by S A Ison
Mary and Patina danced with the other children, eating molasses and cornbread. It was a real treat. The children chased lightning bugs, their screams and giggles filling the cool evening air. It was rare for the children to let loose like this and so they enjoyed themselves to the fullest. Mary had her hands cupped over two lightning bugs; her eye pressed against the opening. She marveled at the glow and wondered how on earth the bugs made the warm flickering light. They didn’t feel hot to her, she thought it was magic.
Later that evening, Mary fell into bed with her mother. Her stomach full, her legs tired from running and dancing. All of her cares forgotten for the moment, Mary fell fast asleep. Ida held her daughter as she listened to the music and singing outside and the soft snores of her daughter. Ida looked down at her daughter’s lovely face, a gentle smile still there. Her hand smoothed back the hair, plastered to Mary’s forehead. Mary’s creamy skin was still hot from the exertion of tomfoolery. Lifting Mary’s hand, Ida marveled at the strong slender fingers. She brought Mary’s hand to her mouth and gently kissed it. She took the limp hand and held it to her cheek and rubbed it down her face. She loved Mary so much, and each time she looked at her daughter, her heart swelled with love and pride. Ida fell asleep with a soft smile curving on her lips.
Mary lay listening to her mother’s labored breathing, her small hand laying protectively over the fragile chest. Fear welled up inside her, the nights were growing colder, soon winter would be here and her mother would have her cough again. The labored breathing frightened Mary more than she could say and she curled her small body around her mother, sharing her warmth with her mother, willing her strength to help. She sent a prayer up to God, let her mother live longer.
Christmas was very special that year for Mary. Her mother seemed to be doing better. Mary was always warm during the day in the main house and also well fed. Mistress Anderson seemed to be very joyful and was singing Christmas songs as she ambled about the house. The mistress kept Mary in tow, going from room to room putting up garland and candles. This was Mary’s first Christmas inside the main house and her eyes were wide with wonder. The parlor looked like a fairyland, with bows, candles, garland and ornaments.
Cookie had made a batch of ginger cookies, molasses biscuits and cinnamon tarts, letting Mary have her fill. Mary took some of the goodies home for her mother and the younger children. The children stood at her cabin door, like fledglings, their mouths wide open. Mary broke off pieces and fed the children until she had no more. The children then scattered, running and laughing into the chilled night. Mary laughed after them, her warm breath clouding out around her head.
On Christmas day, no one had to work, other than the house slaves, who had to make Christmas dinner for the family. Todd had brought his wife and boys. Victoria was overjoyed. The house slaves had to clean and tidy a bit before they could find their own rest. Mary had gone up to the house before dawn, her feet cold against the frost covered ground. Her feet were wrapped in heavy rags, because Mary didn’t like the rawhide shoes that cut so cruelly into her feet. The shoes were stiff and uncomfortable. Mary preferred going barefoot or wearing rags. However, once she got to the house, she would have to wear house slippers. The mistress didn’t like to see bare feet. Her feet crunched on the frozen ground as she made her way up to the silent house. There was a dusting of white and crystalline on her path to the house. Mary enjoyed it.
The kitchen was warm and welcoming when Mary arrived. Cookie had Mary peeling potatoes for later in the day; she also helped make plum pudding as a special treat. While Mary helped, she ate raisins and currents, her cheeks pushed out like a chipmunk. Cookie shook her head and just laughed, giving Mary a hug and a large wedge of goat cheese. Mary was growing like a weed and seemed to have a bottomless pit for a stomach. The kitchen was warm and redolent of yeasty breads and rolls, cinnamon spice and soap.
Later in the morning, after Mary had emptied the chamber pots and made the beds, she was setting up the furniture in the dining room for later in the day. Todd’s children were somewhere in the house, Mary could hear their laughter along with Victoria. Mary smiled, and wiped the furniture down with soft beeswax. Mary liked the smell and the way the furniture glowed with warmth. She hummed softly to her self as she moved about the rooms.
Victoria found Mary in the parlor and called the child to her. Shyly, Mary walked over, her eyes on her hands, which were clasped in front of her.
“Mary, I have something to give you for Christmas.” The mistress handed Mary a box with pretty cloth wrapping. Mary’s eyes grew large, her hand tentatively touching the box.
