Authors: Gloria Ann Wesley
Thirty-two
“I
T'S HERE! IT'S HERE!” FORTUNE WAVED THE LONG-AWAITED
letter in the air. “I picked it up at the Pony Express office this morning. Go ahead,” he said, “read it.” Sarah eagerly ripped the letter open as Fortune pulled up a chair and listened intently.
September 8, 1785
My Dearest Fortune:
I wish to inform you that I received your letter. I am much relieved now that I know what has become of my mother. I plan to journey by boat from Yarmouth to Port Roseway on September 24, 1785. I should arrive mid-afternoon. I look forward to meeting my family members.
With affection,
Amelia Pinkham
“This is it.” Fortune said. “This is the last of her brood.”
“Should we share the news with her?” Sarah asked. “Or should we wait?”
“It might be too much excitement.” Fortune said, “Yet it amazes me how she remains so hopeful, even with death in search of her.”
“It's her faith keeping her strong, Papa.”
“She has been like a shepherd gathering her flock. One last sheep to come to the fold. This blessing belongs to her and she will not be cheated out of it.”
It was just two days after receiving the letter that Fortune and Sarah, unable to keep the excitement to themselves, felt obligated to share the news. They stood at the old woman's bedside announcing they had found Amelia and that she would be visiting soon. Grandmother lay still. She stared at Fortune a long time before she smiled and said, “All my children will know of their mama's love.”
On the morning of September
24
, the early sun unfolded through layers of pink and grey sky. It slowly released its warmth over Birchtown, promising a beautiful evening for a reunion. Fortune stood by his mother's bed. “She's going to be here today. Amelia's on her way.” His deep voice slipped into a mellow sweetness. “I have to go to Port Roseway to meet her at the wharf.”
Grandmother struggled to raise her head. “Okay, I hear you.” She turned to Sarah. “Get my good nightdress, the one with the lace, and a pretty nightcap.” She bowed her head on her chest and murmured, “I'm counting on you, Lord.”
Sarah pulled the old woman's hair back into a bun using the bone-handled brush. “You're as pretty as a Carolina rose, Grandmother.”
“Come here, Sarah. Come sit a spell.” The old woman's eyes were kind and they dazzled in shimmering amber. “I got something I need to say to you.” She paused and said, “I was blessed with a wonderful gift.”
“A gift?”
“Yes, Chile. You were the gift. You were mine as much as the rest, more like a dear daughter, a good friend. You and I and Fortune, we been through a lot together.”
“We have.”
“I want you to know that I heard about your troubles in Roseway.”
Sarah stared at Grandmother and sighed. “How did you know?”
“I could tell you were not yourself. You never came in to see me or sleep in the room. I tricked Fibby into telling me all the news. You know that Fibby. She could never keep a thing. I wished I could have been at the trial. I am proud of you, Sarah. You've got fire and you did good.”
“I tried to be strong, Grandmother.”
She took Sarah's hand. “Do you see this black skin?” She ran her fingers up and down Sarah's chestnut arm. “You love this skin because no one can love it the way you can.” She held Sarah's eye for a long time. “Sometimes our voices, our hair, our features, they are not pleasing to others, but you love them. You love your wondrous self.” She was wheezing now, but she kept going. “I'm not long in this world. You and Thomas have a good life. I give my blessing.” She took only a sip from the water glass Sarah raised to her lips and fell back on the bed. “I got one last chile to claim, my Amelia.”
“You rest now. Amelia will be here soon.” Sarah stroked the old woman's hair and planted a kiss on her forehead. “I love you, Grandmother. Thank you for all you have done.”
Sarah sat idly on the cabin step. Her back was sore and the bandages so thick that she could barely fasten her gown. She watched the wind breeze the maple leaves and listened to the birds flitting about in the tall trees. The day was calm, just still and peaceful. She thought of Amelia. Another member to add to the family, more gold.
Suddenly she heard strange moans that took her rushing back inside.
“Grandmother,” she called. “What's wrong?”
The old woman's face was a clump of flesh and the bedclothes twisted about her. “Did I scare you? I was just thinking out loud. I was thinking on what I was going to say to Amelia.”
“You will know when the time comes,” Sarah said. “Lie back and rest.”
Sarah was busy with needlepoint when Fortune returned with Amelia. It was still light outside. A short bronze woman in a green dress and black jacket came through the door. Sarah expected to see a fair-skinned woman, creamy-coloured, like Reece and Margaret, but Amelia was dark-skinned with a round face and thick, short hair. How strange it was to mix black with white and produce such a range of colours.
