The Well

by Mildred D. Taylor

  Mama nodded. “Yes, suh. I plans t’ get on Hammer ’bout this when I see him. He won’t be doin’ this again. No, suh! When his papa come home, he’ll wear him out.”

  Old Man Simms shook his head. “Naw. Naw, that ain’t the way it gonna be. I want ’em whipped now.”

  For the first time I saw a fear in Mama’s eyes. “But…but they papa, he ain’t here.”

  “Then you do it,” said Old Man McCalister Simms. “You a strong-lookin’ gal. You welt them boys good yo’self. You don’t, I will.”

  Mama shook her head, not saying no, just unbelieving. “Hammer…he ain’t here.”

  “Then you get him. You get him back here, and you lay a strap on him and this boy too. We ain’t goin’ ’til you do.”

  The sheriff looked at Mama, then turned to the old man. “Now, look here, Mr. Simms, I don’t think there’s no call for all this—”

  “No call? Them niggers done jumped my boy, ain’t they? I had my way, I’d do more’n lay a strap to ’em. I ’member the time we would’ve done already took these two little niggers to a tree for what they done. Can still do it!”

  “Don’t want that kind of talk now.”

  “Ain’t gonna jus’ be talk, I hafta wait up here much longer! One nigger get away with hittin’ a white man, what you think come next? I got a good mind to deal with this my own way, me and mine. I get finished with ’em, I guarantee ya they won’t be raisin’ their fists again t’ ’nother white man!”

  The sheriff stared at him, then I s’pose he was figuring there was nothing else he could do, because he turned back to Mama and said, “Caroline, you best get Hammer and your whippin’ strap, and you do what you told ’bout Hammer and David.”

  “But…but David, he ain’t done nothin’! He ain’t hit that boy, Charlie Simms!”

  “Now, Caroline—” started the sheriff, but then Old Man McCalister broke in.

  “Ya meanin’ t’ stand there, gal, and tell me jus’ one of your boys done this t’ my Charlie?”

  Mama pulled to her full height, and clasped her hands. “Yes, suh! Your boy done hit my David and ya can see he gots a bad leg here, and my Hammer done hit your boy ’cause of it!” As afraid as Mama must’ve been, I could still hear the pride in her voice over Hammer for standing up for me. Scared as I was, I couldn’t help myself for being proud too.

  Old Man McCalister Simms turned his mean ole eyes onto Charlie. “Thought you said both them boys jumped on you.”

  Charlie’s eyes went wild. He looked at Ed-Rose, at the sheriff who was standing silent, as if not wanting to get into this. “Well…well, it’s the truth, Daddy! She lyin’! That David, he lyin’ too! It was both of ’em jumped me! I’d’ve been lookin’ like this if they’d’ve fought me fair? No, suh! They jumped me—both of ’em—from behind, Pa, and they ain’t give me a chance to defend myself! It’s the truth, Daddy! It’s the truth!”

  Old Man McCalister Simms stared into Charlie, then slowly turned and looked, not at Mama, but at the sheriff, at another white man, and said, “If I thought Charlie couldn’t beat one little nigger, I’d whip him myself. Had t’ be both of ’em jumped him. Now what ya gonna do?”

  Sheriff Peterson Rankins nodded, as if that was a certainty, that no lone little Negro could whip a near-grown white boy. After all, what would it look like if one black boy could whip a white boy who was bigger and older? “You done heard, Caroline. Now you get that Hammer, and you get that whippin’ strap.”

  Mama bit at her lower lip. She looked down at me, and she shook her head. “No, suh. No, suh, I…I ain’t gonna whip my David. He ain’t the one done the hittin’—”

  I touched her arm. “Hammer, he done what he done ’cause of me, Mama. I take my lickin’ right ’long side him.”

  Mama’s eyes looked straight into mine, and they was full. “All right then,” she said. “Go on and get your brother.”

  I backed away, not wanting to leave Mama alone, but I knew I had to go. She gave me a nod, letting me know she’d be all right, so I turned and would’ve gone for Hammer right then if it hadn’t been for Ma Rachel; she was standing in the doorway. “What’s that goin’ on out there, Caroline?” Ma Rachel called. “What them white folks doin’ on our land?”

