Glory Over Everything (8 page)

“Never mind,” he says. “I'm gonna bring you water, and I want this mess cleaned up!”

It don't take long before he comes back with a bucket and a rag. After he leaves, I wash the two of us down as best I can, then I clean up the floor. The only light that we got is from the trapdoor on top of our heads that got a ladder, and that's where Skinner comes down to bring us our food. Randall don't want the hard bread and cheese, but I know we got to get something in our stomachs, so I tell him, “I'll take a bite, then you take a bite,” and that's the way I get him to eat a little bit.

The next time I see Skinner, I ask him again where we're goin'.

“None a your business,” he says.

“But I want to go back home!” Before I know it I start yellin' at him. “Where are we goin'? You got to tell us where you're takin' us!”

He walks over and stands right in front of me and talks real quiet. “I guess you don't hear me the first time. I said it's none a your business.”

I don't care no more. I got to know. I stop yellin' and straighten myself up and try to sound like Robert. “I believe that it is my business,” I say. “You brought me here to see—” His fist winds up and catches me and I go down.

“Get off a me!” Skinner yells, and I see Randall, who's been hanging on to Skinner's arm, go flying against the wall, where he plops with a yelp like a puppy.

After Skinner goes, I try to sit up, but I can't and Randall crawls over. When I moan, he whispers, “Is you hurt? Is you hurt bad?”

While I lay there, Randall sits close beside me, waiting, his hands squeezed together tight in his lap, and I still can't believe that he tried to fight off Skinner.

“I wish I was brave as you,” I say.

“I want my mama,” he says, and even though he don't make no sound of crying, water is coming from his eyes.

“Tell you what,” I say. “Soon as we get to land, I'll write to Mr. Burton. He'll come for us.”

“You can get us outta here?”

“Yup,” I say. “I'll send a letter to Mr. Burton, and he'll come.”

Randall grabs at my hand. “An' you take me with you?”

“ 'Course I take you with me,” I say. “I'm not goin' no place without you.”

After that, I find what looks like a old sail and wrap us both in it, 'cause we's cold. Even when he's sleepin', Randall keeps hold of my hand.

The only time we see Skinner is when he brings us food and empties our slop pail, but I don't ask him no more questions.

It's hard to tell how many days go by, because after a while one day is like the next. I keep telling Randall not to worry, that as soon as I write to Mr. Burton, he'll come for us, and probably in his big carriage, too.

When Randall's cold, I tell him about the fur rugs that Mr. Burton keeps in his carriage and how we will use them to get warm on the ride home. He likes to have me talk, so I tell him about the house I live in and how it's my home and how good Mr. Burton is to me. I tell him about all the food I get to eat and how I take care of Malcolm and how Mr. Burton says that when I'm ready, he's going to send me to a school in New York.

I don't tell him about my daddy being a slave and how, every day we're on the water, I keep thinking of how Mr. Burton just got to come find us, because if Skinner's a slave catcher I don't want to be no slave. I think of what they did to my daddy's hands, and my fingers hurt just thinking about it, and when I feel Randall's hand in mine, I know for sure they can't cut nothin' off of Randall 'cause he's way too little to lose no fingers.

By the time the boat ties up, we both got a bad cough, and even though I try to get Randall to eat, he's too sick.

“T
HE TWO A
you shut up or you get my boot,” Skinner warns when he brings us up out of the hold. It's warmer here, and someone at the dock says we're in Virginia. Right away I feel better, 'cause I remember from a map Mr. Burton showed me that Virginia is right close to North Carolina, and that is where he's comin' to paint his birds, and I'll bet he can find us easy!

The sharp sun hurts my eyes, but I make them stay open so I can see where we are when they load us on a wagon. There aren't as many docks as Philadelphia, but it seems like the same kinda men are yellin' and fussin', and there's bunches of them workin' the boats, but none of them look at me and Randall, and I can't call out anyway because Skinner's hand is squeezing tight at the back of my neck. He throws us up on the wagon, and when the wagon moves out, he starts cussin' at the driver because he only got one horse and it don't move too good. When the driver starts cussin' back, Randall takes my hand.

