Yellow Crocus: A Novel (9 page)

“Is she dead?”

“Who?”

“The slave.”

“Imagine so.” Mattie laughed, amused at the little girl’s question.

Lisbeth looked puzzled until she finally asked, “Do you think slaves and people go to the same heaven?”

“Slaves is people. Never heard ’bout more than one heaven, so I ’magine there only the one.”

“Who does the work?” wondered Lisbeth.

“There ain’t no work in heaven,” declared Mattie.

Lisbeth looked like she was full of more questions. She pondered Mattie’s answer for a while before asking, “Do you miss your momma, Mattie?”

“Everyday. But I know she watchin’ over me, from heaven.”

“Is she watching over me too?” Lisbeth asked, yearning in her voice.

Mattie thought for a minute, then nodded slowly. “Yes, Lisbeth, she watchin’ over you. She watchin’ on all the people I love.”

Lisbeth replied confidently, “You will see her again when you get to heaven. And I can meet her. Did she take care of you everyday?”

“Until she got sold away.”

“Did you cry when she left? How big were you?” Lisbeth inquired.

“Just past eight years. ’Course I cried. Every night I cried in bed. Poppy or Rebecca sat with me, but it ain’t the same.”

“You will not ever let them sell you, will you?” implored Lisbeth as she clutched tight to Mattie’s skirt. “I will cry real hard if they sell you.”

“I got no choice. Your father decide such things. I ain’t gonna make you no promise I don’ get to keep.”

Tears formed in Lisbeth eyes. “I shall ask Mother to give you to me when I am grown and then you will be with me forever,” Lisbeth declared emphatically. “Then no one can sell you away.”

Flattered and insulted, Mattie did not respond to Lisbeth but lay in silence waiting for the child to fall asleep. Lisbeth laid her head down on the quilt and closed her eyes while Mattie slowly and gently rubbed her back. Holding onto the folds of Mattie’s dress, rubbing the material between her thumb and her forefinger, it was obvious that ideas and questions floated in Lisbeth’s mind.

“What was your mama like?”

“She had a real pretty voice. She sang all the time. Her favorite lullaby same as you, ‘Nobody but the Baby.’ Yellow her favorite color. Every spring we go on a hunt for yellow crocuses.”

“Crocuses?” wondered Lisbeth.

Mattie replied, “It a flower that come out first in spring. It kinda little and don’ last for so long. But it tell you spring come.”

“Oh, Mattie, can we do that?” Lisbeth sat up and exclaimed, “Hunt for crocuses? I love hunts.”

“Yes, honey,” Mattie smiled, “next spring we can look for the crocuses.”

“Mattie, did your momma have a name?” Lisbeth asked.

“Of course she had a name!” Mattie scoffed. “Every body got a name! She called Naomi, from the Bible. Now that enough about my momma. You lay back down and you go to sleep. I gonna tell you more about her later.”

Mattie sang as Lisbeth drifted off to sleep. While her young charge breathed in deep and long, Mattie sat up and scooted toward the low-hanging branches. She parted the branches slightly to get a better view. As she watched for her son she thought about the last time she saw her own mother.

January first was accounting day on the plantation. Following a delicious week of resting and visiting for the field slaves came the most dreaded day of the year. After the midday meal of black-eyed peas, thought to bring good luck in the coming year, Massa and the overseer gathered everyone to announce sales and rentals. Pleading or arguing did no good. If your name was on the list, you left the next day. A rental at a nearby plantation was the best of a bad situation. That meant visits most Sundays if it was close by or, if it was farther away, a visit once a year at the Big Times, the winter holidays. A sale to a slave trader heading into Georgia or Louisiana was devastating news. It meant never seeing your family again and likely an early death, though no one knew for certain. News of family sold south rarely made it back to Fair Oaks.

On New Year’s Day 1822 all the anxious slaves gathered on the grounds in front of the Big House. Those good-luck peas sat hard in their churning stomachs as they listened to Massa Wainwright’s announcement. Mattie stood up tall, wrapped in her mother’s strong arms. Nearly eight, Mattie was old enough to be rented or sold. She felt the tension running through her mother’s body as the overseer read the list, his deep voice showing no hint of emotion.

“Benjamin, Olivia, and Miriam to be rented to Berkeley. Young James, Daniel, and Frances to be rented to Willowbrook. Loisa, Sugar, and Wilametta rented to White Pines.”

Mattie’s mother, Naomi, pulled her tighter as Massa moved on to the sold list.

“Wilamena sold to Westover. Benny sold to Cumberland. Naomi sold to Hopewell.”

Fingers clawed deep into Mattie’s shoulder. Though the names went on, Mattie did not hear them. Her mother’s name was on the list, and hers was not. She did not know how far Hopewell was, whether it meant weekly or yearly visits, but she knew her mother was leaving her.

