by Wendy Lawton
“C’mon, girl. She can clear up.” The woman tilted her head, indicating that she meant Sally. “I need to check the weaving before I go back out.”
Minty followed her. Mrs. Cook looked carefully at the work, her fingers playing over the weave closest to the reed and then moving slowly back across her work of the morning. When she got back to the very beginning of the morning’s work where it was starting to bend over the cloth wheel, the woman screamed.
“You stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl!” She bolted out of the house and came charging back inside with a green willow switch. Minty had no idea what went wrong, but she had no doubt about the punishment. She heard the switch whistle through the air as Mrs. Cook rained blows across her arms and legs. The pain was so intense that Minty could not stifle her screams. With each blow, it became harder and harder to breathe, until she fell to the floor, curled into a ball, and covered her head with her arms. The switch continued to slice through the air and connect with Minty’s flesh.
“Mrs. Cook!” It was her husband. “What are you thinking of? You kill that girl and I’ll have to pay Brodas as much as you make in a year. Stop it. Stop it this instant!”
The woman dropped the switch. Minty scooted to the far corner of the room. The rage still burned in Mrs. Cook’s face. Her jaw was clenched, her chest heaved, and she breathed like she’d been running.
“The stupid girl ruined a whole morning’s work.” She pointed to the second pick in the weaving Minty had done. Minty had forgotten to alternate her first and second row. Two rows were the same. “It will take twice as long to fix this here mess as to do it myself.”
If I don’t learn, they’ll send me back. She hadn’t meant to make a mistake, but would her mistake be the way to get back home?
“I’ll get you a new girl.” Mr. Cook was trying to pacify his furious wife. Minty felt a surge of hope until he said, “I’ll take this one to help me run the lines. I’ll work her like a man full-growed.”
“I’m going out with the shearers. I don’t want to be seeing that stupid girl again. You can feed her out by the sheep pen.” Mrs. Cook started out the door. “See if you can get Sally hired. She can cook and help me weave.”
When she left, Mr. Cook turned to Sally. “See that them welts get doctored. I don’t aim to have Brodas accusin’ me of damagin’ his property.” He turned to Minty. “You be ready first thing in the mornin’ to work the river with me. I’ll be puttin’ your food over on that stump outside. Don’t you be comin’ inside to sleep until Mrs. Cook has gone to bed. And you better be up and out of here before she’s awake, y’hear?”
“Yes, suh.”
The Brodas Quarter and her family seemed farther away than ever.
Wade in
the Water
You get down into that water, girl.” Mr. Cook pulled Minty toward the rushing stream.
“But I don’t know nothin’ ’bout swimmin’, suh!” Minty’s headache hadn’t lessened, despite spending much of the night outdoors.
“Don’t matter none. Water’s movin’ fast, but it only comes up waist high.” The man looked hard at Minty, as if seeing her for the first time. “Hmm. You’re not very big, are you?” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a length of rope. “Tie this around your waist, girl, and we’ll have a look-see.”
“Tie it ’round my waist?” Minty felt fear tighten its bands around her chest until she could barely breathe. Her hands shook as she fumbled to tie knots. She wasn’t very good at tying since she’d never had much practice.
“Come here, you stubborn girl.” He untied her feeble attempts and knotted the rope tightly around her waist. “Now, jump into the water.”
“I c-can’t swim.”
“I know that. Y’think I’m stupid? Everyone knows that coloreds can’t swim.”
His notion made her forget her fear long enough to catch her breath. Did he really believe that? She thought of her father who could swim like an otter. If I ever get back home, I’m goin’ to have Ben teach me to swim. That’ll show this mean old—
“I said ‘jump.’ I’ll haul you out with this rope if the river is too high.”
Fear washed over Minty once again as she stood at the very edge of the bank. Her toes curled over the thick, cool mat of grass that ended abruptly at the river’s edge. Looking into the water made her head throb until she felt dizzy. “It looks c-cold.”
“’Course it’s cold. Now jump!”
Minty tried to propel herself forward but every muscle in her body shrank away from the rushing water. Just when she thought she might faint, she felt herself being launched toward the water. She’d been pushed. Hard. As her feet skidded off the grass they scraped against roots and shards of rock on the steep riverbank.
Too late, she realized that had she jumped, she would have hit the water feetfirst. As it was, she belly flopped into the rushing current. Water shot into her ears, mouth, and nose. A burning sensation hit her between her eyes, and her head felt as if it might explode.
