Authors: Patricia C. McKissack
Later
“That was a kind thing you did for William,” said Mr Harms. He was standing in the doorway to the study. “Keep dusting.”
At last, we were having that talk. My head was spinning with thoughts. What to ask? What to say? “I’ve been waiting and waiting for this time.”
Our talk went like this:
“I had to make sure you could be trusted – and that you could trust me.”
“Are you a abolitionist?” I wanted to know that in the worst way.
He smiled, but his eyes were serious. “Yes, I am. Who else knows about me?”
“Aunt Tee, Spicy and me. But Miz Lilly’s looking at you real careful-like.”
“Thanks for the warning. She could be a problem.”
“Are you and the one-eyed man the Underground Railroad?”
“No. Not by ourselves,” he whispered. “We are conductors.” He told me it was neither underground nor a railroad. It’s a group of people who work together to help
slaves get to freedom.
“You can read and write. I figured you learned by listening during lessons. Remarkable.”
“I done learned a lot from you.” Then I say, “You a southerner. Why you want to end slavery?”
He wasn’t able to answer, because somebody was coming. I had more questions to ask. Later. Now it’s time to take Miz Lilly her warm milk before bedtime. I got to be sure that I
don’t give away nothing in my face.
Wednesday, December 7, 1859
Today, Dr Lamb came to see William – said he was improving. That still gave Mr Harms and me a moment to talk. He told me Belmont was the first station on the Underground
Railroad in this area. It was a low point in the river, where it narrows and the current is less swift. Runaways meet their first conductor here in the Belmont woods and are taken to the next
point.
Why couldn’t poor Rufus and his family make it?
Thursday, December 8, 1859
The days are short and cold. The fields have been laid by. Tobacco is yellowing over slow coals. Waith’s put everybody to work fixing up the place for Christmas –
the Big Times. Another holiday. Endless chores.
Eva Mae is making fruit cakes today. I chopped nuts and berries ’til my fingers have got no feeling. Missy got on one of Clarissa’s old dresses – Miz Lilly probably promised
her a hat, too, if she tells on me. Missy and me hardly talk any more except when we serving the food. She hangs under Miz Lilly like Shadow does William.
Friday, December 9, 1859
We spent the day in the barn, re-stuffing Miz Lilly’s mattress with fresh down we’ve been saving all year.
Hince has been coming to Aunt Tee’s cabin every night to sit with Spicy, so I can’t write until he leaves.
Since our talk in the study, Mr Harms has been slipping me things to read. I hide them under my dress until I get here. I read the papers to Aunt Tee and Spicy. A lot of it we don’t
understand, but a lot of my questions have answers now.
Abolitionists live everywhere, just like I thought. But, what makes me happyest is that some abolitionists are women and some are even people who done been slaves, just like me. Mr Harms say
that a used-to-be-slave named Frederick Douglass teached himself to read and write just like me. Now he’s a abolitionist and writes his own newspaper up in the New York called The North Star.
I want to read that paper some day. Maybe I will. I know I will.
Saturday, December 10, 1859
Aunt Tee sent Spicy and me to pick the last of the beets from the house garden. They’re tender and sweet after the frost hits the ground. On the way back from the garden
Waith jumped out and grabbed Spicy’s arm. “You’re right pretty for a black gal,” he say, spitting tobacco juice.
He hissed at me to git, but I wouldn’t go – not without Spicy. I held on to her hand. He snapped his whip in my direction. “Git like I tol’ you, or I’ll give you a
whupping gal!”
“Mr Harms wouldn’t like you bothering Spicy. He done picked her for hisself.” I surprised myself at how fast I could speak a lie. It was a good lie, because it was helping
Spicy. She was frozen in fear, because she knew Waith didn’t have nothing good in mind. Waith b’lieved me. He let Spicy go, and we ran as fast as we could to Aunt Tee.
I’ll tell Mr Harms what I said, and maybe he can protect Spicy until … until what? Dare I write it? Until we run away!
Sunday, December 11, 1859
I miss the good Sundays we had when Rufus was here. But Mr Harms gave Spicy’s Bible back. He had been keeping it in his room where it would be safe. The one he showed Miz
Lilly was one of his. Spicy was thankful to get it back – it being her mama’s and all. Now I read to Spicy and Aunt Tee when we get a chance.
