Part 30 (2/2)

There was a cane propped between us with a fanciful carving of a rabbit on the handle. Moving it to the side, she said, ”You didn't come to try and stop us, did you?”

”It's dangerous, Handful . . . I'm afraid for you.”

”Well, that may be, but I'm more scared of bowing and sc.r.a.ping to your mauma and your sister the rest of my days.”

Speaking barely above a whisper, I told her about my plan to try and convince Mother to sell the two of them to me.

She laughed a bitter sound. ”Uh huh.”

I hadn't expected that. I looked past her, scanning the harbor, noticing the steamer in the distance rinsed clean by the rain.

She s.h.i.+fted herself on the cus.h.i.+on and I heard the breath leave her. ”I just don't see missus doing one thing favorable for me, that's all. But here you are, all this way-n.o.body else would've done that for me-so it's worth a try, and if she's willing to sell us, I'll pay you back everything I got, four hundred dollars.”

”There would be no need-”

”Well, I ain't doing it any other way.”

We stopped talking as Hector, the butler Mary had installed, came up the stairs with my trunk, his gaze lingering longer than was comfortable. I stood. ”I should get settled.”

”You go on and talk to her then,” Handful whispered. ”But don't be waiting too long.”

I waited four days. It seemed imprudent to make the request before that-I wanted Mother to believe I'd returned solely to see her.

I broached the matter on Tuesday afternoon while we sat in the drawing room, Mother, Mary, and I, swis.h.i.+ng our fans at the vaporous heat. A languid silence had fallen that none of us seemed willing to break. We'd exhausted all the harmless subjects: the rainy weather, the spectacular wonder of the railroad that ran from Charleston to Savannah, an expurgated version of Nina's wedding, news of my siblings, the nieces and nephews I'd never met. If I had any chance at securing freedom for Handful and Sky, we couldn't speak of my scandalous adventures, which had been in all the papers. Nor of abolition, slavery, the North, the South, religion, politics, or the fact I'd been outlawed in the city the previous summer.

”People are talking, Sarah,” Mary said, breaking the lull. She exchanged a look with Mother, and I glimpsed how in step they were with one another, how alike. An echo of loneliness reverberated from my girlhood, and I felt again like the odd-child-out. Even now. I heard Binah's voice somewhere in my memory, Poor Miss Sarah. These irrational childish feelings, where had they come from suddenly?

”Rumors are running rampant that you've returned,” Mary was saying. ”It's only a matter of time before the sheriff arrives to inquire about it, and if you're here, I'm not sure what you expect us to say. We can hardly hide you like a fugitive.”

I turned to Mother, watching her eyes veer away toward the piazza. The windows were open and the chocolaty smell of the oleander streamed in, sickeningly thick.

”You wish me to leave?”

”It's not a matter of what we wish,” Mother said. ”If the authorities come, I wouldn't give you over to them, of course not. You're my daughter. You're still a Grimke. We only suggest it would be easier all around if you cut your visit short.”

To my surprise, her eyes filled. She was plump now with thinned white hair and one of those ancient faces that's deeply cobblestoned. She peered at me as the tears started to spill, and I left my chair and went to her. Bending down awkwardly, I put my arms about her.

She clung to me an instant, then straightened. Instead of returning to my seat, I paced toward the window and back, gathering my bravery.

”I won't put you at risk, I'll leave on the next steamer, but before I go, I have a request. I would like to purchase Hetty and her sister, Sky.”

”Purchase them?” Mary said. ”But why? You hardly barter in slaves.”

”Mary, for heaven's sake, she means to free them,” Mother said.

”I'll offer you any amount.” I walked to Mother's side. ”Please. I would consider it a great kindness to me.”

Mary rose and came to the other side of Mother's chair. ”We can't possibly do without Hetty,” she said. ”There are few seamstresses in Charleston to match her. She's irreplaceable. The other one is expendable, but not Hetty.”

Mother stared at her hands. Her shoulders moved up and down with her breath, and I began to feel a p.r.i.c.k of hope.

”There are laws that make it difficult,” she said. ”Emanc.i.p.ating them would require a special act of the legislature.”

”Difficult, but it could be done,” I responded.

Something inside of her seemed to bend, to arch toward me. Mary sensed it, too. She placed her hand on our mother's, linking the two of them. She said, ”We can't do without Hetty. And we must think of her, as well. Where will she go? Who will take care of her? She has a home here.”

”This is not her home, it's her prison,” I said.

Mary stiffened. ”We don't need you to come here and lecture us about slavery. I won't stand here and defend it to you. It's our way of life.”

Her words infuriated me. I wondered for a moment if holding my tongue would help my cause with Mother. Was it ever right to sacrifice one's truth for expedience? Mother would do what she would do, wouldn't she? I wondered how it was possible I'd found my words out there in the world, but could lose them in the house where I was born.

It gave way inside of me-years of being here, co-existing with the untenable. ”Your way of life! What does that justify? Slavery is a h.e.l.l-concocted system, it cannot be defended!”

Small red wafers splotched along Mary's neck. ”G.o.d has ordained that we take care of them,” she said, fl.u.s.tered now, spluttering.

I took a step toward her, my outrage breaking open. ”You speak as if G.o.d was white and Southern! As if we somehow owned his image. You speak like a fool. The Negro is not some other kind of creature than we are. Whiteness is not sacred, Mary! It can't go on defining everything.”

I doubt anyone had ever spoken to her in such a manner, and she turned away from me, taken aback.

I couldn't explain that rising up, this coming fully to myself, the audacity and authority my life had found. It took me aback, as well, and I closed my eyes, and I blessed it. It was like arriving finally in the place I'd left, and I felt then I would never be an exile again.

Mother lifted her hand. ”This has tired me,” she said and struggled to her feet with her old gold-tip cane. She walked to the door, then turned back, leveling her eyes on mine. ”I won't sell Hetty or Sky to you, Sarah. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I will compromise.”

In the darkness of the cellar, the sound of my knocking seemed lost and swallowed up. It was past midnight. I'd waited until now to find Handful, slipping down here when the house was asleep, still wearing my sleeping clothes. The lantern swayed in my hand, swiveling the shadows, as I rapped again on Handful's door. Come on, Handful, wake up.

”Who's out there?” Her voice sounded alarmed and m.u.f.fled behind the door.

”It's all right. It's me, it's Sarah.”

She made a slit in the door, then let me inside. She held a candle that flickered beneath her chin. Her eyes appeared almost luminous.

”I'm sorry to wake you, but we must talk.”

Across the room, Sky was sitting up in her bed, her hair splayed out like a great dark fan. I sat the lantern down and nodded at her. Soon after my arrival, I'd seen her in the ornamental garden, down on her knees, digging with a trowel. The garden had been turned into a kind of wonderland, a cloister of colorful blooms, groomed shrubberies, and winding paths, and I'd gone out there as if to take a stroll. Sky hadn't waited for me to approach her, but pushed to her feet and strode over to me, smelling of fresh dirt and green plants. She didn't look like Handful, or Charlotte either for that matter. She was strapping. She looked feral and cunning to me. She said, ”You Sarah?” When I said I was, she grinned. ”Handful said you the best of the Grimkes.”

”I'm not sure that's saying a great deal,” I answered, smiling at her.

”Maybe not,” she said, and I liked her instantly.

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