Kindred (2 page)

“Lemon balm?” Kindred frowned. “ I forgot.” She hated

disappointing Rozina.

“I’ll go get it.”

“No. Lessuns fus’. Lem’n ba’m attuh.” Rozina reached up and re-adjusted her scarf, some coarse, mixed gray hair was visible around its edges.

“I’m sorry, Gramma.”

“Uh know’um. Yo’ min’ on dat injun chil’.”

“Gramma! He only starts today. We haven’t even seen him yet!”

The two discussed a new pupil who would be coming to the lessons offered by Presbyterian minister, Elijah Harkness. Occasionally, Dr. Twain would stop by to augment their learning with science instruction. Classes were held in the local church which was situated not far from Fort Stanwix, and a stone’s throw from Twainhaven. The “school” served only Kindred and Joshua, as they could not attend training with the white colonists’ children and the one for “coloreds” did not meet Dr. Twain’s standards.

“Y’all come straight’n fuh,” Rozina said, sorting her herbs into separate piles.

“Oh, Gramma! Joshua and I want to play after school. Can we?”

“No. Onduhstan’? Too dainjus out’uh dey. ”

“Yaas.” Kindred answered, slipping into Rozina’s dialect. She hugged her granny then exited the kitchen door.

Rozina resumed herb sorting just as Dr. Twain invaded the kitchen.

“’Zina, whatever you have on the fire this morning is tormenting me. I am famished.” He rubbed his hands together briskly as he approached the bubbling pots and sizzling skillets on the open hearth. Though dressed in his country doctor best, Douglas was very much a youngster at heart. Rozina sprang into action as the doctor prepared to stick his index finger into the porridge.

“No pokin’ yo’ fingahs een de fud!” She waved her giant brass and iron ladle menacingly at him. “Seddown!”

The thirty-five year old Dr. Twain deposited his tall, rangy, angular frame into a country pine chair. He waited as any child would, folding his big, square, slightly rough, hands in front of him on the table. Possessed of a kindly, pale, mien, light brown hair and a pleasant disposition, many women wondered why he was not married. It was simple. He did not want to be. He liked his work too much to subject a woman to its demands. Medicine was his mistress.

“Well, ’Zina, now that I have been properly chastened, feed me please!”

Rozina scooped out two ladles of porridge and portioned out a generous amount of spoon bread into the English cream ware in front of him. The delectable aroma wafted up his nostrils and made his mouth water. His flush of embarrassment had waned, bequeathing bright, red marks on his pale cheeks.

“’Zina, no one can make spoon bread like you.” He picked up the Dutch brass and copper milk jug. “Did Kindred get the lemon balm?” he asked pouring a fountain of milk over the porridge. “I have some, but may need more for Mrs. De Groot’s boils.”

“Nah. Lattuh.”

Douglas grunted and shrugged his shoulders in reply between hefty spoonfuls of porridge, bites of spoon bread, and drafts of hot tea. Loud belches testified to Rozina’s hearty cuisine.

“Twain, wut you got een min’ fuh Kindred and Joshua?”

“Well today, they have lessons in the morning.” He took out his timepiece. “More chores when they come home ....” He trailed off, returning his attention to breakfast.

“Dat ent wut I meen, suh.” Rozina wiped her hands on her apron as she drew near Dr. Twain. “I meen, fuh dey libs. Wut iz yo’ plan?”

Douglas looked up from his dishes and faced her unwavering gaze and knitted brow. He drained his cup and set it on its saucer.

“To make them examples. Show this small corner of the world that all people are capable of learning and making valuable contributions to society.”

“Dis’ laa’n.” Rozina rocked on her heels. “Wut dey gwine do wid it?”

Now Douglas had a knitted brow as he searched for the correct explanation of his good intentions. “’Zina, we and they know that they breath rarified air. They know that their lives are very different from other Negroes in this region. Perhaps they will aid their brethren in the future. In the meantime, learning will help them live productive lives and be happy.”

“Wid who? Weh dey gwine fin’ peoples like dem? How dey gwine lib?” She spoke with a quiet, but desperate will. “You got anuddah batch you razin up?”

“’Zina, what is this about?”

“Uh set up nights frettin’. Kindred and Joshua, uh know’um who hates dem, but who will lub dem? Ma heart, dey be. Will dey ebbuh meen dat ta sumbody else?” She started to cry softly. Dr. Twain bolted from his chair and hugged Rozina.

