Mustard Seed

by Laila Ibrahim

  Lisbeth looked at the children. Thankfully Sadie was still lost in her own imagination, but Sammy was listening to every word. Lisbeth had read an article about this KKK, so she explained to her son, “They are a new organization of White men determined to suppress Negro rights, and we are starting to believe they are not shy about using violence to achieve their goal.”

  Miss Thorpe said, “I witnessed their tactics for myself! They brought a poor missionary from his bed in his nightclothes and beat him. His wife stayed with him the whole time and brought him back nearly dead. I helped care for him, so I can vouch for it.”

  The horrified look on Sammy’s face was an arrow to Lisbeth’s heart. He was being unduly exposed to the brutality of life on this journey. She checked on Sadie, but her innocence was not disturbed.

  Lisbeth turned her attention back to Sammy. She patted his arm and whispered in his ear, “I do not fear that we will be harmed by this Ku Klux Klan.”

  “But what about Miss Jordan and Mrs. Freedman?” he implored, panic in his eyes. “Are they safe?”

  “Oh, Sammy. I believe so,” Lisbeth said, offering a weak reassurance to her son. But she felt ill knowing the KKK most likely added to Mattie and Jordan’s peril.

  CHAPTER 14

  JORDAN

  Richmond, Virginia

  “I caution you against high hopes for success.” Mrs. Avery, the White Methodist woman who ran the orphanage, spoke plainly. “So many folks come here set on finding their kin. Most leave disappointed.”

  “Is there any chance we will find them?” Samuel asked.

  “Of course. Some families are partially reunited. I have yet to meet a family that was fully brought together, though I imagine it happens. We are more than happy to have the contraband of all ages find a permanent home.”

  “Contraband,” Jordan said, feeling disgusted. “What a cruel way to speak of children.”

  Mrs. Avery nodded with a tight, crooked smile. “It does seem a disservice, doesn’t it? First you are called a slave. Then you are labeled contraband.”

  Jordan asked, “How can a child be considered a spoil of war?”

  Samuel replied, “These boys and girls are hard workers. The United States government didn’t want their energy to aid the cause of the Confederates, so they encouraged them to come up here.”

  Mama said, “Hopefully we all just gonna be people soon.”

  “Amen, Mama,” Jordan said.

  Mrs. Avery explained as they walked to the backyard, “I will gather all of the girls so you may question them.”

  “They are nine and twelve years old, so we only need to speak with girls in that age range,” Jordan said.

  Mama shook her head. “None of ’em knows how many years they have.”

  “Really?” Jordan asked.

  “They ain’t had anyone to track it for them,” Mama explained. “There ain’t such a thing as a calendar in the fields. They might a heard it a New Year, but they ain’t told any number to go with the year.”

  It made sense once Mama explained it, but it was sad to imagine that these children didn’t even know their own ages.

  “I think we need to leave the questioning to Mama,” Samuel said.

  “All right,” Jordan agreed, mostly because she didn’t think it mattered, not because she understood what her brother was thinking.

  The yard wasn’t exactly depressing, but it wasn’t lovely either. The hard-packed dirt was marked by a few puddles and muddy spots. There were benches around the edges and no greenery to speak of. Children kicked around balls and twirled ropes in circles around children jumping in rhythm while chanting. Jordan smiled at the children playing clapping games. Even in dreary circumstances, most children found a way to play.

  A few of the girls looked like they were hardly out of diapers, but Mrs. Avery said some were so malnourished that their growth had been stunted, making nine-year-olds look like they had five years. She said there was no telling how old any of them were by the way they looked or spoke.

  The children stopped playing and gathered around Mrs. Avery, gawking at the visitors. All of them were very thin, but they seemed healthy enough. They had hair of varying lengths and styles: some of them had bouncy braids, some had hair pulled back tight, and others wore it free in a big halo around their heads.

  “Mrs. Mattie is looking for her family,” Mrs. Avery explained to the girls. “We expect honest answers. If you are not certain you may say so. Only girls need reply.”

