Remembered

by Yvonne Battle-Felton

  “Wasn’t nothing else I could do,” Agnes says. “I had to use them herbs. She’s one of us.”

  Papa Jonah chews on his empty pipe. For a second, his warm hand presses into hers before letting go.

  Evenings with Mama, Papa, and even that girl give her something to look forward to during the long days. But picking, even if it is for her own supper, is still picking. The slave gardens behind the cabins are the coarsest on all Walker land. Still, year after year, Mama Skins’s patch grows blueberries and carrots that taste like green beans, squash, onions, and anything else that was planted and never grew. Her coveted concoctions are a natural delight. Agnes looks back at the tree Ella props up. She claps the vegetables together and watches the dirt rain down over gaping holes before snatching up another clump.

  “I don’t know how things work where you from but here, if you don’t work,” she calls over her shoulder, “you don’t eat.”

  Ella shrugs.

  “Mama Skins said youse supposed to help me pick these vegetables for the circle.” She snatches a carrot up, curls her fingers tight around its hard flesh and shakes it like it’s Ella. “You ain’t fooling nobody, we know you can talk if you want to.”

  Ella turns her back.

  “Can run too.”

  Ella straightens.

  “All night long you screaming, Papa! Papa, don’t leave me! and kicking them legs like a mule on fire. That’s the honest truth. That’s why I had to move my roll from next to yours. I was afraid you’d kick me clear in the head. And you know what else? When you ain’t screaming, you mumbling all the time ’bout grabbing that rusty rifle and shooting somebody clear through the head. Shooting us that done helped and cared for you, mended you. Even worse, you talk about leaving us where we lay, not even stopping to bury us, and drowning your fool self in the river. Why I gotta be dead for you to kill yourself? When you ain’t busy killing us or you, you talk about running away. Can’t seem to get you to shut up lessin youse awake. Some nights I just pray and pray, Please, Lord, let that gal wake up so I can get to sleep!”

  Ella snorts.

  “Just so you know, that rusted heap couldn’t shoot clear even if it did have gunpowder. So if you planning to kill us, you gonna have to find another way. Way I see it, there’s the poison down by the river. What’s to stop you from slipping a leaf or two into the pot when nobody’s looking? Time? Nah. Got plenty of that. Any chore Missus and them want doing, I been doing so you don’t have to. Who gonna see you? Field hands got better things to do than to wait for you to drag yourself cross the floor, down the step, through the grass. If you could find your way there. Laziness? Well, I ain’t one to say nothing about your mama but …” She lets the words linger.

  With one hand holding on to the tree and the other reaching for Agnes, Ella stands.

  “Only thing wrong with your legs is you. You want to get off this land? Run. Run as fast as you can because you know what? You ain’t gonna get nowhere dragging your legs behind you. You afraid? Got every call to be. You don’t know where you at. Don’t know how to get where you want to be. If you don’t know where you going, you ain’t never gonna get there. You want to get back to your people? You better get yourself to the circle. If anyone can tell you what you need to know, it’s them women. And if you want them to give you something, you better not get there without offering something in return.” Out of the corner of her eye she watches Ella stomp over to a ripe row of tangled vines and stems, bushes overgrown to bursting. Ella pulls, trying to rip up a tender carrot from the ground, root and all. Agnes grins and slows down her picking. Now she carefully lifts leaves and delicately pinches buds while Ella tears and rips. Agnes fingers the shell within her pocket. She wouldn’t miss the circle because of that heifer.

  “I ain’t going to fight you. Come if you want to come, don’t if you don’t. But if there’s news about your people, don’t expect me to come running to find you.”

  She gathers her vegetables and walks away. Ella follows.

  The women arrive after sundown. They arrive, some from miles away, laden with slivers of meats, bits of breads, chunks of sweets, slices of soap, and other snippets that can be spared, will not be missed, or have been saved for the special occasion. Every full moon since Agnes remembers, the women of her life gather round to share stories. This will be her last one. When she runs off with James she’ll miss the circle most of all. She won’t let that gal make her miss this.

