Good Fortune (9781416998631) Read online

  We were swallowed by a darkness we could feel with all our senses. We could smell its nauseating stench, feel its fatal tug, taste its poisonous air, see its writhing ugliness, and touch its repulsive weight.

  One body, two bodies—no, legs into chest! Yes, fold them like that. Good. Three bodies, four bodies—toss them to those waiting hands, and they’ll be sure to stack them in as close together as possible. Good. Five bodies, six bodies—we need all the space we can get!

  I screamed, dug, scratched, and fought my way back out. I threw myself out of the ship and onto the shore. There to greet me were waters murky with the redness of death. Bodies lay in the shallow waters staring up at me.

  And there was Mathee’s face, her soft skin bloated by the water’s lust.

  Another scream, then hands were yanking me back inside….

  The dreams started about a year after I arrived on the plantation. They’d come all of a sudden, images, events, and feelings from my past too raw and savage for my emotions to handle and for my conscious mind to hold on to. They came very frequently at first, and I always woke in early mornings screaming and sweating and bound to haunting feelings. This set concern in Mary’s breast, but she had predicted that the dreams would go away after a few years. Although she was wrong, they had become less pronounced and far less frequent. I could go months without the memories or images playing with my sleeping mind, and I had learned, somehow, to turn the wild morning screams into nothing more than moans.

  “You rememba it this time?” Mary asked me that day. I shook my head back and forth.

  “Mary, why you gotta ask the same thing? My answer ain’t gonna change,” I said with a smile.

  She sighed. “That ain’t gonna change, Sarah—now watch it!” she scolded as water from the mop I held splashed onto me.

  In addition to cooking for the household, Mary took care of Missus’s most personal needs. If there was a special request, Missus would turn to Mary first, before all others, and bid her to carry out the task in whatever way Mary thought best. It was a strange bond where Missus still assumed her position of superiority but never had reason to enforce it. Mary was just a strong woman and seemed to attract at least that recognition, despite her “place” as a slave. Missus trusted Mary, perhaps because the two had spent the majority of their living years in the presence of each other.

  I didn’t see Mary as often as I had anticipated. My errands and work many times took me away from the kitchen. But there were some days when I’d be ordered to stand by Mary’s side and help, or help her when she stitched. This day was one of those rare times when I could be alone with Mary in the kitchen. I took my sweet time scrubbing the floor, loving the moments I spent with her.

  “I do have some small memories ’bout few folks from long ago I can tell you ’bout. Don’t worry, they good ones, Mary, don’t look like that,” I said, seeing Mary’s eyebrows arch inward. “I rememba my mama….”—I let the mop linger on the wood—“an’ this woman—think she my auntie. An’ … an’ my brother, I rememba the most ’bout him.” Mary allowed me to soak in the silence as long as I wanted. “You think I might know wat happen to him fo’ I die?” I questioned Mary, stopping to look at her with my large, inquiring eyes. Mary moved her eyes away from mine to the food that lay before her.

  “Sarah, I cain’t rightly say. But you bin here long enuf to know how those things go. Don’t gotta tell ya how those things just don’t happen round here.” I nodded, knowing that answer all too well.

  “Well I jus’ figure, all these folks we knows but cain’t find, we sure’ll find ’em in heaven, won’t we Mary?” Mary laughed softly as she drew her hand quickly across the edge of her head rag, wiping off the sweat.

  “Sure will.”

  In the quiet that followed, Mary started humming a tune. I listened to it long enough to realize I hadn’t heard it before.

  “Mary, what you singing?” I asked when I heard her humming a tune under her breath.

  She chuckled softly, then responded, “This song’s an old tune that was made up an’ sang as fa’ back as I can rememba.”

  “One of dem slave songs they sing in da fields?”

  She thought for a moment. “Don’t think so. Only memba my mother singin’ it to me fo’ she was sold.”

  “Where it come from?” I asked.

  “From an’ ole tale of a couple, man an’ wife, who, on dey way to freedom, up’n found bunches of slave folk hidden an’ trapped beneath a hideout dug deep in the ground right by the riverside.”