  Fast as I could, I limped back to the house trying to stop Ma Rachel before she said too much more. She was still standing in the doorway when I got to her, but her talking ain’t stopped. “What’s they doin’?” she asked me. “That the sheriff? That Peter Rankins standin’ up there? What ya doin’ here, Peter Rankins?” she hollered. “Yo’ mama knows you up here? I’m gonna sho ’nough tell her—”

  “Ma Rachel,” I said, trying to stay quiet as I could, trying to keep Ma Rachel quiet, trying not to upset her any more. But Ma Rachel kept on ranting, kept ranting loudly too, and there I was, little ole boy on a crutch trying to keep my grandmama from cussing out these white folks and getting us into even more trouble. “Ma Rachel, come on back inside now,” I pleaded. “Come on back.”

  “What they doin’ here?” she asked me.

  “They just come for water, like always,” I lied. “They be gone in a minute.”

  “You, nigger boy!” cried Mr. McCalister Simms. “Don’t you think you can get ’way! I’ll see ya dead, ya try!”

  I glanced back, saw the sheriff and Mama talking to Mr. Simms, and hoped none of those crazy Simmses would come to the house after me.

  “What they means?” cried Ma Rachel. “I heard ’em! What’s they mean?”

  I took Ma Rachel’s arm. “You know Mr. McCalister Simms, Ma Rachel. You know how he talks. He just talkin’ and bein’ mean and ornery like he always is.”

  “Well…I wants him off this land.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Wants ’em all off!”

  “Yes’m,” I said again and led her back into the house.

  “Got no business here. They done took my name. They got no business here.”

  “Yes’m,” I said one more time and wondered how I was going to go get Hammer with Ma Rachel’s mind off in the last century again. Lord must’ve seen me struggling there in all my confusion because it was then Aunt Callie came on the back porch.

  “What’s goin’ on in here, David?” she said soon as she was in the house and saw me holding onto Ma Rachel. “Heard hollerin’. What’s goin’ on?” Aunt Callie, like always, had come up to the house the back way and she hadn’t seen all the commotion by the well on the other side.

  Ma Rachel sat down in her rocker and stared out at the drive. Aunt Callie’s gaze followed hers. “They’s on our land,” said Ma Rachel softly, as if that should explain everything that needed explaining. “They’s on our land.”

  I motioned to Aunt Callie and we left Ma Rachel staring out the window and went out to the back porch. I told Aunt Callie right quick what was going on. Aunt Callie turned towards the drive.

  “It’s gonna be all right,” I said. “Mama done worked it out with the sheriff. All Hammer and me gotta do is take a lickin’. That’s all. But I gotta go get him. I gotta go get him now!”

  Aunt Callie looked around nervously and nodded. “Then you go on. I take care of Ma.”

  I glanced through the window at Ma Rachel, still sitting where we’d left her staring out at the drive, looked at Aunt Callie once more, then took off down the porch. Fast as I could on that gimpy ole leg of mine, I crossed to the deep woods on the other side of the pasture and made my way along the cowpath, then crossed through brush and grass where there was no path at all, ’til I come to where Halton and Hammer were waiting at Papa’s praying rock. It was a good place to wait. Papa prayed there every day when he was home.

  I took a moment to get my breath, then I told them. I told them everything, everything about the sheriff, about the Simmses, about the whipping strap waiting for Hammer and me. I told them we had to hurry.

  Hammer shook his head and sat down. “Naw. I ain’t going.”

  “But ya gotta,” I said. “It’s the only
way outa this thing.”

  “Said I ain’t going.”

  I looked up at Halton, needing his help. Hammer could be as stubborn as an ole mule, and I knew he meant what he said.

  Halton looked at me, looked at Hammer, and his sunny face took on a downward set. “Hammer, now you listen to me, boy. You think you can lay me out the way you done Charlie Simms?”

  Hammer’s eyes narrowed as he turned to Halton. “Why’d I wanna lay you out?”

  “’Cause that’s what you gonna hafta do, you don’t get up from that stump and go on back to the house and get this thing over with. ’Cause you don’t, I’m gonna knock you out and take you back!”

  Hammer crossed his arms. “Then, Halton, you gonna hafta knock me out, ’cause I ain’t going. I ain’t takin’ no lickin’ front of the likes of Charlie Simms.”

  “Boy, use your head,” I said. “This here’s serious. I’m gonna take a lickin’ too. I don’t wanna, but I’m gonna take it ’cause we don’t, we gonna hafta leave this place. We stay and don’t take this lickin’ and then go work for the Simmses, there ain’t gonna be nothin’ but trouble and heartache for this family. Now you figure Charlie Simms and your pride worth killin’ our family for?” Hammer didn’t say a word. I laid my crutch upon the ground. “Now I know you bigger’n I am and you can whip me most likely, but I’m gonna try’n whip you myself t’ make you get up from there and come on back.”

