by Joyce Hansen
“No, didn’t have time to.” She shook her head sadly. “Maybe I was afraid of what I see.” She rubbed her head. “My God, Obi. If that cotton be ruined, then I lose everything.”
Obi stood up stiffly. “I’m going to see.” He hoped that he’d only imagined a massive object falling on the shed, just as he’d imagined that the cabin had been destroyed. His memory was foggy.
“Maybe you should rest a while longer,” Rose broke into his thoughts. “Simon can get water if we still have the tin tub, and you can go in the other room and clean that mud off of you.” Her movements were nervous, as though she wanted to find things to do in the cabin. As long as she didn’t see, she didn’t know.
Obi understood. “I’ll go. You stay here.”
She wiped her hands nervously on her apron. “I’ll go with you.” She put her shawl around her shoulders.
The door barely hung on its hinges. “Rosie, me and Simon fix the window and door easily,” Obi said, trying to sound hopeful for her. “But the first thing is the roof.” He walked to the door and opened it very carefully so that it didn’t fall on them.
He and Rose were speechless as they looked outside. It was as if the cabin had been lifted up and dropped off in a different place. Rose’s kitchen garden and clean, well-swept yard were covered with a thick layer of mud. The azalea bushes, strewn over the yard, had become scraggly piles of sticks with dead leaves hanging off them. The shed, the chicken coop, the animal pen, all had disappeared under the oak tree. Obi guessed that the mule and the cow had been crushed under the oak too, along with his tools, his letters from Easter, and a few meager belongings.
Past Rose’s yard, he could see clear over to the shelled road. Where cabins used to stand in the distance, he saw emptiness.
“Thank God you wasn’t in that shed,” Rose muttered.
They trudged through thick mud and skirted around downed trees. When they reached her fields they found complete devastation—cotton, potatoes, and corn, all gone. “At least we alive. My home still standing, and the land still here.” Rose smiled as tears rolled down her cheeks. “There’s nothing to do but start again.”
“Start with what?”
She held out her hands, her fingers long and strong. “Start with these.” She tapped her forehead. “And this. God give me these two things. He save my son.” She stared at Obi. “He save my friends. God is good. God will provide,” she said, her hands slightly trembling, her lips speaking words of hope, her eyes sorrowful as she gazed at a year’s worth of work, turned to mud. “Come, let’s see how you and Easter’s property look.”
“I know ain’t nothing standing. I don’t need to see just now.” He didn’t want to face his loss at that moment. He’d seen enough devastation.
She insisted. “Sometime a storm touch one field and skip over another.”
They trudged to where they thought Easter’s property began. “Obi, I ain’t too sure. I wouldn’t be able to tell where Easter’s land is if my cabin wasn’t still standing.”
Rose’s cabin was like a compass pointing in the direction of Easter’s property, which had no more landmarks. The pine trees, the bushes, the fig trees, all gone as though they had been picked up and tossed away by an angry god to another muddy field. Then he saw one of the beams he’d meticulously crafted, split and broken and almost completely covered with mud. The foundation he so carefully made with oyster shells and sand, destroyed. He felt as empty inside as the stripped fields around him. The home he’d started building now a gaping, muddy pit. A home wiped away before it was even built.
Rose’s voice sounded so far away; Obi felt as though he were distant, removed. “Obi, you start again, is all. This not the end of everything.”
It was the end of everything as far as he could tell.
They stood in the field like lost, helpless children. Rose spoke first. “We don’t know why things happen, but there must be a reason,” she said. “We are not to question.” Her shoulders sagged. “Last year it was the blight, and I did everything the way Rayford teach me. I manage to make twenty-five dollars from the cotton, enough to pay the taxes on this land. And we had enough food for us and the animals.”
“You ain’t no farmer. It was different when Rayford was here with you. You a cook.” He tried to say something to make her feel better. “Your food was the best thing about working on the Phillips plantation when Jennings send me and Easter over there.”
