Good Fortune (9781416998631)

by Carter, Noni

  “But, miss, I don’t think you understand the rules here. Blacks usually don’t come around this way.” I nodded, waiting for more. His lips opened again, but after a nod, he continued toward the school.

  A week or so passed, during which time I pondered long and hard my decision to return to the school.

  “You’re not still upset, are you?” Florence had asked me repeatedly in the days after our first, tense conversation about the incident.

  “No, I ain’t upset,” I’d assure her, holding strong to my secret in my heart. I’d keep it buried with me until nighttime, when I found myself envisioning John sitting beside me and sharing words of support.

  What do you think, John? Should I go back? What would you do?

  I’d go back.

  Of course you’d go back, John, that’s how you are! But you think it’s smart?

  I think you’re smart. Follow your heart.

  And that was it. He’d disappear into the night.

  Using these imagined assurances and my own instincts, I made up my mind.

  I woke up early that morning, before Florence, and crept out the door. My absence wouldn’t be so unusual; occasionally, I took walks before our morning work, when nighttime offered me little sleep.

  I headed down the road, intent on running into a townsman traveling in the direction I was headed. Sure enough, a wagon rolled slowly by me.

  “Sah!” I called out to him. The wagon kept rolling as the man waved his hand in the air, signaling to me that he couldn’t stop.

  “Sah, please!” I called again. Hesitantly, the wagon slowed.

  “You goin’ to Dayton, sah?” I asked, running up to him.

  “Sure am, but ain’t got no room in here.”

  “Sah, I really need to get to the city.”

  “Look, miss, I apologize, but—” He ceased his speech as I leaned over and pressed a coin into his hand.

  “A quarter, sah. A whole twenty-five cents.”

  He looked at me, speechless. “You … you need a ride back here, too?”

  “Just need to get up there, sah,” I said, shaking my head.

  He hopped out of his seat and helped me into the wagon. I rode by the man’s side, silent, as he talked excitedly.

  “You know what I can do wit this twenty-five cents?” he asked me. Not waiting for my reply, he listed what he planned for himself and his family. I could barely hold on to his words as my own plans spun around in my head, making me more and more nervous. The school most likely had two or three teachers, who, if I understood correctly, lived with different local families. I clung to the hope that I would meet a different teacher who would hear me out and offer me the job as servant.

  About half a mile from the city, I asked the driver to let me off. Upon reaching the school, I let out a sigh of relief as I noticed the children darting in and out of the school building. Their morning had not yet begun.

  My presence was not as obvious this time around. I approached from behind the building and knocked softly on the door, nodding vaguely at the children who stood staring at me. I was greeted at the door by a young boy a third my size, whose rosy red cheeks seemed to giggle up at me.

  “Yes?” he asked innocently in his high pitched voice.

  “I’m here to see your teacher,” I said to him.

  “She’s not here yet. You wanna come in?” His hands were already on my wrist as he dragged me with enthusiasm through the door.

  The noise, chatter, and laughter abruptly ceased. I looked around, caught off guard by the sea of white faces and empty stares.

  “Why you wanna speak to her?” The young boy’s voice rang out, breaking the silence.

  “Fo’ work,” I said, trying to calm my nervousness by turning my full attention to him.

  “Oh,” he said, staring at me as the other children, now mumbling among themselves, began to leave the room. I watched them with contempt. They were just children—at least, more than half of them were! What could they see in me that was so revolting?

  “You gonna learn, too, like we are?” I looked down at the young boy and suddenly felt a strong sense of appreciation for his naivety.

  “’Cause if you are, then—”

  “Tod, come on!” One of the older female students dragged him out of the building without glancing at me. He smiled at me as he left with her. I could not bring myself to smile back.

  The minute the door shut, the laughter and games began again. I listened closely as I heard a group of girls reciting the Lord’s Prayer, most likely for their lesson that day.

  “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done …”

  Thy will be done. I repeated this in my mind over and over again.

