by Carter, Noni
“I’m scared, John. Think Masta might change his mind an’ leave me be? Think he might change an’ be like his father, who don’t mess with none of us like that?” I searched his eyes for an answer, for security, for a place to hide from reality. But nothing of the like lay there. Instead, I saw the truth that he would never bring himself to say.
Sarah, there’s nothing I can do.
But instead of expressing what we both knew was true, John lifted his hand to my face. He paused for a moment and then soon began running his fingers across my cheek, wiping away a water droplet that had escaped from my hair. I let his fingers linger there and brush against my skin until they settled under my chin, lifting it slightly. Then he let go.
“A mind cain’t rest on those things too long, Sarah. It’s dangerous fo’ a man. But I think you oughta know, I bin tryin’ to figure somethin’ out.” His face was changing, masking the pain and replacing it with a sort of lighthearted look.
“Bin thinkin’ an’ thinkin’, then finally figured there ain’t nothin’ really to figure out,” he continued. “I found that I feel different, like I’m gone from the world when you’re—”
“John,”—I looked up abruptly—“Masta say stay away. He was serious; you know that. So please, jus’ please, there are otha slave gals here….”
“Sarah, not even a fool could scare me outta feelin’ what I’m sure I feel.” I had nothing to say. His words traveled through the chambers of my heart. I let them roam.
“How you find me out here, John?” I asked him, feeling deeply relieved that he hadn’t walked away from me long before, leaving me fearful and alone. “Don’t no one know I come down here! I know you wasn’t lookin’ fo’ me!”
“Followed dis right here!” he said, patting his chest.
“What’s there?” I asked.
“Somethin’ that’s been a beatin’ an’ a listenin’ to you fo’ a while,” he proudly replied. I put my ear close to his chest, then drew back.
“Cain’t nothin’ be there fo’ me,” I said with my arms crossed. “You a slave.”
“I ain’t no slave, Sarah.” John’s face had fallen as he said this, his voice painted with resentment. I looked at him with fear.
“Don’t say that John, you know you’s—”
“I said, I ain’t no slave!” he bellowed, his voice now stern. “That’s all up here, in yo’ mind! Them folk call demselves Masta call us slaves, but only those who think they slaves is slaves. I ain’t no slave. My mind don’t belong to nobody.”
I had never heard that before. Those words sparked something within me I had never felt. I found myself swimming in a world of thought, a world of imagination, a world of freedom I longed for, a longing that usually kept itself hidden out of fear. Now, with John standing right here, saying these words to me, I felt this longing of mine dancing on my face, clear as day.
“Well, I think maybe … maybe I ain’t gotta be no slave either,” I said, looking at him mischievously.
John laughed, trying to drown out the carriage wheels in the distance. Masta was back, and with that realization, many other facts came to me like a slap in the face. We were slaves. Our lives were worthless, built only to serve our white masters. Our days were rationed for them and them alone. There was no us.
The laughter ceased, and I silently left his side. He stood there for a moment longer, as if he held a treasure in his hand that kept falling through his fingers. Then he departed, and we slipped away from each other like one soul split in two.
CHAPTER
9
THE DAY WAS A HOT ONE, AND THE SWEAT TRICKLED DOWN MY forehead even before I could walk a half a mile from the Big House. Usually I had both of Missus’s children for this routine stroll, but this morning, only young Missus Jane walked by my side. I was a bit glad; with her brother near her, the two would commence to racing down the road with me in hot pursuit, and they’d be proclaiming, “We gonna be late, Sarah, if you don’t hurry up!”
The first few weeks after the incident with Masta Jeffrey, I lived in fear when I neared the Big House. But the days trickled into weeks, and I had no confrontations with Masta’s son, not even a sign that Masta Jeffrey had ill intentions. So, soon enough, the storm passed. I finally grew to believe that for whatever reason, he had left me alone for good.
On this day, as we neared the road, I saw a figure pass, his round face lowered and his shoulders slightly drooped. He drifted past me without a word. It was the first time I had seen Daniel since he and Tucker had left to accompany Masta and his son on a long-distance trip. They had been gone for nearly a week and a half, and I had counted the days until their return.
