by Jon Walter
We hold a ceremony for him anyway, and we use the grave at the elm tree as though he is right there in it. Hubbard fashions a cross out of oak, carves Mr Allen’s name upon it and hammers it into the ground under the tree.
On the day itself, Gerald brings his daddy’s favourite suit from the house and lays it out in the open soil, putting a pair of shined-up shoes on top of the jacket, together with a parcel of letters that were written by Mrs Allen, back when the two of ’em were courting. We all gather around the grave and Chepstow leads us in a short service as we look down upon Mr Allen’s clothes. Gerald says a few words ’bout how his father was a good man and how he intends to live up to the same standards himself, and then we sing a hymn: ‘How Blest the Righteous When He Dies’.
Gerald’s wearing a Confederate tunic that was bought in town, and Mrs Allen lets him shoulder one of the muskets that she keeps inside the house. When the speaking’s all done he discharges a single shot into the air before we each take up a spade, me and him, and cover his daddy’s clothes with earth till it looks proper and decent to all of us that stand there in a circle and pray for that man’s soul.
*
Now that the shadow of death has crossed over us, it looks like it’ll never leave.
Mrs Allen takes to the house in mourning for her husband. She has Sicely tidy away the jewellery into drawers, since it ain’t done to see something sparkle with light when your world’s so full of darkness, and she covers up the mirrors herself, using the shawls that have been dyed black. On one occasion I see her uncover a corner of the glass to fasten her veil with a pin.
‘I don’t see how I’m supposed to look right if I can’t use a mirror,’ she complains when she catches me looking, and she slides her thin white fingers into the black lace gloves that are the only items of mourning she has allowed to be bought new from the store in town.
It ain’t usual for me to be in the house now. Mrs Allen has moved most of us out into the fields and a hush has come over the place which I find unnerving. It seeps out into the yard, which has begun to look uncared for, and even down the track and into the cabins so that it seems like every day is winter.
I don’t remember the last time I saw sunshine. I don’t remember any light at all. Not that it is particularly cold, but it is miserable, everything wet and grey and heavy, like water that never has a chance to flow. There ain’t no life left in anything we do any more, there ain’t no joy at all, and we all could be half asleep if only we were so lucky.
The Confederates are surely losing the war – everybody knows that by now – but we don’t feel either joy or despair at the news, not any of us. It’s simply a fact of life that means more trouble is probably on its way and the only light in the darkness is knowing that there’s people here still eager to read.
I haven’t spoken to Gerald much since we dug his father’s grave cos we done as Hubbard told us and kept our distance from each other. Anyway, neither of us has the time to meet now we’re working all the hours God sends. I see him a lot out in the fields though. I thought he might be mourning with his mother, but he ain’t. It’s as if he’s got more energy than anyone else here and has taken it upon himself to make the plantation stand on its own two feet. I think he sees it as a testament to the memory of his daddy.
One thing he did was to make a list of all the jobs that need doing on the plantation and who should be doing ’em. It goes from the cookhouse to the woods, to the farming and the fields – a list of every task and all the people who could do ’em. When it’s finished he reads it out to Winnie, who tells him, ‘I knew that already. You think this place been just running itself?’
He has taken to coming into the fields and directing the work himself, often taking advice from Hubbard as to what needs to be done and when is the right time to do it. Hubbard don’t appear to mind the imposition of it. After the humiliation of being whipped, he has returned as foreman, but his heart ain’t in it, we all can tell, and once Gerald starts taking over, Hubbard seems content to let him.
I’ve seen the change in Hubbard more than most. At the very beginning, when he put his green shirt back on and walked outside, he was surly and given to fits of temper. He wouldn’t meet my eye, kept himself to himself and only said something if it was really necessary.
I became scared of him all over again. I didn’t dare speak in case I put a foot wrong, and sometimes when I did he’d snap at me and I’d leave the cabin and go out by the fire pit to give him space. I reckoned his spirit was broken, but gradually he became more gentle and I saw this wasn’t so. Over time, the loss of his pride seems more like a relief to him, like he’s thrown some heavy load from his back and is glad to see it gone.