  Agnes is too far ahead. The sounds of hushed laughter and lilted voices guide Ella’s steps toward the circle. She whispers her name. A hoarse moan from deep in her chest makes her jump. It’s been weeks since she’s allowed herself to speak. She tries again. A raspy, grating cough bubbles up, fills her throat and echoes into silence. Stumbling, she heads into the dark.

  The women make room for her to sit next to Agnes. Agnes squeezes her hand. As they talk, the women weave and plait, knotting vines in intricate ropes.

  I can’t talk, she mouths to Agnes.

  Agnes nods to the side where Mama Skins and a young pregnant woman argue in hushed voices. “That’s Grace,” she whispers. “She wants Mama Skins to give her something to stop the baby. Don’t look over there!”

  Ella looks away. She points to her mouth, slowly mouths, I’ve lost my voice.

  “She says she don’t want her baby born a slave. Mama Skins says she waited too late,” Agnes continues.

  Mama Skins joins the circle. Grace follows, slow and empty-handed. The circle makes room.

  “Missus still mumbling about not getting this one.” A woman nods her head toward Ella. “Walker done told her time and time again, she for breeding. But Missus say she want a city gal to show off to her friends. You sending Agnes in her place sent Ol’ Missus to spewing and hollering about insolence and whippings.”

  Ella’s skin prickles. Breeding?

  The women laugh.

  “I knew Agnes would satisfy the Missus,” Mama Skins interrupts. “It didn’t matter which one they got.”

  “Sure do matter to Walker, though,” Myrtle says. “Walker got plans for that one that don’t have nothing to do with talking proper or impressing guests. Who she gonna breed with? Little James?”

  Agnes stiffens.

  “You got a name?” Samantha asks. She jabs a finger at Ella.

  Ella nods her head.

  “She don’t say much of nothing,” Agnes says.

  “’Cept how she gonna kill us all?” Samantha asks.

  “Mama!” Agnes shoots her mama the closest thing she dares to a dirty look.

  “Ain’t heard that from me,” Mama Skins says.

  Seem like the only time that Little James can keep his mouth shut is when he’s kissing. “She don’t mean nothing by it,” Agnes says. “She only talk like that when she sleep.”

  “I’d sleep with both eyes open if I was you,” Myrtle says. She frowns at Ella.

  “Why don’t you give her one of them special sachets, Meredith?”

  Even Ella stares at Grace.

  “Wrap it up real tight, put a pretty bow on it.” Grace’s voice is deep, low. She glowers at Mama Skins across the flame. “Dead by morning. Isn’t that what you said?”

  Mama Skins tosses a twig in the fire.

  “I’m still here. Baby’s still here,” Grace pokes her belly. “I ain’t wake up dead.”

  “Don’t always work. I told you that too. Ain’t gonna be no more talk of that tonight. I said no.”

  A chill plays up and down Ella’s spine. How will she ever see Papa and Mama again if one of these heathens kills her?

  “Iola,” Mama Skins calls to a young woman. “It’s time.” The women, even Grace, stand. Ella readies herself to rise.

  Agnes shakes her head no, grabs her hand and holds tight. “They took my babies,” Iola says. Her words are mixed with old, deep sobs. “I’m bringing them hom
e.”

  The women nod as some strip Iola. Her clothes are tossed in the fire. They rub her pocked, bruised skin with soothing oils. With deft fingers they wrap bundles of herbs and twine around Iola’s calves and thighs. They wind the knotted vine around her belly, over her breasts, around her sinewy arms and tie it around her neck.

  “It’s to throw off her scent. To give her time,” Agnes whispers.

  Mama Skins unrolls a stiff dress made out of animal skins and cured in skunk essence. The garment’s musky scent makes the air bitter.

  “For the dogs,” Agnes says.

  The dress of skins makes Iola look wider, heavier. Weighed down like she is, she won’t get far. Ella looks around the group. She can feel the cool certainty of Iola’s failed escape. Iola slips into the night. The women resume their places around the fire. Ella jumps up to follow. If she can catch up with Iola, the two can help each other get away.

