Bett was still sleeping, but Nance was just getting herself dressed. “Why you cryin’ on dis happy mornin’?”
“I miss Olubunmi.”
“Tell me again all ’bout yo’ friend.”
I dried my tears. “She’s a Yoruba woman and knows many things.” I told her all about Olubunmi and Claverack, and again I lost control and dissolved into sobs. Quickly, Nance took me outside so that I would not wake the others and ruin their morning with my sadness.
When the sun was high in the sky, more people came to Josiah’s. Men stood outside, circled around a fire, talking. The sun crept slowly across the sky and shadows lengthened, but people still came. There was much more food than on the night before, and there were more and better drummers. Everyone was dressed up for the occasion, but with or without colorful outfits everyone was at ease. The laughter and talk were more lively and the drummers more bewitching.
The greatest surprise and the most fun of all was Nance. She was the first to dance. Like Olubunmi, she knew exactly how to excite the drummer, and as she danced I just knew that when she was younger she must have been the best dancer in her village.
Bett had on a hand-dyed cloth wrapped around her body to make a skirt. Her head was tied in a matching blue scarf. Josiah gave her a broad smile and said, “You can no longer pretend shyness and refuse to dance.” He was the first to throw a cloth at Bett’s feet to invite her to dance.
The drummer beat a rhythm. At first Bett did not pick it up, and everyone groaned. Sarah laughed and said, “The girl can’t dance.”
Was Sarah jealous because Josiah was attentive to Bett? I knew Bett could dance. She had practiced for this party. So why didn’t she show them? I wanted to shout at her, Go on!
“Tain’t uh Af’ican woman dat can’t dance,” Nance said. “Gie her uh beat, drummer.”
Bett warmed to the beat and then she and the drummer connected. She danced, her hips and arms one with the rhythm. I’d never seen her dance like that. The drummer beat his drum and everybody became so excited that they all joined in.
From then on, the women threw their head scarves at Bett’s feet. She responded to the invitation, immediately connecting and moving with the rhythm. Josiah could not keep his eyes off her. Suddenly, I realized how beautiful my sister really was. She was no longer a girl. She was a woman! Her dark brown skin was clear and her hair was long and very black. Bett was almost six feet tall, well built, and having no problem with her height, she held her shoulders straight and her head high.
Where had she gotten her looks? We were decidedly different. My skin was black and smooth, my hair close to my head. I would probably grow to be no more than five feet seven inches tall. Would I ever equal her in any way?
Being there with all the good food and music, and with Africans like myself, I forgot about the mistress. At midnight of the third day, we started the walk back to the master’s house. Josiah asked Bett if he could walk her home. What about Sarah? I wondered. I was not surprised when Bett answered, “Yes.”
6
Soon snow turned to rain. The ice melted, Ashley Falls roared, and the streets were a sea of mud. Then one day the birds began to sing, trees to bud, and the tiny leaves quickly grew to hide the nests of the songsters. With the coming of spring, the mistress had Bett put winter clothes away and unpack new, more colorful ones.
Each day grew longer and warmer, and Bett often managed to disappear to collect roots and leaves that Olubunmi said had healing powers. Her trips were a secret from the mistress. Sometimes Bett returned with her hand darkened by stains that were very hard to remove. She was anxious and did not rest until the stains were hardly noticeable. Nance and I often laughed knowing that the mistress didn’t see them because she never paid attention to us and assumed that anything dark on us was natural. Bett didn’t laugh. She never wanted the mistress to even suspect that she would disobey rules.
The more visits she made to the forest, the more self-assured and independent my sister became. Word was passed along and the men often came to her when they were ill or had wounds that did not easily heal. Slave women came and brought their sick children. I began to fear we could not keep the mistress and master from discovering that Bett’s powers were becoming well known.
Once we were out walking when a very thin, distraught slave woman called to Bett. She talked rapidly as if afraid, her eyes fastened on Bett’s face. I saw the alarmed look on my sister’s face as she said, “No, no. I could never do that sort of thing.”
