Hang a Thousand Trees with Ribbons (9 page)

Mr. Wheatley, Nathaniel, and the doctor went into the dining room. I heard Sulie's quick footsteps crossing the hall, her sharp voice ordering Prince to come with the claret.

There was a back way downstairs and out of the house. It was used by Sulie and Aunt Cumsee when the Wheatleys did not wish to be disturbed by the comings and goings of the servants.

I put on my heavy cloak, for the night had turned raw. I crept down the back stairs and ran.

I dozed, covered with an old horse blanket, under a barn window. I dreamed of Robin on the wharf in his fancy blue suit, of Prince telling me I would never be any good unless I was free. Of a sudden I felt myself falling, and I knew it was because Sulie had tripped me. I heard her evil laugh.

I dreamed of my mother pouring out water before the morning sun. She was telling me something. What? I could not hear her words. Someone else was speaking at the same time.

"Phillis. Come with me."

I opened my eyes. Oh, how cruel! I was not at home by the spring with my mother. I was still here in the barn. Nathaniel stood over me, wrapped in a heavy cloak. Light spilled out of a lantern in his hand, blinding me.

I stared stupidly up at him while my head thudded with ache and I felt a sour taste in my mouth.

"We've been looking all over for you!" He was angry. "Haven't we enough trouble on this damnable night without you running off and causing more? What in God's name are you doing out here? I will have an answer from you, Phillis."

"Hiding," I said.

His scowl deepened. "From what? The pox? You needn't be afraid. No one will fault you for that. Everyone's afraid. Dr. Sprague is waiting to inoculate you. The poor man is exhausted and wants to go home. Now come along, I say."

I shook my head and sank back in the straw.

"What the devil?" Nathaniel set his lantern down on a barrel. "What mean you by that? Enough nonsense. Come along."

But I would not move.

His eyes narrowed. I knew the look. He was not to be trifled with. Now that he had taken on more and more of his father's business concerns, he was accustomed to having his words heeded. "Come with me now, Phillis. If you don't come now to be inoculated, you can't come back into our house. I shall tell Father to sell you."

Sell me?
I stared up at him.

"I mean what I say, Phillis. If you think I don't, you're sadly mistaken. I'll take you to the auction myself.
For God's sake, Phillis, come!
" He shouted his words. They boomed off the rafters.

Some barn swallows took flight. I heard the flapping of their wings as they fluttered about in fear.

"I can't come." I sobbed. "I can't be inoculated!"

"You won't, you mean. Because you're stubborn and spoiled! Everyone's been inoculated! My mother, Mary, everyone!"

"Please, Nathaniel, I can't."

He reached for me. I dodged him. He cursed. He said something about what came of treating servants like family and pulled me by my wrist from the straw.

"I can't," I yelled. "God sent the pox to scourge me! I must repent!"

His mouth fell open. "What's that you say?"

Tears were streaming down my face. "It's what Reverend Sewall said. The disease is God's curse on us. On me. For what I did. So I can't get inoculated. I must repent or Aunt Cumsee will die!"

He released my wrist. "God sent the pox to scourge
you?
"

"Yes. Because I've sinned. And I've not made amends."

"So has most of Boston. And with more imagination than you, Phillis, believe me. Explain to me, then, what have you done to bring such chaos down on Boston?"

I felt foolish when he put it that way. As he meant me to feel. "There's no profit in the telling."

"Have you stolen something? Look here, Phillis, I won't have theft. Did you take something from the market when I took you last week?"

I shook my head no.

"Then what? Out with it. I'm weary of this game."

I looked up at him. He could sell me off if he wished. Or strike me. It was his right. In the state his parents were in, he was likely in charge of the house. I took a deep breath.

"Back home," I murmured, "I sinned. Because of my actions, my mother was kidnapped with me. And she died."

He let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, that." He waved the thought away with a hand and picked up his lantern. "God isn't angry with you for that, Phillis. Take my word for it. He has lots more to be angry about. Now come along. Not taking inoculation and getting sick won't save Aunt Cumsee. If God wants to take her He right well will. He doesn't enter into bargains with little girls."

I felt properly rebuffed and diminished. But I stood my ground.