  Mama asked, “Was you called Sophia or Ella when you was little?”

  Seven hands went up. One girl said, “I think I called Sophia, ma’am.”

  Mama told all of those girls to separate into a new group to the right.

  “Anyone have a mama called Sarah?” she asked the remaining original group.

  A few hands went up. “Me,” came a shout.

  Those girls were directed to join the group on the side. Mama asked a few more questions and then went over to the new group to narrow down the possibilities.

  One of the girls who was left out of the questioning pulled at Jordan’s skirt with her rail-thin arm. “You be smart to take me. I picks faster than anyone, and I knows how to clean.”

  Jordan was amused by the confidence this child exuded, and sad that the child so readily offered herself up for manual labor.

  “We aren’t looking for a worker,” Jordan explained. “We are seeking out our nieces.”

  “You talk like a White lady,” the girl declared.

  Jordan laughed. “I suppose so. Where I live many colored people speak the way I do.”

  “You ain’t colored! You a nigger like me,” the child declared.

  Jordan was dismayed to hear that word used so freely, especially out of the mouth of a colored child. Jordan took the opportunity to offer some education.

  “And where I live we do not use that word,” she explained firmly.

  Ignoring Jordan’s admonition, the girl asked, “How come you talk like that?”

  “School,” Jordan replied.

  The girl’s eyes got big, and her scratched-up hand covered her mouth. She said, “It a sin for a nigger to learn. Jesus gonna send you to hell.”

  “That is a lie,” Jordan corrected the child, hoping the others around her were listening as well. “God wants all people to blossom into their full capacities. Whoever told you that simply wanted to keep you down for his own purposes—not God’s purpose.”

  The girl looked at Jordan through narrowed eyes and asked, “Can you read and write?”

  Jordan nodded.

  “Show me!” the girl exclaimed.

  Jordan laughed. She looked around for a stick to write in the dirt. “Normally I write with chalk on a board or pen on paper, but this will do. What is your name?”

  “Tessie,” the little girl proclaimed proudly. “After my great-grammy.”

  “Well, Tessie, this is what it looks like in writing,” Jordan said, and scratched TESSIE into the dirt.

  “How I know you ain’t just saying so?” Tessie challenged.

  Jordan smiled. This was a very clever person. She pointed to Samuel and said, “Ask my brother to read it, and he will say your name.”

  Tessie looked dubious. Jordan raised her eyebrows and nodded vigorously.

  “His name is Samuel, and he is very kind. Go ask him,” Jordan coaxed.

  Tessie yelled, “Hey, Samuel. What this say?”

  Samuel walked over and read out loud, “Tessie.”

  Tessie screamed and jumped up and down. She twirled around, waving her arms, and said to the girls around them, “You hear that? He say my name!”

  The other girls smiled and nodded with her.

  When she recovered her composure she demanded, “Do it again!”

  Jordan agreed to the girl’s command. “This time you tell Samuel what to write and then I will read it.”

  Jordan walked a few paces away. She watched her mother crouch down, chatting with a small group of girls.
Mama was staring intently into the dark-brown eyes of one little girl. Jordan could not make out what she asked, but the little girl nodded in response.

  Tessie tugged at Jordan’s arm and brought her back. A circle of girls gathered with Samuel, leaving a space for Jordan and Tessie.

  Jordan took in the words scratched into the earth. Her heart dropped, and tears pushed at the back of her eyes. She cleared her throat and read out loud, “Take me with you.”

  “That right!” Tessie yelled, excitement in her voice. “That what I whispered in that nigger’s ear!”

  “I can make one of those,” a quiet young voice said.

  “You lying!” another girl replied.

  Jordan looked the child over. She was dressed in the same brown muslin tunic as the others. Her hair was pulled into one messy braid, with bits of hair springing out at the sides.

  “Mama,” Jordan said across the space. Her mama didn’t respond. Louder, Jordan yelled, “Mama!”

  Her mother looked up at her. Jordan waved her over. When Mama was next to her, Jordan pointed and said, “Look . . . at her necklace.”

