Yellow Crocus (14 page)
Lisbeth did not raise the topic again.
Two days later, Lisbeth heard a wagon draw up to the back door. Lisbeth continued with her embroidery until it was time to get ready for supper. Wearing a calm mask, Lisbeth slowly climbed the wide, front stairs and walked down the hallway to her rooms. Mattie stood by the window waiting for her. A wave of relief rushed over Lisbeth. Mattie looked fine. Mattie was home.
“Did you find Samuel?” Lisbeth burst out. “I missed you. I worried so much, but no one told me what became of you. Is Samuel home now?” Lisbeth threw her arms around Mattie in an exuberant embrace. Mattie flinched the instant Lisbeth’s arms touched her back. Feeling the jerk of Mattie’s body, Lisbeth pulled away.
“What is the matter? Are you hurt?”
“They gave me some lashin’s. It sore.”
“But why? How could they?” Lisbeth gaped, entirely stunned. She never expected Mattie to return with wounds. Mother bragged that they did not whip slaves at Fair Oaks. She often stated that only cruel or undisciplined households required the lash.
“We have to tell Mother and Father what they did to you.”
“Child, they sure didn’ give me these without askin’ your father first. As to why, only God know why some folks think it okay to hurt others to get what they want. I gotta get you ready for supper on time or there gonna be more trouble for me.”
A lavish spread, made by the hands of slaves, covered the table: veal cutlets with mushroom catsup, beef steak pie, oyster soup, parsnips, young greens, wine, and apple pudding for dessert. Surrounding the table were the five well-dressed members of the Wainwright household and their four guests, Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham and their children, Edward and Emma.
“Did you get the little darky returned?” asked Mr. Cunningham.
“No. Turns out his buck ran away from Berkeley as well. They may have gotten quite far by now. They had a pass.”
“Where did they get such a thing?” exclaimed Mrs. Cunningham.
“Looks like some fool is teaching the niggers how to write!”
Fear rushed through Lisbeth. Her heart beat hard. She started to reach for her water, but her hand noticeably shook. Quickly she hid her hand in her skirt, looking around to see if anyone had noticed her nerves, but no one was paying any attention to her. Her parents did not suspect that she had taught Samuel to write. She could only imagine Father’s fury if he learned that she was responsible for Emmanuel and Samuel’s escape.
“It is such a shame,” Mother broke in. “We made certain he went to a good family and this is what happens. Mr. Anderson will never buy one of our darkies again.”
Grandmother Wainwright spoke up, “You know you are too lenient with them. Before you know it we will have lost them all.”
“Who have they got looking for them?” asked Mr. Cunningham.
“Ron Reynolds and Geoff Bloom. We want them returned alive and able to work.”
Alive. The word cut through Lisbeth. Alive! Father wanted them back
alive
. She considered the alternative. Samuel might be dead? Suddenly Lisbeth understood Mattie’s distress. She listened carefully to the adult conversation. Discussions about escaped slaves were as much a part of the ritual of Saturday dinner as grace, and she generally paid it about the same attention. It never seemed important before, but this mattered to her.
In the middle of the night, Lisbeth woke from a dream in a rush. Father had been pushing a whip into her hand, repeating, “It is for the best. It is for the best. You will see.” As she lay in the dark, frightened and alone, her heart beat fast while tears seeped from the edges of her eyes. Then she did something she had not done since she was young: she sought out Mattie. Climbing out of her warm bed, she made her way to the small anteroom.
“Mattie?” Lisbeth whispered as she shivered over her nurse’s form.
Half asleep, Mattie stirred and shifted to make room for Lisbeth. Her arms spread open to allow Lisbeth to snuggle in close. Lisbeth lay in the dark, held in Mattie’s arms, rubbing the center shell in the hollow of Mattie’s neck just as she had as a little girl. The warmth of Mattie’s bed and body enveloped Lisbeth, driving away her demons. The familiar smell and feel worked their magic and lulled Lisbeth to sleep.
Three days earlier
M
attie was terrified but didn’t show it. Mr. Wainwright said only one thing on the ride over to the Andersons’. “Tell them what you know, Mattie. It will go easier for you… and for Samuel.”
As soon as they arrived at the Anderson plantation, the overseer, a dark-haired white man, led Mattie away while Mr. Wainwright went in to speak with Mr. Anderson. He led her away from the grand house to an isolated cabin near the slave dwellings.
Pointing to a bench outside the lonely hut, the overseer growled, “I’ll deal with you later.”
Jeb Martin had been at the Anderson plantation for less than a year. He had learned what he knew of working with slaves from his father, who worked at the Williams plantation just seven miles east. The planters considered Mr. Martin to be the best overseer in the county because he got the most work out of his slaves without undue force. They encouraged their overseers to take after Mr. Martin, thus reinforcing their self-delusion that they were morally superior to the brutal owners in Georgia, Mississippi, and Alabama. As Jeb was growing up, Mr. Martin instructed him, “Treat your niggers halfway like a man and halfway like a beast and you’ll do all right.”