The rope jerked against her waist and she realized that the current carried her to the end of her rope. She fought to lift her head out of the water—to gulp some air—but she ended up swallowing water.
Jesus, help me. Help me now!
“Stop that thrashin’ around, you stupid thing, and put your feet down.” From far off she could hear the voice of Mr. Cook. “Stand up, stand up!”
Minty realized that panic was making matters worse. Jesus, calm Your child. She remembered Old Rit praying this prayer over Minty when she became fearful. Her foot caught a bent root on the river bottom. As her other foot found the rocky bed, she stood up and managed to lean her head back and sputter and cough in the air.
Her nose and her head burned with every breath. Her teeth ached from the cold, but she knew God had worked a miracle. Oh, not a big Moses-type miracle like parting the water, but big enough for Minty.
The water came up to her neck, but she could breathe again. She remembered what Old Rit used to say to her. “Jes’ remember, child—sometimes the Lord calms the storm, but most times He jes’ lets the storm rage and calms His child.” Thank You, Jesus.
“You done fightin’ the river?”
“Yes, suh.”
“Then I’ll haul you out. Hang on to the rope with both hands.”
Minty grasped the rope and felt her body being pulled back against the current. Water splashed into her mouth but, with the paralyzing fear gone, she kept her head above water for much of the time. As she got to the bank near Mr. Cook, he didn’t let up. Instead of helping her climb up the bank, he yanked her over rocks and roots, branches and cattails.
“That were a fine performance.” His lips curled into a sneer. “I’ve got half a mind to throw you back in.”
Minty couldn’t move. She lay on the cool grass, where she landed when the tugging on the rope finally stopped. Her head throbbed. Cuts and scrapes covered her arms and legs. Her throat hurt all the way to her ears.
“Don’t think you can laze around all mornin’, girl. We got us work to do.” He kicked her side lightly with his boot. “Get that rope off. I’ll need it to make a towline for you.”
Minty’s fingers were so cold and her shivers so violent, she couldn’t unknot the rope. Mr. Cook jerked her to her feet and untied the rope.
“Gonna have you run my trapline for me. Won’t have to do too much work. I just need to know when one of them muskrats is trapped so I can get it out and reset the trap.”
“Muskrats?”
“Don’t play stupid with me. You know about muskrats. Good eatin’, that’s for sure.”
“Eating?”
“Called marsh rabbit. It’s mighty tasty fried up like chicken.” He was talking as he dug in his bag for more rope. “Real reason we trap muskrat is for the skins. Valuable skins. Got a beautiful warm fur, them muskrats.”
He took off his boots, rolled up his pant legs, and slid down into the river, coils of rope over his shoulders. Minty’s teeth chattered
as she watched him. She had no idea what he was doing but as long as he didn’t say anything she would try to blend into the brush.
“Girl. You layin’ there sleepin’ whilst I’m doin’ all the work?” He kicked her with his boot. “Get up.”
“Yes, suh.” The words came out raspy. Minty’s head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. As she stood, she swayed with dizziness. Something was wrong. She had never felt this sick before; never had an achy head that lasted overnight.
“This’ll be easy now. I’ve tied a rope along the whole trapline.” He pointed up and down the stream. “All you have to do is wade in the water, holdin’ on to the rope, and check my traps.”
“What do I check them for?”
“For muskrats, what do y’think?” The sneer was back in his voice. “I’ll come by four or five times every day. You tell me where the muskrats are trapped and I’ll collect them and reset the traps.” He was unpacking traps. “I may be able to run more traps iffen I’m not havin’ to wade the line all day.”
Wade in the water. It reminded Minty of Sally’s song. Wade in the water, wade in the water, children/Wade in the water, God’s goin’ trouble the water. She thought about that last line. Was that a promise? Would God trouble this deep water she was treading? She knew Old Rit was praying. She would pray as well. Lord, will You wade with me?
“Muskrats live near the edge of the stream where the water is shallow. They like to eat water lilies, cattails, and bulrushes. I hide my traps near the openin’ of their burrows. They got one openin’ underwater and a push-up hole on the bank for gettin’ air.” Mr. Cook kicked at a mound under some branches. “It’s easy to spot their burrows once you know what you’re lookin’ for.”