He’s become friendlier with Lizzie and also with the rest of the slaves. I think he sees he ain’t resented and so he’s become more confident and he speaks to people more than he ever did before he was whipped. It feels like he has become the same as everyone else here, although the truth of it is that aside from a large cabin, a good pair of boots and a shiny bright lamp, he always was.
One night in the cabin he takes his mother’s book from the box on the shelf and stands holding it, not doing anything but look at it. I’m sat at the table near him and I don’t know what he’s thinking. Eventually he holds the book out to me. ‘Would you teach me to read this?’
I open it up and read a few lines to myself. ‘Sure. I can teach you to read, but you can’t start with this. It’s too difficult. You gotta start with the easy books first. That’s the only way to learn.’
‘You mean I gotta go in with the kids?’
‘Do you want to come to class?’ I don’t know what I think about that. All of us have spent so long hiding from him that it don’t feel right to invite him along without everyone’s say-so. Hubbard nods. He says he’d like to, and I give it some more thought. ‘Most of the kids are on more advanced reading now, but Levi ain’t a kid and he’s only recently begun. Sicely too. I could teach you with them.’
‘Is Sicely coming to class now?’ Hubbard sounds surprised. ‘I didn’t think she would.’
I smile at that. ‘She’s learned the error of her ways.’ That’s all I say.
Hubbard stands there like some big ol’ lump of wood, not knowing what to do with himself, realizing he’ll be just about the last person on the plantation to learn how to read, ’cept maybe for Winnie, who still says she’s far too old for stuff and nonsense like that. ‘If you prefer, I could teach you here. We could do half an hour last thing at night. It wouldn’t be no bother.’
But Hubbard shakes his head. ‘No. Thank you for the offer, but I’ll come to class.’
He is as good as his word.
When I bring him into Lizzie’s cabin and sit him down in the group, the room is quieter than usual. I can see everyone sneaking a look at him while they get on with their work. I give him the primer, then sit down with him as he tries to read. He makes the same mistakes as all of us do who’ve never read a word before.
THE DOG RAN.
Hubbard has to start at the same place we all did and he smiles like a child the first time he gets it right. When little Gil begins to giggle, Lizzie clips his ear and we all think she done right.
After the lesson, when we return to our cabin, Hubbard is quiet and he looks tired to me. ‘I thought you done good,’ I tell him. When he doesn’t answer I tell him, ‘There’s no shame in not knowing something. The only time you should feel ashamed is if you never let yourself learn new things.’
That was something that Miss Priestly used to say, back at the orphanage, and I am proud to have remembered it.
‘I know that already,’ he snaps back at me. ‘You might know how to read, Friday, but that don’t make you God’s gift. Do you understand? I seen a lot of things and I know stuff, so let me tell you this – you need to live a lot longer than you have before you start preaching to me in my own home.’
Now, Hubbard is a man of very few words, and if I have provoked him to s
ay as long a sentence as this then I know that he’s annoyed.
‘I apologize.’
He looks all sheepish. ‘Well, that’s all right.’
‘And I’m sorry for being a smartass.’
‘Just so long as you don’t do it again.’
‘Absolutely. Sometimes I’m just too clever for my own good.’
He could see the smile behind my eyes and he softened. ‘If you need to practise being a little dumber, then this is the place to do it.’
‘Thank you,’ I tell him. ‘I am reassured.’
Chapter 17
April brings us warmer weather and the talk of war.
I follow the plough, pulled by the nag that Hubbard leads across the field. He’s the only one of us big enough to drag that old horse in a straight line. Peighton came for our last good horse while we were planting corn. He came right out into the field, unstrapped the beast himself and apologized to the missus for taking it. Said she’d be among the first to be compensated once the war is done, and we look on that dimly as a new mark of respect.
