May the Road Rise Up to Meet You: A Novel (13 page)

Th’slave girl from before comes down th’line of women, handin you back yo’ dresses, ’cept she skips th’one what had hers torn from her. Th’man what tore her dress from her in th’firs’ place walks up wit’ a long sack, cuts a few holes in it, an throws it at her, laughin. You got yo’s on a few seconds after the girl hands it to you, time enough to look over at th’woman strugglin to get her arms an head through th’sack, an th’man what tore her dress from her laughs on an on an on.

An then you stand in that hot mornin sun ’til th’noise out fronta th’buildin increases some, an you led by that one long chain out to where a crowd is gatherin. They’s a finely dressed man there shoutin out to th’crowd an smilin at all you slaves as you stretched out in one long line behind where he’s standin. He points out some of th’strongest men, an yells to th’crowd bout them, then gets a look altogether different when the women come past, ’specially th’prettiest ones. When you walk past him, his eyes go wide, an he runs th’backa his fingers ’cross yo’ cheek just like th’Misses did two days before, when Gertie told her bout what Mista Grant done to ya. Only th’way that well-dressed man runs his fingers over you don’t make you feel nothin’ like comf’table, th’way it did when th’Misses done it.

You stand all in a line, an people from th’crowd come up an walk slowly past all of you, starin at you up an down, sometimes walkin behind you all, touchin you all, observin you like you’s a buncha cattle. Most of ’em walkin past are men, but they’s a few women who look only at th’women slaves, askin if you all know how to cook or sew an if you ever been a Mammy or had chillen of you own. When two ladies ask you bout cookin an sewin, you say,
No’m
, lyin only partly cause you ain’t never got th’chance to learn all Gertie was gonna teach you, an it’s only a little lie cause you ain’t sure if what you know is enough for what these fine white ladies is lookin fo’.

When they all pass, th’finely dressed man starts shoutin out at th’crowd an th’slaves are led off t’one side. One of th’men wit’ th’buckets before comes up an unchains one of th’biggest of th’men slaves, while another man stands wit’ a gun behind him. They bring him to th’wooden stand an th’finely dressed man points at him up an down, an has th’white men turn him round an slaps him on th’back twice before pointin at th’crowd an shoutin some more. Only this time, some of th’men from th’crowd shout back at him, an th’finely dressed man talks so fast that you can’t understand any of it. An as he gets more excited, th’men in th’crowd shout back at him louder still, ’til one man shouts
nine hundred
, an th’finely dressed man repeats it a few times before slammin his palm down on toppa th’wood stand, an th’crowd cheers some. An that slave’s led off an another gets brought in, an on an on it goes like that.

They’s only a few slaves left by th’time you get brung out, an th’crowd’s just halfa what it was at th’start. By now that lard th’man spread all over you an yo’ own sweat from th’hot sun is all mixin togetha into a great flood, an you know Gertie, if she was livin still, would be as shamed to see you as you are t’be standin there. So you stand alone, lookin down at th’ground ’neath yo’ bare feet, ’til th’finely dressed man lifts up yo’ chin wit’ his white-gloved hand an pulls yo’ face toward him. He smiles at you wit’ teeth th’same brown an yellow as Mista Grant’s, an you scared a’him straight off. But it’s like there’s nothin in you to cry … even though you want to like never b’fo’ … no water to make th’tears or breath to let out in little gasps, an you feel just how all alone you are, no Gertie ever comin back, no Momma an Daddy comin from that place called Texas, no one ’cept th’finely dressed man wit’ th’brown an yellow teeth in a smile what makes you thinka Mista Grant.

He talks to th’crowd steada shoutin like he done in th’beginnin, an th’crowd don’t have much t’say back to him. So he lifts yo’ head again an smiles as he sticks th’nail of his thumb in th’corner of yo’ mouth an makes you half-smile, too. But soon as he lets go, yo’smile goes away again, an it starts t’sound like he’s growin angry wit’ th’crowd, small as it is, an you sure it’s cause of you. Mosta th’people are just millin about or walkin right past, headin one way or th’other down th’street, lookin at th’shop windows ’cross th’way more’n they lookin at you an th’finely dressed man. He got his finger back in yo’ mouth, pullin at th’side of it, forcin a bigger half-smile now, an th’crowd still not sayin much to him.

