by Carter, Noni
I had spotted him.
The cloaked figure sat behind the broken door of the cabin, hidden in the shadows. If he had not moved slightly, I don’t think I would’ve seen him at all.
Staying out of his line of sight, I crept around the side of the cabin and kept my ears open to see if I could hear where the meeting was taking place. But I heard nothing at all.
But then the wind carried, a muffled voice to my ears. I swung sharply around. Behind me stood a small shack that was mostly hidden by a cluster of trees. Glancing around once more to make sure I hadn’t been seen, I made my way carefully toward the run-down building. The closer I crept, the louder the voices became. Crouching right in front of the shack, I could hear the voices—it sounded like men—but I couldn’t make out their words. I crawled to the side and noticed a cracked wooden board above my head. Voices floated out to me from the opening, clear as day. The nervous feeling in my bones quickened as I lay on my belly, listening.
“… cain’t do this no longer. Gotta run sooner or later!” The weariness in John’s voice was evident. His words brought a jolt of surprise to my chest.
“You know what happened to Billy, don’t ya?” another voice whispered with a sharp edge of warning. I couldn’t make out whose voice it was. He continued, “He ran off all in one piece, an’ about three weeks later, came back in about three pieces. Hung his body up fo’ show. Don’t say you runnin’ before you really know what you gettin’ into. Ain’t no room to be backin’ out. Y’all know what happens when you get caught.”
“Beg ya pardon, sah, but you gotta get caught first fo’ that to happen.” It was Tucker’s voice that cut the man off. “We know the risks.”
A long stillness followed. I couldn’t even hear their breathing, but my breath seemed so loud, I feared with each passing second they would discover me.
Then the first voice spoke up again. “Well, if y’all gonna run, ain’t no need draggin’ otha folks with ya, like this man here….” A deep grunt cut into his statement. It wasn’t just Tucker, John, and that unknown man kneeling in the shadows speaking about escape. Someone else knelt with them. I prayed for the last man to remain silent, for his identity to remain concealed from me. But I knew who it was; I don’t know how I knew, but I knew right away.
“This man here’s the one who came up wit the idea,” Tucker said softly. The other men seemed to be waiting for him to say more.
John filled the space. “Cain’t stop otha folks from runnin’ if they wanna run, sah.”
The man sighed, and then asked, “Got anythin’ to say?”
“Sho’ I do,” came the familiar voice of the fourth person in the shack. “When we goin’? Cain’t go now—them slave dogs excited round this time. Heard somebody up at Bennington plantation up an’ ran.” My brother’s words seemed to echo around me ten times louder than they really were. My mind raced, and with the pressure in my chest growing stronger, I was sure it would explode any minute.
John is running! Daniel is running!
“Naw, y’all won’t be goin’ now. It’ll be cold, but I think it’s best round Christmas.” The unsteady, nervous silence that followed caused the tension inside to swell even greater. My heartbeat felt as if it would rip my limbs apart with its dangerous, heavy, deathlike thumping. I decided to leave and head back to my quarters.
Brushing away the bugs that had crawled up my legs, I tried hard to steady my shaking body. The November air was cold, and I was shocked.
Both John and Daniel running? That just couldn’t be!
“Sarah, Sarah, what you comin’ in so late fo’?” Mary asked me sleepily as I scooted softly through the door. I had thrown all my attention into running back to the quarters, as soon as I’d crawled far enough away not to be heard. Pausing at the door, I looked over at Mary lying on her pallet, hoping the night was too dark for her to see my solemn face.
“Sarah, you in late.”
“Young Missus Jane,” I said simply, kissing Mary to assure her I was all right, then walking to the water basin. I stood there a long time, hands submersed in the chilly water.
Mary doesn’t know. Mary does not know, I reminded myself over and over, trying not to let the reality take hold inside me. But I failed. Every word I heard at the shack—every whisper and every imagined gesture and facial expression—kept playing and replaying themselves through my mind.
John and … and Daniel … are running? I wanted to feel anger, but fear pushed past instead.