  “Let her have her chance,” Myrtle says. Her annoyance clips the end of her words like teeth. “You’ll get your own chance.”

  “Hush,” Mama Skins warns. “Ain’t nobody going nowhere.”

  Ella rubs her hands together to stop them from shaking. “Walker set out to steal folks because he can’t afford to buy no more,” Samantha continues.

  “And on account none are born on this place,” Myrtle adds.

  Ella stares at Mama Skins. She stands up, trembling and pointing. If the old woman hadn’t been poisoning them, they’d have babies of their own and Walker wouldn’t have stolen her.

  “Walker had a mind to do it and he did it. From the way I see it, you here now,” Mama Skins says. “If you have babies and break the curse while you here,” she shrugs, “so be it.”

  “What if she don’t break the curse?” Samantha asks. “You gonna give him what he wants?” She nods toward Agnes.

  “He ain’t got no call to want Agnes.”

  “If this one can’t have no babies,” Myrtle asks, “what’s gonna happen to her?”

  Ella doesn’t wait to find out. She stands, turns her back on the circle, and slips into the waiting darkness. If only she could wrap her hands around Mama Skins’s neck. She would shake and shake until the old woman begged her to stop, then she’d shake some more.

  “He took you because he wanted to and wasn’t nobody with a mind to stop him,” Agnes says. She plops down next to Ella. “Mama Skins ain’t have nothing to do with it. Walker probably figured on getting you with child so he can afford all he’s missing out on like shoes and tobacco. Mama Skins is the only thing standing in the way between you and that.” Agnes points toward Grace.

  Ella hasn’t gotten as far as she thought. Nearby, the fire’s glow casts shadows on the women’s faces.

  “Well, the Missus is hopeful,” Samantha says, “seems folks stopped talking about the doctor and before long Mama Skins can be hired out again.”

  While they talk, Mama Skins passes a bursting basket around the circle. Whoever wants something is free to take it. If someone else wants it they can share it if it’s enough or barter if it isn’t. In this way meats are exchanged for fur scraps, vegetables for clay, and slivers of soap for hope. Only Grace and Ella take nothing.

  With a bundle of damp skins, Mama Skins smothers the flames. The smoke smells of cherrywood and sassafras. As the women chatter, Grace gathers her belly and leaves the warmth of the group to follow the soothing call of the river. With each step she takes, she puts a pebble in her mouth. She reaches the slippery bank and keeps walking. There is a soft splash as the water welcomes her. She walks to the middle of the river. The tide sucks and pushes her in deeper. She stops, as if uncertain. The tide pushes her on.

  Ella watches the woman disappearing as the river swallows her a bite at a time. She shakes Agnes, points to the river, mimes jumping in.

  “You thirsty?” Agnes asks.

  Instead of watching Grace, the women watch Ella watching Grace. She’d rather do it herself than ask the old woman for help. Following the light from pale stars, Ella makes her way to the edge. The river rushes and bubbles, swirls.

  Grace smiles, waves.

  In her mind, Ella screams, Help her!

  “She don’t want no help,” Mama Skins says. “She waving goodbye.”

  On the shore, the women wave heartily, silently. In the river, Grace sinks beneath the waves. Before the feuding starts, the women know there will be no more circles. Two in one night? Even if they didn’t believe it before, no one will deny Walker’s place is cursed. No owner would allow a slave to set foot on Walker soil. When they hug, they squeeze tight, linger. They settle their stories: some sort of spirit reached up and snatched Grace to the bottom of the river. Didn’t they try to help her? Yes. The women slip into the woods one by one, leaving Agnes and Ella to stare into the water.

  “I ain’t leaving here like that,” Agnes says. She crosses her arms to stop them from shaking. “When I leave this place, I’m gonna be alive. You stay here waiting on somebody to save you if you want to. I’ll be long gone.”