It's a while before we're away from the docks because we got to work our way past all the other horses and wagons coming and going. Most are piled so high with stacks of wood and barrels that you can't see over them. We finally get on a road, and after we travel out some, we take a turn that cuts through the trees, which is already greening up, but I don't look around much because we're bumpin' along so hard that I got to work on keepin' Randall and me in the wagon. Skinner is cussin' all the way until we get to a couple of small barns. When the wagon stops, Skinner pulls us down, but it's hard to stand after the boat.

The driver comes 'round to look at us. “This the best you can do? Together they ain't worth nothin'. One's too little and the other's too scrawny.”

“The bigger one's got educatin', so he'll bring somethin',” Skinner says.

“That's not where the money is. They want 'em for the fields!”

“You know they're watchin' those docks in Philly real close now! Those niggas up there is gettin' a little too set up, organizin' with them Quakers. We had a better one, strong-built, but he went down too hard. Fish food now.”

“You musta roughed him up too much again! I told you, they 's like handlin' money. When you gonna learn?”

I hold tight to Randall's hand and hope he don't understand what they say about his brother.

Just when I'm thinking of making a run for it, Skinner grabs us both by the neck and pushes us into a room at back of a small barn. They lock us in, and when the wagon thumps away, the two of them are still cussin' at each other.

“Now can you write to your man?” Randall asks when he sits down beside me on the dirt floor.

“I don't have no paper,” I say.

“But you got to write to him to get us outta here,” he says, his voice high and the next thing to crying.

“Shhhh,” I say, looking back over my shoulder, “somebody might be listenin'.”

He looks 'round and moves closer to me, but after a coughing fit, he quiets down. Then, as though he's got nothin' left in him, he lays down and puts his head in my lap. “My head's hurtin',” he says, “an' I's cold.”

“You sleep some while I figure this out,” I say, and I rub across his bony little shoulders and wonder why he says he's cold when he feels so hot. I wait till he's sleepin' before I move, careful not to wake him. Then I go over to the window and try jumpin' up, but it's too high, and besides, it got some boards across it. I try the door, but it's locked tight, like I figured. I kick at it some until I hurt my foot, and when I limp around I start crying. Finally, I go back and sit next to Randall, 'cause he's coughin' so bad and shakin' in his sleep.

T
HAT NIGHT
S
KINNER
shows up with the driver and another man. I jump up as soon as they come in the door, and it don't take a minute before Randall is up beside me and got a hold of me. “What they gon' do?” he asks me.

“Shhh,” I say, trying to see past the lantern that Skinner holds up.

“They's both scrawny!” says the new one.

“Give me three hundred,” says Skinner, “and you can have 'em both.”

“Thomas doesn't take 'em when they're that small. Too much trouble. I'll give you one hundred for the older one.”

“And give me twenty for the runt. You know you can sell him on the way down,” Skinner says. “He'll bring you twice that.”

“Deal,” says the man, and when he comes over with the rope, I step back and Randall moves with me.

“If I give you my money, can he stay with me?” I ask.

“Let me see how much you got,” the man says.

I unfold the rag that holds my coins, and with a swipe he pockets it. “And now you don't have none,” he says with a laugh.

“But that's stealin'!” I say before I can stop myself.

He laughs again. “Sounds to me like you got some educatin'. You one of those mamby-pamby house boys? Won't take long for Thomas to work that outta you!”

“Can Randall please stay with—” I start, and before I can duck, the man sends his fist at me.

“I don't wanna hear nothin' from you after this,” he says.

When I spit out blood, a tooth comes, too, and Randall starts screamin, but I don't shush him 'cause I'm cryin' too hard myself.

O
N MY RETURN
from the event, Robert had the outdoor lamps burning when my carriage drew up to the house, and as usual, he was waiting for me at the front door.