  Suddenly, the door sprang open, and to my dismay the same plump young woman I had encountered before trudged toward me. I stood a good two inches taller than she was, but she seemed to hold the air of a superior.

  “Ma’am—”

  “It’s you again! Did you not understand me before? The children are here, and it’s time for school. You must leave.” As she spoke, I noticed the dark potbelly stove sitting quietly in the corner. Even that object, with its inattentiveness and silent obedience, was allowed to listen in on the lessons every day. Why couldn’t I?

  My eyes skimmed the room further. I saw the Bible lying on the teacher’s desk; copies of a small book called The New-England Primer were skewed across the tables and benches. I saw the chalk, the blackboard, and letters written with beautiful penmanship.

  “Ma’am—” I began again, intent on saying what I had to say.

  “You have no right to be here,” she said, interrupting me in a harsh manner.

  I’d had it all planned out in my mind. I had planned to make a strong case on my behalf. I would ask, again, for the opportunity to work in order to employ my skills and abilities in whatever manner was needed. This had been my plan, straightforward and harmless. But the plan was drowning beneath the walls that stood disdainful, all painted in white, and seemed to run away with the faces of the young students that popped in and out of view behind the window. I listened to the woman speak to me, just as Missus had a long time ago. The woman stood in front of me, her gaze demanding and arrogant. She was waiting for me to turn and leave, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

  “I have every right to be here,” I said softly, dismissing the screeching voices in my head that warned me not to stray from my plan.

  A shadow fell across her eyes. “Excuse me?” Her sharp reply seemed to yank every bit of pride I had from my soul.

  I want a job here at the school! Just give me a chance!

  Those were the words than ran through my mind, the words I had every intention of saying. But that was not what escaped my mouth.

  “I want an education.”

  The woman’s face registered alarm and anger. She didn’t look so young anymore, and she didn’t seem so much in control.

  “An education? Do you even know what that is? Black folks can’t have an education. That’s not their place! At least, not in the classrooms here in the city.”

  “I wanna do what the children here are doin’!” I exclaimed, digging myself deeper. Her mouth let out an awkwardly high, shrill sound.

  She’s laughing! My disgust lit a fire in me that hadn’t burned since I’d escaped.

  “I don’t agree with any injustice against you people. But there are reasons why you reside where you do and we reside where we do. This is not a place for any kind of Negro. You have no idea what education is, and even if you did, you wouldn’t know what to do with it!”

  I looked at the children from the window. They seemed to have lost interest in the matter; they were lost in play.

  “Just ’cause you think that, don’t mean I still cain’t get an’ education. I can sit an’ learn just like they can!”

  The woman’s mocking amusement disappeared. She glared at me, hatred biting at the downward curvature of her lips. “You
think you’re fit to do what they do? By no means are you fit. You think your pursuit of education makes you fit for it? No. You blacks should know nothing but to live life simply and stay out of trouble. You think education is for you? It’s not. Education makes you people unmanageable, unruly, wild, and destructive. Concepts and words would do more to turn you against each other and against the good people of this city than they would to make you wise. There is no such thing as a sophisticated Negro. You think you’re fit for an education? Well, you’re not. It’s not your birthright and it never will be.”

  Her words felt like the chains of bondage. They hit me like Missus’ beating rod. It was Mary who had taught me how to wash my face of expression and to hang my head in obedience, but I suddenly could do none of these things.

  “Education gonna be mine,” I said without faltering. I stared hard into her eyes and pointed a finger toward the window. “I’m just as capable and free as they are!”

  The words struck down the woman’s last bit of patience. Her hand quickly flew across my face, and without any thought of the consequences, I let my emotions take over. I reached out my hand and grabbed her wrist.

  For a moment—a profoundly still moment—I heard only my harsh breath. We stared at each other.

