I exhale. My next breath hurts. Smoke burns my nose and throat. Heat sears my insides. I drop to my knees, coughing.
“Jade,” I gasp. “Jade.” A shadow, near the window, inches forward.
“Jade. Come on.”
Another inch. Moonlight captures his face. Green eyes wide, head and ears pulled back, he stretches out a singed paw.
“Jade, please. Come.”
He doesn’t move. Eyes shutting, he rolls, collapses onto his side.
I drop to my knees and crawl. Cinders burn. I’m moving nearer and nearer the flames. Flames, jagged red, race to meet me. I start to cry; I’ve got to save him.
“Jade!” My eyes sting, but I keep focused, keep crawling, even though a voice inside me says, “Turn and run.”
I lift Jade, holding him close. His fur is burnt, patches of skin blistering.
“Sugar!” Billy’s in the doorway.
“Run,” I try to shout, but smoke chokes my throat. “Run,” I scream, words stuck in my head.
Melted sugar spreads, runs like water. Syrup bubbles over, dripping from the cauldron. It swirls closer.
Billy picks a path toward me and Jade.
“No,” I try to yell, but cough.
A beam falls. An explosion of smoke, sparks, and flame. “Bil… ly” rips from me. Coughing, croaking, trying to call his name again, I keep watch for Billy.
Flames tower everywhere. Timbers burn. Sugar smells sweet and scorched. The roof cracks open. Holes of smoke and starlight. All that’s left of the mill is hellfire heat, stabbing smoke, and a red-hot cauldron.
Holding Jade, chin on my chest, I cry. Billy’s gone. Me and the cat are going to burn.
“Sugar. Sugar.” The call is muffled. Overhead. Another explosion. Glass shards fall. Whooshing fire sucks through the broken window. I scream. Syrup burns my shoes and feet.
“Come on, Sugar. Give me your hand.”
A miracle. Billy’s no longer inside but outside. His hand reaches through the broken window.
“Billy, take him.” Standing on tiptoe, I push Jade, limp, up and through the window.
“Now you,” says Billy. My head bleeds. Dizzy, I can’t stand, climb the wall. Behind me, it’s hotter and hotter. Flames and scalding syrup will kill me.
“Come on, Sugar. Please.”
I jump, reaching for Billy’s hand.
Bad Dreams
Sugar.”
The cane field calls, like a bogeyman trying to scare me.
“Sugarrrr. Sugarrr.”
I won’t listen. I twist, and pain shoots up my leg. In the distance, a bird tweets.
“Sugarrrrrrrrr.”
I’m startled awake. My leg and feet are wrapped in bandages. Honey salve soaks my fingers. I hurt, a burning, stinging hurt. Then, I remember the mill. Jade. My heart is heavy like a rock.
I close my eyes.
My heart feels like it’s being squeezed. I open my eyes. Jade is sitting on my chest, his green eyes looking at me. His paws press, move up and down on me, like sticks on a drum. Patches of his fur are gone. He’s ugly but beautiful at the same time.
Jade purrs.
I scratch his head.
Tail flicking, he lies beside me. Wincing, I shift my body to my good side and lay my hand on his white tummy. He doesn’t move. I sigh.
Someone has rekindled the fire. There’s a glass of water on the floor. Corn bread on a plate.
My legs hurt bad; Jade’s skin must, too. There’s a blanket over me, a fat pillow beneath my head.
Jade’s tummy goes in and out, his chest rises and falls. I feel the beat of his heart.
A bird tweets again. No, it’s whistling. “Billy? Billy?”
The door opens. Billy pokes his head in. His grin makes my heart race.
“You whistle good,” I say.
“I know. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”
“Sitting on the porch?”
“Whistling my heart out. You scared me.”
“I scared me, too.”
Billy lifts Jade.
And I remember. Billy saving me, pulling me through the window, smoke and flames shooting, rolling behind me.
The sugar mill explodes, the roof shifts, falls, showering sparks.
“You didn’t ring the bell?”
“No. There wasn’t time. Everyone heard the explosions.”
“I remember.” Worried voices asking, “She all right?” Mister Beale lifting me. Me whimpering, “Jade?” Hearing Beau’s voice, say, “I’ve got him, Sugar.”
