All aboard, p.13
All Aboard, page 13
Odie’s interest was piqued at the mention of Lila’s name.
This encouraged Ruth. “She grew up with that boy. They played—”
“Wait. Wait. Lila’s worried sick? Where is she?”
“She say only you can save they lives. Only you.”
“Lila ain’t said no such a thing. Where she at? How she git word to you?”
“Same way I git word to her. Can’t tell you evathang. Look here, Odie. I’m gon’ need you to maybe … uh … git two passes for Lil Jesse and R. C., in case—”
“Where she at, damn it, gal?”
“Can’t tell you, but I’m gon’ need them passes in case them boys git stopped by ’trollers. That way, they be able to keep on goin’.”
“I ain’t thinkin’ about you, gal. Where’s Lila?”
“I’m gon’ need them passes real soon, Odie. Tomorra, I’m—”
“Hell, naw!”
“I’m gon’ need you to ’low Lil Jesse to git to the hounds so they can be calmed down on Sunday.”
“What the hell? You done lost your nigga mind? You must be crazy. I oughta have you whipped for this.”
“Do you want two deaths on yo’ hands? That what you want?”
“My pa’ll kill me. You know that.”
“Yo’ pa ain’t got to know. Who you choose? Yo’ pa, who all the time talkin’ down to you? Who all the time call you out in front of everybody? Or … you choose Lila, the girl what love you and who trust you and dependin’ on you?”
Odie was taking it all in.
Ruth was determined to convince him. “’Sides, you two grew up together. Y’all played together. You thought ’nuff of Lila to teach her how to read and count numbers. You was good to Lila. She always said she was sweet on you.” Ruth wasn’t sure she was making any headway, so she then said, “Listen here, Odie, you the one what made her run. You the cause of my daughter bein’ gone.”
“Me?”
“You the one what showed her another kind of life. You the one what teached her to read and wonder about this world. You the one what gave my Lila them thoughts of bein’ free. Now she needs yo’ hep to save these two souls. She ain’t here to hep ’em herself. If she was here, you know she would hep ’em.” Ruth watched Odie to see if anything sank in. “Lila gon’ be awfully happy with you. Say she gon’ come back if you hep these boys. That’s how worried she is.”
The rising horn blew. It was four o’clock. Ruth knew she had to go. “Hep me, Odie. I need yo’ hep. I know you can hep me with them passes.” Ruth waited for an answer. None came. She moved in a little closer to see his eyes but couldn’t see them in the moonlight. She couldn’t tell what was going on in his head. She waited, hoping for some sign. None came, and she didn’t know what he was thinking. “Will you hep me, Odie?”
Ruth waited for a while, hoping. Then she had to go. She hurried back to her shack to pick up her gourds for the long day ahead. She couldn’t afford to be late to the fields.
Odie watched her leave. “To hell with you, gal. I don’t believe a word you saying, you lying nigga wench. You take me for some kind of fool.”
Ruth hurried along. Lawd, soften his heart. Them boys need hep. They need them passes. Ruth moved, unnoticed in the dark, through the slave quarters. She knew she couldn’t be late, picking up her sack at the gin house.
Odie went inside the pen, still angry. “Lila ain’t never coming back,” he muttered.
Billy Bob showed up and followed behind him, his eyes full of sleep. “Morning, Odie.”
“Morning, Billy Bob. I’m gonna head to the kitchen; get me some breakfast. I’ll bring you back some coffee.”
“I’ll be right here, waiting. I ain’t got no place else to go.”
His humor fell on deaf ears. Odie was occupied with thoughts of Lila as he headed back to the Big House.
I’VE BEEN DOING
SOME THINKING
I’s born in yonder southeast Texas, and
I don’t know what month or de year for
sho’, but ’twas more than one hundred
years ago. My mammy and pappy was
born in Africa; dat’s what dey tol’ me.
—James Cape, over one hundred years old
Fort Worth, Texas
That warm Friday morning, Odie sat at the dining table and stared at his empty plate. Big Aunty passed by him a couple of times, giving him the side eye, trying to figure out why he was still at the table. She knew something was amiss. It was not like Odie to linger in the dining area after breakfast. Usually, he would hurry out, carrying a cup of coffee for Billy Bob.
