Good Fortune (9781416998631) (13 page)

“All right, well, let me help you at the sink, Mary,” I said, setting down the food.

“Naw you won't. Go on wit that food …” Mary's
words trailed off as Missus's form appeared before us in the doorway. Naturally, I washed all expression from my face.

“You, girl,” she said, pointing at me, “I'm going to take you out of those fields. You'll stay with the girls and Bernard, as usual, but you'll be with them through the whole day.” I opened my mouth slightly to politely object, but Mary was shaking her head no with the slightest movements, so I simply nodded. As hard as fieldwork was, having the air and the space to think was my relief. I needed that, and Missus was stealing it away from me.

“Good. They seem to have taken a liking to you. I'll put a blanket on the floor near Jane's bed. You'll be staying in the girls' room.”

“Sorry, ma'am?” Surely she didn't mean to say I was sleeping in the Big House? I looked over at Mary, but she acted as if nothing was happening.

Back when I first started working in the house, Mary told me she thought it would be good if Missus would let me stay in the house. Over the months, she stopped mentioning it, but I feared she still felt the same way. Perhaps, even, it was she who had asked Missus to let me stay in the house.

“What do you mean, ‘sorry'?” Missus asked, catching my attention once more. “Can you not understand me? I said you'll be staying in my girls' room.”

“Yes, but ma'am, I can't … I can't do that.”

“Excuse me?” she said, taking a dangerous step farther into the room. “You do what I say!” she continued, her voice rising. She waited to see if I was bold enough to
say anything more. A small fear had settled in my chest. I couldn't sleep in the Big House, so close to the heart of where our struggles lay. I couldn't sleep there, so near to the danger that had seemed to disappear over the months but that sat in the back of my mind in the form of Masta Jeffrey. How could I make her see that I could not stay there? I didn't know, but I had to try.

“Missus, I done everything you say, I listen closely, an' try so hard to do things like I'se s'pose to”—I paused, peeking at her stony face—“but … but … I cain't stay.” She took two steps toward me and raised her hand to my face, but Mary stepped from the sink before Missus could strike. My breath was short, and looked fearfully at Mary. What would she say? Maybe she'd tell Missus that I'd love to stay, I was just talking a little out of my mind just then. Maybe she'd say I was a little scared at the moment, but after a day or so, I'd be excited to stay there. Instead, she said something quite different.

“Missus, ma'am, don't strike ha.”

Missus turned to Mary with a different sort of look and hints of respect sitting in her eyes. “You hear her talking against me like that. She deserves a nice beat!” Missus said, waving her hand.

“Naw, ma'am, you don't undastand what she tryin' to tell ya. She have sleepin' spells, this one do,” Mary explained, looking over at me. Her eyes told me to stay silent. “Wake up sometime jus' a yellin'. Have them bad dreams, she do. Don't happen all the time, but when them fits come on
ha, she cain't help it, ma'am.” I stood quiet, wondering if Mary knew the real dangers she was saving me from. Mary finished, and Missus looked over at me, her eyes running up, over, and through me to see if she could find any flaw in Mary's explanation. After a minute or so, her eyebrows curved down in a frown. She had found none.

“Would it be best she come earlier fo' they wake an' stay wit them till they's fall asleep?” Mary pushed. She was treading dangerous ground. Missus sighed heavily.

“Very well.” Only then did she lower her hand.

“That's what'll have to do. Can't have a crazy servant waking up this whole house at night. My husband, Charles, wouldn't stand it. You come earlier, and make sure they fall asleep at night. But”—she looked at Mary for reassurance—“I don't want you sleeping here nights.” With that, she left. I waited until the sound of her light step on the staircase died away. I turned to Mary.

“Mary—”

She walked over to the food I had set down, and placed it back in my hands. “Nothin' mo', Sarah. Take these on down there.” She turned back to the sink and fell into a deep silence that forced me out of the room. I whispered a quick thank-you before I left the kitchen.

When I got outside, a good-size group of folks had gathered to eat. Their laughter and good spirits pulled my mind out of pondering why Mary had had such a strong change of heart. Instead, I busied myself with setting out the food and cider and handing out fair rations. I collapsed
on the ground, afterward, to eat my own meal. A familiar voice caught my attention.

“Go on, set down ova here.” An older lady was clasping John's arm, and the two of them were making their way over to the seated group. Another young man hopped up and helped John seat her as she welcomed all the greetings.

Looking up at me, she said, “So this be the one called Sarah. Done seen you round here some. John tell me you's a good storyteller.” I laughed, remembering the stories I told John about broken memories from my past that I fabricated with pieces from my imagination, and sometimes from pieces of dreams that seemed tied to my life before the plantation.

“John, why you gotta tell …” But when I looked over my shoulder, John had already gone. I stared after him regretfully before turning back to the people around me.

Masta isn't here, so why's he running off so quickly?