“Sarah, somethin’ wrong?” Mary asked, turning over to see me standing still at the water.
“Naw ma’am,” I said as I hurriedly rinsed my skin and crawled onto my pallet. “Night, Mary,” I whispered, but she had already fallen into that place of dreams.
Sleep was not to me this night; I knew of no such thing. I stared at the wall, confused, my eyes wide. I heard Daniel enter that night—heard him moving around with a slow steadiness. I watched him walk over to Mary and stare at her sleeping face for a long time. I knew, as I heard him lay down on his cover, that I wasn’t the only one missing sleep that night. But soon enough, my eyelids shut and I was tossed back into the fiery pits of my nightmarish dreams.
There was a clock before me—a large clock. I stared, listening.
Tic-toc. Tic-toc. Tic-toc.
What was it I was waiting for?
Tic-toc. Tic-toc. Tic-toc.
Ah! It’s time.
I crept through the woods and through the open spaces, retracing the familiar steps down to the broken-down cabin. I stopped in front of it.
Their faces bobbed back and forth before me, three male puppets with permanent smiles painted on their faces, swinging back and forth from string.
Who was it that stood there, controlling their movements like that? I had to know.
And suddenly, I was standing in the center of the dirt floor, lost in the darkness of the cabin. I searched for the faces, but all I saw were strings. Strings hanging from the ceiling, strings draped across the window, strings trailing across the floor, all attached, somehow, to the unseen, bobbing faces.
I must cut them loose!
I searched desperately for cutting tools and, finding nothing, fell into a deep panic. I ripped at the strings with my hands and bit into them with my teeth.
I have to cut them loose!
And, finally, they did come loose, these strings that had attached them to the Big House, to Masta, to Mary, to me…. All cut loose!
The bobbing faces stopped their nodding, the solemn looks returned, and they walked through the door, nodding a cordial farewell.
No, you can’t leave me like this!
With arms outstretched, I dived through the door and walked right onto the ship, my legs almost buckling beneath me.
I crept around the upper deck, leaping, hiding, dodging eyes, bending low.
I followed the monster-man, who had covered his nose with a cloth, all the way to the door that led to the bodies.
It was meal time. Large spoonfuls of mushy provisions fell upon the bodies—our bodies. Chains rattled, a dangerous bustling about could be heard. No words were spoken; none were needed. The actions spoke for themselves.
What’s mine is mine. This isn’t real anyway. Wouldn’t you rather die before me? So don’t eat it. Let me have it. What does it matter? We’ll wake up tomorrow, and our own sun will be shining on our backs.
A four-legged creature with a long tail ran across my feet and fell into the hole, fighting off mangled limbs and becoming buried headfirst in the stench.
That rotten smell of dead flesh, feces, urine, decay, and blood sent a wave of nausea rocking my body as I succumbed to a fit of gagging.
I became my four-year-old self, curled up and trapped in the midst of hell, my skin rubbing against a thousand bodies screaming questions aloud. How do you lie there like that, in that same position, for hours, days, weeks? How is your soul not crushed beneath the weight? Tell us!
Stop, I whispered.
I was t
ransformed, this time landing in the skin of an older body. I broke through the chains of hell, feeling the tension growing thicker, hearing, now, the screamed answers to the questions. I can do this because I’ve died already and cannot feel a thing. This isn’t real. This isn’t real! I can sit here like this because my mind has run away and locked itself safely in another world. And my heart, well …
Stop it! I shouted this time, and broke free again. I pushed myself onto the upper deck and slammed headlong into silence.
Three men stood tall, side by side, their bobbing faces now attached to torsos and legs. Grand smiles adorned their faces.
But why are you smiling? I cut the strings. One of them held out something to me that was wrapped around his hand, but I couldn’t see what it was. The three of them gestured in unison toward the sea.
I looked out over the edge of the ship. Black fins were circling around a figure that lay in the water. It was a man floating, dead, sinking. I saw the resemblance right away; the body looked like an older version of Daniel.