I looked back at him, my eyebrows raised in question.
What was wrong with my brother?
“Daniel,” I said softly, keeping the corner of my eye on young Missus Jane, who continued on without me, “you all right?” He turned his head, eyes piercing me like two arrows. His glance was quick, and his nod was cordial, but the expression in his eyes turned my skin cold. There was an anger there that he immediately erased, then a lingering sadness. He turned away before I could say anything more, slyly stealing my heart as he went and setting it in his pocket.
I walked on, talking to young Missus Jane as she wished, but my thoughts swirled around my brother. We walked a few miles to a small, white wooden house. It was here that I was ordered to take young Missus Jane and young Masta Bernard. About eight children met five days a week in this tiny schoolroom.
Missus had decided to start them out this school year with a private instructor. She wanted to ensure the “best education possible.” I’d caught pieces of conversation between Masta and Missus about having young Missus Jane attend lessons with her brother. Females only went so far in schooling, and Masta didn’t want to invest money unnecessarily on her behalf. Missus seemed to have different plans for her daughter, however, and even though she wouldn’t make them plain, she convinced her husband to keep young Missus Jane with her brother for the time being.
When we reached the door, young Missus Jane knocked and slipped inside before anyone had come to open it. Without another word to me, she shut me out, leaving me standing on the step.
Heading a mile or so farther up the road, I neared a small gathering of slave children who were sitting around an older man. Seeing me approach, the old man nodded and fell straight into telling a story to the gathered crowd.
“I done knowed Liza was gone. Knew it befo’ I felt de hushed silence hangin’ ’mong slave row. Knew it befo’ word was raised ’bout it. It was de way blurry images done formed in my mind’s eyes, in my dreams dat night befo’. It was de feelin’ my dream done gaved me. It was de way de wind rush thru my door, washin’ my sleepy face. It was de way de mornin’ birds sang with dat partic’lar melody. Dey knewed ha fate like I did. We alls knewed dat Liza was gone.”
“Whatchya mean, ‘Gone,’ Uncle Bobby?” a small boy asked.
“Well, you wait, now. You ain’t even heard ’bout da woman an’ ha life yet.”
“Tell us, then, Uncle Bobby!”
I stood leaning against the side of the man’s quarters. Wrinkles covered the face and hands of this old man, Uncle Bobby. He was too old to work the land his master owned and was therefore left by his Master to do nothing more than waste away with time. The ten or so children who’d gathered about him were, on the other hand, too young to work. Most of them grasped small clay balls in their hands, signifying the play that had been suspended so they could hear Uncle Bobby’s short story of the day. I had stumbled upon them one day while waiting for the Missus’s children to finish their learning, and I’d been coming back ever since to listen to the old man’s tales.
“Well, she was a tattle, she was. House hand that liked da fancy dings her Mizzuz done give ha fo’ tellin’ on folks an’ makin’ up bad stories to get dem slaves in trouble. Den on Christmas day the year she was all growed up, done walked outside wit all dem fancy stuff, even had fancy shoes! An …
an …”
“An’ what?” the children squealed. Uncle Bobby put his hands on his small hips, pausing for dramatic effect.
“Well,” he said, throwing his seated legs out farther, “big ole clap a’ lightnin’ came an’ strike ha!” His eyes bulged and his arms imitated heaven unleashing its wrath. The children, who had yelped with the scare, started giggling.
“Ain’t no such thing happen!”
“Sho’ did!” Uncle Bobby said with such a serious nod that the children quickly grew quiet.
“Lightnin’ really strike her dead, Uncle Bobby?” He nodded.
“Well, I ain’t neva gonna be like dat!”
I turned to head back up the road, chuckling at Uncle Bobby’s story. As I walked along, searching for wild flowers for Mary, I heard someone calling my name. I turned to see Tucker.
“Hey, Tucker. Didn’t notice you comin’ up.” I walked over to where he had stopped, just off of the road. I eyed him closely, searching for anything in his face that imitated the distress I saw in Daniel’s eyes. There was nothing there that compared.
