Elijah of Buxton (17 page)

Cooter said to me, “They's the first new-free in four months, Eli! You done the last ones, so it's my go to ring these here folk in.”

Cooter was right. I had runged in the last new-free people so it was his turn now.

I said, “Pa?”

He said, “Y'all run on ahead.”

Me and Cooter both said, “Yes, sir!” and tored off toward the Settlement.

Near everyone in Buxton who could would come a-running once we started tolling the Liberty Bell!

Me and Cooter ran all the way back to the schoolhouse using the best shortcuts so we'd get there long afore Pa and Emma and the new folks. Pa would walk 'em slow along the road, talking to 'em gentle and starting to get 'em use to the way we do things in Buxton.

Waren't no one in the schoolhouse on a Saturday so me and Cooter opened the door and headed to the steeple to ring the Liberty Bell.

The Liberty Bell ain't no regular schoolhouse bell. It's a five-hundred-pound bell that came all the way from America. Not nowhere as close as Michigan, America, neither. It's from a city called Pittsburgh, far, far down in the United States. And we didn't have to pay nothing for it, it was gave to us by other folks that use to be slaves.

It took 'em a whole bunch of years, but they saved up every penny they could and had the Liberty Bell made then sent all the way to Canada. And these were poor folks too, but they were so proud of us that they didn't mind doing without some things so's we could have the bell. They wanted it to be something that we'd always hear and see to remind folks in Buxton that prayers from America were always riding 'longside us.

They even had words writ onto the bell so's we'd never forget who gave it to us. It said,
PRESENTED TO REVEREND KING BY THE COLOURED INHABITANTS OF PITTSBURGH FOR THE ACADEMY AT RALEIGH CANADA WEST. LET FREEDOM RING
!

“Raleigh” is what some people who don't live here call the Settlement.

Whenever new-free folks come to live in Buxton, we ring the bell twenty times for each one of 'em. Ten times to ring out their old lives and ten more to ring in their new ones, their free lives. Then, we ask the new-free folks to, one by one, climb the ladder of the steeple and rub the bell with their left hand. Most times when you're doing something important you're supposed to use your right hand, but we ask 'em to use their left hand 'cause it's closest to their hearts.

Mr. Frederick Douglass said he hopes so many people get freed and mash their hands onto the Liberty Bell that a shiny spot, bright as gold, gets worned into the brass. But so far that hasn't happened.

Anyone in the Settlement that hears the ringing quits doing whatever they're doing and comes to the schoolhouse to welcome the new people. Then, if the new-free folks say they want to live in the Settlement, everyone decides where they'll stay till they get their own place and get comforted 'bout being 'mongst us.

There's always a box full of cotton in the school's steeple so's you can stuff your ears whilst you're ringing the bell. It's loud enough that you'd be hearing it and nothing else for the longest if you didn't shove something in your ears. Me and Cooter jammed our ears up tight.

Cooter said, “So how many times I gotta ring it?”

I said, “What?”

Cooter yelled, “How many times I gotta ring it?”

Multiplying something by twenty's easy, you just double it then add on a zero. I said, “Five doubled equals ten, then adding a zero to ten equals a hundred.”

Cooter said, “Eh?”

I told him louder.

Cooter said, “You sure? Don't seem like it should be that much.”

I said, “What?”

Cooter said, “A hundred sound like way too much rings.”

I spread and closed my fingers ten times and said, “Nope. Look. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety, one hundred.”

Cooter said, “I guess that's right, but it sure do seem like a lot.”

“Eh?”

Cooter yelled, “You's better 'n me at sums so I'm-a listen to you.”

He jumped up to pull the rope and get the bell ringing. Since he was the one who was doing the ringing, I had to do the counting so whoever was listening would know how many people got free.

Dong
!

I yelled, “One!”

The first ring was always the weakest. It waren't till about five or six rings that the bell got tolling real good.

DONG!DONG!DONG!

“Two, three, four …”

It waren't long afore we got to ninety-six.

DONG!DONG!DONG!DONG!

“… ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred!”

By the time me and Cooter were done, there were already some people standing outside the schoolhouse waiting to welcome the people that Pa was walking in.

Miss Carolina, Mr. Waller, Miss Duncan-the-first and her sister, Miss Duncan-the-second, and Mr. Polite all said, “Morning, Cooter. Morning Eli.”

Cooter said, “Pardon me?”

Mr. Polite said, “I told you, ‘Morning.'”

I said, “'Scuse me, sir?”

Mr. Polite yelled, “If you two cabbage-heads don't take that cotton out your ears, I don't know what I'm-a do to y'all!”

Me and Cooter pulled the cotton out.

Miss Carolina said, “How many folks was that, Elijah? Nine? Ten?”

“No, ma'am, there's just five of 'em, a man, a woman, a girl, a boy, and a sick baby.”

Mr. Polite said, “Only five? You sure you done your counting right, boy? Much as y'all runged that bell, I's expecting to come down here and see that half of Tennessee done got away.”

“No, sir, that was only a hundred times for five people.”

Cooter said, “I told him that, I told him it seemed like a hundred was too much for just five people.”

I said, “But it ain't! Five times twenty equals one hundred.”

I started spreading my fingers to count it off again but afore I could even get to forty, Pa and the new-free folks turned up the road heading toward the schoolhouse. Emma Collins and the little girl were each holding on to one of the arms of that blanged Birdy doll swinging it twixt 'em to and fro.

Pa said, “Morning, y'all. This here's the Taylors, just come up from Arkansas. Been hearing 'bout us for the longest. The baby gunn need some tending.”