Right now we’re planting cotton. Gil walks in front of me and he bends and sows, bends and sows, planting seed in the little gullies which the rest of us cover using hoes.
‘Hey, Friday! You missed a bit a back here.’
I turn to see the missus, standing like a scarecrow in her black dress, a hoe in her hand and baby Virginia riding on her hip.
I hurry back along the furrowed line. ‘Sorry ’bout that.’
‘Don’t wanna leave it for the birds,’ she tells me.
‘I know, miss. I was going too fast. I should slow down a bit.’
‘Whatever you do, don’t do that, Friday.’ Mrs Allen moves a strand of hair from the front of her face. ‘You’re the only one around here still willing to work hard.’
I shrug weakly. Ahead of us, Hubbard pulls the horse to a halt and the whole caravan comes to a stop, making Mrs Allen’s face pinch up in agitation. ‘For goodness’ sake, what’s wrong now? And where’s Gerald and the others? They should have had the cart here by now.’
‘I don’t know, ma’am. Do you want me to take a look?’
She hands the baby to me. ‘You may as well. Take Virginia back to the house and give her to Sicely, would you?’
We walk in opposite directions across the half-ploughed field and I take the track that leads back up to the house and come across our cart lying crippled by the roadside, with Levi, George and Lizzie all stood looking at it.
‘What happened?’
‘Wheel come off,’ said George, but I can see that for myself. ‘Pin broke.’ He has the bits in his hand and he shows me. I have the feeling that it weren’t an accident, cos it seems to me that almost every day something goes wrong that takes an eternity to put right.
‘There’s spares back at the barn,’ I tell him.
‘Sure. Could be.’
So we all stand there looking at the cart.
‘I’ll bring one back with me.’ I leave ’em to it and go on up the track, holding Virginia’s hand while she tries to walk for herself. A hundred yards on and Gerald hurries towards me from the direction of the house. ‘Why’s the cart not in the field? They came for it an hour ago.’
‘The wheel’s come off.’
He shakes his head and is about to hurry on, but then says, ‘Friday? Will you meet me at the river?’
I know we won’t be swimming. Everything’s changed between us these last few months, but I agree to go. I return with the pin just as George and Levi are lifting the cart from the ground, their backs wedged beneath it and their legs bent and straining.
‘If we hadn’t rented Kofi out, we’d still have a blacksmith.’ Lizzie reminds Gerald as he edges the wheel into place on the axle.
‘We can manage,’ he says.
I give him the pin and a hammer from the barn and then step back. ‘See what we can do if we all work together?’ Gerald announces once the wheel is on, and we all take hold of the cart and start back up to the field.
*
Gerald’s waiting by the riverbank when I get there. He looks different from the last time we were here. He’s taken to slicking his hair back with grease and although I already knew that, seeing him here makes it more obvious and I take a moment to look at him properly. He seems taller than he used to be and I tell him so. ‘When did you get to be so tall?’ I reckon he must have had that growth spurt while I weren’t looking.
‘I been getting taller for ages. You just haven’t noticed.’
‘Maybe.’ I look around us. ‘It’s been a while since we came here.’
‘I’m sorry that I stopped your lessons, Friday.’
‘That’s all right.’
‘No, it isn’t. I’ve let you down and I apologize.’ He hesitates. ‘It was you who wrote Hubbard’s note, wasn’t it? I’ve thought about it often and I don’t reckon it could’ve been anyone else.’
‘Is that why you stopped teaching me?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t think you’d use it to cheat on us.’
‘It weren’t like that. His wife was ill.’
Gerald nods. ‘I thought it’d be something like that. Mother reckoned it must have been me who wrote it. She knows I’ve always had a soft spot for Hubbard.’
‘So you didn’t tell her it was me?’ Gerald shakes his head. ‘Did she punish you?’ Gerald shrugs. ‘And is that why you wanted to meet me?’