“What I should do then, cook in the middle of the field and sell the food?”
“You should rest them cotton field and just grow what you going to eat.”
“Cotton is the only thing bring in money. There be taxes due.”
Then anger rose up in him. “A cotton field is a curse.” He spit on the ground. “It ain’t never bring us the money it used to bring them slave owners.” His head throbbed. “See, when them planters have a lot of land and slaves, they sell off a slave here and there if they have a bad crop. That way they get their money back. That’s what we need—some slaves to sell,” he said bitterly. “Rosie, that’s why me and my ma got separated. Whoever own us had to sell us. Got more money for selling us separately.” He picked up the broken beam and then threw it angrily back on the ground.
“This a time when we should pray.”
He looked up at the murky sky. “I too angry to pray.”
“You flying in the face of God. You can’t question His wisdom.”
“Rose, I’m not questioning God, I’m questioning why you keep working cotton. Maybe you could rent or sell some of your land and—”
She wouldn’t let him finish. “I not selling none of this land. I give Easter the two acres because she help me, and we like kin anyway. Rayford already pay the highest price for this land. No, Obi, I cannot.” And she broke down. Strong, sturdy Rose. And Obi’s heart was filled with hatred for the island. It was like quicksand and would eventually pull you down into its suffocating, muddy depths.
He put his arm around her. “Come, now, Rose. We have to see about them children. I’ll try and patch the roof before the whole thing cave in.” Obi’s legs and arms still ached as he limped away from the fields. For the remainder of the day he and Simon patched the roof and tried to strengthen the shutters so that they would last until he made new ones. Eventually Rose would need a new door and new floors as well.
Obi worked in pain, but the cabin was the only shelter they had, and it looked as though it was about to fall apart. Grace and Scipio helped Rose clean the yard and searched through the wreckage of trees and bushes for Obi’s tools and haversack. Just before dusk, when the cries of the seabirds could be heard in the distance, Scipio shouted, “Mr. Obi, look what I found.” Grinning proudly, he held up Obi’s army uniform—filthy and torn.
“Throw that thing away!” he snapped and was immediately sorry when he saw the hurt look in Scipio’s eyes. Before he could say anything else, Samuel and a few of the other men of the village hurried into the yard.
“We just checking on everyone, Obi,” Samuel said, out of breath, his round face sweating even though it was cool. “People is suffering too bad. Miss Mary cabin fall down.”
“She hurt?”
“No, she was in the store. But the schoolhouse is gone. The whole village be suffering.”
A week after the storm, Obi wrote Easter:
September 25, 1868
Dear Easter,
We’ve had a terrible storm here, but do not worry. We are all safe and sound, except Rose has lost all of her crops. Fortunately, her cabin still stands, but in bad condition.
Our home that I’d started building is ruined. I should’ve just thrown together a log house that hugged the ground. I use half the money I saved to build us a home. Now the money and the home is gone.
Many people have lost everything, and death has called at almost every door. Your poor friend Miss Fortune lost the school and everything in it.
There is no farming on the island. Only cleaning up after the storm. People
are leaving every day joining labor gangs and going to Georgia and Florida. There is nothing here. More people will lose their land now because they lost their crops and do not have money to pay their taxes. I have offered to give Rose the money for her taxes. She refused, unless I said it was a loan. So I will give her the money and call it a loan. But I will not take any money back from her.
The plans I made are ruined for now, but I will still come and see you for Christmas. By that time you should have heard from Jason. When I finish seeing you, then I will get Jason.
Easter, there is no chance for a decent life down here. I have three hundred dollars left from the money I saved—enough to buy land and enough to build a business. But not here. This island is like quicksand. It sucks you in and smothers you to death. I am afraid if I try to build again in New Canaan, I will lose everything. I will never sharecrop or sign a work contract.