Nothing more. Only quiet, darkness.
“You’ve been sleeping. ‘Healing,’ says Master Liu. Worse than my brain fever.” Billy sits on the edge of my hay mattress.
“You brought me the pillow and blanket?”
“Told Ma it wasn’t fair. You needed comfort.”
“Thank you, Billy.” I’m weary, sore.
“I’ve been here every day. Told Ma and Pa both they couldn’t stop me.”
I’m listening hard to Billy’s words. Trying to hear what he isn’t saying.
“Everybody else?”
“Trying to salvage what little wood, sugar there is.”
My eyes start to close.
“Pa thought you did it.”
“No.”
“I told him it was Tom. I saw him.”
“Did you?”
“I did, Sugar. And even if I didn’t, I’d never believe you’d hurt anyone or anything.”
I blink, gulp tears.
“Want some water, Sugar?”
My throat’s sore. But I’m thirstier than I’ve ever been. I sip while Billy holds the cup.
“Jade hasn’t left your side.”
I feel grateful. I saved him. And Billy saved me.
“Thank you, Billy.” But my words don’t seem meaningful enough. Pain rises in my body; my mind tells me to sleep.
“Lots of change, Sugar.”
I open my eyes. Billy’s gotten older. He’s serious, his face and arms suntanned and strong.
“Pa’s hurt ’cause a white man burnt his mill. Ruined everything. He thought he knew Mister Tom. He thought he knew me. He’s still trying to understand you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. ‘The world is upside down,’ he says.”
I swallow; my throat’s thick.
I hear a twinkling sound. Billy isn’t whistling. I feel I’m floating free.
“Ma?” I murmur.
“Go to sleep, Sugar,” answers Billy. “We aren’t going anywhere.”
Jade and Monkey ride on Ox’s back. Ox clip-clops up a gangplank. On the steamer, there’s no sugar. Just animals. Br’er Rabbit. Horse. Hyena. Rooster. Even Turtle.
“Ahoy,” shouts Ox.
“Ahoy,” shouts Monkey.
The ship’s paddle starts churning, splashing, spraying water.
I wake. Feeling alert, excited. Feeling as if my stinging, hurtful burns are reminding me I’m alive. “Billy?”
“I’m here.”
“Help me go outside.” I want to see the sky, dirt, and water.
Billy helps me stand; I lean on him, walking slow. “I had the best dream, Billy. Off on an adventure.”
“I like that, Sugar.”
Outside, the light is bright. I squint. Smoke still rises everywhere. The fields burn too sweet, turning cane to ash. The smoldering mill smells bitter.
I sway on the porch rocker. Billy squats beside me.
“Is Mister Tom in jail?”
Billy shakes his head. “No. There’s lots who think like Mister Tom. Pa’s hurt. Doesn’t understand why the sheriff says there’s been no crime. Why some folks—white folks—want to see Pa fail.”
“I’m sorry, Billy.”
And I am. Even though I don’t like Mister Wills much, Billy does. Billy’s my friend, and he loves his pa.
My body hurts but not as much as my heart.
Changes
I’m almost healed. Jade hasn’t left my side. Beau and Mister Beale tell me stories, a different tale every day. M
issus Beale cooks her best food. Billy keeps me company, even when I’m grumpy because I can’t run and play. Evenings, Master Liu sits quietly beside me on the porch as Mister Zheng lets me win at checkers.
I have scars on my legs, but I hurt less and less.
Grown folks are upset. Off-season should be joyful. But the burnt mill, the burnt sugar crop makes everyone sad. All our work has disappeared.
Through the wall, I hear the Beales talking late into the night. “Lost crop, lost money.” I don’t understand. Mister Wills has paid us already.
Worry floats inside the Beales’ words.
“Look.” From the porch, I see Mister Wills walking toward the shacks.
Mister Beale and Master Liu both stand. Billy sets down his harmonica.
I can’t help but be nervous. Mister Wills in our yard never means any good. I can see he’s nervous, too.
“Everybody, outside. I have something to say.” His voice is dry, strained.
Standing, his back round, his stomach jutting, he looks woeful and tired.