I turned back to the three men, their smiles haunting and mischievous. The first one stepped up on the side, spread his arms wide, and leaped.
One down …
No, I screamed.
The second one stepped up.
Don’t … I started. His smile widened, and I caught a glimpse of what had been wrapped around his hand. It was a chain. My eyes followed it, trying to find what it was linked to. Part of it wrapped around the wrist of the last man, meaning that if the second man jumped, he, too, would be pulled over the side.
I frantically followed the rest of the chain, tracing it straight across the deck, right to my own body and up to my neck. The two men leaped …
… and I was attached.
“Sarah, somethin’ wrong?” I was moaning, but not loudly enough for Mary to hop up and wipe sweat and tears from my face.
“Ain’t anotha dream, is it?”
“Naw, Mary, I’m all right,” I whispered into the night, shifting under my covers.
“Sarah, somethin’ wrong?” she said more urgently.
No, no, Mary, nothing was wrong. It was horribly right, just another piece to fit into the puzzle of sorrow that seemed to shape my life. Ayanna, of the Bahati family, the family of good fortune, seemed nothing more than a dream.
CHAPTER
15
CHRISTMAS, THE BEST DAY OF THE YEAR, WOULD BE ARRIVING in just a few days. Excitement came, but devastation chased it away. No matter how many times I attempted to cover up my anxiety, it seemed to peek through anyhow. No one seemed to notice, however, and I was grateful for that.
John and Daniel were leaving not a week from now, and they hadn’t said one word to me about it yet. I figured they had their reasons for not saying anything. After all, they might not have had the heart to hang around a loved one who had just learned the news.
Regardless, I had assumed that they were just waiting a bit longer, seeking out a better opportunity to let me know. But as the days crept by, it began to seem that they weren’t going to tell me at all, or not until the very last moment. Perhaps it was easier that way. I longed, sometimes, to be in Mary’s position—oblivious to everything about the planned escape. But I had stubbornly followed my impulse to find out the secret, and I was paying for it now.
Because I knew, it was like swimming underwater; only with great effort was I able to pull my way through each day. I felt stuck in a place that was dragging me down. If I could just keep my mind on the children, housework, and education, I would be all right. But I couldn’t. Daniel and John were both running.
By this time, Masta Jeffrey’s threat from earlier in the year had been swept from my mind. Any time he appeared in my presence, he acted as if I weren’t there, as was done with any servant, and avoided speaking to me at all. So when, five days before Christmas, he confronted me, I was nowhere near prepared.
It was late morning, on one of the children’s longer days at the school, and I’d returned to the Big House. As I stood in the front hall, pushing a mop across the floor, I heard the door swing open behind me and somebody walk through. The footsteps slowed; whoever it was stood silent, unmoving. I glanced over my shoulder, wondering who stood there.
It was Masta Jeffrey. He was looking right at me.
I snapped my head back around, hoping he would go about his business. But a nervous thought was running through my mind.
What is he doing here, looking at me like this?
There was nobody but the two of us in the hall, and I could hear him walking toward me, every step like thunder to my ears. My jaw trembled as I tried to keep hold of my emotions. His shoes clicked nearer, and I feared what he intended to do—or what I was capable of doing. Surely he would leave me be in the front hall.
I turned. He was close … so close!
His hands came up, and he shoved my back against the wall. I started to yell out, but his hand had already covered my mouth well enough to muffle the sound.
“Shh, shh,” he bellowed in my face as my breathing quickened. I pushed him away, but he pushed himself against me again.
He’s not gonna do anything. Not here, not now. Stay calm.
His face came closer, and I felt his hot breath on my neck.
“D-don’t touch me.” I dared to stammer out.
“Hey!” he whispered harshly, pinning his fingers around my mouth again.
He was taunting me. I felt the sweat dripping down my face, felt my tight lips fighting to hold in the words, the screams, that all my instincts, my anger, were trying to force out.