Later
There was a big celebration at Belmont tonight. Had to work in the kitchen. Mr Cleophus Tucker and the other men Mas’ Henley supported won. The house looked beautiful,
everything shining and sparkling. We’d worked hard enough to make it look that way. The guests went on and on about how they hate abolitionists and northern meddlers. Made me smile inside,
seeing Mr Harms right in the middle of them – and they don’t even know he was a fox in the henhouse.
Mas’ Edmund Ruffin was part of the group tonight. He was the one who talked the longest and the loudest about the rights of slaveholders. He was always talking ’bout his freedom.
“We are a free nation. We fought England for our freedom. We will fight again for our freedom if we must!”
Mas’ers talk a powerful lot when it comes to their freedom. But when it comes to freeing the slaves – they gets struck deaf and dumb.
Monday, December 12, 1859
It’s night. It was cold all morning, warmed up by late afternoon, and now it is cold again – a winter cold. Long hard day over. Miz Lilly fussed around in the
kitchen most of the morning – setting up for the big Christmas dinner. She ended up slapping Eva Mae twice ’fore it was over.
Later, Miz Lilly gave every one in the Quarters a measure of cloth to make something for the coming Big Times. I gave my piece to Aunt Tee, because I got Mama’s dress to wear. Aunt Tee is
stitching up something real special while Spicy and me work on our quilt. We almost got it finished.
The cabin floor is cold, so we keep our feet wrapped in rags. We sit by the fire, so our fronts are warm, but our backs are cold. There are so many cracks in the walls, the wind whistles. And
it’s also getting harder and harder for Aunt Tee to piece a meal together, even though I’m slipping as much as I can out of the kitchen. Winter hard times is upon us. What keeps us
going is waiting on the Big Times – our Week of Sundays. Uncle Heb always used to say, if we can last through February we can March on through.
Tuesday, December 13, 1859
Riders woke us at daybreak. Dogs barking. Torches glowing in the darkness. Aunt Tee, Spicy and I went to the door to see who it was. Late-night riders always mean one thing
– trouble.
The lead rider, Wilson, spoke first. He was quick to the point. “Two of my nigras have run away – a buck named Raf and a mulatto gal named Cora Belle. We beat it out of the
gal’s mama that the two was helped by a white man, what’s missing an eye. If we catch him, he’s gon’ lose more’n a eye.” The men reined their horses. “We
aim to hang him.”
“The dogs traced them here to your orchards. We’d like to go in, with your permission,” said Higgins.
Mas’ Henley raised a fist. “You have my permission. And if you’ll let me dress, I’ll go with you.”
“Me, too,” said Mr Waith, bursting out of his cabin. “Chasing and catching runaways is what I been doing for the last three years.”
I knew he was something like that – a low-lifed slave-chaser.
Wednesday, December 14, 1859
Mas’ Henley come back from the hunt, telling us how they found the runaways. “We hung ’em,” he hissed angrily. “My offer still stands,” he
said. “Freedom to the one who gives me any information about this one-eyed white man. Think about it – freedom.” So they hadn’t caught the one-eyed man.
I just scratched F-R-E-E-D-O-M in the ashes. I still don’t get no picture. Freedom is a hard word to understand.
Thursday, December 15, 1859
Waith been pushing everybody to get Belmont cleaned up for the Big Times. After what happened with the runaways we been moving real slow-like – got no joy in our
souls.
Women from the Quarters been up in the kitchen to help Eva Mae with the early cooking and cleaning. I helped put the big rug out of the large parlour and beat all the dust out of it. I got to
coughing and couldn’t stop. Aunt Tee made me some syrup out of honey and herbs and I finally stopped.
Later
When I went to the stables to take Hince a plate of food, Mr Harms pulled me aside. I almost screamed, thinking it was that nasty Waith.
“Got news,” he say. “Those runaways aren’t dead. They just tell you runaways are dead, so you’ll be afraid to run.”
“Does that mean Rufus and Aggie?” I was so hoping. But Mr Harms say, no they didn’t make it. Rufus wasn’t willing to trust the Underground Railroad plan. “He never
quite b’lieved that a southern man could be as against slavery as I am. But there are plenty of us.” Rufus had tried to make it on his own.
“Some runaways make it alone,” Mr Harms s’plained. “They need help most times. Lots of help. I tried to help Rufus – talked to him several times when I heard he was
planning a run. Rufus never really trusted me.”