  The next morning word filters down from the main house through Little James’s lips. The sun hasn’t been up a good ten minutes. The air is cool. The water, ice cold. It’s Sunday, Agnes’s favorite day. It’s the only day she can sleep late. Still, Agnes has been up since dawn. She likes to slip out of the cabin, a biscuit in each pocket, before Mama Skins can get started with her list of things to do to occupy Agnes’s time. As soon as she finishes the wash, beats the rugs up at the house, and does the ironing, she can have the rest of the day to herself. She doesn’t count on Little James interrupting her washing. She has already gathered firewood to set the pot boiling. She strings a line of clothes to soak. The branches crackle like footsteps. She wades knee-deep into the water, a trail of underclothes behind her. She half expects to see Grace staring up at her.

  “Ain’t none of y’all allowed to set foot off this property,” James calls from the river’s edge. “No walking to town, visiting neighbors, evening strolls, or trips to market.” He raises his voice above the lapping waves.

  Agnes rolls her eyes and keeps walking. The water swirls and foams around her. She steps through nibbling fish and over slick grass.

  “Not that any of y’all been allowed to leave since Mama Skins was accused of killing the doctor. No telling what would have happened if Old Missus hadn’t convinced the sheriff your mama was too dumb to mix up a concoction that would have done it. Master says none of you will ever set another foot off this land without his permission, ain’t anybody allowed on it either. That means no more circle, in case you wondering.”

  Agnes stops walking. For a second she bobs along with the water before diving beneath the surface. She touches the soft bottom with her hands, plants them in the dirt, extends her legs and unfolds into a handstand. She wiggles her toes at James. Upside down, her tears drain into the river. When she returns to the edge, her arms piled high with the washing, she puts the clothes into the pot to boil and sits, arms crossed, under a copse of trees. James joins her.

  “The first thing I’m going to do when I take you away from here is build us a house near the water.”

  “That’s the first thing?”

  “You already mine.”

  Agnes nods.

  James puts his hand on Agnes’s stomach. “Soon as we free, we can start a family.”

  “You all the family I need. I don’t want to birth no babies until my babies can be free.”

  “So we aren’t ever going to have a family?”

  “Can you promise me they gonna be free?”

  James stares into the river. He slips his hand into Agnes’s. Their feet dangle over the edge.

  Later, as Agnes gathers the drying clothes, James tells her stories.

  “The horses are still galloping and Doc Sampson comes jumping out of that buggy before it even stops. Walker Junior meets him before he
can get to the ground. ‘Don’t you come here looking for no handouts,’ he says. James runs from the left side to the right. ‘Handouts?’ Sampson asks in that quivering voice of his. ‘You owe me one thousand dollars for ruining my I-Oh-La. I come to collect it!’ He jumps back to the other side. ‘A thousand? She wasn’t worth that much alive. I tasted her cooking!’ He puffs to the other side. ‘Don’t think I won’t get the sheriff. I’ll do it! This whole damned place is cursed!’ Sampson says. You know Walker Senior don’t like to hear talk like that so Junior gets to trying to whisper. Doc ain’t having no parts of it. He’s nearly yelling. ‘Don’t see why I allowed that visiting business in the first place! Bunch of Negroes gathering to do what? Share recipes and cleaning tips? More likely trying to figure out how to kill us all and you just setting there letting them! No more. You done cost me two heads.’ ‘Two?’ Walker says. ‘That crazy girl of yours walking off cost me my best hounds. You ought to be paying me!’ ‘Your best hounds chased her clear over that blasted ledge. Don’t you send none of your people on this land no more. Ain’t none of y’all welcomed here!’ ‘Welcomed here? You don’t have to worry about that. Next time you see me, it will be with the law!’ ‘Gentlemen,’ Little James says. He spreads his palms, wide. ‘Let’s settle this indoors, like neighbors.’”

  “Let me guess, that was you?” Agnes says. She folds the linen in tight squares and sprinkles them with dried herbs. Jasmine fills her nose.

  “Who do you think kept them from killing one another?” James laughs.