Part 15 (1/2)

The day after Cindie praised me, they took her off somewhere and we never saw her again. Aunt-Sister said her mind had worn out, that missus had sent her off with Thomas to their plantation, where she'd live out her days. Thomas, he was the one taking care of the plantation now, and sure enough, he came back with a new maid for missus named Minta.

G.o.d help the girl.

Cindie getting sent off like that put a scare in all of us. I went back to my sewing duties faster than you could say the word rabbit. I showed missus how I could go up the stairs. I climbed sure and steady, and when I got to the top, she said, ”Well done, Hetty. I'm sure you know how much it grieved me to send you to the Work House.”

I nodded to let her know what a heavy burden this must've been for her.

Then she said, ”Sadly, these things become necessary at times, and you do seem to have profited. As for your foot . . . well, I regret the accident, but look at you. You're getting about fine.”

”Yessum.” I gave her a curtsy from the top step, thinking what Mr. Vesey said one time at church: I have one mind for the master to see. I have another mind for what I know is me.

I heard a tap-tap on my door one afternoon late, and Sarah stood there with her freckle face white as an eggsh.e.l.l. I'd been working on master Grimke's pants-missus had sent a slew of them down, said they were hanging off him too big. When Sarah came in, I was hobbling round the cutting table, spreading out a pair of britches to see what I could do. I set the shears down.

”. . . I only want to say . . . Well, I have to go away . . . Up north. I . . . I don't know when I'll be able to return.”

She was talking with the pauses back in her voice, telling me about the doctor in Philadelphia, her having to nurse her daddy, being parted from Nina, all the miseries of packing that waited for her. I listened and thought to myself, White folks think you care about everything in the world that happens to them, every time they stub their toe.

”That's a millstone for you,” I told her, ”I'm sorry,” and the minute it left my mouth, I knew it was coming from the true mind that was me, not the mind for the master to see. I was sorry for her. Sarah had jimmied herself into my heart, but at the same time, I hated the eggsh.e.l.l color of her face, the helpless way she looked at me all the time. She was kind to me and she was part of everything that stole my life.

”. . . You take care of yourself while I'm gone,” she said.

Watching her walk to the door, I made up my mind. ”Remember how you asked me a while ago if I needed anything? Well, I need something.”

She turned back and her face had brightened. ”Of course . . . whatever I can do.”

”I need a signed note.”

”. . . What kind of note?”

”One that gives me permission to be on the street. In case somebody stops me out there.”

”Oh.” That was all she said for a minute. Then, ”. . . Mother doesn't want you going out, not for a while . . . She has designated Phoebe to do the marketing. Besides, they closed the African church-there won't be anything to attend.”

I could've told you the church was doomed, but it was a blow to hear it. ”I still need a pa.s.s, though.”

”. . . Why? Where do you need to go? . . . It's dangerous, Handful.”

”I spent most of my life getting and doing for you and never have asked for a thing. I got places to go, they're my own business.”

She raised her voice at me. The first time. ”. . . And how do you propose to get off the property?”

Looking down on us was the little window mauma used to climb through. It was sitting high up, letting in the only light in the room. I said to myself, If mauma can do it, I can do it. I'll do it lame, blind, and backward, if I have to.

I didn't spell out my ways for her. I nodded at a piece of paper on the shelf beside a pen and a pot of ink. I said, ”If you can't see fit to write me this pa.s.s for safe pa.s.sage, I'll have to write it myself and sign your name.”

She took a deep breath and stared at me for a moment, then she went over and dipped the pen in the ink.

First time I squeezed through the window and went over the wall, Sarah had been gone a week. The worst part was when I had to flop myself over the top of the bricks with nothing but the white oleander for cover. I had the rabbit cane and a thick burlap bundle tied on my back that made me c.u.mbersome, and when I dropped to the ground, I landed on my bad foot. I sat there till the throb wore off, then I slipped out from the trees to the street, just one more slave doing some white person's bidding.

I chose this day cause missus had a headache. We lived for her headaches. When they came, she took to bed and left us to our blessed selves. I tried not to think how I'd get back inside the yard. Mauma had waited for dark and crawled over the back gate and that was the best remedy, but it was summertime and dark came late, giving plenty of time for folks to wonder where I was.

One block down East Bay, I spotted one of the Guard. He looked straight at me and studied my limp. Walk steady. Not too fast. Not too slow. Squeezing the ears on the rabbit, I didn't breathe till I turned the corner.

It took me twice as long to get to 20 Bull. I stood cross the street and stared at the house, still in need of paint. I didn't know if Denmark Vesey had got out of the Work House or what had happened to him. Last memory I had from that h.e.l.lhole was his voice shouting, ”Help the girl down there, help the girl.”

I hadn't let myself think about it, but standing there on the street, the memory came like a picture in a painting. I'm up on the treadmill, gripping the bar with all the strength I got. Climbing the wheel, climbing the wheel. It never will stop. Mr. Vesey is quiet, not a grunt from him, but the rest are moaning and crying Jesus and the rawhide splits the air. My hands sweat, sliding on the bar. The knot that lashes my wrist to it comes loose. I tell myself don't look side to side, keep straight ahead, keep going, but the woman with the baby on her back is howling. The whip slashes her legs. Then the child screams. I look. I look to the side and its little head is bleeding. Red and wet. That's when the edges go black. I drop, my hands pulling free from the rope. I fall and there ain't no wings sprouting off my shoulders.

In the front window of his house, a woman was ironing. Her back was to me, but I could see the shape of her, the lightness of her skin, the bright head scarf, her arm swinging over the cloth, and it caused a hitch in my chest.

When I got up on the porch, I heard her singing. Way down yonder in the middle of the field, see me working at the chariot wheel. Peering in the open window, I saw she had her hips swis.h.i.+ng, too. Now let me fly, now let me fly, now let me fly way up high.

I knocked and the tune broke off. She opened the door still holding the iron, the smell of charcoal straggling behind her. Mauma always said he had mulatto wives all over the city, but the main one lived here in the house. She stuck out her chin, frowning, and I wondered did she think I was the new bride.

”Who're you?”

”I'm Handful. I came to see Denmark Vesey.”

She glared at me, then down at my twisted foot. ”Well, I'm Susan, his wife. What you want with him?”

I could feel the heat glowing off the iron. The woman had been hard done by and I couldn't blame her not opening the door to stray women. ”All I want is to talk to him. Is he here or not?”

”I'm here,” a voice said. He stood propped in the doorway behind her with his arms folded on his chest like he's G.o.d watching the world go by. He told his wife to find something to do, and her eyes trimmed down to little slits. ”Take that iron with you,” he said. ”It's smoking up the room.”

She left with it, while he eyed me. He'd lost some fat from his face. I could see the top rim of his cheek bones. He said, ”You're lucky you didn't get rot in your foot and die.”

”I made out. Looks like you did, too.”

”You didn't come to see about my health.”

He didn't wanna beat the bushes. Fine with me. My foot hurt from trudging here. I took the bundle off my back and sat down in a chair. There wasn't a frill in the room, just cane chairs and a table with a Bible on it.

I said, ”I used to come here with my mauma. Her name was Charlotte.”

The sneer he always wore slid off his face. ”I knew I knew you from somewhere. You have her eyes.”

”That's what they tell me.”

”You have her gumption, too.”

I squeezed the burlap bundle against my chest. ”I wanna know what happened to her.”

”That was a long time ago.”

”Coming on seven years.”

When he kept silent, I undid the burlap and spread mauma's story quilt cross the table. The squares hung nearly to the floor, bright enough to set a fire in the dark room.