Glory Over Everything (32 page)

“No, you don't,” Clora answered.

Addy shot her a dark look. “You shouldn't sass, Clora.”

Patricia reached for Clora's hand. “She's not sassing, are you, Clora?”

Clora shook her head.

“Might Addy have seen a purple bird, Mr. Burton?” Patricia asked.

“I believe that Miss Adelaide will see things that others might not,” I replied, and was rewarded with another smile from Adelaide. “And now for our walk,” I said, holding open the door to let the three of them dance out before me. “Could you show me the direction of Southwood from here?”

I
DOUBTED WE
would sight the bird, for the colorful parrot, the only species of its kind known to have existed this far north, had become scarce. The girls cared little if they saw the parrot but squabbled over the use of my field glasses until I took them back for myself. I asked again about the Southwood plantation border, and they pointed to the property that appeared less than a mile or so away. Was it possible that Pan was really this close? Again I had the thought of going directly over to claim him, but reminded myself that this was not Philadelphia and here he was considered someone else's property. No, I must approach this carefully.

Later in the day I was back in my room debating my next move when Clora's mother, Hester, came to ask for my soiled clothing. She seemed pleasant enough, and because of her connection to the neighboring plantation, I hoped she might have some useful information. “I must say that your young charges are a credit to this household,” I began, gathering the clothes that needed laundering.

“Mrs. Spencer raise them right. Mr. Spencer gon' be lost without her. They all good girls,” she said, “but that Miss Addy, she somethin'.”

I smiled at her honest observation and decided to risk raising the subject of Southwood. “I believe you came from Southwood?” I asked, and recognized my mistake when she scooped away my garments. “I don' talk 'bout that,” she mumbled, and made a quick exit.

N
EWS OF A
traveling artist from Philadelphia must have been intriguing to the local gentry, for within days of my arrival, servants from the surrounding plantations began to arrive by horse or buggy to deliver social invitations. Fortunately, I managed to avoid attending these affairs by using as excuse my respect for Mr. Spencer's recent loss of his wife. However, with each new invitation I became more anxious to retrieve Pan so we could leave.

Though I doubted the museum would have made public the news of the withdrawal of their funding, or that Mr. Cardon would have told anyone of the intimate and sensitive details of his family crisis, I did fear the gossip of servants, which often traveled faster than fire into the wealthy homes of Philadelphia. My chief concern was avoiding this select Carolina group of merchants and planters, with their strong business and personal ties not only to one another but to Philadelphia as well.

There was a second concern, and it grew daily. With these Southern plantations so interconnected, I was afraid that news of my whereabouts might alert people such as Jake or Rankin. If only my eye weren't such a distinctive feature.

I had not heard from Robert and I tried my best to set that concern aside, but my tension mounted. As etiquette dictated, I was obliged to wait for my host to arrange a meeting with his neighbor, but Mr. Spencer appeared to be in no hurry to do so. Keeping to my end of the bargain, I began art classes with the girls; finding them receptive, I included some penmanship as well. Meanwhile, Mr. Spencer, clearly suffering the loss of his wife, sat for hours alone in his study or rode off by himself for long stretches of the day. When he was home, I saw how easily his daughters found their way around him and noted, too, how at a loss he appeared with them. Finally, one evening at the beginning of June, the two of us were alone in his study, and I could hold off no longer.

“I understand that you purchased Hester from Southwood,” I began.

He folded down his newspaper as he guardedly eyed me. “I did,” he said. “And as a Northerner, you object?”

“Actually,” I said, “I do not have a strong opinion on that subject.”

“I see,” he said. “I presumed otherwise.”

“In fact,” I said, closing my own book, “in these recent days I have come to believe that it might be wise for me to purchase a young Negro, one perhaps more familiar with this heat than I. He could travel with me and give me assistance when I am out in the woods. I was hoping that Southwood might have some possible candidates.”

He stared at me with a strong look that I could not interpret.

“But I will need an introduction,” I said. When that was met with silence, I resorted to the manipulation I had seen Addy use. “Yet you are reluctant? Do you think me somehow unsuited to meet with this Bill Thomas? Are you concerned that I might act in such a way as to embarrass you?”

“My dear man!” he sputtered. “You are badly mistaken!”

I had hit my mark and might have felt some guilt had I not had such genuine need. “I cannot imagine another reason,” I said. “Perhaps I ask for too much?”

“No,” he said, “you do not. But I see that I must be frank. The truth is, I do not like to visit the place. Thomas is an unfriendly man, and he and I have had words on more than one occasion. I do not like the way he runs things. That is how I came to purchase Hester. She made her way over to us one day in such a state that Mrs. Spencer would not allow her to return. Of course, I paid a heavy purse for her and then one as heavy for Clora, though she was but a small child.” He mopped at his forehead. “No, Mr. Burton, there is no love lost between Mr. Thomas and myself. But you are right to say that I offered you an introduction, and I mean to stand by my word.”

Instantly, I saw my chance. “Then you would support me in obtaining a manservant from him?” I said.

His eyes opened wide. “So you are indeed looking to purchase?”

“I am,” I said. “I don't believe I have a choice. In these past weeks, whenever I've ventured out in the fields, I've seen that if I am to work in this heat, I will need assistance. Especially when I consider further travel. I was thinking a younger boy, one easier to train.”

“Perhaps in town. In two week's time, there is an auction . . .”

“No, I would like to purchase a boy as soon as possible.”

“But from Thomas?”

“Yes, why not? It will give me time to train him before I leave.”

“You are thinking of leaving us?” he asked.

“Certainly that day is coming,” I hedged.

“Be assured that your time here is not measured. Your presence in our home has benefited this family in many ways. This has been more difficult than I expected. Mrs. Spencer was everything . . .” His voice thickened with tears.