“’Zina, ’Zina, ’Zina.” He stood back, took both her hands and patted them. “They are unique, I know. There, there. Dry those tears. They will do fine. Why, who knows what strides the colonies will have made by the time they are grown?”

Rozina managed a sardonic laugh.

“Wut ebbuh dese ‘strides’ be, colluh folk gwine be part? Nebbuh! Not unless dese ‘strides’ need cleanin’ or cookin’.” She wiped her eyes with her apron. “So, wut iz yo’ plan fuh dem?”

Dr. Twain had had many a kitchen chat with Rozina, but never one as unnerving as this. All these years he thought his actions heralded his purpose. He just wanted a chance to do good instead of talking about doing good. He always thought of Rozina as a wise old aunt, the children as if they were his own. His
own
. His face lit up.

“’Zina, I have stumbled upon the plan you so dearly demand.” He squeezed her hands.

“Wut it be?” She peered at him with somber curiosity.

“Trust me, ’Zina, as you have these past six years. Stop your

fretting.” Dr. Twain sat down again. Smiling, he picked up his empty bowl and shoved it at Rozina. “Now, please, more spoon bread. I need to fortify myself to face Mrs. De Groot’s boils this morning.”

Chapter Two

Kindred struggled up the hill to the church. Joshua hadn’t even waited for her. She fumed inwardly. He knew she had to gather the herbs every morning. He could have at least waited for her she reasoned. As she rounded the corner to the back room, laughter

punctuated by boisterous shouts greeted her. She saw her brother already playing with their makeshift school’s newest pupil. A lanky boy, about Joshua’s age, he was tossing a ball to her brother. His black braids flapped in the breeze as he gracefully lobbed the ball between them. Kindred approached.

“Joshua, you were supposed to wait for me,” she puffed, out of breath.

“We were supposed to be here on time this morning, Kinny. To meet the new student.” He nodded in the Indian boy’s direction.

“But you know I have to get the herbs every morning. You could have waited! Can I play?” she asked. She stretched for the ball.

“Get here on time,” Joshua said, raising it above his head, out of her reach.

“I hate you sometimes, Joshua Twain! Let me play!” She lunged for the ball.

The Indian boy interceded. “You can play.” He wrested the ball from Joshua and handed it to Kindred.

She stuck her tongue out at Joshua who shook his head at her antics. “Thank you,” she replied. “I am Kindred. What is your name?” She looked at the boy closely. He had jet black eyes in a face the color of cinnamon. He wore a soft deerskin shirt, a breechclout, moccasins and leggings held together by leather laces.

“
Lelaheo niyúkyats
,” the boy answered in Oneida, the warmth of his huge smile in his voice. This little brown girl was feisty he noted. He liked her already.

“What?” Kindred asked.

“Excuse me, I forget my English. I am called Lelaheo. Now we all can play.”

Kindred beamed at him and tossed the ball high. The three squealed as they angled to catch the projectile. They stared as the ball lost momentum and began its plummet back to earth. Lelahelo shot straight up and snatched it from the air.

“That’s not fair!” Kindred protested, pouting.

Lelaheo scrambled away, looking over his shoulder as Kindred and Joshua chased him.

“You can not catch me!” Lelaheo bragged. He raced away, head down into the wind and collided with Reverend Harkness. The impact sent both to the grass.

“This is not what your people sent you here for,” Reverend Harkness said, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. The cleric got to his feet and shook the green blades from his black attire. Lelaheo clambered to his feet.

“I am sorry, Reverend Harkness. I did not see you. I ....”

Harkness waved his hand, terminating Lelaheo’s apology. “Obviously. It is time you all came in for today’s lesson.” He pointed to the church. “Move. Now.”

The children fell in line, the reverend bringing up the rear. Once inside, Kindred and Joshua took their seats on a bench in front of the slate board on the wall and pulled out their hornbooks. Reverend Harkness folded his hands behind him and cleared his throat loudly as he paced. “Our new pupil will introduce himself now.” Harkness crooked his finger at Lelaheo. “Front and center, young man.”

The boy walked to the slate board, turned and faced the class.

“I am called Lelaheo and I come from the village of Kanowalohale,” he pronounced proudly. “My nation is People of the Standing Stone; my clan is Bear clan.”

“I know where that place is, but why are you here?“ Kindred asked earnestly.

Joshua nudged his sister surreptitiously and spoke softly. “Not now, Kinny.”

“Well, I just wanted to know.” She glanced sideways at him and rolled her eyes.

