mama said, handing Jordan the paper from Pastor Duhart. “Pastor say they gonna set us up with everthin�
� we need.”

  “Clay at Adams,” Jordan read out loud. She looked around. There was nothing to indicate which street was which. “How do we know what street is Clay, or Adams?”

  “When I get off the turnpike, we can ask the first friendly colored person we see,” Samuel said.

  “The kindness of strangers,” Mama lectured, “usually works out just fine.”

  “Oh my!” Jordan exclaimed as they were suddenly in the midst of charred ruins. Burned-out buildings lined the road; bricks and rubble were scattered around them. The fire that had ravaged these buildings must have been huge to burn so many blocks. In stark contrast, a white-columned building shone in the sunlight up the hill to the right. Jordan shuddered when it hit her that it was the capitol building of the Confederacy. Jefferson Davis had worked from that building. His “White House” was nearby. She was in the heart of the enemy. To the south stone pillars poked out of the churning water, showing where a bridge had once crossed the James River. Some of the ruined buildings had workers clearing debris or making repairs, but mostly their remains stood alone and silent as a haunting reminder of the devastation that had been experienced by this city at the end of the war.

  Jordan was utterly enamored with Miss Grace’s boardinghouse. The pastor’s wife, Nell, had brought them straight over to this street of newly built homes. The “row” homes were so close that they shared walls with one another. Jordan hadn’t seen one White face since they arrived at this neighborhood, Jackson Ward. Miss Grace, born free in Richmond, rented out three well-furnished bedrooms to colored people who were passing through town or looking to relocate. Jordan expected to feel unsettled in this stranger’s home, but Miss Grace lived up to her name and put them at ease.

  After weeks of living out of a carpetbag, it was a welcome pleasure to unpack her clothing into a cherrywood wardrobe. Mama and Jordan worked side by side, settling into the room. Mama reached into her chemise and pulled out a fat wad of paper money. Jordan gasped loudly and watched her ma reach up high to tuck the money in the back of the wardrobe shelf.