The Wedding Gift (6 page)

“Maybe I can sit in the nursery while you have your lessons,” I said.

She laughed. “You can’t. Lessons are for young ladies, not maids.”

About a month later, she told me that she was bored. “Don’t you want to play with my dolls?”

“My mama says that I have to do whatever you say, Miss Clarissa.”

Then we played with her dolls and her new dollhouse, but I only pretended to be interested, and she noticed.

“Don’t you like playing with me anymore?”

I shrugged. “Like my mama said, I have to do whatever you tell me to do, Miss Clarissa.”

Clarissa slapped me, and I cried.

“You are just jealous. I told you. You can’t have lessons because you are my maid. Now go away. I don’t want to look at your dirty, stupid face.”

I was hurt but knew that Clarissa was lonely for a playmate and that she would continue to summon me. One day, as I was polishing furniture in her rooms, she was playing with her dolls and her dog, King.

“Sarah, if you play with me like before, I’ll ask Mama if you can be in the nursery while I have my lessons.”

“Really? Will you really?”

We played one of our favorite games, chasing each other hopping on one foot. We played other games, some of which we had begun playing when we were two or three years old. Clarissa kept her promise and insisted that her mother allow me to sit in the nursery while she taught her. Clarissa’s parents never denied her requests, as she was their only daughter and youngest child.

King would sit next to us for a few minutes but soon lose interest in his role as a student and wander away to lick and scratch. I sat still, listening to every word. When Mrs. Allen called Clarissa to write on the board, I observed how she wrote and was attentive to Mrs. Allen’s corrections. Mrs. Allen said that I could return whenever I wanted to and that she would speak to my mother about excusing me from work. Many months after I began attending lessons, Mrs. Allen asked Clarissa to spell the word “temperature.”

“T-e-m-p-e-r-a-t-u-r-e,” I said.

Clarissa said nothing. Mrs. Allen closed the door and handed me a primer. She spoke to me in a gentle voice. “Read the first sentence,” she told me.

I read it out loud.

“Here is the chalk. Write the sentence.” I wrote it, but not so well. Mrs. Allen’s face became flushed. She whispered, “Girls, it is very, very important that you do not tell anyone that Sarah has learned how to read and write. If you do, you will never again be permitted to play together or to have lessons together. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” we answered in unison.

Mrs. Allen stared at me, but I was not frightened because she was not angry. I could not believe my fortune. I had learned how to read and write but she had not said that she would stop teaching me.

The next day, when I joined Clarissa for her lessons, Mrs. Allen locked the door.

“Girls, I will teach Sarah, but you will both have to promise me again that you will not tell anyone that she has learned how to read and write. Sarah, you cannot even tell Emmeline or your sister. If you tell anyone else, terrible things will happen to Sarah, her mother, and sister. They will have to leave Allen Estates. Clarissa, you will never again see Sarah. Do you both understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“Yes, Mama. We understand. We won’t tell anyone. We promise,” Clarissa said.

Our lessons continued. Those were wonderful days for me because I was transported to a world that I never knew existed. Both Clarissa and I made significant progress in our first two years of lessons. We learned arithmetic as well as our letters, and Mrs. Allen surprised us with paints, brushes, and special paper and showed us how to create watercolors.

When I was not in the nursery during Clarissa’s lessons, I was apprenticed to Bessie, who was teaching me how to be a proper lady’s maid. When I was eleven years old, I began cleaning Mr. Allen’s office. While working there, I inspected the papers and writing tools on his desk. One day, I saw a paper on his desk granting traveling passage to slaves. The next time that I cleaned his rooms, I summoned the courage to copy a pass. It was not difficult to do. I used a blank sheet of paper from his stationery drawer and practiced his handwriting until I could see no difference between his and mine. I tore my copy into small pieces and later threw them down the hole in the outhouse.

I still remember the pass I copied: “This traveling pass is granted to the following slaves, all of whom are owned by Cornelius F. Allen, Esq., of Allen Estates Plantation, Benton County. The driver of the cart is Johnny, who is about 5 feet and 10 inches high, of a black complexion, and well made. Johnny bears a brand of Allen Estates on his chest. Missy, about 5 feet and 2 inches high, of a black complexion with a small, thin face, is a seamstress who will purchase cloth at Russell & Strong’s. Sammy is a mulatto with bright complexion, about 6 feet high, who is taking leather goods to be sold at Fielding’s. Should any of these slaves be found outside the Benton County seat, or anywhere within Benton County at night, a reward of $300 each will be paid for their return to their owner.”

In my twelfth year, my mother was still going to Mr. Allen at night, but I became used to her absences. Belle did not tell me as many stories as she did when I was younger, but she taught me how to knit and I was slowly working on shawls for her and my mother. Belle and I entertained ourselves by discussing the events of the day.

“Do you remember that time I was crying because those boys were calling me ‘yellow belly’ and Mama said they didn’t mean anything by it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the other day, these girls were calling me the same thing, and they didn’t want to jump rope with Miss Clarissa and me. Today Miss Clarissa wasn’t around, and they still didn’t want to jump rope with me. When I asked them why, they said that I should jump rope with my sister, Pinky. What did they mean by that?”

Belle was silent for a moment then said, “I think Mama should tell you.”

“She didn’t answer my questions about such things before, so why do you think she would now?”

“Well, you older now.”

“What difference does that make?”

“Mama said you was going to ask something like that sometime, and she said I should say I didn’t know. But I don’t want to lie to you. When she gone, it just you and me and I want to keep it like we always tell the other the truth.”

“Belle, I know the truth. I just want to hear somebody say that I’m right.”

“What do you know, Sarah?”

“I know that…well, you’re always talking about ‘my papa,’ and I look more like Miss Clarissa than I look like you and Mama, and Mama is always with Mr. Allen. Anybody, even those other children, can figure out that Mr. Allen is my father.”