Folks gather. Mister Petey must’ve been shaving; half his face is soapy. Missus Ellie looks disheveled, like she’s woken from a nap. Others head toward our porch to hear Mister Wills.
Mister Wills wipes his brow. He doesn’t speak.
I lean forward. Usually Mister Wills just says his mind. Folks shift, shuffle, wringing their heads and hands.
“I’ve sold River Road.”
I didn’t know you could sell a whole world.
Folks look at one another, disbelieving. Mister Beale grips the porch rail. Master Liu is tense, wary.
“No sugar to sell. I don’t have money to plant next year’s crop. Sold River Road to Jean DeLavier.”
Someone else will own River Road? Where will Billy live? Where will we?
“DeLavier’s been wanting my land. Wanting to expand his fields.”
Billy runs to his pa’s side.
Loss is etched on Mister Wills’s face. Billy’s bewildered. I’m just confused.
What will happen to me, to the Beales, Beau, and Billy?
Mister Beale grips the rail so tight, I think he’s going to break it. Master Liu walks into the yard to calm his people.
“You’ve all been good workers,” says Mister Wills, surveying, staring at each one of us. He nods at me. For the first time, I think he truly sees me.
“You’re free to stay or go.” His words are like a thunderclap. Missus Beale bites her lip. Reverend Thornton bows his head.
I clasp Beau’s hand. River Road is gone.
“Me, Missus Wills, and Billy will be leaving for New Orleans next week.”
“No,” I holler, leaping up. Pain shoots through my legs. Beau steadies me, keeps me from falling over.
Billy runs back to me. “I don’t want to go, Sugar.” His face is all bunched up.
He won’t cry. I won’t, either.
“You’re leaving,” I murmur. “Like Lizzie did.”
“Billy!” says Mister Wills.
He looks back at his pa. He looks at me. “It isn’t fair.” He goes to join his pa.
I collapse into the rocker.
“Can’t say we didn’t see this coming,” Missus Beale says to Mister Beale.
I didn’t see it coming. Billy and his pa head for the big house.
“We’ve survived worse,” answers Mister Beale. He looks out into the yard. “We’ve survived worse,” he repeats again, loudly. “We’re still free. We still do good work.”
Black and Chinese folks nod.
“Mister Beale, wise,” says Master Liu. “We do good work.” Then he speaks Chinese, walks toward his shack, and the other Chinese follow.
“We’ve survived worse,” says Mister Petey. “Hard work is what owners understand.”
“Hard work,” repeats Mister Beale. “Keep doing our work, we’ll be all right.”
I’m tired of working just to be all right.
Jade leaps onto my lap. I squeeze him too tight, and he struggles. “Sorry, Jade.”
I look at the Beales, the other ex-slaves, slowly heading toward their shacks.
We got freedom, but the Beales, me, everyone else are stuck at River Road.
“Do. See. Feel.”
Jade’s green eyes widen, glittering with yellow specks. I think he hears my thoughts bellowing inside me.
Ma wouldn’t want me to stay put now. I can’t wait for Pa anymore.
For the first time, I feel certain Pa is dead. It’s been eleven years. If he could’ve come back, he’d already be here.
I realize I must leave River Road.
The Wave
The air is crisp. I’m wrapped tightly in my shawl, watching the sun glowing on the horizon. It’s bittersweet, seeing the miles of cleared fields. Cane will grow again, but it’ll be different. My hands won’t cut it.
Smoke rises from the shacks’ chimneys. Rooster Ugly crows.
A flock of blackbirds streak past clouds, the purple-red sky. I feel different, restless, in a new way.
The Willses are leaving. Their furniture is going to be shipped on a barge. Mister Wills sits atop the wagon; Missus Wills, wearing a yellow bonnet, is at his side. Manon and Annie sit in the wagon bed, their legs dangling off the edge. Billy holds the brown mare’s reins. We’ve all come to say good-bye.
Me and Beau made a dragon kite. “Here, Billy. Beau drew the face. I dyed the streamers for his tail.”
“It’s beautiful. Thank you, Sugar. Thank Beau, too.”
“I will.” Grown folks are leaving us alone. “I’m happy for you, Billy. You always wanted to leave River Road.”
“Not like this.”
I pat the mare. “Times are surely changing, Billy Wills.”