“Go ahead Mary, it’s yours. Open it.” Mistress Anderson encouraged with a soft smile. Carefully, Mary opened the wrapped box, looking expectantly inside.
A soft sigh came from Mary when she saw a new pair of boots. Under them were wool stockings, soft and warm. Mary looked up into her mistress’s eyes, large and luminous with unshed tears.
“Oh, Missus, this is wonderful. Is they really mine?” Mary asked softly, her fingers touching the soft leather. These boots looked softer than the ones she’d been forced to wear. These boots were her very own, never worn by anyone else. She’d never owned anything of her very own. All her clothing and belongings were hand-me-downs.
“Yes, silly child, the shoes are yours. The boots are a bit big, so you can grow into them. The stockings will make sure they stay snug on you.”
“Oh, Missus, thank you.” Mary exclaimed, and without thinking, wrapped her small arms around the older woman’s neck and hugged her. Slowly, Victoria’s arms came up and wrapped around Mary’s sturdy body. She pulled the child closer and held her tight for a moment. It seemed as if the mistress didn’t want to let go, but she did. Smiling through tears, the mistress told Mary to put them on. Victoria helped Mary lace them up and showed Mary how to tie them. The boots were a bit large as the mistress had said, but with the wool stockings, the shoes felt comfortable enough.
Victoria watched as the girl walked back and forth. She thought that Mary walked a bit awkwardly, but Victoria was sure that Mary would get used to them quickly. Mary’s smile was as beautiful as any angel, Victoria thought, her heart tugging. She told Mary to run along to the kitchen and to get something to eat and then to go on home to her mother. Mary thanked her again, and scampered off to the kitchen in search of Cookie. Victoria wiped at her eyes and thought of her own daughter. It had been so many years, but the pain was as fresh as the day she’d lost her Magen.
Mary arrived in the kitchen a huge smile on her face. Cookie looked up and her mouth opened in surprise and a smile. Cookie ohh’d and ahh’d over Mary’s new boots.
“Take this towel on home now, give it to your momma. Don’t worry, I’ll bring treats for the other children.” Cookie knew Mary had a generous heart and would end up giving it all away. She wanted Ida getting the food, the woman was looking too thin.
“Thank you, Cookie.” Mary chirped and held the bundle to her chest. Cookie stood at the door and watched the child disappear down the path. She snorted to herself and turned back to work. She had plenty to do before she could find her bed.
Ida’s ears tuned in to a sound near the cabin. She thought that it was Mary, skipping toward the cabins; Mary rarely walked, skipping nearly every place she went. A soft smile spread across Ida’s lips. The door of the cabin opened and Mary came in, bringing cold air with her. Mary’s cheeks were flushed pink from the cold. Ida and Liza were sitting at their old battered stick table. The women were sipping hot root tea, the heat of it keeping them warm. A cheery fire was dancing in the fireplace, which Mary had decorated with scraps of ribbon and holly.
The pot hanging over the fire bubbled with something that smelled wonderful, one of the boys, Dark Henry, had brought her a rabbit and Ida had added onion and potatoes. The women looked up when Mary walked in, her childish face wreathed in a smile. Ida smiled at her daughter, her heart swelling with pleasure. She noticed Mary’s arms cradling a bundle wrapped in a di
shtowel. She knew Cookie had sent good things to eat.
Mary began to skip and dance about the small cabin, kicking up her heels; it was then that the women saw her new boots. Liza whooped and jumped up and hugged Mary to her ample breasts and swung her around.
“Gal, you sho’nuff look pretty in them fine boots. Why you look just like a swell.” She laughed, grinning broadly down at the little girl. Her hand cupped the roundness of Mary’s cheek and Liza ran a thumb along the smooth surface. She let Mary go and the child turned to her mother.
Ida gathered Mary into her arms, looking at the new boots and stockings. She was thankful that Mary had found favor with the mistress. It tore at her heart to watch Mary walk barefoot on the cold ground, but Mary hated the stiff hide shoes so. Many children lost toes due to frostbite, some children died when their foot became infected with gangrene. While others had the foot cut off, leaving them lame for life.