The laughter and “nice” food pulled me back into the trance of the night. All of these folks gathered here shared a humanity that, on more days than we liked, was left buried beneath the work of the day. The small children ran around, evidence of raspberries on their lips. I shared a story that left the others smiling with a lightness I was glad I could bring out. Another man played a banjo made out of a gourd and some fishing string he told us he'd bargained for. By the time Mary quitted the Big House and headed our way, half of the folks had found their way back to their own quarters or to another small gathering elsewhere. Daniel disappeared away with them.

It was all for the better.

Mary carried a large pan in her hands—her surprise. It was apple pie. She didn't stay, just set the pie down, grabbed herself a nice piece, and left for the quarters. The rest of us devoured the treat and savored the laughter that accompanied sugary mouths and sticky fingers.

Heading home alone that night, a large piece of pie I had saved for Daniel sitting idly in my hands, I thought about John not staying at the gathering. Once again, despite the few times we had sneaked away together in the past few weeks—on the rare occasions when time permitted, on weekends, or on nights we could afford to sacrifice sleep—I found myself believing he had taken Masta seriously. I couldn't help thinking that maybe I wasn't even worth the risk. My heart told me I was wrong, but common sense washed over me. I licked my fingers once more and gazed up at the dark, starless sky.

I tried to avoid the shadows, but shadows come as blessings sometimes, and it was from them that John emerged. He slipped beside me and lightly pressed something into my hand, then took my fingers, one by one, and folded them against the object.

“This for you.” A simple whisper in my ear and he was gone again, back into the shadows. I peeked into my hand to see a tiny wooden object. I couldn't make out its shape in the dark.

In the cabin, I studied the gift by candlelight. John had carved out an angel with wings, smoothing it out as best he could. Touching it softly, I drew my finger across John's
perfect knife marks. I touched the curves in the face and cuddled its wings. After a few minutes, I set it on my pallet and marveled at the small wonder. I had told John about being free in my country. I had told him about Mama, Mathee, and how I saw her and felt her even now—as my angel. And now John had carved her. The design was so intricate, I wondered if God hadn't had a hand in John's project. It looked just like I saw her in my mind. The wings seemed to flow like a river, and her features reminded me of how beautiful my people were. My heart fluttered with a feeling that wouldn't ever leave my soul.

CHAPTER
 
14 

M
ASTA'S HOLIDAY HAD PASSED US QUICKLY BY, AND THE WEEKS
fell away as we molded back into our lives of labor. The day was cool, though I sat in the Big House. I was in the kitchen, cleaning, while Mary sat snapping beans for Masta's supper. The silence created space for my busy thoughts. Knowing it was unwise, I thought about what I was learning with little Masta and Missus.

Young Missus Jane ate a mo … mo … modicum of suga—no, sugar—from the bowl very furtive. No, that wasn't it. Very … furtively!

In the afternoons, the children would review their schoolwork from the mornings. I replayed in my mind their conversation from the day before.

“No, Jane,” young Masta Bernard said,
“furtively
means softly.”

“No, it don't. It means secretively, just like I said!”

“Boys is smarter than girls; therefore, I know!”

“No, they ain't!”

“Yeah, they are. Sarah, ain't boys smarter than girls?” young Masta Bernard asked me.

“I don't rightly know,” I responded.

“Ah, 'course you don't know,” he said, brushing my opinion away with a wave of his hand, “you ain't s'pose to be smart.” He laughed. “Jane, boys are smarter an' that's that!”

“Nuh-uh. See? Look.” Young Missus Jane held up a sheet of paper that her teacher had written on, and read the definition.

“
Furtively
means secretly. Miss Jane ate a m-o-d-i-c-u-m of sugar from the bowl very f-u-r-t-i-v-e-l-y!” she said. “Told you I was …”

My thoughts hushed abruptly. I had seen a quick movement below, just outside the cracked kitchen window. I knew nobody was supposed to be out at the water well at that time of day.

I edged myself to the window, trying not to raise curiosity in Mary.

There it was again—that movement from one bush to another. I had stolen a long enough glance to know that it was Tucker. His limber form knelt, waiting. I moved closer as another figure approached him from behind, though I couldn't see who it was. Tucker whipped around quickly, so the two figures were face-to-face. I could only barely catch their brief exchange.

“It's the preacher, is it?” came Tucker's soft voice.

“I ain't no real preacher. Only speak fo' freedom.” The voice was very low, but I would know its bearer anywhere. John continued with his response. “It's tonight?” I heard no answer and could only imagine Tucker bobbing his head in reply.

“Where?”

“Empty cabin, mile east of the cornfield, an hour after work is done.” That was the last sound I heard. Peering again through the window, I found that the two men had disappeared.

Glancing over at Mary, I eyed her carefully to be certain she'd heard none of the conversation. She hadn't. She was speaking to me, but my mind leaped about elsewhere. I got it in my head to find John, somehow, someway, before the day was out, and to find out what was going on.