“How was the trip, Tucker?” I asked him, my anxious eyes still searching.
“Masta had us travelin’ all day an’ all night!” he said, wiping his brow.
“An’ y’all ain’t run into no trouble?”
“Well, naw,” he said, gazing up at the sky as if remembering, “wa’an’t nothin’ unusual. Masta wa’an’t in good spirits. Havin’ some trouble wit his money. An’, well …”
“What?” I asked.
“Well, we done seed a lotta sellin’, me an’ yo’ brotha.” He frowned. “Wa’an’t no pretty sight.” I sighed, seeing that Tucker didn’t know what had come over my brother.
“Watchya this fa’ from Masta’s place fo’?” he asked, smiling at me.
“I was jus’ gonna ask you the same thing, Tucker.”
“Well, I sho’ wa’an’t sneakin’ visits to hear that storyteller over this way.”
I laughed. “Ain’t sneakin’ nowheres! I got to take Missus’s children—you know young Missus Jane an’ young Masta Bernard?”
He nodded.
“Well, Missus got them wit some tutor round here, an’ I bin tole to get them there five good days a week.”
“Ain’t you s’pose to be wit them?” he asked, rubbing his beard with his thumb and forefinger. “That tutor must be two miles down the road from here!”
I bit my lower lip, and my eyes cut over to the old storyteller in the distance, then back to Tucker. “Wouldn’t let me stay inside and, well”—a sly smile slid on my face—“that tutor saw me peekin’ in on them an’ tole me to stay away durin’ their lessons.” Tucker gave a whistling sound and shook his head.
“Yes, Tucker, you right. I didn’t have no business up there. But cain’t do nothin’ ’bout that now. But what you up here fo’? You seem to be headin’ down to the city!”
He put his hand on my shoulder, his eyes growing wide. “Masta gonna let me hire myself out! Gonna work fo’ a blacksmith in town.”
“Didn’t think they did that much round here, Tucker,” I said.
“It ain’t that uncommon, an’ see,” he explained and said while leaning in closer, “I’se bin workin’ wit him already. Late nights, sneakin’ out there, then returnin’ befo’ dawn.”
“How you sleep, then, Tucker!” I said with an excited whisper, considering how big a risk he had been taking. He shrugged his shoulders.
“Reckon money’s betta than sleep. On our trip, we ran into the man, an’ he done act like he ain’t neva seen me befo’ an’ spoke to Masta on my behalf. They’s business partners or somethin’, an’ Masta jus’ up’n agreed!” he said with a final, satisfied nod.
“Thing is,” he continued, “I can’t earn my money no more. Gotta give it all to Masta. But at least I’ll be getting away from this place from time to time, an’ at least I ain’t gotta sneak round to do it. I’m happy ’bout it.”
“Well, that’s good fo’ ya, Tucker,” I said, as he backed away.
“Sho’ is!” he said, grinning. “Now I gotsta be gettin’ on.”
I waved Tucker off and walked on toward the schoolhouse, lost deep in thought.
The door to the schoolhouse opened some five minutes after I reached it. I watched in silence as the children skipped out of the room, one by one. Missus’s children were usually the first ones out the door, but today I watched as the teacher, tall and slim, held young Missus Jane back until the rest of the children had filed out. Young Missus Jane’s face was flushed deep red and grew even darker as the teacher bent over her to share a word or two. I walked closer to the building as the door shut, and young Missus Jane stood sullen-faced on the steps. She stared at the door for a few seconds, then turned to see where I was. Finding me with her eyes, she silently came to my side.
Heading back with young Missus Jane, I couldn’t help but notice that all the enthusiasm had gone from her small body. She took her finger and slipped it in her mouth.
“Young Missus Jane, now, I think you’se too old to be suckin’ on your finger like that.” My words had barely tumbled out before she pulled her wet finger from her mouth and slipped her hand into mine.
“I got in trouble today,” she said simply, squeezing my hand with hers.
My body had gone rigid at first, but then it melted, piece by piece, into the innocence of her gesture.