“All right you two, please! You have interrupted our student’s narrative. Kindred. Do that again and ....”

“The people in my settlement are starving,” broke in Lelaheo. “My mother sent me to Reverend Harkness to survive.”

It was true. Hospitality as practiced by the Oneida, and all of the Haudenosaunee, was destroying them. Manners dictated that no guest be turned away. Prominent families, like Lelohelo’s, suffered the most from this custom. There was not enough food in Lelaheo’s longhouse for everyone, so his mother had sent him to Reverend Harkness to feed his body and his mind.

“Oh!” said Kindred. “Thank you for telling us.”

“You are very welcome,” said Lelaheo. Very welcome.”

“Resume your story, young man, resume it,” carped Reverend Harkness impatiently.

“My mother sent me here to live. She says she wants me to understand the ways of the white man so I will not perish.”

Kindred felt sad for him. “So people come and eat all your food?” Youthful bluntness fueled her words. “And your mother sent you here? What did your father have to say about that? You can come to our house and eat. We have plenty. Our Gramma’s a good cook.”

“Miss Twain, one more time and you will stand in the corner!”

“Reverend Harkness, I just wanted to ....”

“Enough, Miss Twain! Hold out your left hand. Palm up. Now!

Kindred froze, not knowing what was next. She unclasped her hands, which had been resting in her lap. She raised her left one.

From out of nowhere a straightedge flashed and left her with a stinging, red palm. The straightedge flashed again and delivered another hit. Kindred bit back tears and whimpered as Reverend Harkness landed a third blow.

Suddenly, Lelaheo rushed him, grappling with his right arm for possession of the ruler. “What do you think you are doing, child? How dare you!”

“Do not hit her anymore, Reverend,” Joshua pleaded.

“No more, Reverend Harkness. No more.” Lelaheo added, his tone commanding for a young boy’s.

“This is an outrage!” puffed the reverend, out of breath from trying to shake the boy from his arm. “You all will regret this!” He raised the ruler.

“No, Reverend, no!” Kindred screamed, springing to her feet . “It was my fault.”

****

Quiet reigned in the tiny school room now, except for the ticking of the clock. Reverend Harkness sat at his table, grading tests and preparing the next day’s lesson. The early afternoon sun light slashed blindingly across the room, landing on the empty student bench.

“Have you learned today’s lesson yet, my rioting heathens?” barked Reverend Harkness without looking up from the hornbooks on the desk in front of him.

Silence permeated the room.

“Have you?” he repeated more emphatically.

“Yes,” a trio of voices replied in a tearful whisper.

Lelaheo, Joshua and Kindred each stood in a corner of the room. And had been there for hours with their badly beaten hands folded behind their backs.

****

“Uh’ll kill him! Who made him king? Hit my chillun and dat po’ lil injun chil’ he need sumbody kick him’own holy b’hin’. Leggo me!”

Rozina was half in and half out the kitchen door, being held firmly by Dr. Twain from behind, with Joshua and Kindred blocking her exit in front.

“We will heal, Gramma. We are fine. Please! You’ll make it worse.”

“Yaas uh will. Fuh him! Leggo me!”

“No, Rozina. Calm down! They will heal. I’ll see to that. You are not making it any better. They are using their hands to restrain you.”

“Oh!” Rozina stopped struggling. Dr. Twain and the children relinquished their hold. The doctor stepped back, taking Rozina with him into the kitchen. The children followed.

“Come here,” beckoned Dr. Twain to Kindred and Joshua. “Let me see those hands.” He pulled a chair out from the table, its legs scraping the floor. “Bring the lamp closer, ’Zina.” Rozina went to fetch the bull’s-eye brass lantern. “Children, put your hands out on the table.” It was not a pretty sight. Their palms were puffed and blood-red.

Kindred had mostly swelling and one abraded knuckle, poor Joshua had broken skin. The fatty bed right below his thumb on his right hand was lacerated and oozing. Rozina brought the lamp closer. She inspected them as closely as the doctor. In the bright light,

splotches of red were visible on Rozina’s clothing where Joshua had clutched her.

“No, oh, no. He gwine pay,” Rozina said under her breath.

“Ouch,” Joshua yelped as Dr. Twain manipulated the hand.

“Good! No broken bones. But the broken skin is bad enough. Infection could set in. What was the man thinking? What were you children thinking?” Dr. Twain shook his head. “All this over an interrupted introduction? I will speak with Reverend Harkness.”