Jeb Martin desired to impress his father with his own skills, but now he had trouble. He hadn’t wanted to take the Samuel boy in the first place. He didn’t need a young buck, he needed a few more full-grown ones. But Mr. Anderson had insisted. Apparently he owed Mr. Wainwright some sort of favor. But now the owners blamed Jeb for the boy’s running away.
Mattie was left to sit for hours without food or water as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky. She feared what was to come. Her lips moved in a silent litany of prayers, “Dear Lord, it me, Mattie. Please watch over my son and make sure he all right. And dear Lord, if it not too much, give me the strength to make it through this day.”
In the middle of the day, Mattie saw Mr. Wainwright’s carriage drive away. A hot wave of fear washed over her, sucking away her breath. Her hands gripped the bench she sat on. She had been left behind.
As the sun descended toward the horizon, long shadows marked the earth like a stain. Just as Mattie felt some relief from the beating of the sun Jeb came to deal with her.
“In,” he said sharply as he pointed to the cabin door beside the bench. Mattie fumbled with the metal latch to open the door. The young overseer did not follow behind, but rather pulled the door firmly closed, leaving Mattie alone in the dark, empty cabin. She heard the sharp echo of metal against wood as the door locked behind her.
This space felt familiar, but somehow wrong. It was constructed like the Quarters at Fair Oak with walls made from unfinished split-logs and a dusty dirt floor. The eight-by-eight-foot square dwelling was entirely empty with no window openings. Bits of light shone through the cracks in the boards, illuminating the particles of dust floating like stars in the empty space. The hard-packed dirt floor had a tight, circular path worn in the middle made by the pacing of earlier occupants.
When Mattie’s eyes adjusted to the dark she noticed carvings and dark brown images on the walls. They were covered in stick figures, stars, animals, and abstract patterns. Mattie’s eyes snaked over a particularly compeling pattern of five circles surrounding a center circle that bordered the entire room snaking up and down across the boards. The artist must have taken days to complete it. She moved in closer to examine the image. A slow, painful realization crept over Mattie: fingers and blood had made these patterns. Images of cut flesh and severed limbs filled her mind. Fear washed through her body.
Mattie sank down onto the ground, curled up her body, pressed her eyes hard into her knees, and struggled to breathe. She rocked back and forth, mumbling a quiet prayer, asking for strength and faith. Hours later her prayers and dreams were interrupted by the kick of a well-worn black boot.
“Stand up.”
The light of the moon came through the open door, throwing Jeb Martin into silhouette. He towered over her as she struggled to awareness. Before she managed to get herself up, he grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her up.
“Unbutton your dress.”
The acrid taste of fear filled Mattie’s mouth, a cold sweat sprang from her pores, and her heart pounded so loudly she could hear the swish, swish, swish of her own blood. She willed her arms to move, to do as the man staring at her asked, but they were frozen by her side.
“DO IT NOW!” he raged at her.
Large and imposing, his gaze bored into Mattie. She could not see, but rather felt the intensity of his stare. Reaching toward her neck with shaking hands, she clumsily unbound the buttons along her gown. An eternity passed getting each button to loosen from its noose. Jeb focused harder as she exposed more of her dark, shiny flesh in the moonlight. She heard the sounds of his deep breath and felt his exhalations on her clammy skin.
“Stop!” he yelled suddenly when she finished unbinding the button at her navel. “Turn around.”
She turned slowly. The instant Mattie faced the wall Jeb grabbed the neck of her gown and jerked it off her shoulders. Without a pause he quickly and proficiently lashed her three times, cutting into the skin at her shoulder blades. She cried out in pain. Tensing her shoulders in preparation for the next blows, frozen in fear in the dark room, she waited for what would come next. Her ears were filled with the frantic beating of her own heart so that no other sounds penetrated. The sweat ran down her back, stinging the freshly made cuts. She took in a shaky breath, steeling herself for his next attack.
Listening carefully for the sound of his breathing, she willed her heart to slow down to hear beyond it. She stood frozen. She dared a slight turn of her head. Nothing. She turned her head farther. Nothing. She turned around completely and saw that the room was empty She was alone. A gasp of relief rushed from her body. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall to steady herself. Sharp pain forced her to jerk away from the boards. Turning to face the wall, she pressed her forehead against the boards as tears of relief and pain fell from her eyes.
Jeb walked away from the hut feeling proud. Though he wanted that nigger as much as he wanted anything in his life, he had walked away. Mr. Anderson had made it quite clear that she was to go home with no more than a few whip marks and certainly not with a child. This nigger was not his to do with as he pleased. He had controlled himself; he had done his job well. He looked forward to telling his father about it at Sunday supper. But for now he was making his way to the slave shanties to get a field hand to deal with his erection.
