My Name's Not Friday

by Jon Walter

  ‘Mrs Allen?’ Harriet comes to the top of the stairs with the baby. ‘Do you want me to bring Virginia to you?’

  ‘Not right now, Harriet. Come and find me in another half hour.’

  When Mrs Allen eventually turns back to me she has such concern in her eyes that all my anger disappears. ‘Are you upset about Connie?’ I swallow hard. I got tears welling up and she can see ’em; I know she can. I nod.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Friday, but needs must. I don’t have two cents I can rub together at the moment, and once his owner let it be known he’d take him back without my having to pay up the contract – well, I have to say, I jumped at the opportunity, and anyway it’s November tomorrow, so there ain’t as much to do as there was.’

  ‘But you should have told us, ma’am!’ I blurt out. ‘I’d have liked to have said goodbye to him properly.’

  Mrs Allen cocks her head to one side like a listening dog. ‘I hadn’t realized the two of you were close.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. He looked out for me when I first came here. He’s someone I can go to for advice.’

  It strikes me then that Connie wouldn’t be here to tell me when it was time to leave and I wouldn’t know those boats were here till I saw ’em with my own eyes. That’s just about the last straw and a tear slides over my cheek towards my mouth. I lick it away just as Hubbard reappears. ‘Come away, Friday,’ he says, more softly than before. ‘You’ve had your say. Now let the missus get on.’

  Mrs Allen puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘Come with me.’ She leads me briskly towards the parlour, with a rustle of her petticoats. ‘Hubbard, you may leave us. Thank you for your help.’

  She shuts the door behind us and pours me a glass of water from the jug on the side table. ‘It’s never easy losing those we’re fond of, Friday, but I always think these things are better done with a minimum of fuss. Sometimes it doesn’t do to let things stew.’

  I hold the glass to my chest, not sure what I should say. The missus takes a sudden interest in her fingernails before she says uncertainly, ‘I myself left behind a loving family in Alabama when I married Mr Allen. I still possess both my parents and I have three sisters of whom I am particularly fond.’ She nods at the glass in my hands, meaning for me to drink, and I take a sip of it, enough to wet my lips. ‘It’s such a long way for them to come and stay,’ she continues. ‘I do find that hard.’

  She collects a small oval frame from the mantelpiece and holds it up for me to see the picture of a young lady who looks a lot like her, although she possesses an easier smile. ‘This is my younger sister, April. Until two years ago we did everything together. I must admit, I wondered how we’d cope with being apart, but she writes to me often and I believe she’s managing quite well. I have less time to think of her now that I have a whole new life here that needs my attention.’

  ‘I have a younger brother, miss.’

  She looks alarmed. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  Her eye twitches as she pours herself a glass of water. ‘And your mother and father?’

  I shake my head. ‘It’s just me and Joshua, ma’am. It’s only been the two of us for a while now.’

  ‘I see.’

  I smile weakly, uncertain whether I have said too much and wondering how much more she might ask. She puts the picture back in its place. ‘Well, I’m sure he’s coping well without you – just like April has to do without me. All of us are stronger than we think we are, Friday – I can tell you that.’ She hesitates, then adds, ‘It’s important that we make the best of the cards life deals us. That way we become stronger.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  She smiles at me. ‘I’ve been watching you work and I have to say I’m very pleased with the way you apply yourself.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. I try to do my best.’

  ‘You’re not like the others. You have a quality about you, Friday, a certain something that marks you out. I’d say you have the makings of an excellent foreman if you were to work hard.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  ‘Would you like that?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I suppose so. Thank you, ma’am.’

  She takes my glass and places it back beside the jug. ‘You need to run along now, but I’m glad we’ve made time to have a chat, Friday. I really should have done it before, though with the war on I find there’s so much to be done and so little time to do it all.’

  I leave the room feeling all stirred up, like a glass of muddy water. Something has happened between us but I don’t know what it was, and when I reach the yard Hubbard is still there, waiting for me to come outside, and he watches me walk away towards the fields.