“You must be Sarah,” Amelia said. She reached over and squeezed Sarah's face. “My, if you ain't a picture to behold.” Amelia's voice was loud and robust and the joy in it tickled Sarah. “Well, well,” she said. “I'm happy to know that I have a family in Birchtown. I never thought I would ever see such a day. Your father has told me all about you.”
“Welcome to the family,” Sarah stammered.
Amelia looked at Sarah and said, “Well, thank you. I'm anxious to see my mother. Is she feeling better?”
Sarah nodded. She pointed to the back room. “She is waiting for you.”
Amelia followed Fortune. As they entered the room, Lydia mumbled, “Tell Sarah to put tea on and set the table for my daughter.”
Amelia approached cautiously and sat at the foot of her bed looking at the woman who came to the Big House every morning when the roosters first crowed. She remembered her with long, black braids wrapped around her head and a round face that rarely smiled. This was the woman, always with a big belly, keeping the fires, cleaning the house, making the meals and washing the clothes. She moved closer.
“Is that you Amelia?” Lydia smiled up at her.
“Yes Ma'am. It is Amelia.”
“You are a godsend, Chile.” With trembling hands, she reached over and gently patted Amelia's arm. “Your coming here makes me happy.”
Amelia gazed at the tired face. She could read the years, like reading a book, not in words, but in wrinkles, scars and bleached white hair. Time, she thought, had left its mark, and yet there was joy in her eyes and a glow in her skin that magically erased the strain and worry of her long life. As she gazed down at her mother's face, there arose in Amelia a burning pain that came from abandonment. All this time, she had known when she was carried off by the Pinkham foreman that she was being taken away to a new family, and she went in silence, fear sealing her lips. How she had missed Lydia's kindness and Margaret's friendship. Those she would never forget. It was not until the letter came that she realized her mother's need to connect to family was the same as her own. Although time was snatching away the love she had regained, it was not too late to save some of it.
Lydia nodded slowly and moved her mouth. She wanted to speak, but Amelia pressed her finger gently on her mother's lips to prevent her. “Hush now, my dear. Fortune told me that you need my forgiveness. There is nothing to forgive. There is no reason for you to feel guilty. There is not a thing you could have done differently.”
Fortune stood quietly to the side. He witnessed the closure of the long-held secrets, watched how it removed the weight from his mother's shoulders and left a joyous woman. All that balling up inside had found a way to escape.
“You did the right thing,” Amelia said calmly. “I do not blame you. Rest now, knowing that the love of a child for her mother lives on in her heart.” She stroked Lydia's cottony white hair. Their eyes met and held. She said, “I am blessed. I have finally found you and my true family.”
Lydia tried to speak, but again Amelia shushed her. “Save your strength,” she said. “All that matters is that I am here to comfort you.”
Amelia cradled the old woman in her arms, rocking her back and forth. “I remained with the Pinkhams though they often sent me to work on other farms. There were many times when I wondered what became of you,” she said. “My master's missus was a nice woman who liked me and so they kept me on their plantation.”
“The Lord was good to you,” Lydia said weakly.
“You are right, Ma'am. The Lord was good. Now, you must not worry any more. We are family.” Amelia leaned over and tenderly kissed her mother's cheek.
Lydia leaned forward and whispered, “Ask Sarah to come in. There is a small wooden box under the bed. She knows which one.”
When Sarah entered the room, she reached under the bed for the box, only to find when she stood up a look of disapproval on Amelia's face. Sarah glanced quickly at her aunt, wondering what sort of thoughts lay beneath the pleasant surface. With a slight raise of the brows at her aunt, she handed the box to Grandmother.
The old woman's jittery hands opened the box and she pulled out a sheet of paper. “Margaret wrote these names ⦠they are all my children's names.” She unfolded the paper and laid it on the bed. In the box was a tiny wooden ring. She held it up and said, “This was your ring. I got Tally to carve one for each of my girls. This one was carved after you were gone, but I kept it, just in case.” She stopped for a moment to catch her breath, then said, “You have a sister, Margaret Cunningham. You must get to know her.”
“A sister?” Amelia asked. “Why I had no idea.”
The old woman's mouth was dry. She rolled her tongue over her lips. “Margaret Cunningham, Amelia Pinkham, Prince, Fortune and Reece Johnson,” she murmured, “all my children!” She paused a moment before whispering, “I love them all. I am sorry that I had to keep this secret ⦠Lord, I am sorry.” The old woman fell back into the soft feather pillows and closed her eyes.