‘No. It ain’t that at all. I was just saying.’ I wait for him to tell me why we’re here and he puts his hands behind his back before he begins. I guess it makes him feel more comfortable. ‘I want to know why the others won’t work for me. You’re the only one who wants to work, Friday. You, and perhaps Hubbard. I feel like I’m pushing a cart up a hill all by myself. If we keep going the way we are, I doubt we’ll have a harvest to sell in the fall.’
‘We can’t sell it anyway.’
‘You don’t know that. The war won’t last for ever.’
‘That’s true. But if the Yankees get here we’ll see some changes.’
‘They won’t get here.’ Gerald hardens his jaw. ‘They can’t. The Feds’ll stop ’em. I know they will.’
He sounds so desperate that I feel sorry for him. ‘Everyone says you can’t win the war, Gerald. That’s what we all been hearing. Once the Yankee lines come past us, it’ll be Lincoln in charge and Yankee laws.’ I hesitate to say it but I do. ‘We’ll all be free, Gerald. That’s why they won’t work for you. They can already smell their freedom.’
That’s too much for him to hear. ‘I won’t let the Yankees anywhere near this place! Do you hear me? I won’t let ’em take what we’ve worked hard for.’
We stare at each other and we button our lips, scared of what we might say next. I don’t see how we can talk of this, and I look out along the slow brown river, wondering how it would be to just float away to freedom. I pick up a stone and toss it in the water. ‘They got boats on their way up here, Gerald. They got boats with guns all over ’em, all covered in shining armour so they can’t be sunk. They’ll be here soon.’
‘Is that true?’ Gerald suddenly don’t seem so grown-up at all. ‘I mean about the armour?’
‘I reckon it is.’
‘Then that’d mean my daddy died for nothing.’
I stare at my feet, feeling there’s a mile between us, but then he reaches out and touches the top of my arm so tenderly that I remember how we were friends. ‘How come you still want to work hard for me, Friday? Why don’t you follow everyone else?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’ve never been like the others. They might be up to no good but you’ve always been special. That’s why I taught you to read. I always knew you’d be able to do it.’
Soon as he says it, I feel the weight of all those lies and it’s just too much. I can’t do it any more. I can’t keep lying to him. ‘You didn’t teach me to read, Gerald. I already knew how. I’ve known how to read since I was a little boy.�
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Gerald looks at me like he doesn’t understand what I’ve said to him. ‘But why … ?’ His mouth is open, waiting for his brain to catch up and feed him something to say. ‘Why would you pretend you couldn’t read?’
‘Because I needed you to bring me the books. I’ve been teaching the others to read and write. I’ve been teaching all of ’em. It ain’t just me who can read, Gerald. It’s all of us. Every slave you own except for Winnie. Do you understand?’
‘So you been lying to me all along?’
I hang my head in shame. When he puts it like that it makes it sound much worse than it seemed at the time. I try to put it another way, try to make him understand that I did it for a reason. ‘I did what your daddy would have wanted, Gerald. I did it and it worked. You don’t own a single slave who can’t say his alphabet and there ain’t no one on this plantation that couldn’t sign his name to a contract of work if you gave him one. I did what I had to do, Gerald. God told me to do it and I did. I did what was right.’
I expect him to be angry, expect him to shout at me, even hit me in the face.
‘All that time you were lying to me,’ he says quietly.
And then he walks away.
*
When I return to the cabins, Mrs Allen is standing knocking at our door and Peighton is waiting over by the fire pit with two of his men, both of ’em holding chains with shackles that hang open like the mouths of thirsty dogs. He shouts over to the missus. ‘Mrs Allen, do you mind if my men take a look around?’
The missus nods and the men drop their chains on the ground and go towards the doors of the other cabins. Hubbard opens our door and Lizzie comes outside and watches what’s going on.
I step up onto our porch. Mrs Allen has rolled the sleeves of her black cotton dress up to her elbows and she folds her arms and stands there looking at Hubbard. ‘Mr Peighton has brought me news of your wife and child.’