It was okay to rush up on 'em now that Pa and Emma had settled 'em down some. Everybody quit fussing with me and went right up to where Pa and the new people were standing.

Folks that had been farther out whilst we runged the bell started showing up. Ma and Mrs. Guest came in too.

The new people were looking lost and confused and shy, so many of us came up on 'em and patted 'em on the back and shooked their hands and welcomed 'em to Buxton. Mrs. Guest took the woman and her baby to the infirmary. Ma looked at the boy and pulled him away. I knowed the next time I saw him he'd be smelling like powder and wearing a old pair of my britches. I knowed that even with that it was gonna be a while afore he waren't walking stiff-legged.

Then things got real confusing 'cause 'stead of greeting the people and making 'em feel comforted the way it happens most times, Miss Duncan-the-first started up asking questions.

She held Emma's new friend's face in her hand and said to her sister, Miss Duncan-the-second, “Dot, I know you waren't but eight and it been fifteen years, but who this child bring to mind?”

Miss Duncan-the-second studied the little girl then said, “She don't look like no one I know. Who you talking 'bout?”

Miss Duncan-the-first said, “How old is you, girl?”

The little girl pulled Birdy's arm away from Emma and hugged back up on her father. The man said, “Don't be shy, Lucille. She ain't but six, she little for her age. Who she favour?”

Miss Duncan-the-first said to the man, “What your woman name be?”

The man said, “Liza, Liza Taylor, ma'am.”

Miss Duncan-the-first said, “Y'all married?”

“Yes, ma'am. Seven years.”

“What her name afore she got married?”

“She was a Jones, ma'am.”

“Where 'bouts she from?”

“Fort Smith, Arkansas, ma'am.”

“She born there?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Who her mama?”

“She never knowed her, ma'am.”

“Who raise her?”

“Her aunty.”

“Her aunty by birth?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Her aunty ain't told her who her mama is?”

“No, ma'am.”

Miss Duncan-the-second said, “How come she ain't told her?”

Mr. Taylor looked at the women and frowned. He looked like he was fixing to say something, but Miss Duncan-the-first jumped in and said, “What she know 'bout North Caroliney?”

“She don't know nothing 'bout it, least she ain't never said nothing.”

Miss Duncan-the-second looked back at the little girl and all the sudden slapped both her hands over her ears, her mouth jumped open and she 'peared to be dumbstruck.

Miss Duncan-the-first said, “Sir, judging by the look of your daughter, I knows your wife, I swear I do. But her name be Alice, not Liza.”

Miss Duncan-the-second looked stupid-fied. She pulled her hands off of her ears and whispered, “Naw, it caint be, that woman look too old. Alice ain't no more than twenty-six by now.”

Mr. Taylor said, “Naw, ma'am, you's mistaken. We ain't 'xactly sure how old Liza be. She got five children elsewhere and the oldest one 'bout fourteen years old. Liza's somewhere twixt thirty-five and forty near as we can figure. But she ain't no young woman, she caint be no twenty-six.”

Miss Duncan-the-first said to Mr. Taylor, “She
is
that young! She done birth — Emma, how much do five and three come to?”

Emma said, “Five plus three equals eight, Miss Duncan-the-first.”

Miss Duncan-the-first said, “She done birth eight children since she waren't nothing but a baby herself. That's why she be looking that old.”

She said to Mr. Taylor, “She got a scar like a sliver of the moon on her left shoulder what run over and down on her chest.” It waren't a question.

Mr. Taylor sucked in air and stared hard. He pulled his daughter to him and said, “What you know 'bout that?”

“She got burnt when she pull a frying pan down on herself when she waren't but four years old. Her real name be Alice Duncan, she born in Ajax County, North Carolina. Her and our brother, Caleb, got sold away fifteen years pass. Your wife's our baby sister. Do she know where Caleb at?”

“No, ma'am, far as we knowed, she ain't got no kin but her aunty. This gunn come as a mighty shock to her.”

Then things got real, real confusing, 'cause 'stead of Miss Duncan-the-first screaming “Hallelujah!” or “Praise be!” or something else full of joyfulness that you'd think she'd scream, she said, “Please, sir, don't say nothing 'bout this to her till we's had some time to think on how we gunn let her know. She gone through enough without being burdened with this.”

He said, “Thank you, ma'am, I's thinking the same thing. This just gunn be a disturbing that she don't need right now.”

This was another one of those confusions that got me wondering if I'd ever have sense enough to be growned. 'Bout the only thing I could say for sure is that being growned
don't
make a whole lot of sense. Maybe that's why it takes so long for you to grow up, maybe enough time's gotta go by for all the sense to get worned right out of you.

If it was me that just got freed out of America and ran all those miles and ended up finding one of my sisters, I'd've been so happy I'd have busted, but not the growned folks. Whilst Miss Duncan-the-first had been asking Mr. Taylor all those questions, it seemed like every growned-up that was listening had their face getting longer and longer and their foreheads getting more and more wrinkled.

I could understand part of the reason. Pa's always telling me how being in America is unbelievable hard for slaves. He says it seems don't no one get out of America without paying some terrible cost, without having something bad done permanent to 'em, without having something cut off of 'em or burnt into 'em or et up inside of 'em.

Maybe that's why when growned folks see someone who's long-lost, they don't get riled 'bout it much as a young person would. Maybe it ain't nothing but being afeared they're gonna have to hear about all the bad things the person they loved had went through whilst knowing there waren't nothing they could do 'bout it. Maybe all the sad things 'neath the scars and burns and the pieces that were missing off of their kin were stories best not looked at too hard.

This thinking like a growned person was starting to be sensical.

Doggone-it-all.