By one of th’shops ’cross th’street you see a girl a little younger’n you by a few years. She’s wearin a beautiful green an yellow dress an yellow gloves wit’ hair ribbons t’match, an she’s starin right at you, even though her Momma’s holdin her hand an facin th’store window. This girl got herself turned all th’way round to face you an th’finely dressed man, an you can’t help but wonder how it is that this girl’s there holdin her Momma’s hand an wearin a beautiful dress wit’ gloves an matchin ribbons, covered by her little green an yellow parasol, while you left to stand there in th’sun wit’ th’finely dressed man stickin his finger in yo’ mouth. It’s like God forgot all about you, like it ain’t what Gertie
always said bout how God’s watchin out for you, not at all it seems, an that it don’t matter if you offer yo’ sufferin up, th’way Gertie always said t’do. ’Cause God ain’t lis’nin.

An you start to think that maybe it’s ’cause of th’bad things you done …’cause of th’business wit’ Mista Grant an th’blood what poured outta you ’tween yo’ legs an onta th’stable floor makin a mess there in th’hay … an sleepin too late when you an Gertie run off, when you know’d Gertie was dead tired, an wasn’ like to wake up on her own … an how you still slept even afta Gertie waked up, lettin th’dogs catch up wit’ you, gettin Gertie killed like that. You get to starin at th’girl cross th’street, sure she must be practic’ly an angel on earth th’way God’s smilin on her so. An then, like it’s th’most naturalest thing in th’world, that little girl smiles at you an lifts her free hand up, wavin to you wit’ her fingers openin an closin on her palm over an over, th’way you usedta wave when you was littler. An you start to feel like maybe they’s one person here for you, like maybe God sent this angel just for you, just to smile an wave at you when you needed it more’n ever befo’.

You feel yo’ mouth start t’spread open, only this time it’s not th’finely dressed man wit’ his finger pullin at yo’ cheek, but it’s
you
doin it on yo’ own, smilin back at th’little girl ’cross th’way, God’s angel wit’ th’beautiful green an yellow dress. An then th’girl starts to tuggin at her Momma’s arm, an talkin to her, an pointin ’cross at you, an then she’s not wavin anymore, just pointin an cryin a little. You start to worryin that maybe you done somethin wrong again, that maybe you shouldn’ta smiled at th’girl an now it’s more trouble for you. An then there’s a man talkin wit’ th’girl an her Momma, the three of’m lookin over at you an th’man talkin to the little girl, brushin at her cheeks like he’s wipin away her tears. ’Fore long he’s walkin cross th’street right up toward th’finely dressed man. You sure it’s more trouble ’til th’man from ’cross th’street calls out to th’finely dressed man, an it’s like he ain’t angry no more. He says th’same number to the crowd, looks round for a moment, an slams his hand down on th’wood stand.

Th’girl in th’pretty dress is smilin an jumpin up an down a little, an when you led away to th’table ’longside th’platform, you still don’t know if it’s trouble you in or maybe, maybe … if God’s angel is happy
like that … maybe th’nightmare’s over for now. An maybe this’ll be th’starta some bitsa thread you happy to see get fixed into that stichin of yo’s. Like Gertie always said.

Miss Justinia Kittredge’s what that little angel’s name turned out to be. She was the daughter of Mista an’ Misses Kittredge that lived way up in Richmond, Virginia, a full day’s trainride from Raleigh. Miss Justinia told Mary ’bout how they was just down in Raleigh visitin’ her Momma’s brother, an’ how they was supposed to leave two days ’fore the auction, but then her Uncle fell from his horse an’ broke his arm, an’ her Momma wouldn’t leave him right off like that. So there they was, in town when they was supposed to be back home in Richmond, an’ when Miss Justinia spotted Mary, she just knew straight off that she wanted her Daddy to buy her so she could have someone to play with. When Mary heard all this, she never said it out loud, but she started thinkin’ that maybe God was watchin’ out for her a little after all, goin’ to that trouble of havin’ Miss Justinia’s Uncle fall off his horse jus’ so they could be together.

But it didn’t take long to understand that just ’cause Miss Justinia was like God’s angel that day in Raleigh, didn’t mean she was any kinda angel the resta the time. She was going on ten, almost four years younger’n Mary, and she still cried at least once a day, usually when she didn’t get things her way. She took to Mary like they been best friends since they was born, an’ ’fore long if Mary’d say she liked a thing, well then Miss Justinia liked it, an’ if Mary’d say she don’t like a thing, well then Miss Justinia don’t neither. ’Course, that made Mista an’ Misses Kittredge mighty happy to have Mary around, the way Miss Justinia start actin’ more an’ more like Mary an’ not wantin’ everything she sees an’ not cryin’ so much anymore. Mary even got her own little room right inside the Kittredges’ house, downstairs by the kitchen. It was ’bout half the size of her an’ Gertie’s cabin back in Carolina, but it was all hers, just for sleepin’ an’ gettin’ dressed an’ such.