The woman said with anger, “But dey killin’ us. You kin save us. Do it.”
I could not hear my sister’s answer, but the woman turned away with a scornful look, then fled.
“What did she want?” I asked.
“Poison! Something that Olubunmi would never do, and neither would I.” She said no more but I knew she was undone.
Josiah came around often. Bett and Brom talked a lot about him, but I only learned of Josiah’s intentions to marry Bett when Nance teased her. “Youse glowin’, girl. Say yes to de man and be his wife.”
“I have nothing to say about that. How can we be man and wife when one is free and the other a slave?”
“Maybe the master’ll let ’im buy yo’ freedom.”
“You think Josiah hasn’t asked? The master is willing, but the mistress flatly refuses. She says I was hers before the master married her. She will have the final say.”
That night when we were alone, I asked Bett, “Do you want to be Josiah’s wife?”
“Oh, yes. I think he will make a good husband and father for our children.”
“I’d have a husband but, being a slave, I’d never have children.”
“I’m glad Yaaye and Olubunmi never heard you say that. We were taught to believe that to be barren is a very sad thing.” A woman who can’t have children is like a tree that bears no fruit.
“Well, I believe to give birth to a slave is the worst thing that could happen to me. If children are what you want, then marry. I’m sure Brom will agree.” I could not control my displeasure.
“Yes, marry!” she retorted. “The master stands between me and everything that happens in my life. Where we came from, a man who wanted to marry a woman asked her mother. If the woman liked him, then her parents made plans for the many ceremonies. Here the master decides. He is so busy, what is our happiness to him? He wouldn’t even talk to Brom.”
“Did he talk to Josiah?”
“No. The mistress told Josiah I was not for sale and that she would not give her permission for me to marry. But I’m not worried. Josiah will be my husband and I his wife!”
“Ha! You just gave every reason why slaves shouldn’t bring children into this world. Why don’t we just run away? Live with Olubunmi?”
“Oh, Aissa, Olubunmi is a slave like us. Josiah told me that there are free blacks in a place called Boston, far from here. There, sometimes those free blacks are stolen and sold into slavery. Think of what happens to runaways. Our master is too well known and too rich. He’d get us back and we’d really be in trouble. She’d probably sell you.”
“You have powers, Fatou, use them. Make them sick. Kill them.”
“Aissa, how dare you! I cringe when strangers think I’d do such a thing, but you—oh, Aissa. The powers given to me are for good. I would never use them for anything else.”
“Not even to be free? I’d do anything to be free.”
“No. You wouldn’t do anything even to be free. Would you risk my life? Would you sell me down the river? Think of what you’re saying. Please, don’t let your thoughts leave you with such a cold heart.”
“Then let’s run away. Do something.”
“That’s a great risk. If we had help, yes, but we don’t know anybody out there. You must stop dwelling on the bad things. We must hold on to the best things we have and not let the mistress destroy that.”
“What do we have?”
“We have each other, Tiiagaade!” Suddenly she caught herself an
d switched to English. “Hold on steady and act and behave as though we are free. Then when freedom comes we will be whole, not sick from hating.”
I turned away from her, wondering how she could say those things. Surely she must have known that the master and mistress cared nothing for us. How could she care whether I hated them or not? I lay in the dark listening to Bett breathing. Soon she was asleep, while I wished for sleep to come.
7
After the master became a justice in the common court of pleas he was often away, and when he was at home, people who had problems came to the house to talk to him and to get his help. I’d never seen so many strange-looking people. Mostly poor. They had problems with landowners making them pay high rents just to farm the land. The master took time to talk to them, but the mistress looked at them in a way that made most of them twist their hats in their hands and leave the room to wait in the yard until the master called them.