He turned to leave. "Did you hear me? I've run out of patience, Phillis. Come! By all that's holy! I swear to you, I can abide no more!"

With that he leaned down and swooped me up under one arm, like a roc. He strode through the barn with me in his grasp. All my protests were of no avail.

"I'll sell you off before I'll have you stuffing your head with this religious folderol, Phillis. Half the females in Boston are taken with hysteria because of it. Haven't I taught you anything these last three years?"

His angry words were measured out in cadence with the purposeful steps of his boots in the mud. "I'll hold with no damned religious nonsense, no dark or ancient suspicions. Haven't we had enough of that in this province? The days of witchcraft are over. What do you think learning is all about? To dispel all this flapdoodle."

His anger saved me that night. From myself. It was the only weapon he had. And it was sufficient.

I opened my eyes the next morning feeling in the grip of the devil's own talons. My head throbbed. The house was very quiet, although I heard some moans from Mary's room next door.

My door opened. "How be's you, chile? I brought some nice hot broth."

"I want some cold milk." She was a stranger.

"No milk allowed. Doctor say so. No bread, pudding, or meat. You take this nice broth now."

"Is Sulie sick?"

"She ain't feelin' too bad. I come to help."

"Who are you?"

Her laugh was rich. "They call me Bettie. I works for Dr. Sprague."

"How is Aunt Cumsee?"

"She jus' got the miseries from the pox, is all. Here, you take this nice broth."

"She's going to die, isn't she?"

"No. It ain't her time yet."

"You're lying to me. Where is Master Nathaniel? He'll tell me the truth." I started to get up.

She put a hand on my arm. But it was the look in her eyes that stopped me. It was solemn yet becalming. Her eyes had an amber light in them. Never had I seen such eyes on a nigra.

"Nobody dead, chile. Ain't time yet fer any of'em to die. Old Bettie here to make sure everybody gets well. But nobody gonna get well 'lessen you let 'em rest and stop all this talk 'bout dyin'. Never did I see such a sorry chile as you."

"How do you know nobody will die? Just because you work for a doctor, you don't know everything."

"You is a right saucy little piece, ain't you? No, chile. I doan know everythin'. But I had the pox. An' I ain't dead."

I took her measure. Only then did I mind the pox marks on her face. "Is that what it did to you?"

She laughed. "I's alive, chile, ain't I?"

"Will I be like that?"

"If'n you doan take this broth and get back to sleep."

I stared at her, hard, then I drank my broth and lay back and slept.

The second day I was both feverish and chilled. Once again I heard old Bettie creeping about Outside it was still raining. Rain poured like tears down the windows. Wind blew. Even the candlelight flickered.

I dragged myself out of bed to look out the window. The light outside had an eerie yellow about it that seemed otherworldly.

"What you doin' up an' about?" Old Bettie came in, set down a bowl of broth, and took me by the shoulders, leading me back to the bed.

"We had such light as this at home, before hurricanes," I said.

"Where's that?"

"Senegal. I come from the Grain Coast"

"All the way from Africa? Little thing like you?"

"Yes. Where do you come from?"

"Oh, around an' about My people been here for a hunnert years. I gots lotta friends. How many friends do you have?"

I swallowed the broth. "None."

"Oh, come now. All little girls have friends."

"Mrs. Wheatley doesn't allow me to have nigra friends. Not even Prince. And I don't have any white friends. Except Nathaniel."

She frowned. "The master's son." She made a sound of dismay in her throat. "How long you been here, chile?"

"Near three years."

"Smart little girl like you? Writes? Reads? Treated like one o' the family? Surely you know some friend in this country."

I told her of Obour then. And how we came over on the ship together. And how I hadn't seen her since.

"You should find out how she's keepin'," Bettie told me. "Not right you shouldn't have friends of your own kind. You should ask after her."

She left me then. The house was so quiet. I sat thinking of Obour.
Not right,
Bettie had said. No, it wasn't. How was Obour faring, I wondered. Was she taller than I was? Prettier? Could she read and write? Did she think of me?

I felt the loneliness creep over me then, worse than my fever. Was I the only person, besides old Bettie, alive in this house? I had to find out.