Just about the only job Mary had each day was to play with Miss Justinia. Sure, she had some small chores like sweepin’ an’ doin’ some mendin’ the way Gertie taught her, but anytime Miss Justinia wanted to play, well then that work just got to wait. The Kittredges had nine other slaves, an’ none of ’em took too kindly to the way Mary got treated, what with havin’ her own room an’ not doin’ hardly any other work. But the Kittredges was good to all their slaves so none of ’em had much to complain about ’cept that they didn’t have as much as Mary got. Only one of the slaves seem to decide straight out that she don’t like Mary, an’ that was Cora. Cora was kinda like Miss Justinia’s Mammy, only with how much time Mary an’ Misses Kittredge spent with Miss Justinia, there wasn’t too much for Cora to do ’cept cleanin’ the room an’ lookin’ after her clothes. An’ Cora didn’t take to that ’rangement. She said that
when they’s too much sittin’ still time, ’at’s when the Devil catches up to ya
. An’ considerin’ it was almos’ the exact kinda thing Gertie’d say, Mary couldn’t hate Cora all the way through, seein’ how she missed Gertie still. But most days Mary’d get her sweepin’ an’ mendin’ done straight off, ’fore Miss Justinia finish up her breakfast an’ got to wantin’ to play. Then they’d go off an’ play with all her dolls some, or maybe move furniture around in the great big dollhouse she got for Christmas.

The Kittredges owned one of the finest stores in all of Richmond. Mista Kittredge liked to talk ’bout how he bought it when it was just a small general store that wasn’t sellin’ much more than flour an’ chewin’ tobacco to the hayseeds, an’ how now they sold all kindsa goods an’ how the store took up near half the block. Misses Kittredge’d even asked him to open up a dress shop over by the side of it, an’ then the dress shop grew bigger an’ bigger ’til they had to build an extension on it ’an put in a wall separatin’ it from the rest of the store. Seemed that even though Mista Kittredge said his part of the store wasn’t just sellin’ flour an’ tobacco to the hayseeds no more, Misses Kittredge still felt like the fine ladies they was tryin’ to bring into the dress shop didn’t want to see the other folks shoppin’ there for common things, hayseeds or not.

Mary’d learned to sew from Gertie, so after a few months with the Kittredges, she wasn’t doin’ any more sweepin’. ’Stead, whenever she wasn’t playin’ with Miss Justinia, she was workin’ in the store, mendin’ an’ doin’ some of the smaller jobs that come in. Cora got to do the sweepin’ Mary used to, an’ that just made her not like Mary even more,
which was kind of surprisin’ since it meant the Devil’d be less like to catch up to her. And Mary almos’ told her that very thing, but thought the better of it ’fore the words came outta her mouth.

’Fore long, the ache in Mary’s heart got to healin’ some. She’d talk to Gertie every night when it was dark an’ it was just her in her bed, an’ Gertie’d sometimes answer her in her dreams. Sometimes Miss Justinia would come to Mary’s room an’ crawl into bed with her an’ they’d talk ’bout Miss Juss’s new dress or how they didn’t much like Cora or how Miss Juss was gonna marry when she just sixteen an’ Mary’d come live wit’ her an’ they’d travel ’round the world together. It was nice dreamin’ out loud like that, an’ Miss Juss an’ Mary became more an’ more like sisters as time went on … mostly from Miss Juss’s feelin’s tow’d Mary, but some from Mary’s, too.

Much as she enjoyed most ever’thing ’bout her new life ’cept for missin’ Gertie, there was one thing that made Mary happiest of all. Ev’ry Monday an’ Wen’sday an’ Thursday afternoon was set aside for Miss Justinia’s lessons, an’ even though Mary liked playin’ with Miss Juss, she always knew when it was a Monday or Wen’sday or a Thursday, an’ couldn’t wait for Cora to come into the room when it got ’round noontime. This one particular Thursday’d got off to a bad start since Cora heard Mary forget the
Miss
part when she called to Justinia. Miss Juss didn’t even notice it, but Cora’s eyes looked like they was ’bout ready to pop outta her head. She pulled Mary outside the room, sayin’ she needed a hand with somethin’, but all she really wanted to do was scold Mary.

Far as these white folks concern’, you ain’ no more’n a little pup, a kitten o’ somethin’ nice for Miss Justinia t’play wit’, she told Mary. You go steppin’ out yo’ boun’s like ’at an’ dey like to sell you off wit’out no mo’ thought’n it take to slap a pup ’cross his hine quarters.

The thought of being sold off made Mary cry a little, much as she tried not to in front of Cora, an’ the rest of the mornin’ wasn’t much fun since Mary was quiet as a mouse just like she’d been when she first came here. Miss Justinia was left to do most of the talkin’, an’ when she asked Mary what was wrong, Mary just replied, Nothin’
Miss
Justinia, careful not to offend anyone.