Billy’s grown taller than me. “Shake.” Billy’s hands are rough like mine. I hold on, not letting go. “I won’t forget you, Billy.”
“I won’t forget you, Sugar.” His voice trembles, chokes. He places his foot in the stirrup, clutches the saddle horn, and lifts himself up and over. The mare sidesteps. I pull back.
“Pa, I’m ready.”
“Let’s go, then.”
Billy looks down. “Bye, Sugar.” He taps the mare with his heels. He follows behind the wagon. He won’t look back. I just know it.
Me and Beau toss grain, feeding the chicks.
“Here, Peanut. Here.” A chicken juts its head. I think it’s Peanut, but it’s hard to tell. All the chicks have grown. I shoo Rooster Ugly.
“Sister Sugar, let’s sit.”
“For a story?”
“No.” Beau squats. His face is level with mine. He looks more serious than I’ve ever seen him.
“You’re leaving,” I say.
He doesn’t answer, and that’s how I know it’s true. “I want to go, too.”
Beau hugs me. I feel steady, safe. He gently pushes me back. “What about the Beales?”
I sigh, heavy.
“They’re old.”
“You’re right, Beau. They need me. But I want to leave, Beau. They want to stay.”
“You, fix.”
I don’t know how to fix, I think. My stomach churns. “What if I need to find you?”
“You have map.”
I do—a map of the whole world. “Where will you be, Beau?”
“Hawaii. An island. Waipahu Plantation.”
I nod.
Beau’s eyes sparkle. “Me and Master Liu be there.”
All day, I listen to grown folks talk. Mister Zheng is staying on the plantation. Him and Mister Waters both. They’ll cut cane and play checkers.
Missus Celeste is staying. “All I know is how to separate sugar.”
Reverend tells everyone, “River Road was where I was called to preach. As a young slave, cutting cane, I felt God’s grace. My place is here.” Missus Thornton beams like she’s happy. Quiet Mister Aires says, “I’ll stay. But not if DeLavier cuts my pay.”
Missus Ellie weeps. “This is where I want to be buried.”
&nbs
p; Beau and Master Liu don’t say anything. I think their leaving must be a secret. Not a bad secret, just something they’re keeping private. Beau told me because I’m family. The Beales are my family, too.
All day, the Beales do chores. They don’t say nothin’. It drives me crazy.
But Missus Beale sews, boils laundry in a pot, hangs it on a rope tied between trees. Mister Beale saws, stacks wood, fills the oil lamps, and patches his leather shoe.
Work, work, work. Acting like nothing’s changed.
Missus Beale looks like she hasn’t slept. Dark shadows her eyes. Mister Beale’s jaw stays clenched. He’s so sad-eyed, he looks like he’ll never tell a story again.
Inside my shack, I decide to surprise the Beales. I start making supper. I boil black-eyed peas, add a ham bone and hot peppers. I cry slicing onions.
I mix egg, cornmeal, and water into cakes. I use a spatula to shape them into circles. I flip them when their sides turn brown.
I go to the well and fill a pitcher with water.
“Supper,” I yell. “Mister and Missus Beale, I made supper. Come eat.”
Missus Beale is still hanging sheets. I clasp her hand, pulling her inside my shack.
“There’s work to do.”
“Missus Beale, work’s done for the day.”
Mister Beale, in the doorway, rubs his hands. “I’m hungry. What’ve you made, Sugar?”
“Wait, Mister Beale. We’ve got to get Missus Beale comfortable.”
“Humph.”
I lay my shawl on the floor. “Sit here.” I hand her a cup of water.
“I should be taking care of you.”
“You always take care of me.” I smile innocently.
“You’re up to something, Sugar.”
“No, I’m not. You fed me when I was sick, my turn to feed you.”
“Smells good,” says Mister Beale, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Missus Beale squints. “I think I should heat up some greens in the pan.”
“Nope. I made peas and cakes.” I fill a bowl for each, lay the cakes on a plate. All three of us sit and eat.
“Mighty fine,” says Mister Beale. “Thank you, Sugar.”
“You’re a good cook,” says Missus Beale. “Like my daughter.” Mourning flashes inside her eyes.
Sugar Page 12