“I understand,” I said, and did not tell him how I grieved at night for Caroline.

He blew his nose. “I only want you to know that you need not rush away. If you feel that you need an assistant for your work while you are here with us, we can see about obtaining someone for you within the week.”

“Are you of the mind, then, that Mr. Thomas would be open to a sale?”

“Bill Thomas continually buys from auctions, and if they don't settle in, he sells again to the traders who stop by his place when they're heading down into the lower states. Some—including myself, as you know—have bought from him, though he commands a high price.”

“It is settled, then. When would you suggest we make our visit?”

“I suppose that tomorrow is as good a day as any. We will go early, to avoid the heat, and with some luck we will return with your man.”

I felt almost light-headed with relief and fear.

I
'M POURING OUT
a slop bucket the day the two white men who bring in the runners show up again. I get inside quick, but they follow me in, and the one with no front teeth grabs hold of my ear so hard that my eyes get watery. “Look at her, cryin' for her mama,” he says. I want to tell him that I'm not crying, but I know to keep quiet.

“His head looks better, but he still ain't worth nothin',” says the other one, who's poking at my head. “When's that trader comin' through?”

“Sometime in the next couple of weeks.”

“Good. Looks like Sukey put him to work. We'll keep him in here till then. Sukey,” he calls across the room. “You got enough work to keep this one busy for another couple of weeks?”

Sukey gives a nod but looks away again, like she don't have no time for me.

After the men go, I walk around all day wondering what to do. What if they take me from this place before Mr. Burton gets here? And why don't he come? I know my daddy don't come 'cause they'd take him for a slave, but why don't Mr. Burton come? After a while I get so worked up that I can't eat and I got to go lay on my bed.

That night Sukey already got on her nightdress when she comes out of her room and waves at me. I follow her into her room, wondering what's going on, because she never does this before. She grabs down the slate board hooked to the wall and then points for me to sit on the edge of her bed. After she puts the lantern on the table, she grabs a small rag from her desk and sits beside me. “We getting you out,” she writes, and soon as I read it, she spits on the rag and wipes it off the slate.

“What do you mean?” I get so excited I stand up. She puts her finger up to her lips and waves me down again. She stands up and goes to the door to look out. When she sees that everything is quiet, she comes back with her finger at her mouth.

“What do you mean?” I whisper. “That you gonna get me home?” She nods. It feels like the sun come up inside of me. “How? How will you do that?” I ask.

“Some runners coming through and you go with them.” She spits again and wipes the words away.

Chicken skin comes up all over my arms and on the back of my neck. “Runners?” I whisper.

She looks at me deep and then nods.

“Do you know them?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We just know that they need our help.” She writes so fast that I hardly have time to read before she erases.

“Does that mean I'll be a runner?” I ask. She nods. I can't help it. I stare up at her. “What happens if they catch us?” I ask.

She nods to the other room and I know what she means. By now I understand what they do to runners.

“They're gonna sell me away if I stay here, right?” I ask.

She nods again.

“Then I want to go,” I whisper, but I'm so scared I got to pee.

“You got to do what they say.”

“I will,” I agree.

“They catch you, you can't say nothing about who help you.”

I don't need to be told that if I am caught and they find out Sukey helped me, they would hurt her bad as me. I shake my head. “I'd never tell on you.” She does something she never done before—puts her hand 'round my shoulders and gives a squeeze. It feels good. Now I just got to ask. “Sukey?” I say.

“Uhh?” she grunts, real quiet.

“Can't you talk?” I ask her.

She shakes her head.

“Didn't your mama teach you how to talk?” She looks at me like she wants to say something, but instead she opens her mouth big and points inside. It takes me a while to figure out that her tongue is gone. My stomach flops over when I think about her having no tongue. Where'd it go? I look around the room, trying to think of something to say; then it comes to me. “Why don't you come, too?” I ask.

She takes my hand and holds it on her big belly. Quick, though, I pull back when I feel something in there bump at my hand.

“It's moving!” I say, and even though I'm still thinking about her tongue, I can't help but smile at her stomach. I touch it again. “You got a baby in there!” I whisper, but then I see she's crying. I wait for a while before I ask, “Don't you want this baby?”

She shakes her head.

I look up at her because I wonder what kind of mama don't want her baby. Then I'm thinking that she won't need to spit no more to clean the slate because of how wet she's getting the rag by wiping at her face.

“Why not? Don't you like babies?” I finally say when she stops.

“They sell them,” she writes, crying at the same time.

I don't know what to do because I never see her like this. “Don't cry, Sukey,” I say, and put my arm up around her shoulders as far as I can reach. “After I get to Mr. Burton's, we'll come back for you and this baby.”

She sends me back to bed then and closes the door to her room. In the morning her eyes is all puffed out. I feel bad for talking about her babies and making her cry, but mostly, I'm too scared to worry about her. During the night I remembered that sometimes they shoot the runners.

W
E HEAR THERE'S
a strong runner coming up from Georgia. He's been through before and didn't make it, but those that try again got a better chance 'cause they know more of the places to find help. I'm sending Pan off with him 'cause that trader's coming through, and who knows what'll happen to him then.

I'm making the boy carry out slop pails and work his legs whenever I got the chance, and I see he's getting stronger, but we don't have much time left. Pan reminds me of my own boys, maybe 'cause he's so full of questions, like my own used to be. “Mama, why this? Mama, why that?” He's sweet, too, like my boys was. Trouble is, worrying about what going to happen to Pan makes me wonder where my own boys got to.

A
FTER THE OLD
couple die and they take Nate away, they sell me and my boys to a new place. It looks like the farm I grew up at, but this one is easy five times the size of Miss Lavinia's home. Here there is also a mistress in the big house, but I never see her. Her three children are all away at school, and from what I know, she is most often away herself.