  *

  That evening Mrs Allen comes down to the cabins before prayers. She knocks on Lizzie’s door, but opens it herself before we have the chance to answer. Leaning inside the cabin, she sees me. ‘May I speak with you, Friday?’ she asks, and when I get to the door I see Hubbard standing at her back, looking all uneasy.

  ‘I’ve decided to move you,’ Mrs Allen tells me. ‘You need to collect your things and go across to stay with Hubbard.’

  A shudder passes through my chest and runs down to my feet. I don’t think there’s a piece of me that don’t feel a fright. ‘How do you m-mean?’ I even stammer a bit, and that’s not like me.

  ‘You need to come along with me,’ Hubbard says gruffly. ‘You’ll have to bring your mattress with you as I only have the one.’

  Lizzie must’ve heard what was being said cos she appears at my back. I can feel her come right up behind me and I want to lean back into her, I want to sink right back into her chest as she puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘Oh no, missus, there’s no need for that.’ She takes hold of the door and opens it out wide so we all got a good view of one another. ‘I’ve got plenty of room for him here, and he’s friends for Gil. He looks after him. Now that Milly’s gone and Sicely’s sleeping up at the house, it’s good for me to have him here to help.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, Lizzie, but the change will be good for Friday.’

  Lizzie steps past me and stands just outside the door. ‘But the boy should be with the other kids, ma’am. He don’t wanna be cooped up with a grown man on his own. It won’t be good for either of ’em.’ She turns on Hubbard. ‘You don’t want to be looking after a boy of his age. You don’t know what they’re like, of course, but I’m telling you. They’re messy. They can’t cook and they don’t clean up. My Sicely don’t have a good word to say for him, but I don’t mind him, see, and I’m used to having a full house. It keeps me from thinking too much.’

  Hubbard has got nothing to say on the matter – he simply stands waiting, his head slightly bowed – but Mrs Allen is resolute as always. ‘I’m not prepared to argue with you, Lizzie. This boy’s never known a father and he’s at an age where he needs a strong male figure in his life. I reckon Hubbard fits the bill about right and he’s willing to take him on and show him how to behave.’ Lizzie shakes her head but so does Mrs Allen. ‘He’s past the age of mothering, Lizzie. I realized that when we spoke this afternoon.’

  ‘But, ma’am—’

  ‘That’s enough, Lizzie. It’s not as if he’s going far, so be done with it.’

  ‘You better fetch your mattress,’ Hubbard says again. ‘I’ll clear a space for you.’

  Lizzie comes back inside and watches me take the mattress from the wall as Hubbard and Mrs Allen walk over to his cabin.

  ‘What about our lessons?’ I whisper as I walk out past her.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she mutters, and shakes her head as though nothing good can come of this. She follows me outside and watches as I walk across the strip of mud that divides our cabins. Hubbard has left his door open and I take my mattress inside.

  He closes it behind me and when I turn round he’s standing there, blocking the way out. In the shadow I can hardly make his face out. I nod at the mattress. ‘Where’d I put this, sir?’

  Hubbard steps across to
me. He reaches out, takes the mattress from me and places it on the floor in the opposite corner to his own. At least I’ll be a distance from him when I go to sleep.

  ‘I’ll cut you some new fir to stuff it with,’ he tells me. ‘It’ll make it more comfortable.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Don’t call me sir,’ he snaps back, making me jump half out of my skin. But when I look again I can see he looks as nervous about me as I am of him and that’s strange. He seems somehow … ashamed? Can that be right? He softens his voice. ‘I ain’t the master here, am I?’

  ‘No, sir. I mean – no, Mr Hubbard, you ain’t the master.’

  Hubbard walks to the small hearth, takes a pot that’s hanging there and fills it with pone. ‘Have you eaten?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Lizzie cooked me something already.’ I think of the half-finished bowl of food still sitting on her table and know it won’t do to work in the field tomorrow without having had a decent meal.

  Hubbard nods at the only other chair. ‘You don’t have to stand. You can sit down.’