  Then, unexpectedly, she broke her stare and looked toward the door. Her expression changed drastically from anger to an apologetic pout and, finally, to that of victimized shock. As reality settled coldly in my limbs, I dragged my eyes around to the doorway as well and saw the man I had met on my previous trip to the school. The white man’s eyes were more inquisitive than condemning. His black hat was tipped to the side, and he stood very still.

  How much had he seen and heard? How long had he been standing there? Had I lost my mind?

  I felt my fingers throbbing and realized it was the woman’s pulse. Pulling back, I dropped her hand as quickly as I could as my heart beat furiously. It was I, dark skinned and threatening, who was out of place. The seconds ticked by, pregnant with anticipation. I had to get out before this nightmare turned dangerous.

  With three quick strides, I approached the door, terrified. I didn’t wait for a clear path. I didn’t wait for arms to rise up and beat me to the ground. I didn’t wait for the screams of alarm that surely would come. I closed my eyes and pushed through the door, expecting to run with full force into the white man’s body. Instead, I almost stumbled down the steps as the passageway for my escape opened up without any obstacles. The children parted, clearing the way for me as I fled.

  I walked fast at first, then broke into a run. I didn’t wonder why the man wasn’t following me. I didn’t stop to ponder why the woman wasn’t shrieking. I didn’t pause to reflect on my humiliation. My one thought was to get away.

  I ran from Dayton, the fear that I was being followed stopping me from looking back. Even when the school faded into the background, I could not slow myself down. When the ringing of the school bell sounded distant, however, I eased my pace somewhat.

  Are they not following me?

  Surely I couldn’t get away that easily. Not only had I grabbed the woman’s wrist, but a white man had witnessed it! Had they pitied me? Or was this a trick, so that they could take me by surprise later?

  I ran on for nearly half an hour, until I was convinced that no one was pursuing me. I had forgotten what danger felt like.

  I wrapped myself in my arms, attempting to squeeze away the sickening feeling that the confrontation had left me with. But the feeling simply turned into trembling and tears. The incident had touched a place deep down that brought back feelings from my escape from slavery. Fear ran through me, and I vomited.

  I stopped by the side of the road to rest, letting the built-up emotions, the disappointment, and the emptiness fall over my shoulders. Hadson lay some thirty minutes ahead of me, and I had no intention of going back to Mama Bessie’s in the state I was in.

  But just as I had settled down, I heard wagon wheels approaching from a distance, coming from Hadson toward me. Jumping up, I wiped away the evidence of stress on my face and attempted to calm my spirit. Holding my head low, I began walking again.

  The wagon rolled by, and my brother shouted out my name. I paid him no mind and kept walking with my head low.

  “Anna!” He yelled again, but I bit my lip and hoped he’d just keep on riding.

  The wagon came to a stop.

  “Anna, how come you ain’t talkin’? What’s goin’ on?”

  “Sebastian, you go … go on. I got work to do at Mama Bessie’s.” My voice trembled subtly, but he heard it. Leaping down, he took hold of my shoulders and got me to look at him.

  “Sarah,” he said, using the more familiar name he still preferred, “where you bin? What happened? You shakin’, Sarah. What’sa matta?”

  “The school,” I said, softly.

  He sighed. “You went to the school,” he said, more to himself than to me. I stared at the wheels of his wagon in response. He bade me get in.

  “Daniel, don’t take me back to Dayton. I have to be gettin’ back to Mama Bessie’s an’ I just cain’t go back there, not right now.”

  He frowned and helped me into the wagon. “Why? What happened, Sarah? Tell me.”

  “It was jus’ the faces an’ the books an’ the writin’ an’ the benches….”

  “Sarah, what you talkin’ about? What happened?”

  “She slapped me, Daniel, an’ I grabbed her wrist, an’ the man was there. He was just there, he just appeared.”

  “What man?”

  “Some man had the door open, an’ I rushed passed an’ I … I ran!” Daniel gaped at me, then turned his eyes to the road. He picked up the reins and started back to Hadson.