He’s not gonna do anything …
I could have lifted my hands to strike him. I could have shoved him away. I could have scratched his neck or struck his face. But actions had consequences, and I tried instead to turn my head away from his.
A door suddenly shut upstairs, and the fire in Masta Jeffrey’s eyes broke. As soon as he loosened his grip, I jerked away. My chest heaved up and down as any fear left in me ran steadily over into rage. I glared at his figure as he turned to walk away. But he turned back again, a sneer in his eyes.
“It’s almost time.” With that, he stepped out of the room.
All the breath I had held in came out in a rush, and the little bit of food in my stomach almost came with it. I stood against the wall to recover myself. I tried to tell myself I had controlled my actions well, but other emotions brought my hand to my lips. A tear tried to escape my eye, but I stopped it from falling.
I won’t cry—no, I won’t.
I picked up the bucket I had been using and dumped the water outside, and along with it, tossed the key that locked away my feelings. I walked to the kitchen to wash my hands but stopped in the doorway. Mary stood in my path, half facing me. The feelings I had tried to hide showed plainly on her face. I looked from her face to her busy hands. She was clearing the counter with one, and the other hung by her side, a butter knife clasped so tightly in her fingers that her knuckles were almost white. I stood there, calmer on the outside than I expected myself to be.
“I know you seen it, Aunt Mary,” I whispered to her, barely moving my lips. “I’m all right,” I tried to assure her. I tried to assure myself.
Mary opened her mouth but closed it before any sound could escape. She averted her eyes from mine and continued her work.
As soon as I entered the cabin and saw her, I felt my buried feelings surface. But I said nothing, joining her in her task instead. It was late when I came in. But at a time when Mary was usually preparing for sleep, she worked as if it were the middle of the day.
A long time passed before my mother said anything, and when she did, her words came out slow and heavy.
“I done seen it in him. Young, foolish, scared. Don’t know what he’s doin’, Sarah,” Mary said, looking at me now with tear-filled eyes. Her words seemed forgiving, but her eyes showed anger. She held her trembling lips taut, and looked away before any tears could spill over.
“Aunt Mary, he
ain’t got no right!” I said to her, shaking my head back and forth.
“Naw, naw he don’t. Wish he was like his daddy. He ain’ the best of ’em, but he gots mo’ honor than that.”
“Mary,” I said, dropping onto my pallet, “he ain’t done nothin’ to me before, jus’ tole me not to say anything ’bout what he was intendin’. That was a long time ago—back in summer. But he ain’t … he ain’t say nothing since! Why cain’t he jus’ leave me alone?” I asked in a whine.
“Don’t know, chile. But I been seein’ that in his eye. Scared even me, it did! Seen him born, an’ … an’ nursed that chile, I did. Neva tole ya. Came into dis world jus’ ’bout the same time I lost my first child. A year or so befo’ yo’ brother.”
I shook my head. “That don’t mean anything to me, Mary, ’less you can stop him!”
Mary looked at me sadly and shook her head.
“Saw him grow up an’ turn into one of ’em younguns don’t listen to nothin’. Defiant one—always into some trouble. Always had a hard time tryin’ to figure what’s right an’ wrong. An’ perhaps, I’m afraid to say, he done figured usin’ y’all female younguns like that ain’ such a bad thing. Figure he ain’t the only one thinkin’ like that either. Most of ’em mastas I seen figure it ain’ such a bad thing. Maybe he’s jus’ comin’ round to that way of thinkin’, chile.” I dropped my head into my hands, a moan on my lips. I let the tears fall freely. Mary kneeled by me and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Shh. Shh, Sarah.” She rubbed my back for a moment. “You don’t suppose I could hear what’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” I looked up at her with a frown, and she wiped one of my tears.
“You know what’s goin’ through my head, Aunt Mary. I can’t do that, I jus’ can’t!” I searched her face, but it didn’t change. It was sad, but wise and patient. “There’s gotta be somethin’ I could do, Aunt Mary! What’s that gonna mean if I have his child? What’s that mean, Aunt Mary? I can’t … I can’t do that….”