Thirty-three
I
T WAS MID-OCTOBER 1786. FORTUNE HELD THE REINS
steady as he and Sarah travelled along the Birchtown Road. Their singing was spirited as the words of an old work song tumbled from their mouths. Sarah sat tall, sporting a green Sunday jacket and a flowered gown. Her wide hat flopped in the breeze.
“Are you sure that you want to do this?” Fortune asked.
“Yes Papa.”
“Maybe you should wait awhile. I'm not feeling sure about this.”
“I cannot give in to fear, Papa. I have to try.”
“Getting a licence from the Sessions Court is no easy task.” He looked over at Sarah and smiled. “Your courage is as big as the whole outdoors. I admire your strength to keep pushing ahead. You are so much like your mama and grandmother.”
“I can see that you are worried ⦔
“No, not worried, just a little tired of the fight.”
“Yes, and it's my turn now. There are times when I feel a hand around my throat, waiting to choke the life from me. I cannot give up. Sometimes I don't understand why our path is so rocky, Papa.”
“If I knew the answer to that, Babygirl, I would be the Lord.”
They laughed and their laughter echoed throughout the Birchtown woods.
Outside the Sessions Court, the line-up was long with a sea of unfamiliar faces. Fortune waited, head down, waging war with his decision to encourage Sarah to try this test. He wondered if he could bear to see the pain if she lost yet another round. He rubbed his forehead and spit yellow tobacco juice out onto the road.
It was nearly an hour before Sarah came out through the doors of the courthouse. Fortune slowly turned to get a glimpse of her face, hoping to get a hint of the verdict. Her expression was almost stony as she climbed into the wagon and slid over on the seat beside him. She reached inside her rag purse. Fortune watched her every move, followed her hand closely.
“It's a hallelujah day,” she exclaimed.
“You got the licence?”
“I got it. I got the licence.”
Fortune wrapped his arms around her and they rocked with joy. “You had me for a minute,” he howled. “You are almost as good as your Papa! We'll have to find a building somewhere. I imagine the cost will be put up higher when they see our faces! But we will find the money.”
“I have hoarded like a field mouse gathering up bits for a nest ⦠every crown and shilling, every piece of jewellery or thing of value. Thomas has offered his help and, among us, I am sure there will be enough.”
“You are a wonder, Babygirl. A true wonder.”
The next morning, Margaret Cunningham pulled her carriage up to the Redmond cabin. Inside, after making herself comfortable, she turned to Sarah. “You have not stopped by in a long while for a visit. I missed you and I have been wondering how everyone is getting along.”
“We are doing well. It is so different without Grandmother.”
“Yes it would be. I miss her as much as you do.”
Margaret caught Prince up in her arms and said, “My, my, he is growing up fast. He is looking more like his daddy every day.” Then she looked at Sarah with concern. “We didn't have a chance to talk about what happened, Sarah. The whipping, I mean. It was a very cruel punishment. But that's the people here for you ⦠it's hard to understand what they think, why they act the way they do, how deep their habits are.”
“For them, it's like Ramsey said, we are of no account. We are no more than the rocks in the field.”
“Not everyone is cruel and heartless, though sometimes that may seem true,” Margaret said, “but many in the settlement are fair-minded. Perhaps disappointment has led to violence and hatred all around. It is time to make peace.”
“Even if there is peace, the Negroes will still be treated the same way. These folks see no reason to change their ways.”
“I believe in time they will.”
“Perhaps. It is true that when they needed more men during the war, they had to change their minds about Negroes. Change comes from a need, Papa says, and the war opened the door a little wider, but why must there be a door?”
“A door can be taken down, Sarah.”
“I tried. Didn't I try to have the law applied fairly?”
Margaret faced Sarah saying, “But in the end, Sarah, the law that condemned you was the same law that saved you.”
“Even that required a fight.”
Margaret searched for the words to console her niece. “Shame is on those who have no respect for justice. When a law is not rooted in fairness, we all become victims.”
Sarah sighed. “I have decided that there is no gain in dwelling on what I cannot have or what I cannot do. I plan to take one day at a time and do all I can.” With that, Sarah broke into singing one of the songs from the camp meetings:
I got wings, you got wings,
All o' God's chillun got wings,
When I get to heaven, I'm goin' to put on my wings,
I'm goin' to fly all over God's Heaven!