“No!” she cried out. Her mother’s fingers flew over her mouth hard and fast. Smothered by the rough hand, her protest did not make it to Massa’s ears.

That afternoon and night sorrow hung as heavy as a burial. Early the next morning, before the sun fully rose, her mother packed up her few belongings. She untied the necklace from her own throat and bit off a single shell with her teeth. Then she placed the necklace on Mattie’s neck, keeping the single shell for herself.

“You keep this safe till I come back. This came from my momma who got it from her momma, all the way back. I gonna keep one. You always gonna be connected through these shells, not jus’ to me, but to all the women folk that came before us. We are strong women, Mattie. You one of us, so you strong too.”

Mattie nodded silently, her throat too full to let words pass.

They joined the other families outside waiting to be torn apart. Mattie wrapped her arms around her mother and clung tight.

Naomi cupped Mattie’s small chin and stared intensely into her eyes. Fiercely she whispered, “Momma loves you. Momma always gonna love you. You carry me in your heart for always. I gonna be back next Big Times.” Then she broke away from Mattie’s embrace and climbed into the wagon.

Flanked by Poppy and Rebecca, Mattie had watched her mother grow smaller and smaller as she was driven away. In her mind, Mattie shouted, “Mama, don’ leave me. Take me with you.” To the world she stood sturdy and calm like a thick tree trunk planted firmly in the ground.

That was the last time Mattie saw her mother. She might have protested more if she had known that her mother would not be returning for the Big Times. Soon after she departed Fair Oaks Naomi died of an infection and was returned to the earth without ceremony. When word of her death came three months after she took her last breath, her family erected a plain wooden cross in her honor in the negro cemetery on Fair Oaks. Her empty tomb sat amidst Mattie’s great-great-grandparents, great-grandmother, grandmother, grandfather, and father overlooking the James River.

Sitting under the shade of the willow tree, unconsciously stroking Lisbeth’s hair, Mattie made a promise to herself and her son. If the overseer ever went to sell either of them, she was taking Samuel and running.

That evening, when the Wainwright family was gathered in the drawing room, Lisbeth had a string of questions for her mother. “What was your mother like?” the little girl wondered.

“What a question, Elizabeth,” Mother replied, surprised at her daughter’s inquiry.

“What did she look like?”

“Actually, you favor her. Your eyes are very similar to hers. Though I hardly remember my mother.”

“Why?”

“I was quite young when she died, perhaps eight or nine. I hardly remember her at all.”

The five-year-old’s curiosity was undaunted. “What was her favorite song?”

“Goodness. I have no idea.”

“Did she sing to you?” Lisbeth asked.

“No.”

“Did she have a favorite flower?”

“Favorite flower? No, I cannot say that she did. Or if she did, I did not know about it.”

“What was her favorite color?”

A small smile passed over Mother’s face. “Blue. Deep blue. She favored that because she thought it brought out her eyes.”

Satisfied with that one nugget of information, Lisbeth’s mind flitted to a new topic. “Mother, can Samuel come in? Mattie would be happier if Samuel was here. I shall share her with him.”

Mother laughed. “You are a sweet one, Elizabeth. It is very kind that you care about Mattie. She is very fortunate to be with you. I can assure you, though, that it is best for Samuel to stay in the Quarters and best for Mattie to stay here caring for you.”

“But—” Lisbeth started to interrupt.

Mother went on without pause, “Samuel would not be at all comfortable in the house. There is nothing for him to do here. They can visit with one another every week, which is more frequent than most workers can visit with their families.”

Lisbeth knew there was no point in talking about it further. Although Lisbeth did not understand her mother’s reasoning, it was settled. Mattie would stay with her. Samuel would stay outside. That was for the best for everyone.

Chapter 8

SPRING 1843

L
isbeth was surprised when Mattie relented to her cajoling. Lisbeth had been confined to her bed for several days with a head cold. So she was left behind when the Wainwrights left for church after Mother declared her unfit to sit for hours in a cold, damp building. Lisbeth asked to venture out to the Quarters with Mattie as soon as her family’s carriage pulled away. Lisbeth didn’t want to be left with Emily. And it had been such a long time since she visited the Quarters. Lisbeth’s pleading eventually worked and Mattie finally agreed.

Lisbeth was excited as they walked down the dirt path to the shanties. Mattie prepared Lisbeth for the visit by reminding her who lived in the Quarters. “We gonna see Samuel, of course, and Poppy. We also gonna visit with Rebecca and all of her family: Lawrence, Sarah, Henry, and Frank. You remember Sarah, she a bit older than you.”

Lisbeth did not need the reminder. She knew these people well from watching them each day out of her window. However, when they arrived at the Quarters she was suddenly uncertain and nervous. Watching this place was familiar. Being here felt strange.