  “Slaves a runnin’ to freedom?” I asked, engaged deeply in the short story.

  “Sho’. The two ole folks freed all dem peoples, maybe hundreds of ’em, an’ sent ’em ’cross the riva. Just so happened that afta the last of da peoples disappeared on the riva’s horizon, befo’ the boatin’ man could come back fo’ the old folks, they was caught.”

  “Caught? Why the song got to have them caught fo’? Cain’t it be somethin’ glad?”

  Mary chuckled. “You gonna hear the rest of it?” I nodded.

  “They drowned themselves hand in hand befo’ the slave catchers could kill ’em.”

  “That’s a sad song, Mary.”

  “Well, many say when a slave be a runnin’, the spirits of da two ole folks come back an’ warn the slave when danger’s awaitin’. Don’t rightly know if’n it’s da truth or not, but it goes somethin’ like dis:

  “Ole man Tom an’ his good wife Liza (None round here done seen any wisa) When trouble’s a lurkin’, they calls a safety to yo’ side In da darkness of the night by the ragin’ riverside So’s when you’s a fearin’ for your good ole freedom They’ll up’n find you an’ carry you to freedom.”

  CHAPTER

  5

  THE FLOOR WAS ALMOST CLEAN.

  Just a little bit of scrubbing over here.

  I finished the task with a sigh and picked up the rag. Edging the door open to the small study, I glanced uncertainly into the room. Missus had told me to dust all the desks in the house. Was this one included?

  Inching the door a bit farther forward, I brought the rag to the edge of the desk and began wiping it, carefully shifting around what I had to in order to clean the whole surface. Edging around the desk, I bumped into something standing against the wall. I began turning, but my body went still with excitement. In front of me was a large bookcase. And there were so many books! Surely I could peek into one of the primers. …

  I scolded myself immediately over the thoughts that rushed through my mind and turned quickly back to the desk and the rag. But just as soon as the scolding stopped, I felt my feet creeping toward the shelf once more. I peeked over my shoulder and listened carefully for any sound. No one was near, and no one would notice if I sneaked just a quick look at the books. What possibly could that hurt? Nobody would notice!

  I reached toward the shelf, my heart beating in my stomach. The burning feeling of danger shot through my body, but I paid it no heed. A small bowl of sugar cubes sat in front of a colorful book. Looking over my shoulder again, I hid a cube in my dress pocket and then nudged the bowl to the side to reveal the book. I slowly tipped the dusty book out toward me. I pulled it down and cracked it open an inch or so, then read the first word on the page I turned to. With satisfaction beating even louder than my fearful heart, I shut the book and slid it back in its place.

  I can read!

  Those were the first words that formed in my mind as my fingers slid down the spine of the book once more.

  “What in the devil’s name are you in this room for?”

  It was the worst sound I could have heard. Missus’s voice startled me so much that my hand jerked, hitting the bowl of sugar cubes. It tumbled through the air as our eyes followed its motions, my heart beating harder with every rotation.

  The bowl’s edge struck the wood floor and shattered into a miniature ice storm of sugar and shards of porcelain.

  “You fool! My cubes! Were you stealing my cubes? And my china! My pr
ecious china is shattered to pieces! What’s gotten into you, you stupid slave? Insolence and disobedience have consequences. How dare you! Charles, Charles, come quick. Come now!”

  Before I could attempt an explanation, Masta Charles came running into the room. Seeing me, he rushed over, grabbed my arm, and pulled me out past onlookers whose eyes told me that trouble stood in my path. I bit my lips with dread as I listened to Masta shout nasty words while he dragged me out the door with Missus right on his heels.

  Once outside, he told the overseer what to do with me. The overseer forced me past the beating tree—the punishment arranged for the worst of deeds done—to a fence. He tied my hands tightly to it and ripped my blouse halfway down my back, revealing my half-grown chest. He removed his bullwhip from his holster, and swung. The tip bit the air with a crack! Panic rose within me and began to swell. I tugged at the ropes that bound my wrists together; they sliced even farther into my skin like dull knives. My heart raced.

  Crack!