For now, it is easier to help others than to start to build another house that gets blown away before I’m done. I will build a school cabin for Miss Fortune. I have also been helping some of the men in the village rebuild their homes. So, I am doing a lot of carpentry, but of course, this is merely to help people. There is no pay. I suspect that I could get carpentry work in Elenaville after this storm. I have put another ad in the paper.
I love you Easter and miss you very much.
Your Obi
Chapter 12
The colored Senator from South Carolina
was shot down a day or two ago.
—LETTERS AND DIARY OF LAURA M. TOWNE
October 1868
“I wish we could pay you, Mr. Booker,” Miss Fortune said, clasping her hands in front of her as though she were praying. Her soft brown eyes gazed kindly on Obi, Simon, and two other teenage boys who were helping put the finishing touches on the schoolhouse cabin.
“Letting me use these tools is payment enough.” Miss Fortune had insisted that Obi borrow the new saws, chisels, an adze, and axes belonging to the missionary society whenever he needed them. Obi handed an ax to Simon. “You boys cut down those two small pines so that I can show you how to make a bench.”
“It’s the least the society can do.” She lowered her voice even though no one could hear them. “As a matter of fact, Mr. Booker, as far as I am concerned the tools belong to you. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have a schoolhouse.”
She stared for a moment at the small cabin. “You don’t know what this means to us, Mr. Booker. We couldn’t hold classes in the church. So many people need medical care that the doctor has been using the church as a hospital.” She shook her head. “And you know, the school lost everything. We don’t have a book or a piece of paper.”
“I’m sorry, miss, I truly am.”
“But we have our minds. The children can memorize their verses and learn by listening until the society sends more books.” She smiled so sweetly, Obi thought about his friend Thomas and what a nice lady she would be for him—two colored Yankees together, he chuckled to himself.
“Mr. Booker, I don’t think you realize what a great thing you’ve done for the children.”
“Miss Fortune, we should be able to finish the benches by tomorrow and get some kindling for the stove, and you’ll be ready for school. And we’ll patch up your cabin.”
“We will be forever grateful to you.”
“Thank you, miss, but it’s nothing.” As he began to walk toward Miss Mary’s store, he saw Scipio running toward him, waving an envelope. “Mr. Obi, Mr. Obi, a letter for you.” He handed Obi the envelope and then looked at the cabin. “You finish making the school, Mr. Obi? When can I go?”
Miss Fortune smiled at him. “As soon as we have the benches. Do you want to see inside?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, excitedly racing ahead of her. Obi sat under one of the oaks to read his letter. It was from Easter.
October 15, 1868
Dear Obi,
I am so sorry to hear about the storm. After I received your letter one came in from Miss Fortune. Obi, she told me that you are rebuilding the school cabin for New Canaan. It is the most wonderful thing you are doing. She also told me that you are helping the other men in New Canaan repair and rebuild cabins. In your last letter you said that there was no decent life for us in New Canaan, but I think New Canaan is the best place for us to be. It seems to me that deep in your heart you know that too. I know you are disappointed about not starting your carpentry business, but you’ve only been there for a few months. And already you are important to the village.
I believe that all things are possible with God’s love, and with our love for each other. Obi right now the village needs you. Rose needs you. You have helped so many people without knowing it. Maybe you don’t feel it yet but New Canaan is our home. Why would we want to live anywhere else? We have our own village among our own people. Philadelphia is an interesting city with many things to see and do, but this place will never feel like home to me.
The Fortunes and their friends are taking up a collection of clothes and school supplies to send down to the island. Tell Rose I said not to be so hardheaded and to accept your help. Rose thinks that she is always suppose to do everything herself. She is so prideful. Obi, I want to see you so very much, but I don’t want you to use up all of your money just for a trip here. Besides, we are so busy here I might not be able to be with you or see you as often as I would wish. We are busier than ever. We try to make life here like living in a family. I wish I had some sweet grass so that I could show the girls and boys how to make baskets.