That night, Mary, Ida and Liza spent a cozy Christmas in the small cabin. Nan came by to visit, her stomach visibly swelling from pregnancy. Nan took some of the treats Cookie had sent and gave Mary a corn husk doll for Christmas. It had a miniature homespun dress on it with a colorful scarf on its small round head. Mary went off to her bed to play with the doll. Her childish voice drifted to the women at the table as Mary talked to herself while she played with the doll.
Ida and Liza exchanged a smile that only mothers can. Mary’s laugh was a joyous thing and was better than any music known to man. Both women sat talking low until the late hours of the night. Liza braided Ida’s long hair, they gossiped about the other plantations and about their own. Each rubbed the others hands with a butter balm, to ease the aches of the winter. They heard someone singing, a favorite tune among the young men.
Mary had fallen asleep; doll cradled to her small chest, boots still on. Ida didn’t have the heart to make her take them off. She walked over and pulled the faded quilts up around her child. Liza stayed that night, crawling into bed with Ida and Mary. It was warm and snug. Their soft murmurs a gentle susurrus over the sleeping child. It was a peaceful Christmas for all on the Anderson farm.
The days past swiftly, and the New Year had come and gone. The cold winter days were spent inside by the warm fire, sewing, and knitting with a hefty amount of gossip thrown into the mix. It was a time to relax and enjoy the light workload, to enjoy family and coo over the babies. A time to prepare themselves for the coming spring, with its backbreaking eventuality. It was life.
Mary woke up abruptly to anguished filled screams in the predawn morning. Ida was up and out of bed, hurrying to the door. Mary pulled on her shift and put on her stockings and boots, following close behind her mother. Bethy was screaming loudly, holding onto her only child Ellis, her arms wrapped tightly around his slender body. Clark had the boy’s arm, pulling him along, nearly wrenching the limb from the boy’s shoulder socket.
Ida saw Liza and ran over to her. Liza was wrapped in a blanket, warding off the February wind. Matilda had Patina wrapped in a blanket, clutched to her body. She moved over to Ida and Liza, her face lined with fear.
“Lawd have mercy, they is takin’ the children ta auction off.” Liza’s rough voice filled with sorrow and trepidation. In the growing light, Liza’s face had taken on an ashen, gray color, the lines of her countenance cut deeply, mirroring those around her. Ida grabbed Mary and Patina, sending both girls back into the cabin, wanting them well out of sight of the sinister Clark. Matilda held onto Liza, whimpering.
Bethy’s loud screeching filled the cold morning air, the woman was hysterical as she pulled at her eight-year-old. Ellis was terrified, his dark eyes rolled into the back of his head, his horrific screams matching his mother’s in volume and ferocity. Clark kicked at Bethy, knocking her down to the cold ground and jerked the child with brutal force. Clark hauled the child to a wagon, waiting by the main house. Two slaves stood shivering by the wagon, their heads down, wretched for their part of this terrible deed. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, all hell broke loose.
Clark walked back to the cabins and went to several other homes, ruthlessly dragging children from their warm confines, their mothers screaming after them. The yard pandemonium, filled with earsplitting cries from the women and men, howling in agony for their children. Their precious children were to be sold to strangers, never to be seen again. Some of the women lay prostrate on the cold hard ground, shrieking, falling into the void of madness.
Clark walked up to Ida, her heart squeezed with fear and anxiety.
“Fetch that get of yours; send her up to the main house.” He belted out, his voice nasty and devoid of humanity. Ida stood frozen to the spot; her heart paralyzed with terror. Clark shoved her roughly, toward her cabin. His last words eased her mind, “She ain’t to be sold ya stupid sow, mistress wants her company while she’s in Savannah.” He walked off with three more children in tow.
Ida walked on shaky legs, she didn’t know if she could believe Clark or not, he was a sneaky frog spawn of the devil. She stepped blindly over women, rolling around in the cold dirt, crying plaintively for their lost babies. Warm tears slid down Ida’s face, her heart beating like a drum in her chest. She wiped at her eyes and went into the cabin, she found Mary sitting in bed, clutching her cornhusk doll and Patina, tears shimmering on her lashes. She hurried over to Mary, her hands clutching at her daughter.