“Everybody do somethin’ wrong sometimes. It’s all right,” I said to her softly. I glanced down at young Missus Jane’s face and saw that blush in her cheeks was slowly seeping away. What I saw was a child, a little girl seeking to play and please and imitate what she saw around her.
I couldn’t identify the feeling that raced through my bones. It wasn’t one of affection, or love of any particular kind. It was, rather, a feeling of empathy, which lingered even after, as we approached the plantation, she yanked her hand from mine and fell into a different role. But even as her little feet thumped the earth while she ran to meet her waiting mother at the door, and as she screamed back an order that I should bring her something cold to drink, I remembered her small fingers seeking out my own hand for comfort. A small smile curled onto my lips.
CHAPTER
10
IT WASN’T UNTIL A FEW NIGHTS LATER THAT I FOUND THE TIME to talk with my brother. In the dark one night, as I walked back toward the cabin, I saw him headed off in the direction of his workplace, not five minutes from the fields.
Mary had returned to the cabin quite a while before, so I poked my face around the door to tell her where I was headed, gobbled down what little food she slipped into my palm, and headed to the place I knew Daniel would be.
I approached him and saw him with his tools laying about, a broken wooden chair leaning against his leg.
“Daniel, … it’s late,” I said quietly. Thinking he hadn’t heard me, I called him again, but he didn’t respond. “Daniel, you bin quiet lately—look angry a lot of the time. I’d feel better if I knew what it is makin’ you act this way.”
“Don’t feel like talkin’ right now,” he responded, his attention fixed on his work. I took a deep breath and blew it all out at once. He wouldn’t even look up to blink at me.
“Well, I’ma sit right here”—I found a spot on the ground in front of my brother—“and keep my sleepy eyes open if I have to through the night till you talk.”
Daniel’s face didn’t change until, some moments later, he looked up as if he expected me to be gone. “You still here,” he said just as I began to doubt that he’d speak to me at all. I nodded over at him.
“Want you to promise me somethin’,” he said, looking back down at his work.
“What’s that?”
“Sarah”—he looked up again—“Sarah, promise me if Masta Jeffrey gets near you, you tell me.” He stared into my eyes with a stern, unyielding look. I almost frowned, wondering if he knew about the incident on the hill those many weeks ago. The fear that had nearly subsided, for Masta Jeff
rey hadn’t spoken to me since, came rushing back as Daniel mentioned him.
“Daniel, I don’t understand. What’s Masta Jeffrey got to do with anything?” He was silent for a moment.
“I don’t know. Jus’ got this bad feelin’ ’bout him.”
“He do somethin’ you ain’t like?” I asked, trying to coax a confession that he knew about the hill. But he shook his head.
“Naw, jus’ got that feelin’.”
He doesn’t know.
My heartbeat slowed with a bit of relief. If Daniel found out what Masta’s son had said to me, I feared what his reaction would be. I didn’t know how families dealt with the rape of their women—and I didn’t want to find out. Perhaps if Daniel was bold enough to confront Masta Jeffrey, then Masta Jeffrey would seek me out for revenge! Perhaps he’d ask his father to sell Daniel, or beat one of us in the process. My heart was not willing to risk letting Daniel know anything about the incident and Masta Jeffrey’s intentions, even though they seemed to have died away. Daniel’s anger seemed to flow too freely at times. He usually exercised the necessary restraint, but there were some things he’d risk his own life for.
I was glad he didn’t know.
“Daniel, this got somethin’ to do with you an’ Tucker bein’ gone all them days? What happened up in town?” Still shaking his head, he gazed over my shoulder into the black night, until he collected himself again.
“I’ve seen folks sold so many a times,” he said with a hollow voice, “but never seen nothin’ like this, Sarah. Never.”
“Like what, Daniel?” I asked. I waited his silence out, my body sagging with exhaustion. When he brought his eyes to mine for a moment, the tears that had appeared for a brief moment disappeared from them.
“It touched me deep down somewheres, Sarah, an’ won’t seem to go away.”