When she finished, she looked at Margaret and laughed, “I'm not waiting to get to heaven. I'm going to fly down here, going to fly all over Port Roseway. I will get a shop with a little faith ⦔ She moved to the trunk at the foot of her bed and came back with a piece of paper. She waved it high above her head, “and with this licence.”
Margaret stared at the paper. “This is beyond words. I cannot believe it.”
Sarah walked to the window and stood looking out into the yard. The trees around the cabin had been cleared. A path stretched to a barn where she saw her father coming through the doors. When Fortune caught sight of her in the window, he waved his hand, yelling for her to come. She turned to her aunt, saying, “Father needs us. Quick, we must go to the barn. Something has happened.”
Once inside the barn, the two women heard strange sounds coming from a stall near the back. It was the sweet neighs of Betty, the mare. Beside her a tiny filly nestled in the warmth of her neck in the hay. Fortune faced them beaming like an August moon.
When the women returned from the barn, Margaret's voice became playful, saying, “Oh, and by the way, I have a surprise as well. You may as well know about the trunk.”
“The trunk, Ma'am?”
“I have a trunk full of fabric and needles. It has scissors, thimbles and thread. I have been saving it for a long time. It will be a good start and there is more good news! Colonel Aiken's wife has another trunk filled with goods. She will give it to you, just as long as she can be your first customer.”
“Oh Lord. Have I died and gone to heaven? A customer.”
“A family has to pull together, doesn't it? Lydia wanted this family to be whole.” Margaret's voice dropped. “Forgive me, Sarah. We kept the secret for so long. From now on, it's going to be âmother.' No more âLydia'. I spoke with Fortune yesterday. He said you were searching for another place.” She reached into her jacket pocket and handed a large key to Sarah. “This is for a building on Water Street, just a few buildings down from the burnt fish hut.”
Sarah held the key in her hand and stared at it a long time. Her stomach felt like warm porridge on the coldest winter day. “I am grateful, Ma'am! You are the amazing one.”
“Mr. Harris has offered it to you at no cost. Fortune told me you saved to purchase a building. Now you can use the money to fix up the place.”
Sarah pressed the key to her bosom, letting out a long sigh.
“There is one more bit of news,” Margaret said, reaching for the latch on the door. “They found Boll weevil's body on Maiden Lane a few days ago. He was badly beaten. The sheriff has questioned a lot of people, but there are no witnesses.”
“I am glad it is over, Ma'am.”
“From now on, you call me Aunt Margaret.”
THOMAS COOPER AND SEVERAL FRIENDS WORKED TIRELESSLY
for weeks in the shop on Water Street until the plain tackle shop resembled a place of business. It had long counters for cutting, hooks for hanging, drawers and shelves for goods and a place to iron. A pot-bellied stove stood centre floor to greet and warm the customers. Outside, the sign above the door read, “Sarah's Tailor Shop.” The Roseway women cackled like hens when they saw the sign go up, clucking about the bold Negro woman daring to return and set up shop after what happened. Many of them did not like the idea of her competing with Martha Lewis. Some said they would cross the street because they feared walking in front of a Negro's shop. Others just quibbled for the sake of it. Yet others acknowledged that Negroes were people just like themselves, said it was time to work together for the common good. There were women who came to give away their fabric scraps. There were those who came for alterations and others who placed orders for winter clothing. As the work piled up, Sarah was so busy she barely had time for herself or Thomas.
Mr. Eldridge, an elderly tailor, volunteered to take Sarah under his wing and show her a thing or two about the art of sewing. This is when her real education began. She learned how to measure, the function of different types of needles, the correct stitches for the fabric and the names of the many varieties of fabrics. The most important rule was the need to conserve and extend the life of costly fabrics. Nothing went to waste. Alter, mend and remake.
Sarah carted all the leftover fabric home. “One of these days, we are going to make a quilt, Sarah, one that tells the story of our journey,” Grandmother had said. The time had come. After many months of late nights and hard work, the quilt came together. The colours dazzled in a warm collage of greens, browns, blues, white and gold. Valued memories lay deep in the varying textures. In the smooth were the things of love, joy and plenty. In the coarse were the things of sorrow and betrayal. With every stitch and every decision, whether it was the colour, the size or the shape of the piece, Sarah heard Grandmother's voice. This was their legacyâthe story of their journey to Nova Scotia. It became the centrepiece on the back wall of the shop, a sentinel keeping watch. The quilt could have sold many times over, but it was not for sale for all the money in Port Roseway.