  “But you safe, you here. I don’t understand, so they didn’t do nothin’ about it?”

  My thoughts slowed back down. “I don’t understand it either. I was right there. An’ they just … they just let me go! What’s that mean?” Daniel shrugged and pursed his lips. We rode in silence as my anxiety subsided a bit.

  “You angry at me, I can tell,” I said after a while.

  “You scared me, Anna. You jus’—had me thinkin’ things I don’t wanna think. But you safe, an’ I feel betta ’bout that. You wa’an’t gonna give up your passion. I shoulda known you betta than that.”

  “You sayin’ you woulda stopped me from goin’ up to the school some way or another?” I asked, feeling mild anger rise again. From the schoolhouse to my own brother, they were all telling me it wasn’t my right to pursue this thing called education.

  Daniel turned a tired smile toward me. “You think I could make you do somethin’ ’gainst what yo’ mind was so set on? I ain’t neva bin able to do that.”

  I smiled a little and sat back. “So you think it was right, me goin’ up there?”

  Daniel laughed. “I don’t hafta tell you that. This yo’ dream. What you think?”

  “I think I jus’ about lost my mind today!” I said, feeling a bit lighter.

  He laughed and nodded. “Whateva you done, don’t know how you done it this time, but if they ain’t after you by now, don’t think they gonna be.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  He shook his head. “You know what scare me the most, though?” he asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “I think if you was told there was the smallest chance fo’ you to get what you wanted, you’d go right on back agin.” He chuckled, but I closed my eyes instead, and sighed.

  “You think, maybe, I want this education a little too much?” I asked him.

  He sat thinking, then responded with a question that brought back the strength I felt I had lost that morning.

  “I dunno. You think we wanted our freedom a little too much?”

  CHAPTER

  33

  THE COLORS BLEEDING THROUGH THE TREETOPS SKIPPED WITH delight in my mind’s eye. I was young, my small back resting against my mother’s shoulder. I watched the shadows of very tall men pas
s in and out of view. My toes melted into the soil of my homeland.

  It was a soothing feeling, more of a sensation than a memory. I sat with my eyes closed underneath the shade of a tree, sharing with Florence beautiful recollections I didn’t even think I had of the place I’d left long ago. The moment was a respite from the tension that had still burned in my chest about the events at the schoolhouse. For days afterward, I feared a knock on Mama Bessie’s door, and white men storming in. I was sure they would drag me out and throw me in the jailhouse for the rest of my life. But this never happened, and on this day, I let all my worries drift away.

  “She had this walk, I remember, that always would remind me of a dance. She wore them long skirts, with a whole lot of colors. I remember ’cause I would always play with the jewelry on her ankles, an’ those skirts would tickle my neck.”

  “What did she look like, your mother?”

  I sighed, gazing beyond the setting sun. “Wish I could remember—wish I could explain with words. But, well …” I shrugged.

  “Oh!” I said with a smile, remembering. “An’ I had a brother, Flo. Always remembered his name. Always. It was Sentwaki.” She repeated the name. It sounded strange on her lips.

  “He was bigger than me—older, I think. Every memory I have, even if it’s a small memory, he’s there. Even when we came ’cross the waters, it wasn’t till we was both sold on the auction block that he left me—for good.”

  “I wonder, sometimes, where he could be. When I see faces I don’t know, I pass them by, wonderin’ if I could be starin’ in the face of my own blood brother.”

  She nodded. “That would be somethin’. You remember how it look like, where you come from?” she asked.

  I sat and thought for a moment.

  “You know, Flo, of all things, its hard to rememba that, too. I know the feeling I had bein’ out near the trees an’ the water. Oh, the water!” I laughed. “Clearest thing you eva seen. Stretched out far and wide. Beautiful water …”

  We were still speaking about my past even as night crept up, Florence soaking in every word. The sound of wagon wheels racing by dulled the dreamlike sensation for a moment.