  He unwraps a side of bacon, takes a knife and cuts enough for himself, rendering the lard and saving it for shortening the biscuit, the same way Lizzie always did. I know how to do it, but he doesn’t ask me to help. I thought he would have wanted me to work for him, but he don’t seem to. He just carries on as though I’m not even here and he don’t talk to me at all.

  This is the first time I have been inside Hubbard’s cabin. It’s larger than the others – I reckon about three feet longer – and it has two windows, one either side, so there’s a bit more light than in Lizzie’s.

  Everything is neat and tidy. He has a set of shelves up on the wall above the hearth and he stores his cutlery and plates in wooden boxes. A spare set of clothes hangs from a nail on the wall. He also has a few possessions of his own, the sort of thing Lizzie couldn’t afford, such as a proper brass oil lamp, the same type that the missus uses to guide her on the path when she comes to the cabins in the evening.

  That night, when Mrs Allen reads to us from the Good Book, I say a little prayer of my own, asking God to keep me safe, and once we finish I follow Hubbard back to his cabin and retire straight to bed where I pray again, making a show of it by kneeling at the side of my mattress so Hubbard can see I’m doing it properly, though I don’t know if he cares. I whisper the words under my breath, asking God to take as good care of me as he has with Joshua, cos the truth of it is I feel like Daniel in the den of lions.

  Today I forgive Connie for leaving me, though it wasn’t his fault. Today I was kind to the missus and I forgive her too, for what she did to me. She’s only trying to do what she thinks is best, even if it ain’t what You intended. I hope those are enough good things today to keep my brother safe. And me too, Lord. Keep me safe too.

  I pull the blanket up around my ears as Hubbard turns the lamp down low. He don’t say no prayers – not that I can see – just steps out of his boots, folds his clothes onto the back of a chair and falls asleep before me, his big old breath reaching me through the darkness, more like I imagine a bear to breathe than a man.

  *

  The next day is properly cold in the way November has of letting you know that winter’s on its way.

  Hubbard wakes me earlier than Lizzie did, taking hold of my shoulder and shaking me briefly before he walks back to the fire. He has a pot of hot coffee by the hearth and his lamp is already lit upon the table. He sits down on a chair to lace up his boots.

  ‘Come over by the fire.’ He stands and walks across to the door, taking up the horn that hangs there. ‘You know how to make ash cakes?’

  ‘Yes … yes, I do.’

  ‘Then put some on the hearth. I’ll be back presently.’

  He watches me rise and come to the fire before he goes outside. He must have gone to the latrine because it’s a while before I hear the horn blow and then he’s back inside quickly, putting the horn back on the wall and coming across to the fire where my cakes are blistering and brown. He picks one up, moving it quickly between his hands as he blows on it then takes a bite. ‘Needs a pinch of salt.’ He pushes a small pot across the table to me. ‘I keep it here. So you know for next time.’

  I take off the lid and stare at it. ‘Lizzie don’t have salt to cook with.’

  He might have taken offence at that, but he don’t; he only says, ‘I see.’

  Once we’re finished, we rinse out our own plates and tin cups without so much as a word to each other. It’s still too early for the field and there won’t be anyone at the fire pit. I get the feeling he’s watching me, waiting for me to do something. He says, ‘I got to go up to the field and get everything ready.’ He walks to the door but hesitates there, seeming like he doesn’t want to leave me in his cabin on my own.

  ‘I can wait outside for the others.’

  ‘There’s probably no need. You could stay if you want.’

  ‘No. It’s all right. I should see Lizzie before we go to the fields.’ I hurry past him and Hubbard closes the door behind both of us.

  Lizzie brings me into the warm and sits me down beside Gil. ‘How was it?’ she asks me. ‘Did he leave you alone?’

  ‘Sure. Why wouldn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t know. He can be a difficult man when he chooses.’

  ‘It weren’t his idea. Least I don’t think so. Say, Lizzie, do you think he knows about the lessons?’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me. It’s his business to know everything, but I reckoned he was turning a blind eye so long as we didn’t rub his nose in it.’ Her forehead creases up as she thinks it through. ‘We’ll have to stop for the time being. I can’t think of anything else we can do.’