  Hammer just sat there.

  I balled up my fists. “Well?”

  For the first time Hammer smiled. “Boy, pick up that crutch,” he said. Then he glanced at Halton and got up. “I take this whippin’, I ain’t gonna cry for ’em.”

  Halton and I both laughed. “What you mean you ain’t gonna cry, ya little scound?” asked Halton. He hooked his arm around the back of Hammer’s neck. “Ya little hardheaded scound, ya never do cry!”

  “Come on,” I said, and got my crutch. “Let’s get it over with.”

  When we got back to the house, Mama, the sheriff, Old Man McCalister Simms, Charlie, and Ed-Rose were there waiting by the well. Mr. Clinton Melbourne, he was there too, filling his water barrels. “Hammer,” Mama said, “go bring the strap.” Hammer, he looked at Mama, eyes ain’t changed, turned, and went to the barn and brought back the whipping strap. He handed it to Mama, and Mama gave him a nod. “Get them shirts off,” she ordered.

  We done as she said. Mama lifted the strap. It was then Ma Rachel came storming from the house. Aunt Callie was right behind trying to take hold of her. “Don’t ya whip them boys, Caroline!” Ma Rachel cried. “Don’t ya do it! Don’t ya whip ’em!”

  Mama, her voice cold as December water, turned to Aunt Callie. “Callie, you and Halton, y’all get Ma back in that house! Y’all get her back in there now. Don’t let her back out here…and keep her ’way from them windows!”

  Both Aunt Callie and Halton took hold of Ma Rachel and turned her towards the house, but Ma Rachel, she ain’t stopped raving. “Lord have mercy! White folks on our land! They’s makin’ you whip them boys jus’ like they done whipped my mama! On our own land! Don’t ya do it, girl! We’s free now! Don’t ya do it! Ya hear me! Don’t ya do it!”

  Nobody said a word. Not the sheriff. Not the Simmses. Everybody knew about Ma Rachel. Or thought they knew. Mama waited. She waited until Halton and Aunt Callie got Ma Rachel back inside, waited until the door closed, waited until Ma Rachel’s screams grew faint, then she lifted the strap once more, and laid into Hammer and me.

  Mama had whipped us before, but never like this. That strap tore into our legs, ripped into our backsides, cut across our backs, and Hammer and I just stood there and took it. The sheriff looked on solemnly. Old Man McCalister watched, face unchanging, mean-looking as always. Charlie and Ed-Rose watched, grinning. Mr. Melbourne turned away, like he was embarrassed to be a witness to it.

  Through it all, Hammer and me, we ain’t protested not one bit. We just stood there taking that whipping. Course Hammer didn’t cry. No one expected him to. Hammer never cried. But I didn’t cry either. The tears came, but I didn’t let them fall, not in front of the Simmses. Like Hammer, I refused to give the Simmses the satisfaction. I think that disappointed Mama. I think she wanted us to cry so she could stop whipping on us, so Old Man McCalister Simms would be satisfied and tell her to stop. Finally Mama stopped on her own. “That’s all,” she said. “I ain’t whippin’ ’em no more.”

  The sheriff nodded and looked at the Simmses. Old Man Simms cut us a mean look, then got on his wagon. It was over. “Them boys, I ’spect them on my place workin’ my fields come daybreak.”

  Mama nodded. “I’ll bring ’em myself.”

  With that, Old Man McCalister Simms, Ed-Rose and Charlie Simms rolled away with a load of our water in their wagon. The sheriff mounted his stallion and rode away with Mama’s pan of molasses bread hanging from his saddle. Mr. Melbourne, without a word, left too with his own barrels of water. Mama dropped the strap, looked at Hammer and me, and ran to the house.

  She was crying.

  “They gonna pay for that,” said Hammer, and I knew he was talking about Mama’s hurt.

  “You better leave it alone,” I warned.

  “They gonna pay.”

  Before I could say anything more, Aunt Callie came to the door and called for Hammer and me to come inside. “I got some salve for them welts,” she said. “Best let me put it on.”

  Hammer and me, we were too spent to argue, so we gone on to the house and those bruises on my back, my legs, my bottom were hurting, paining so bad they slowed me way down. Hammer walked slow too. I looked at him, but he ain’t looked back. Just the same, I knew he had to be hurting as bad as I was.