  The tip of the whip whistled through the air until it landed swiftly on my back. The sting of the first impact blurred my mind. I didn’t even hear my own scream until the second strike rattled me, the one making me pay for my “insolence.” Three. Four. Five. Six. My screams turned into whimpers of pain as my flesh seemed to find its way into a fiery hell. The struggling stopped: My body, strong and rebellious a few strikes before, hung limp and helpless. My hands had quit tugging to free themselves from the ropes binding them to the fence.

  As he continued to beat me, I ceased counting the number of times the whip struck my back; my screams were now simple gasps. My eyes were squeezed so tightly together that I saw white stars in my mind. Large tears jutted from my eyes and dripped off my face, attempting to wash away the pain. All I wished, and all I wanted, was for it to be over. I prayed to the beat of his whip for the Lord to have mercy on me. Time seemed to stand still. There was only me, the pain, and that whip.

  And then, it ended as abruptly as it had started, though the pain settled in quickly afterward. Fifteen lashes for breaking the china bowl and trying to steal the cubes. It was strange justice, but the only justice we knew: the justice of the slave master. The overseer untied my hands, letting me fall in a heap onto the fertile soil, and simply walked away. His work was done and he had done his job well, beating my bound young body as he had. But the pain didn’t walk off with the man holding the bullwhip. It held me hostage and stayed with me even as Mary knelt by my side. She was a blurry mass to my drifting consciousness. She whispered to me, told me that it would be all right. It was as if her words were my gateway to heaven. I fainted dead away.

  “Morning? He wants me back to workin’ by mornin’?” I couldn’t believe my ears. Lying on my stomach on a pallet the next day, Mary dressed my wounds once more. She shook her head slowly, angrily, with worry lines creasing her forehead.

  “Mary, I ain’t gonna be healed enough to work!” I exclaimed. “I’ll jus’ get beat again, this time fo’ not doin’ my job!”

  “Shh, hush that talk! You’ll be fine, chile, you will. This stuff here I put on yo’ back’ll heal ya quicka; it’s somethin’ my mama showed me, an’ her Native mama befo’ that. You’ll be a little weak, but you’ll be able to work.”

  The tears came again as Mary rubbed whatever it was she had on my back. It stung at first, and I grimaced as the herb-filled salve penetrated my open wounds, but it settled into a coolness that eased the pain. She told me that Missus hadn’t watched; the whipping was too much for her to bear. Missus believed my lesson had been learned, and she was willing to give me another chance in the Big House.

  How lucky I must be! I thought. In my mind, I dreamed of wrenching a bullwhip out of the overseer’s hand and charging towards Missus, beating her coward self down. But I was smarter than that; my heart was better than that. I let my emotions simmer, then buried them inside with everything else.

  “Tucker,” I said, looking up to see a man standing by Daniel. He seemed to be thrown in some generation between Mary and me. He was a small man—quiet, thin boned, but quick and strong willed. His eyes had a faraway look to them. To me, his spirit seemed to be locked in a place I couldn’t dream of touching. He had no one close to him I knew of, besides the respect of an older woman who lived on some plantation a day’s travel down the road. Tucker sought Daniel’s company often and shared meals with me and Mary from time to time.

  “You doin’ all right?” Tucker asked me, smiling softly into my eyes.

  “Sho’, Tucker. I’m doin’ okay.” He nodded slowly, and took a long breath. “But I’d be doin’ a little betta if you could tell Daniel to stop all that pacin’. It’s makin’ me nervous.” I shot my eyes back over to my brother, whose shoulders were tense and whose lips were dangerously pursed. Hearing me, he stopped in place and softened the angry arch of his eyebrows. As Mary ran out to collect something else for my back, and Tucker left to continue the work he had temporarily abandoned, I turned all my attention to my brother.

  “Daniel,” I said softly, as if that one word would tell him I was all right.

  My brother leaned down even closer, his eyes only narrowing more.

  “Sarah, ain’t nobody gonna be whippin’—”

  “Shh. Daniel, don’t talk like that! I got this for you.” I handed him the sugar cube I had painfully recovered from my pocket. He stared at it without reaching out a hand to take it.

  “That what you get whipped fo’?” He asked.