What happened to Rufus and his family should never happen to another family. One of them might have made it if they could swim. Mas’ Henley won’t let us learn how to swim, because he
knows, if we stay stupid he can keep us. Come spring, I’m learning how to swim – just in case I ever need to know how.
I forgot to tell Mr Harms about the lie I told Waith to save Spicy. I’ve got to remember.
Friday, December 16, 1859
Rained all day – a slow cold rain. Miserable. I sat with William in his room for a while. We played with Shadow. I pumped his legs, up and down, up and down, keeping them
moving. Sadly, the hot water treatments aine helped more than to get a few toes a-going. The rest of him is still the same – nothing near walking. He’s in mighty good spirits though
– giggling all the time. Maybe it’s the Big Times that’s making him so happy. Dr Lamb visited yesterday. Stayed for dinner. Company – even company as nice as Dr Lamb, always
means more work for us in the kitchen.
Saturday, December 17, 1859
Mr Harms still treats me like I’m not there when others be around us.
He left me a copy of The Liberator, put out by a abolitionist named William Lloyd Garrison from the Boston. I read the pages to Aunt Tee and Spicy. They listened to every word – stories
about black abolitionists.
I read about a woman named Sojourner Truth, who speaks out against slavery everywhere she goes. Even when the mas’ers say they gon’ stone her to death, she keeps a-talking. Aine
scared of nothing, because she’s telling the truth. “Slavery must be destroyed – root and branch!”
I am so glad to know about Miz Sojourner. I mean to be like her one day. Maybe even meet her when I get to freedom. Maybe we could be abolitionists together. Demagine that. But will I be brave
like the shepherd boy, David? If I was with Miz Sojourner, she’d help me be strong – and we can end slavery, too.
Sunday, December 18, 1859
Waith works the people in the Quarters like dogs, won’t let up on them a minute – push, work, driving night and day – painting, chopping winter wood, feeding
the livestock, on and on. He’s constantly yelling and screaming and lashing that whip. I’d like to wrap it around his neck and give it a good yank! The more he yells the more Mas’
Henley and the Missus feel they’re getting their money’s worth.
Monday, December 19, 1859
It snowed today, not enough to cover the ground. William sat by the window and longed to play once more in the snow.
“You’re different, Clotee,” William say matter-of-fact-like. Lord, now William is noticing me. Who next?
I made on like I didn’t know what he was talking about. He say, “You don’t sound like the other slaves. You say talking, instead of talkin’. You say, I am instead of I
is. You say, they were instead of they was – and things like that. You talk almost as good as a white person. Why is that?”
I shrugged my shoulders and got out of there as quick as I could. Missy was always teasing me about talking proper. Miz Lilly had spoke about it, too, and now William. Was my learning to be my
undoing? I must be particular to write but not talk too proper. I could get myself into trouble.
Tuesday, December 20, 1859
Five days to the Big Times.
Two men by the name of Campbelle came to Belmont today. They stayed for supper. The older Campbelle is gray-haired with a matching moustache, stocky, but well-dressed. The son is taller,
thinner. The Campbelles are horsemen from Tennessee, same as Mas’ Henley.
While serving biscuits and coffee, I turned to listening. I’m piecing it all together so I can write it down.
“We’ve been watching you for some time,” said Silas Campbelle, the older man. “We like the way your boy rides.”
“I got the best jockey in Virginia right here at Belmont,” Mas’ Henley bragged.
“He’d be great if he had a fair mount,” said Amos Campbelle, the son. “We’ve got the right horse. We need your jockey.”
“What’s your offer?”
“We’d like to buy Hince.”
My heart sank! I almost dropped the plate of dessert tea cakes, but I caught them before they all slide off the tray and on the floor. The men were too fixed on what they were saying to pay
attention to me.
“No deal,” Mas’ Henley answered. “But, I’ll make this bet. My jockey against your horse. I lose, you take Hince. I win, I take your horse.”
“Set the date?”
“New Year’s Day.”
Later
Hince was shocked when I told him what I’d overheard.
“So Mas’ Henley done bet on me ’gainst the Campbelles’ horse?” He shrugged and went back to rubbing Can. Is that all Mas’ Henley thought of Hince – to
bet him against a horse?
“S’pose you lose?” I asked.
Hince talked brave. “I won’t lose. Big Can is a good horse, nobody really knows how good. Mas’ Henley musta planned this all along. That’s why he been having me hold back
a little, winning without ever letting Can stretch out. That’s gon’ be our edge on the Campbelles.”