I opened the door of my room, crept into the hall, and peered over the banister. I heard muted voices belowstairs. Mr. Wheatley's. And Nathaniel's. They were comforting. I went back to bed and slept.

I dreamed of Obour. I saw her in my dreams as clear as day, chasing the birds in the rice fields. "Obour!" I called out to her. She turned and scowled at me. "Not right," she said, "not right." I ran to her, but she seemed to get farther and farther away. She seemed to disappear, right in front of my eyes. "Obour! I'm sorry! Come back!" I screamed.

Then I dreamed of my mother.

She was standing before the morning sun, pouring water out of a stone jar. She smiled at me. Her smile was so radiant and so filled with peace that I knew that she was not dead. Nobody who was dead could be that happy.

Then she told me what to do for Aunt Cumsee. Her presence was so real.
My mother was not dead.
She was somewhere else, she was happy. And she'd come to me when I needed her.

After she finished telling me about Aunt Cumsee, she said what Bettie had said. "Find Obour." Then she disappeared.

I didn't cry out when she faded away, because she left me with a sense of peace. I slept Long and deeply.

When I awoke it was early morning. My fever was gone; my head no longer throbbed. Outside the sun was peeking over my windowsill. Quickly I dressed and, with my shoes in my hand, I crept into the hall and down the stairs.

Everyone must still be sleeping. I tiptoed into the kitchen. The fire in the hearth burned brightly.
Things bubbled in pots over the fire. Outside I heard Sulie calling to the chickens as she fed them.

On the wooden table I saw a bowl of warm biscuits. I took one. No bread, Dr. Sprague had said. But I was inordinately fond of my bread. On the table, too, was a pitcher of fresh milk. Prince must have just brought it in. I poured myself a cup, quickly, then reached for what I had come for. A pitcher of water on the table.

I escaped the room just as Sulie was coming back toward the house, her apron gathered up, full of fresh eggs.

I went through the center hall and out the front door. There was the smell of spring in the air. Perfect. I put on my shoes, then went around to the side of the house.

There it was. The fountain in Mrs. Wheatley's garden. It spouted no water now. It had been stopped for winter. It was on the east side of the house. The sun was just coming over the tops of the trees. I lifted my face to feel its warmth.

This is what my mother had told me to do for Aunt Cumsee in my dream. And it would tie me to my mother. Here, in this country, I could do as she had done on the coast of Africa.

It was the same sun.

Nobody was that far away. Nothing was that impossible. I had become well after inoculation, hadn't I?

I held the pitcher of water above my head, facing the sun. And I poured out the water into the fountain.

Once again the peace of my dream came to me. I felt one with the sun, the water, and the vaulted blue sky. Mama had always said that the sun was the instrument of order in the world. That it would heal us and restore us and quiet our chaos.

There was chaos in the Wheatley house right now. Sickness. There was chaos and sickness in all of Boston.

I stood with my eyes closed and the empty pitcher in my hand, my face still turned upward.

"Phillis, what are you doing out of the house?"

Nathaniel came across the lawn to me. "You'll catch your death." He had a blanket in his hands. He threw it over my shoulders.

"Nathaniel, I'm well. My head is clear."

"What are you doing out here?"

I laughed. "I'm making my morning offering."

"Your what?" He put his hand on my brow. "No fever. Child, you
are
well." He scowled. "Phillis, in heaven's name, this isn't some heathen thing you're about, is it?"

I looked into his face. "The Greeks did it, Nathaniel. An offering to the sun. To Apollo, or Phoebus, as the Greeks called it. Or Sol, according to the Latin. You know how the Greeks and Romans felt about the sun. You taught me."

"Yes, yes, but come along now. People can see you from the street. And this isn't Greece. Or Rome. It's Boston. People will be hard put to understand."

"Isn't this a beautiful morning?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you gratified that I'm well?"

"Yes, and I'd like to keep you that way. We're all feeling a lot better. We'll be glad to have you at the table with us for breakfast. We just couldn't find you."

I started to walk back to the house with him. "Did old Bettie make breakfast?"

He turned to me. "Old who?"

"Old Bettie. The lady who took care of me when I was sick."