Don’t waste the money you have to take a trip here. Use that money and time to start another home for us, or to buy more land in New Canaan. Have patience, time is moving quickly. Just know that I love you. Pray that God will keep us safe so that we may be together soon.
Your Easter
He read it twice to fix her voice and her words in his head and carry them in his heart; he still wanted to go to Philadelphia and see her. He kissed the letter and put it in his pocket.
Obi didn’t know that Simon and the other boys saw him. “He get a letter from his lady,” Simon giggled. “Guess he won’t be so hard on us to make the benches just so.”
Since the storm, one or two neighbors usually ate with Rose, Obi, and the children. Rose still had a few potatoes and corn in her pantry, and Obi had money to buy food from the supplies and rations sent to the island from the Freedmen’s Bureau.
That evening Melissa, who Obi remembered from the Phillips plantation, shared their supper of rice and cow peas. Melissa had lost her chickens, turkeys, and store of corn and potatoes. She brought a small jar of ointment she’d prepared for Grace to rub on Araba’s legs—“Make them little bird legs strong.”
Melissa left after supper, and Obi read Easter’s letter to Rose. Simon’s snores filled the cabin while Little Ray and Scipio slept on their pallets next to him. Only Grace and Araba were still awake, with Grace sitting on the rocker, holding Araba and rubbing her thin legs with Melissa’s ointment.
When Obi finished, Rose smiled, but her eyes looked tired and her face was drawn. “Why you tell Easter that I won’t let you help me?”
“You won’t. You worrying about planting cotton again, and getting the money for taxes, when I tell you I’ll give you the money for the taxes. You need to let them fields, and yourself, rest.”
“You loaning me the money. I planting again, Obi.” She paused a moment, fastening her large, dark eyes on Obi. “I don’t plan to lay down and die till I dead—not before. I didn’t lose my life or my house. I’m blessed. Won’t find me sitting here with my hands under my chin propping sorrow.”
She stood up and folded her arms across her chest. “You need to start on your cabin, now that you done with the schoolhouse. Easter be here before you turn around twice. And she’s right, you know. Y’all don’t need to be living nowhere else but here.”
He was too tired to argue with Rose. He folded the letter and put it in his back pocket and tried not to thin
k about all of the other letters that had been lost in the storm. Suddenly, there was a light tap on the cabin door.
“Wonder who that is?” Rose asked as she walked to the door. A young black man stood in the dark, softened by the light of a full moon. “Ma’am, I’m looking for a Mr. Booker. The lady in the store say I find him hereabouts.”
“I’m Mr. Booker,” Obi said as he stepped to the door.
“Mr. Barnwell send me, sir. Sorry for the late hour, but it be a big emergency. Say he want you to make a coffin for the senator.”
“Who dead?” Rose asked, ushering the young man into the cabin.
Obi interrupted. “Who’s Mr. Barnwell? How he know me?”
“He told me to show you this. Say, he been saving it in case he ever need a carpenter.” The young man showed Obi a wrinkled piece of paper. It was the advertisement he’d placed in the paper weeks ago. Obi was surprised. “Who die?”
“The senator.”
“What senator?”
“I don’t know, sir. Mr. Barnwell just say to come to his house tomorrow morning first thing at Pleasant Point Plantation. You know where it’s at?”
“Yes,” Obi said. “It’s near here, isn’t it?”
The young man nodded, but Obi was still perplexed, wondering who the senator was. “Tell him yes.”
“I hear a Yankee buy Pleasant Point. Barnwell probably a Yankee man,” Rose said.
“Rosie, it look like I have my first real carpenter work. A coffin.”
“Poor man. Wonder how he die?” Rose mused.
There was another knock on the door, this time loud and insistent. “What is going on tonight?” Rose said as Obi went to the door.
It was Julius, without his usual politician’s grin.
“What happen?” Rose asked. “Come on in and have some tea.” She turned to Grace. “Put Araba in the room, Grace, she fast asleep. Then fix Mr. Julius a cup of tea.”