During this time of year the men on the place were always busy calving and lambing. After our morning chores, Bett and I were sent into the fields to help prepare the soil for planting. We worked several hours hoeing and raking, then went back to the house to help prepare meals for the workers who had been hired to do the planting.
On Monday mornings we built a fire under the iron pot in which we boiled the bedclothes, work clothes, and linen. Then we put them in a pounding barrel and pounded them with sticks until all the dirt was out. When they were finally clean, we took them down to the stream and rinsed them. Even with Bett’s strong arms to help, it took a lot out of me to get the wringing done.
At sundown, when our work was finished, I ached all over. My hands burned with blisters from the hoe and rake, my back was stiff, my legs sore. I knew Bett was tired and aching, too, for we fell asleep right away without talking. In spite of the hard work, I liked being outside. In a deeply blue sky, sun-filled, snow white clouds floated. Ever-welcome birds flitted about giving their music without being asked, and the wind, being contrary, scattered our piles of straw at the end of rows. The spring air was warm and soothing.
On days when it rained we stayed inside cleaning lamp chimneys and fireplaces and mopping floors—all the chores that had been left undone while we worked in the fields. It rained often, cold drizzling rain that filled the streams and soaked the earth. One night we huddled together, frightened by slithering lightning and sharp blasts of thunder. There was a loud knock on the door. The master was away for a few days, so we didn’t answer. Then a voice called, “Bett, wake up.” It was Nance.
Bett finally opened the door. There were two women with Nance, both soaking wet. The eldest said, “You must please come. My daughter is in labor for two days now. Our midwife can’t bring the baby. She said you can help if you’ll come.”
“Where is the mother?” Bett asked.
“Near Great Barrington.”
“As far as that? How will we get there in the storm?”
“We have a horse and chair.”
“But it is late. My mistress does not allow me to do this kind of work.”
“And my daughter will die if you don’t.”
I looked at the women and remembered them from the party. The daughter had been there, too, her belly round like a calabash bowl. She was very thin and looked tired and weary then. I wanted to shout at Bett, Forget the mistress. Go! But I said nothing.
“Please,” the woman said.
Bett decided to go. I wanted to go with her, but Nance said no, firmly. She and I could hide Bett’s whereabouts and maybe the mistress would never know.
It was still raining and cool enough for lighted fires in some of the rooms. With the rain, and the master being away, the mistress ordered her breakfast in bed. Nance decided to serve her favorite breakfast of fruit, warm bread and butter, broiled fresh fish, and tea with cream.
After all this time, the mistress, too, was pregnant and happily expecting her baby in July, several months away. She slept late, went for long walks, and often went for long rides on her favorite horse. Her friends and the master disapproved of the riding and warned her that it could hurt the baby, but the mistress paid them no mind. She made many demands during the day and sometimes in the night.
One could hardly tell that a baby was coming for the mistress had always been plump, with broad hips like the ladies in a painting on her bedroom wall that she proudly said was a work of a Dutch master. She also had a round face with rosy lips and cheeks. Her light hair, piled high on her head, often escaped in little wisps that fell around her face, giving her a soft look. Bett said she was pretty, but somehow I always brought out the worst in her, which was not at all pretty to me.
At ten o’clock the mistress had not come downstairs and Bett had not returned. Twelve o’clock came and the mistress was sleeping. At two o’clock, wearing a large, soft wrap over a warm nightgown, she came into the kitchen with her long hair down. “Nance,” she said yawning, “I’m starving.”
“Oh, Mistis Anna, Ah’ll give yuh uh good lunch. Why don’ cha go back upstairs and wait?”
“It’s cold today and the kitchen is warm, inviting. Where is Bett? I would like for her to do my hair.”
I dared not speak. I looked at Nance. Nance seemed to take forever to answer.
“I sent her tuh git fresh milk. She oughta be back heah in a li’l while.”
“You should not send Bett out in the rain. Lizzie could have gone.” She turned to me. “Why didn’t you go?”