“Child, boss man wants you ta go with him. He say the missus want you ta go with them ta Savannah. I don’t know iffin’ it’s a trick. Honey, if they tries ta sell you, remember that I loves you more than my own life. You is the most precious one ta me.” Ida whispered, her heart breaking. She inhaled, taking in the scent of her daughter, perhaps for the last time. Matilda came in to take Patina away, weeping as she went.
Ida pulled Mary too her and crushed her daughter in a terrific hug. Ida tried to gulp down the sobs that threatened to overtake her; she didn’t want to alarm Mary more than she had to. Her body was shaking uncontrollably as she wrapped Mary in a blanket, making sure she would be warm for the trip. On rubbery legs, Ida walked her daughter to the main house, where the wagon waited in front. It felt as though she were taking her daughter to an execution. Ten children ranging from the age of eight to fourteen sat huddled in the wagon, their faces pale with shock, grief and fear.
Clark was loading up baggage in the back of the carriage, with the help of two young livery slaves. He saw Ida walk up with Mary. Clark pulled Mary around to the back of the wagon and put her into the bed with the other children. They huddled together for warmth and security. Mary was shaking like a leaf, not from cold, but from terror, Ida knew. Ida’s eyes curved over her child’s face, memorizing, should this be the last time she saw her. Ida heard the screams in the distance, screams and cries and anguish from the other mothers. Their cries burning her heart and her soul.
The mistress and master came out of the house and climbed into the waiting carriage. They seemed not to hear the plaintiff cries, not so far away. Clark hopped up onto the wagon and gave Tall Tom orders to make sure everything stayed quiet at the farm. Tall Tom, who watched the farm while the master was away, merely watched over the slaves. Master Anderson’s son, Theodore, would take over those duties once he returned in a few years, from school. Todd, the oldest Anderson boy was thirty-two, stopped by from time to time whenever the Master was away. Samuel, the middle son never came home. This was a sore spot with John Anderson. There were no secrets that the slaves didn’t know about on the Anderson farm.
Ida stood rooted to the spot long after the wagon and carriage had driven away. Her heart was in her throat, the tears freezing on her lashes. She prayed very hard that the good Lord would send her daughter back. Liza walked up from the cabins and guided Ida back to her cabin. Bodies littered the yard around the cabins, women still screaming, hoarsely, for their children. Their men were trying to drag the prostrate women into the warmth of their cabins before they froze to death, it was an unusually cold February.
Old Bitsy stood in the dooryard of her cabin, shaking her grizzled head. She had lived too long. Surely God had forgotten about her and left her here to witness this tragedy once again. She had seen it all too many times, and still it tore her heart out anew. Babies being ripped from their homes, sent out into the pitiless world, alone and without family. She hoped the children found good homes, she hopped there were mothers who needed them and would care for them.
Master Anderson sold the children and other problem slaves from time to time. Old Bitsy had seen it countless times over the years. The last time master had sold children was some six or seven years ago. Anderson wanted to keep the slaves at a reasonable number, too many and he would lose money. The farm wasn’t small, but it wasn’t as big as some of the surrounding plantations. Housing, clothing and feeding the slaves had to be balanced with the crops that were sold. Anderson rarely bought new slaves unless a sickness took too many of them. Like his father before him, Master Anderson shaped the destinies of all within his realm. The man did so with no thought of the wreck and ruin he left behind, though he was less cruel than his father. Terrance had been a monster.
Old Bitsy went back into her tiny cabin, the sound of crying had eased some what, but still followed her through the thin walls. She hobbled over to the low fire, and pulled the kettle off the fire. She poured the steaming water into a cup, which contained dried herbs. She let it steep while she rocked in an old rocking chair, one of the men had made for her years ago. Its rich warm color and shiny smooth surface was from the oils in her old hands and fit around her like a loving embrace, encasing her old tired bones, and rocked her into contentment. She had a pillow that she’d made, stuffed with cotton that she’d picked and saved. The man who had made the rocking chair was long dead, as so many of her contemporaries were. Sipping the tea, she closed her eyes. Old Bitsy felt the familiar sting of tears in her old eyes, and let them fall down the rivets of her ancient face.