  The day after that is cold and so is the one after that.

  There ain’t no cotton left to pick and the fields are full of the dry old husks of the plant, looking like twigs sticking up from the ground, just dead wood waiting to rot. We cut back the stems and plough the stubs of ’em back into the ground, making it fit for planting again come the spring.

  Now that there’s nothing for us to do in the fields, Hubbard gives us new tasks to keep us busy. Some days I mind the pigs and on others I learn to make horse collars from husks of corn or from strips of poplar bark, made soft so they can be plaited. I spend a day with Kofi at the smithy. He’s supposed to teach me how to make new grubbing hoes and how to hammer rims for the wheels of the wagon, but I only spend a few hours over the heat of the fire before he sends me back to Hubbard saying I have two left feet and thumbs that can’t hold on to anything useful. That’s hurtful and he didn’t need to say it. I thought Hubbard might be angry but he doesn’t show it. He sends me back to Winnie with a message that she was right all along – I am a houseboy and better put to work in the cookhouse when I’m not out picking cotton in the field.

  During the working day, Hubbard behaves the same way towards me as he does with everyone else, and when we’re together in the evenings he mostly leaves me alone. We don’t sit around the fire chatting, like I used to with Connie or Lizzie. We ain’t got much to speak of anyway. When we eat, we make polite conversation. Sometimes he asks me something specific about my day, or he shares a piece of news, but it’s always something I have already heard from someone else and I get the sense he don’t give much away.

  He’s been fair with me though. I’ll say that for him. He don’t bully me or boss me about, and I’m less fearful of him than I was before. I do my fair share of the chores, deciding myself what I should do, since he rarely tells me to do anything in particular. I can see he’s neat and tidy in his ways and I should try to be the same if we’re not to fight. Also, I don’t want him thinking I’m a good-for-nothing.

  Mostly I spend the evenings outside by the fire pit while Hubbard stays inside the cabin. He never mixes with the rest of us, but then he never has. I come and go without him asking where it is I’m going or when I’m coming back, so after a little while I begin giving lessons again, starting
out slowly, just a half-hour here or there, with Lizzie keeping watch like an owl. I’m careful never to be too late back and run the risk of questions, but none ever come my way so we begin to increase the time I give to everyone and after few more weeks we start to breathe a little easier. Sometimes I wonder whether Hubbard reads his book while I’m out teaching and it seems to me we’re both playing a game of sorts.

  ‘Do you think he knows?’ Lizzie asks me one night as we put the books away.

  I have to stop and think about it. ‘I really don’t know, Lizzie.’

  ‘You make sure it stays that way. You can’t ever let him know, Friday. Once it’s out in the open he’ll have to act, and if the missus ever finds out about us learning to read, then heaven help us.’

  I let myself out of Lizzie’s cabin and into the night. There’s a clear sky and the stars are shining brightly as I step quietly across to our cabin, where the lamplight shows underneath the door, telling me Hubbard’s still awake. I go inside and he is sitting at the table with his back to me so I say, ‘Goodnight,’ then creep across and kneel by the edge of my mattress to say my prayers. Once I’m finished, I lie down and pull the blanket up over my shoulders. I’m falling off to sleep when I hear Hubbard’s chair scrape upon the floor and he walks across the cabin, approaching me as I lie in my bed. I keep my eyes tight shut, but really I’m wide awake, listening for his every step. Hubbard stops walking. A board creaks with the weight of him so I know he’s close. I can feel him standing over me as I pretend to be asleep, hoping he’ll go away. But he doesn’t.

  ‘Are you awake?’ he whispers.

  I’m clenching my eyes too tight. Maybe he can’t see ’em, but if he can then he’ll know I’m faking.

  ‘Friday?’ He ain’t whispering no more. ‘Friday! Sit up and let me see your face.’

  I open my eyes and that big man is leaning over me, close enough he scares the living daylights out of me. ‘Get up,’ he says. ‘I want to talk to you.’