“I was scrubbing the hearth and scouring pans.”
Nance, busy preparing lunch, was silent, and the ever-present tension between the mistress and me forced the mistress back upstairs. She had her lunch there and we were left alone. If only the rain would let up. Maybe she would go for a walk or visit a friend. But no. Around three o’clock, Bett still had not returned. We were worried. What if the mistress called for her again? But worse, what if something had happened to Bett?
Just as we heard the mistress stirring upstairs, Bett walked in the back door with a bouquet of lovely spring flowers. Nance rushed to her. “What took yuh so long?”
“The gods chose not to breathe life into the little one. And we almost lost the mother. I could not leave right away.”
Bett was hardly out of her cloak when the mistress entered the kitchen. “Bett, where have you been?”
“To gather your favorite flowers to cheer you up in this bad weather.” Smiling, Bett gave the mistress the flowers.
“Lizzie.” The mistress turned to me. “You see how thoughtful Bett is. Kindness goes a long way. After dinner, Bett, you can do my hair.”
I was in bed when Bett finally came from the mistress. I knew she was exhausted, so I pretended to be asleep. Without getting undressed, Bett lay down next to me and I felt her shake as silent sobs racked her body.
8
The spring rains turned to summer thunderstorms, and the heat became almost unbearable. Many of the whites came down with yellow fever. For some unknown reason, few slaves were affected by the dreaded disease, so we were busy attending the sick, burying the dead, and keeping things going.
Bett, especially, was kept very busy preparing teas. She had learned from Olubunmi to cleanse the body with sweats and baths, and to cool it with dampened leaves. Many people were afraid of baths and open windows, but Bett insisted, and some who listened were cured. Our mistress and master were lucky that they did not get even a light case.
However, during the height of the epidemic, the last week in July, the mistress complained of nagging back pains. Low-hanging dark clouds had blanketed the place for days and rain had fallen heavily the night before. The roads were mud holes when the master went for the doctor. Bett, knowing how busy the doctors were, said, “I just hope things don’t happen here without a doctor.”
It was pouring rain. I knew that the master should have been back long ago. Bett, still worried said, “If the doctor isn’t here soon, that baby could be in danger.”
We stood outside the bedroom door,
listening. There were groaning sounds but no call for help. So we went back down the stairs to wait for the master. He finally came back alone. The doctor was away treating fever patients in outlying areas. Other doctors who were much farther away were not available either.
The master was as pale as a sheet and his eyes were wide with fear. He rushed up the stairs without taking off his rain cloak and muddy boots. He must have told his wife the news, for she let out a scream that made Bett, Nance, and me come close together. We did not move when the master rushed down the stairs.
“Bett, I am told that you have proven yourself a good midwife. We will need your help.”
“Master, I don’t know. The mistress must say,” Bett said. “Take me to her.”
When my sister returned to the kitchen she told us that the mistress screamed, “Why is she here? Get her out of this room.”
The master said, “Anna, dear, Bett can help.”
“Whut did she say to dat?” Nance asked.
“She began laughing and said, ‘A black conjurer-woman delivering my baby, never! The doctor will come. We’ll wait.’”
“She might wait, but dat baby won’t wait,” Nance said.
The day passed and the master was alone with his wife. We could hear screams through the closed door. Bett paced up and down, up and down.
“Would yuh hep her if she called yuh now, after whut she done said?” Nance asked.
“Yes!” Bett answered quickly.
“If you put yo’ foot in dat room and she done waited too long and die, yuh know you’ll be blamed. Dey’ll hang you.”
“I’m a healer, meant to save lives; if I’m asked, I’ll help.”
We had dinner ready for the master, but he didn’t appear. Bett went up the stairs to see if we were free to leave. We were not free to go to our rooms until the master said so. We waited. The doctor didn’t come. We lit the lamps. It was hot and the humidity made us uncomfortable, but we fanned ourselves and waited.
Second Daughter Page 3