It was Big Aunty’s ritual to hum one of her many spirituals while cleaning up after breakfast. This morning, she hummed “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen.” She knew the melody was soothing. Her humming seemed to lighten the mood. Breakfast time was not the most enjoyable meal of the day on the McMyers plantation. There was always some heated argument at the table. If Odell wasn’t griping about the many problems he was dealing with, he was chastising Odie about some shortcoming he had. The Missus sat in her chair opposite Odell, trying her best to bring some sense of normalcy to the situation.
Odie rehashed in his mind the earlier conversation he’d had with his father.
“Why the hell you didn’t come to my defense last night, I’ll never know. Damn it, Odie. Seems you took great pleasure in making me look like a bumbling idiot! It is not my intention to have so many deaths on this damn plantation! Hell, the niggas don’t know how to take care of themselves! That’s the problem! They’re like children—damn it to hell. You expect me to go to each and every shack in the slave quarters and show them how to take care of their damn pickaninnies? Why you can’t see that, I’ll never know! Pass me those biscuits, damn it! Mavis! More preserves!”
“But Pa, you know our slave wells have shit in ’em. They been telling you that for months. And the little ones are stepping in that shit when they go to the toilet. And there’s just too many mosquitoes around them wells. We all see that. And flies everywhere. I think we can do better. Maybe buy more lime or something and wash down those areas more.”
Mavis brought in more preserves, tidied up the table a bit, and left. They waited for her to make her exit before they continued.
“And Pa, sometimes we do give out bad bacon. I can smell it. It’s already about to spoil when we issue it out on Sunday. I’ve been hearing folks complain about the meat they get for a long time. They just don’t complain to you.”
“Who the hell you talking to like that? You act like I’m trying to kill my slaves. Why would I do something like that? They are my property. I paid good money for ’em. I wouldn’t hurt my slaves, just like I wouldn’t hurt one of my horses. No sir, I take good care of my niggas!”
“Maybe we could figure out a better way to clean up the water, Odell.” The Missus buttered her biscuit and added preserves. “We need to keep our niggas healthy so we can meet these quotas they gave you. Odie, you’re smart. Maybe you can help your pa come up with a better way to store our bacon. We can figure this thing out.”
“Ain’t nothing to figure out, woman! I’m doing the best I can. You take care of the house, and let me take care of the niggas! Maybe if I had more help from Odie and Cyrus and Buck, maybe things would run a lot smoother. I can’t do it all by myself!”
“Whatever you need me to do, Pa, you know I’ll do it.”
“I know you won’t do a damn thing but get my dander up! You ain’t never acted like you wanted any part of this plantation. You ain’t never acted like you wanted to help me.”
“You won’t let me help, Pa. Just like you never showed me that ledger you keep on the top shelf of the bookcase. I didn’t know we had lost so many babies. You kept that to yourself.”
“That’s ’cause you got such a soft spot for these niggas. I can’t trust you to see things my way. I just don’t trust you to help me. I see how you treat the slaves. You’re weak, and they take advantage of you. I can’t trust you.”
“Maybe that’s ’cause you haven’t figured out how to best use Odie’s talent,” the Missus said. “He’s right smart, Odell.”
“Listen to me good, woman. Odie ain’t worth a bag of beans! Where have you been all your born days? All he’s good for is taking care of them hounds and working in the stables. That’s it! Oh yeah, and making me look like a damn fool in front of my friends.”
The three finished breakfast in silence. Odell threw his napkin on the table, got up, and left the table. Bunny faithfully followed his master out. “Come on, Bunny. Good boy.”
The Missus daintily placed her napkin on the table and quietly left the dining room.
“You all right, Odie?” Big Aunty asked sincerely. “I ain’t never seen you sit here after breakfast so long? You ailin’?”
“I’m been doing some thinking.”
From a soft spot in her heart, Big Aunty put her hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong, son?”
“Big Aunty, I’m … I’m …” He lowered his voice when he spoke again. “I’m thinking about leaving. It’s been on my mind for some time. And after last night’s meeting with the attorney friend of Pa’s, I think I might do better somewhere else.”