  Mama walked up to the little girl. Her eyes were dark and round, and her skin matched Mama’s. She was so tiny it seemed impossible that she could be nine years old, let alone twelve.

  “Do you know where you got that shell around your neck?” Mama asked.

  The little girl grabbed it with her dusty hand and shook her head back and forth, causing her braid to bounce. “It mine, I swear. I ain’t taken it from no one.” Tears filled her eyes.

  Mama reached under her bodice and pulled out an identical shell. “Look,” Mama said gently. “I gots one too.”

  The little girl’s eyes went big. A wave of emotion passed through Jordan. Could this be Ella or Sophia?

  “My mama gave me mines,” Mama said, calm in voice, though Jordan imagined she was excited to see the shell. “You get yours from your mama?”

  The girl shrugged, then nodded. “Maybe.”

  Jordan crouched down low. “What do they call you, honey?”

  She shrugged again.

  “You don’t have a name?” Jordan smiled. She projected calm on the outside, but she was anxious to hear the child’s answer.

  “Sallie. The soldiers say I Sallie,” the little girl said so quietly that Jordan had to lean in to hear her. “I called May before the soldiers came.”

  “Do you remember what your mama call you?” Mama asked.

  She shook her head a little from side to side.

  “But you can write?” Jordan asked gently, wanting to sound encouraging without scaring the child.

  “I know one,” Sallie/May replied.

  “One word?” Jordan coaxed.

  The child shrugged.

  “Show me.” Jordan smiled.

  Samuel handed over the stick. The little girl gripped it at the top. When she pushed down, the wood snapped in two. The girl froze, and her eyes got round with alarm.

  “It’s fine,” Jordan reassured her. “Just use that little bit; it’s easier that way.”

  Slowly the girl drew a line from top to bottom. She made a vertical line across the top, the middle, and then the bottom. A chill ran down Jordan’s back.

  “That an E?” Mama asked. “Like for Emmanuel?”

  Samuel nodded. “Yes. And for Ella too.”

  “My mama learned me that,” the child said. “I remember that about before.”

  “Did you got a sister too?” Mama asked, her voice betraying a little excitement. “And a granny?”

  The girl nodded. The courtyard had gone quiet. Everyone had gathered around them, listening intently and not speaking a word.

  “Did you and your sister leave your mama together?” Samuel asked.

  The girl nodded.

  “Was your sister older?” Samuel asked.

  “She bigger than me if that what you mean.”

  Mama asked, “You ’member a river?”

  The girl shook her head. “No, ma’am.”

  Mama stared hard at the little girl. Jordan could see how little Sallie/May favored Cousin Sarah a bit, but it was impossible to be certain of anything because Sarah was so weathered. Jordan studied Mama, trying to see what she was thinking. It was hard to read the older woman’s face.

  The child added, “There was a willow tree. I ’member that.”

  Mama’s shoulders dropped in relief, and her lips tugged up into a bittersweet smile. She nodded confidently. She’d made up her mind.

  Mama said, “I ’member the willow tree too.” She opened her arms, ready to hug the little girl, but the child didn’t move forward into the offered embrace.

  Mama rubbed the girl’s arms held stiff at her side and said, “I think you my grandniece. We gonna help you find your mama.”

  Eyes grown big, Sallie/May/Ella said, “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Jordan asked, “Is your sister here too?”

  Sallie/May/Ella shrugged.

  “I can be her sister,” Tessie declared.

  Mrs. Avery spoke up. “Sallie came to us from North Carolina. Tessie came to us from Tennessee.”

  “North Carolina!” Mama said.

  Samuel nodded and said, “Mrs. Avery, that confirms our suspicion. Our niece was living in North Carolina.”

  “You takin’ her ᾽stead of me?” Tessie challenged.

  Jordan’s stomach sank. She’d been so focused on Sallie/May/Ella that she’d forgotten about Tessie. “I’m sorry. Really I am. We believe she’s our family.”

  “I be good if you take me too. Promise!” Tessie pleaded with her eyes as well as her words.