“There is a fire in the library,” he said as he took my greatcoat and hat.

“Any news of Pan?” I asked.

“No, I'm afraid not,” he said, and without further comment, I went to the library, craving the solitude.

“Something hot to drink?” he called after me.

“Go to bed, Robert,” I said, closing the door behind me.

It was past midnight. I went to the familiar chair next to the fire and sank into its worn leather, sighing deeply. This room always gave me comfort. How grateful I was to Robert for anticipating my need for a fire this evening. How I relied on him. I thought of him now brushing down my coat and hat and then finishing up his chores for the night. Lamps and candlesticks would be collected and carried down to the kitchen, where Molly would clean them in the morning. Then, if he hadn't already, Robert would go for a final assessment of the small parlor where I took my morning meal. There he would make sure that the grate had been cleaned and the logs set for an early-morning fire. He would check to see that the tea table was covered with a linen cloth, the crease set exactly down the center, and in the morning my tray would hold a crystal salt cellar, a porcelain egg cup with a soft-cooked egg, a slice of ham, and next to it, a small cruet of mustard. There would be butter set on ice in the gleaming silver butter dish, and after I spread it on my warm toast, I would clip off the top of the egg and dip the buttered toast into the warm yellow yolk. Then, while I enjoyed my tea and the morning paper, Pan would likely show up to ask some precocious question that would undoubtedly amuse me.

Pan! How accustomed I was to having him here. Robert was my mainstay, the one who established and adhered to a routine that gave me balance, but Pan—Pan was the one who gave me cheer. And where was he now?

I reassured myself that he was resilient enough to look out for himself until he was rescued. After all, he was already twelve, close to the age that I was when Henry found me. I rested my head back and closed my eyes, reviewing my own capabilities at that young age, but all I could recall was how helpless and utterly terrified I had been on my arrival in Philadelphia.

I
T TOOK ME
weeks to begin to trust Henry. All of my life, Grandmother had instilled in me that Negroes were sly and dangerous and not to be trusted. Now, though, I was not only eating and sleeping next to Henry, I was also relying on him to see to my needs.

His feral way of life was foreign to me, yet he taught me daily survival skills, and by the time my health was fully restored, I was beginning to enjoy the outdoor independent life. Under my grandmother's roof, I'd had servants to do my bidding, and my most difficult challenge had been to voice a request. Here, with Henry, I was expected to do my share of the work and was soon responsible for gathering the wood and tending the fire. Rather than viewing this as a hardship, I found it stimulating and woke each morning with renewed vigor.

In the early fall, Henry began to bring up the subject of my going into the city to find employment, but I avoided the issue, for the idea of leaving him petrified me. This man had not only saved my life but continued to provide for me, and daily I grew more dependent on him. Then one evening, after we had just finished a satisfying meal of wild onion and rabbit stew, Henry approached the subject again. We sat near the crackling fire, but the night around us had turned cold.

“The snow comin',” he said, “an' I got to move out.”

“Where to?”

“I got another place a ways from here, place tighter for the winter.”

I didn't look at him but shifted closer to the fire. “Can I come with you?” I asked. “I could pay you if you let me stay.”

“An' with what you gon' do that?” he asked.

I hesitated but decided I had no choice except to trust him. “I have some jewelry,” I said. “I can sell it.” I glanced over to read his response.

“I don' suppose you keepin' it in that coat a yours?” he said with a half smile.

I nodded and quickly slipped off my jacket. Using my whittling knife, I carefully slit open one of the hidden pockets that sheltered a piece of jewelry. From inside I pulled out my grandmother's ring, set with a large blue sapphire and surrounded by sizable diamonds. My stomach clenched at the memory of her hand, only months before, smoothing my hair. Was it possible she was dead? I forced myself away from the dark thought and held up the ring for Henry to see. “We can sell this,” I said.

“Boy, you got to use that to find yo'self a place to live. It time you move on. You stay out here, they gon' peg you for a nigga,” he said. “No sense in that.”