  When we got inside the house, first voice we heard was Ma Rachel’s. “She oughtn’ve done it!” she cried. “Caroline, she oughtn’ve done it.”

  “She ain’t had no choice, Ma Rachel,” I said. “Mama ain’t had no choice.”

  “She done what she had to do,” said Hammer. “We ain’t holding it against her.”

  Ma Rachel shook her head, then slumped into her rocking chair. “They jus’ takes everything. They takes everything. Come up here gettin’ our water. They takes the water and don’t think nothin’ ’bout it, takes it and still treat us like we ain’t got no feelings. Like we don’t hurt none. They takes the water jus’ like they done took my name.”

  I sat down beside Ma Rachel and listened, listened even though I had heard these words all before. “They done took my name,” she said. “Wouldn’t let me have it ’cause the mistress up at the plantation done had her baby ’round the same time I was born, and she wanted to call that child of hers Rachel. My mama, she done already give me my name, but the mistress, she said I couldn’t keep it, said she ain’t wantin’ no Negroes on her place carryin’ the same name as her child. My mama said they told her she better name me Pansy or Daisy or something, after some flower, and so that’s what the white folks called me. Pansy. But my mama she ain’t called me that. She called me Daughter front of other folks’ hearin’, called me Rachel when it was jus’ us. Rest of my family, they called me Sister, jus’ that, Sister. Mama said she better not ever hear them callin’ me no Pansy, ’cause I wasn’t no Pansy. My name was Rachel.

  “Then there come the time the mistress she done heard my mama calling me by my name of Rachel, and she done told my mama to call me Pansy, but Mama said naw, she wasn’t gonna do that ’cause my name was Rachel. So then the mistress she got mad, and she done had my mama’s arms tied to a post and done whipped my mama, done whipped my mama right in front of me ’cause my mama, she ain’t give up my name. And that ole mistress, she said, ‘What’s her name? What’s her name?’

  “And Mama, she said, ‘Rachel.’

  “And that ole she mistress she done whipped on my mama some more. ’What’s her name?’ she said. ‘What’s her name?’

  “Mama said Rachel again, and that ole mistress kept on whippin’ on Mama. Then she told Mama she was gonna bring me
over and whip me, she don’t say what my name is, and Mama…and Mama…she done give in. She done give in, ’cause she ain’t wanted that ole she mistress t’ be whippin’ on me.”

  Ma Rachel, she gave a great sigh, and went on. “Well, when that ole she mistress asked her again what my name was, my mama, she done said Pansy. My mama, she done took that whippin’ that day, but she ain’t never give up my name. She done kept on callin’ me Daughter front of other folks, but at night when she tucked me in, when nobody but me and her and God could hear, she called me Rachel, ’cause that’s my name. She said don’t never to forget it. That’s my name—Rachel—but them white folks, they done tried t’ take it from me. They done whipped my mama, but I still gots my name. Rachel! I still gots my name!”

  She still had it all right. So did three of my cousins. We were passing it on.

  Aunt Callie knelt in front of Ma Rachel, put her arms around her and hugged her tight. But Ma Rachel, she ain’t showed a sign of knowing Aunt Callie was there; she was off in another time. Aunt Callie, she saw that and said to Hammer and me, “Y’all come on now and let me put on this salve.”

  Hammer and me, we were about to do as she said, when Mama came in the room and took the salve from Aunt Callie. “Naw,” Mama said. “Naw. I’m the one done whipped ’em. I’m the one done cut them welts on ’em, and I’m gonna be the one sees t’ ’em healin’. I’m gonna be the one.”

  The next morning, long before dawn, Hammer and me, Mama and Ma Rachel, and Halton too were up. We did our morning chores, ate our breakfast, and said our morning prayer. We were going to get through this day, Mama promised us. We were going to get through every day until this thing was passed. There wasn’t going to be any temper rising, she said, looking straight at Hammer. There wasn’t going to be no more trouble, not over the likes of Charlie Simms. It was over, she said.

  I nodded; Hammer didn’t.

  It wasn’t fair, what we had to do, work the Simmses’ field, dawn-break to dusk-set, then go home and do what work we could on our place until near midnight, sleep a little bit, then start the routine all over again. It wasn’t fair, what we had to do because Hammer hit a white boy. It wasn’t fair, ’cause we knew if Charlie’d just hit me, and Hammer hadn’t hit him at all, none of this would’ve been. There would’ve been no sheriff calling, no whipping demanded, and certainly no work time. It wasn’t fair, but that was just the way it was. That was just the way it was between black and white.