“I’m sorry, Sarah…I’m sorry. I wish it not like that. I really wish you and me had the same father. But I couldn’t love you more than I do. You my real sister. And don’t listen when those children tell you anything about Miss Clarissa, she ain’t no sister to you.”

I did not sleep well that night and awoke before my mother returned.

“Baby, what you doing up?” she asked when she came in.

“I was waiting for you.”

“Shush. You going to wake Belle.”

“I’m awake, Mama,” Belle said.

“So why is everybody awake? Let’s get a couple of hours more of sleep before we got to go to the kitchen.”

“Mama, I told Belle that I know about Mr. Allen.”

Mama did not answer me.

“I told her that I know, Mama.”

“Sarah…I just want to protect you, baby. Didn’t want you to know because I didn’t want you to tell Miss Clarissa and then she was going to tell Mrs. Allen. But it ain’t no use. Everybody know. You look just like him. But in case Miss Clarissa ain’t figured it out, don’t tell her, Sarah.”

“What about Mr. Allen? Does he know?”

“What about him? Of course he know, but that don’t mean one bit of difference in your life. So don’t think that anything is going to change. For us, it don’t matter who our father is, only our mother.”

The next year, when Clarissa and I were about thirteen years of age, my mother said that Mrs. Allen told her that I could no longer sit with Clarissa during her lessons. She said that I had too much work to keep me busy and that Clarissa would soon be getting a tutor. My chest tightened and my limbs felt weak. I had been able to bear my life only because of those lessons. My only solace was that, after tending to the library, I had been hiding books wrapped in clean rags in my cleaning bucket. At night, when my mother left us and Belle had fallen asleep, I read at the table by candlelight.

Clarissa’s tutor, Mrs. Ellsworth, arrived about a month after I stopped attending lessons. She was Clarissa’s chaperone as well, and Clarissa was allowed to increase her visits to other plantations without her parents. As Clarissa’s maid, I accompanied them on all travels. Around the time Clarissa began her studies with a tutor, my life changed in another way. I asked my mother to stop going to Mr. Allen and, to my surprise, she agreed.

“Listen, girls. I want you to know that all this time I’ve been asking Mr. Allen to free us, or at least you two, but he won’t. He said it’s for our own good. While we belong to him, he said, he can take care of us and we won’t need nothing. That’s why I stopped going to him.”

Belle and I embraced her. It made us happy that she was with us at night, and during the day, while we worked in the kitchen, my mother now laughed at the stories that the other slaves told. One afternoon, about a month after my mother stopped going to Mr. Allen, I was in Clarissa’s rooms settling her in after we returned from an overnight visit to a neighboring plantation and she asked me for tea. As I was near the kitchen, I recognized my mother’s wailing. I ran in and saw her crouched on the floor and surrounded by maids. I went to her and we held each other.

“They took Belle. They took Belle.”

“What? What do you mean? Mama, who took Belle?”

She did not answer. I spoke to the person closest to me.

“What happened to Belle?”

“Two men came into the kitchen and took her. Miss Emmeline was getting linen from the washroom.”

“How long ago?”

“This morning. Miss Emmeline been crying all day.”

“Is Mr. Allen in the house?”

“No, not since yesterday.”

I ran out the door. Although I knew that Belle was gone, I was still thinking that somehow I would see her with the men who took her away from us. I proceeded to the main gate, which was guarded by four overseers. One, a pink-faced man holding a rifle, told me to go back to the Hall. He poked me with the rifle on my arm and pushed me to the ground. I rubbed the area where he hurt me. Another man came over.

“Get up. I said, get up.”

I did not move.

“I said, get up, and if you don’t, I’ll make you, you sorry, yellow bitch.”

I did not obey him, and he pulled my head covering off, wrapped my hair around his hand, and dragged me several feet. I kept my body stiff. I did not cry. They put me on the wagon and took me back to the kitchen. I sat next to my mother on the floor. We stayed that way until the two Hall overseers arrived. One of them lifted my mother by the arms and pushed her against the wall. He pointed at her.

“Ain’t you got no cooking and cleaning to do? You get back to work or you may be missing your other slut too.”

My mother went to the water pail, washed her hands, and gave instructions to the others to help prepare supper. One of the overseers spoke to me.

“What you looking at? Go see after Miss Clarissa. And I came to tell all y’all something Mr. Allen ordered: do not tell Mrs. Allen or Miss Clarissa what happened today or the same thing going to happen to each of you.”

I rose and began making tea for Clarissa.

“Ain’t you heard me? Go see after Miss Clarissa.”

“I’m making her her tea.”

He looked at my mother. “You better not make no more trouble. Mr. Allen going to hear about you not working all day.”

He left, and I arranged the tea on a tray when it was ready and took it to Clarissa.

“What happened to you? Your face is red and sweaty, and where is your head covering? And your hair…it’s disheveled. Huh…I’ve never seen your hair. Why, it’s long, and it’s not like the other Negroes’ hair. Were you running or something? Are you crying? Sit down, there, on the chair. What happened?”

“I can’t say.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’m just sad, is all, because I can’t have lessons with you.”

“Sarah, you’re crying about that now? That happened a long time ago. Anyway, I’ve been lending you my lesson books as soon as I’m finished with them. Lessons are so boring. You should be glad that you stopped going. Why don’t you go to your cabin and tidy yourself? Heavens, one would have thought that someone had died.”

That night, as soon as my mother and I were in our cabin, she told me why Belle had been taken from us. She cried, her shoulders shaking and her face in her hands. “He warned me something was going to happen if I stopped going to him, but I ain’t think he do this, not after he promised me he’d never separate me from my child. But I can see I was foolish.”