  Dropping my hand that held the cube onto the pallet, I nodded solemnly, then added with a slight pause, “Least, that’s what Missus say.” In the silence that followed, I hid my secret about reading the book and not getting caught. If I had been caught for that “sin”—if Missus had walked in just a minute earlier and seen me attempting to educate myself—I would have been punished far more severely than I hoped ever to be punished.

  I held out my hand to him once more, but he shook his head. I interrupted his thoughts.

  “Ain’t no need wastin’ it now. Since I already have it, eat it! Or else I’ma feel even worse!” A slight smile curled the corners of Daniel’s mouth.

  “If you say so.” Breaking off half of it with his teeth, he put the other half into my mouth. But the sudden stinging I felt drowned out the sweetness of the sugar. Mary had reentered the cabin and was touching my back with something in her hands. I squirmed under her touch.

  “You a real smart girl, Sarah, but you need to learn to think befo’ you act, honey, you hear?”

  “Yes, Mary.”

  “Either way”—she stood up and walked around to look in my eyes—“you be a strong girl, Sarah, real strong and brave.”

  CHAPTER

  6

  THE MORNING AIR FELT A BIT BIT TOO COOL FOR EARLY springtime, but I knew it would warm up quickly. It had been almost a month since the sugar cube incident; the remaining wounds from the whip had scarred over. I had long since been back to work. The breeze filled my lungs as Daniel and I headed toward our religious gathering on Sunday morning. We neared a large shack in the middle of the woods, not too far from the Big House. It wasn’t much of a building, but the men of the plantation kept our church setting decent. Everyone had gathered outside the shack, since it was used only when the weather made it necessary.

  Daniel and I approached the small backless benches that had been carried out of the building.

  “Hey, Mary,” I whispered as we passed her seated figure, looking for seats. There were none left open.

  As Daniel and I made our way toward the back to stand, a young man moved from his seat, offering me the place with a smile. I refused it and turned to walk with Daniel, but my brother had slipped into the shadows. The man offered the seat once again. I recognized him somewhat; I didn’t know him too well—there were quite a few slaves here—but I believed I might have seen him in the fields, or maybe doing carpentry work with Daniel.

  I inched my way in front of the seat, nodding to the young man, and turned to
ward the woman who stood at the front. But my mind kept dancing back to the smiling man, wondering why he was standing so close—so close that our shoulders brushed. I locked my gaze in front of me.

  Sundays were to be our free days, God’s day. Masta gave the field hands half the day off. The house servants had less freedom, and oftentimes some of us were made to work. After all, housework never ended. But morning hours were always mine to have.

  Our church had different preachers on different days. Masta picked a black overseer who had been a good “lamb of Masta’s church” to make sure we weren’t plotting, and he gave the permission for others to preach. Most of the preachers, however, knew how to dodge the rules. They would use biblical stories to create messages of joy and freedom for us right under the overseer’s nose. “Slave language” is what Daniel and I called it.

  As the woman finished singing, “an’ we be free,” I heard a deep amen resound next to me. People sat as an older man stood up and walked to the front.

  “Now, we gots a new voice wit us today. But befo’ that, I got a few words fo’ ya.” He went on to share news from other plantations and a Bible verse Masta always prepared to have shared with us. On this Sunday, Masta had chosen a few verses from first Peter, chapter two. The man recited the verses from memory and added his own statements where he thought it necessary.

  “The Bible say be submissive to yo’ mastas wit all respect, not only to them who is good an’ who is gentle, but also to them who is unreasonable. Fo’ what credit is there if, when you’s sin an’ is treated bad, you endure it wit patience? But if, when you do what is right an’ suffa fo’ it and patiently endure it, then that’s what God find favor in, an’ we’s all lookin’ to please God.”

  I leaned back and listened as closely as I could, my attention frequently drifting away to the chirping birds playing above or the young children stifling giggles just across from me. I remained awake but drifted into a heavy daze, playing with my imagination. The amens were lulling me into another world; they were taking me to another place where the chants were of a different language. I could hear a strange beat; there was a drummer tapping out fascinating rhythms while sitting, quite at ease underneath a large, beautiful, exotic tree….