  Jordan felt sick. With the right care this precocious and earnest girl would blossom; without it she would wither. Jordan looked at her mama, hoping she had a good answer.

  Mama said, “You family gonna find you, I bet.”

  Tessie shook her head. “They all dead,” she explained. Then she suddenly put on a happy expression. Her voice took on a casual, almost defiant tone. “Don’ you worry. They loves me here, right, Mrs. Avery? You say I the most helpful girl of all.”

  Mrs. Avery nodded, gave a tender smile to the resilient child, and said, “Indeed. I do not know how I would manage without you.” Then she looked at Mama. “You may take Sallie right now. I just need your contact information and your assurance that you will not use her as a servant.”

  Jordan was stunned. “You need nothing besides our word?”

  “We have no capacity to research families,” Mrs. Avery explained. “Some days it’s a wonder that we have enough to feed each of these children.”

  They filled out a paper with their temporary and permanent addresses and were free to go.

  Jordan asked, “Does she have any belongings to fetch before we leave?”

  “You may keep the dress she is wearing and the shoes,” Mrs. Avery replied.

  “There’s nothing else?” Jordan asked, looking between the woman and the girl.

  They both shook their heads. Jordan’s heart felt like an anchor was weighing it down. Nothing. How could this child have nothing besides the clothes on her back and a necklace?

  Jordan smiled at Sallie, imagining she’d be excited to be leaving. But the girl’s face didn’t show any emotion as they left the building. Jordan glanced back to see Tessie watching intently from a window, her brown nose pushed hard against the glass. Jordan’s heart was pained at the sight. She vowed she would return with a gift for Tessie before they left, bringing something to these orphans who had nothing.

  “What would you like us to call you?” Jordan asked the little girl as they walked back to Miss Grace’s boardinghouse.

  “You cans call me what you like,” the child replied.

  Mama, looking indignant, spoke up. “Your name is important. It the first thing anybod’ discover about you.”

  The child shrugged. She looked overwhelmed at the offer.

  Jordan kept it light. “I think you have three lovely choices: Ella, May, or Sallie.”<
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  “You say my mama gave me Ella?” the girl asked.

  “We believe so,” Samuel replied. “We aren’t certain our cousin is your mama, but we have good reason to think she might be.”

  “You ain’t really sure,” she said wistfully. “Whatever I picks might jus’ be for a little while anyways.”

  Jordan felt bad for the little girl. She wanted to offer reassurance that they were her family, but they couldn’t be certain until Sarah met her. Jordan did not want to think about what would happen to the child if Sarah said they were wrong. Bringing her back to the children’s home would be unbearably cruel. Jordan pushed the thought out of her mind and decided to cross that bridge if it came to that.

  Mama said, “You pick a name for yourself, and it can be yours in your heart for always, no matter what other folks call you.”

  They walked in silence for a while. Jordan offered her hand to the child while they crossed a street, but the little girl just looked confused.

  Jordan explained, “When I’m walking with children, I usually hold their hands as we cross the street to keep them safe.”

  The child put out her scratched-up hand. Jordan wrapped her fingers around it. The girl didn’t grip hers in return, but she looked up at Jordan with a small, sweet smile. On the other side of the road, Jordan didn’t let go, and the child didn’t pull away. They walked along, close to each other in silence.

  “Ella,” the girl suddenly announced. “Even if I ain’t who you think, I gonna be Ella. It a name given by a mama. Maybe she not my mama, but a mama picked it out for somebody.”

  “That sounds real nice, Ella,” Mama said with a nod and gentle smile.

  Jordan offered a silent prayer: Please, God, for both of them, let this little girl be Cousin Sarah’s missing daughter.

  A large brown horse trotted past with a White man in the saddle, holding the reins and scanning the scene. Jordan’s heart sped up. It was strange to see a White face in this part of town. She’d quickly learned that there were neighborhoods that were White, areas that were colored, and a few places where they mixed. She knew it was best to avoid White people when they were here. He came to a sudden stop a few steps ahead. Her instinct was to turn around and walk quickly the other way, but she held herself in check.