“How you gonna do that, Odie? You know yo’ mama gon’ be lost without you. How you gon’ survive out there with no money? You ain’t but—what? Sixteen?”
“I’ll be seventeen in a few weeks. I been trying to hold on until I’m eighteen, but I don’t think I can make it. I heard Pa was on his own at an early age. He was poor when he came to this country, and he did good for hisself. Got himself a family, a bunch of slaves, and a nice-size plantation. Besides, the way Pa treats me just ain’t right. I believe I deserve to be treated better. It’s true; I’m not cut from the same fabric as Pa. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a slave owner, least not working with cotton. Maybe tobacco or something.”
Big Aunty sat down at the dining table and looked Odie dead in his eyes. “What you gon’ do out there? How you gon’ make it in this world with no money? You know your pa gon’ have a hissy fit if you leave. He ain’t go leave you no ’heritance. No money. No plantation. No nothin’. How you gon’ live? What you gon’ do?”
“Don’t really care no more, Big Aunty. Just tired of living like this.”
“Think about what yo’ doin’, son. Think about yo’ mama. It’ll break her heart.” Big Aunty got up and placed her worn hand on his shoulder. She bent down and whispered something in his ear that she didn’t want anybody else to hear. “If there’s anythin’ I can do to hep you, let me know. Yo’ a good boy, Odie. I been watchin’ you a long time. You got a good heart, but you seem lost. Yo’ pa been mighty mean to you. We all see it. You might need to walk in yo’ own shoes.”
Big Aunty patted his shoulder before she began clearing the plates and utensils off the table. She returned to the kitchen, leaving Odie to his thoughts. She began humming again as she considered this new development. This time, she hummed a song she’d never hummed around her master and his family—“Oh Freedom.”
Big Aunty stood at the kitchen window and watched Odie slowly saunter down to the hounds’ pen, holding a cup of coffee for Billy Bob.
“What you looking at, Big Aunty?” Mavis asked.
“Somebody who lost his way.”
Mavis went to the window to see what was holding Big Aunty’s attention. “I don’t know why you so concerned ’bout that boy. He ain’t never went out of his way to help us. I wouldn’t waste my time worryin’ ’bout that boy.”
“How you know, Mavis? Maybe, in his own little way, he’s tried to help. He got his hands tied too, you know. Ain’t but so much he can do. I ’member when he was a young boy. Massa was always ridin’ him to be harder on us. It jus’ wasn’t in him. Oh, he tried to be mean like his pa, but mos’ times, he jus’ made a fool of hisself.”
Mavis walked away and continued with her chores. “Well, I don’t feel nothin’ fo’ him. He got the power to do what he want. We don’t. He free. We ain’t.”
Bessie came to the window and stood beside Big Aunty. She peeked out but saw nothing. By that time, Odie was out of view. “Big Aunty, I don’t know how much you can trust that boy. He all the time tryin’ to please his pa. He can’t let his pa down. I think he’d hurt himself before he hurt his Pa.”
Bessie stood a moment longer and then left to continue with her kitchen chores.
Under her breath, Big Aunty muttered, “I believe that boy understood, long time ago, that if you hold a man down, you have to bend down to keep him down. I ’speck he paid a heavy price for his belief.”
“I don’t know how you can pity a snake, Big Aunty,” Mavis said. “That’s what he is. He’ll watch you and watch you and then snap your head off when he gets the chance. That’s what I think.” Mavis waited for a sassy reply from Big Aunty, but none came.
Instead, Big Aunty began singing softly as she joined Mavis and Bessie in cleaning the kitchen and preparing for the next meal.
“There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole; there is power enough in heaven to cure a sin-sick soul.”
Mavis and Bessie watched as Big Aunty sang and then looked at one another. They shook their heads in pity and continued cleaning.
JOY JUICE
Seems like niggers jus’ got to pray. Half they
life am in prayin’. Some nigger takes turn ’bout
to watch and see if Marse Tom anyways ’bout;
then they circle theyselves on the floor in the
cabin and pray. They git to moanin’ low and
gentle, “Some day, some day, some day, this
yoke gwine be lifted offen our shoulders.”
—William Moore, age eighty-two
Dallas, Texas
It was late Friday evening when Lil Jesse ran down the dark, dirt path to Miss Beulah’s shack, near the edge of the slave quarters, and tapped lightly on her door. Miss Beulah had planted wildflowers near her rickety door. The large cracks in her small shack made it easy to see the movement inside, so he knew she was coming to the door.
Miss Beulah was a handsome woman in her late fifties, with a dark, smooth complexion. She wore her gray hair in two braids on either side of her face. She was tall but walked with a slight bend in her posture. Her high cheekbones and facial structure gave a clue to her Native American ancestry, but she never talked about it.
Miss Beulah opened the door and quickly ushered Lil Jesse inside. “I see you made it, young man,” she said in a low voice.
Lil Jesse, feeling uncomfortable, stood near the door as he looked around the neat but nearly empty shack. On one straw mattress, he saw her sickly husband, known as Uncle Ebert. He was snoring, but there was a loud rattle when he inhaled.
Lil Jesse remembered Uncle Ebert well. He was always in the stables, working with the horses. He looked half the size that Lil Jesse remembered. Uncle Ebert was known for his kind disposition. He was well liked among the slaves, young and old.
Miss Beulah’s shack had a small wooden table with two chairs against one wall. Her straw mattress was next to Uncle Ebert’s against another wall. In one corner of the shack was a pile of clothes. Near the leaning fireplace were two boxes and two tin cans. On her table was a tin can with some wildflowers in it. This gave her shack a homey atmosphere.
Miss Beulah picked up one of the boxes and placed it on the table. She then got one of the tin cans and placed it beside the box. She pulled a glass jar from the box and began slowly pouring its liquid contents into the tin can; the liquid was a murky gray.
“This is my joy juice,” she said with great pride. “Got the recipe from my gran’mammy Lottie Berry. Got some cough syrup, some cinnamon, some whiskey, a little molasses, and some secret stuff you don’t need to know ’bout in it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You got yo’self some grub, son? I’ll soak what you got real good fo’ you.”
Lil Jesse opened his handkerchief to reveal his two hoecakes.
“That’s all you got?”
“That’s all I got, Miss Beulah.”
“Shoot, we gon’ need more’n that fo’ Sunday. Them hounds gon’ need at least one hoecake each, soaked in this here joy juice.”
Miss Beulah poured the juice slowly over the hoecakes.
Lil Jesse watched her slow soaking process as he talked. “Big Aunty say she gon’ take care of that. They makin’ cakes in the Big House Saturday for Sunday’s dinner. Big Aunty say she gon’ make some extra cakes without sugar for the hounds. Them hounds always hungry. They’ll gobble them cakes down in no time. Big Aunty say the Missus don’t watch her in the kitchen no more so she can make extra, cut ’em up, and hide ’em under her skirt.”
“Good. I made this here batch extra strong. Try it on a couple of hounds tonight and see what happens.” Miss Beulah stopped what she was doing and looked at Lil Jesse. “You know what you doin’, son? You git caught, and there’s a tree waitin’ on you. We had a hangin’ not too long back.”
“I know, Miss Beulah. I know. Thing is … if I don’t try to get free, I’m gon’ be a dead man anyway. Today, Massa rode out to the field and talked to Ol’ Cyrus. All the time they talkin’, they lookin’ straight at me, shakin’ they head. I keep on pickin’ cotton and keep my head down as much as I can. One time when I look up, I see Ol’ Cyrus pointin’ at R. C. Now, R. C. about four, five rows over and tryin’ his best to keep up. Massa shake his head. Didn’t look too happy when he rode off. I rather fo’ him to cuss me out than just look at me, shake his head, and ride off.”
“Why you think Ol’ Cyrus got it in fo’ y’all?”
“I try to carry my weight, Miss Beulah, but a lot of days, I can’t keep up the way he want me to. I’m small and not as strong as I’d like to be. Maybe somethin’ is wrong with me. I don’t know. I asked to be put in the leather barn or even in the weavin’ shed or maybe the chicken house. Ol’ Cyrus always say no.”