“Yes, suh.”
“Underwater, you’ll be able to feel the burrow openin’s with your toe. Muskrats is the cousin of the beaver. You always find a mess of branches by their hidey-holes.” He paused. “Anyway, it don’t matter none, since I set the traps where I know muskrats will find them.”
“Yes, suh.”
“All you got to do is wade the line, and when I come back, you tell me where the traps are sprung.” He waited for an answer. “You understand this, girl?”
“Yes, suh.”
“So get in the water.”
Minty slid down the bank near the rope that was strung along the river, just under the water. The cold water felt good on her hot body. How did my body get so hot? Last thing I remember was shiverin’ on the grass.
The shallow edge of the river was still up to Minty’s chest but she managed to hook her arm over the rope and move along through the water with the rope against her armpit.
“It’s dinnertime. I’m goin’ back to eat with the missus. You keep on workin’ the line and I’ll bring you some water and somethin’ to eat later on.”
Minty found that she needed to move slowly so as not to stir up the silt on the bottom. She needed to be able to see the traps. She carefully made her way from one end of the trapline to the other. The sun beat down on her head and shoulders while her body shuddered in the icy-cold water.
She didn’t know what was wrong, but she had never been this sick before. More than once she thought she might faint. If I faint, will the cold water revive me as I slip under?
The first time through, all the traps were empty. On her return trip, she saw a disturbance and realized that a muskrat had been caught in the steel jaws of the trap. She looked closer. At first she felt repulsed—the muskrat looked too much like a rat. The thought that she had eaten fried muskrat made her stomach pitch.
The muskrat’s tail slapped the water. It was flat. Not as big as a beaver’s, but not a rat’s tail either. His feet were almost webbed. He was caught by the skin and did not seem to be seriously injured.
“A curious critter you are, Muskrat,” she rasped in a scratchy voice. “And how frightenin’ to be caught in a trap.”
Not so different from me. Why should such things be? Animals caught in traps. People held captive as well. Minty’s headache was causing her vision to blur. Is there no help for the muskrat? Is there no help for my people?
“God’s goin’ trouble the water.” Did someone speak the words out loud? Minty couldn’t be sure. She looked around but no one was about.
There may be no help for my people right now, but maybe there’s help for Old Muskrat. Minty held her breath and went underwater. She pulled at the trap, trying to free the muskrat, but she wasn’t strong enough. She tried again. The muskrat became more agitated until he finally tugged himself loose, leaving a piece of his hide in the trap.
“It may hurt for a while, Old Muskrat, but freedom be worth the pain.” Yes, freedom is surely worth the pain.
Minty waded the line one more time. She shivered violently and had trouble catching her breath. Mr. Cook still hadn’t come back, but she knew she had to pull herself out of the water. As she crawled up the embankment, the wooliness in her head made her feel woozy. She had to make it onto the grassy bank, but her arms and legs were numb. Old Rit, I need you. My head hurts and my throat hurts and my…
“Get up, girl.”
Minty could hear a voice from far off.
“How long you been layin’ here?” A pause. “Well, I’ll be jiggered. This here stubborn slave ain’t worth the penny I paid that old cheat, Brodas. She don’t help the missus with the weavin’ and now, when I set her a simple task, why, she lays aside the river and takes a nap.”
Someone was kicking her. Annie? Is it time to feed the children? When will Old Rit get home? I need my mother. I don’t feel well.
“Get up, girl. Get up, y’hear?”
There was that voice again. Who is it? She felt herself being hauled up and slung over a man’s shoulder. Ben? Her body was dropped onto something rough and hard. She hit with a thud, but one more ache hardly mattered.
“Mrs. Cook, somethin’s wrong with this here girl. I’m dumpin’ her out here by the pump, but you watch her now, y’hear? I don’t want her dyin’ and Old Brodas dunnin’ us for money.”
That voice again. What was it saying?
“Worthless slave ain’t worth a plug nickel dead or alive.” The man’s voice blustered but Minty heard a quiver of fear as well. “That Brodas will hear me out this time iffen somethin’ happens.” Minty heard the man’s steps walking away.
Minty heard herself moaning as hands roughly poked at her, but she couldn’t stop the sound. She hurt. Every part of her body hurt.
From right next to her ear, a woman swore. “That wagon is from Brodas’s Plantation.” The voice moved away as it swelled to a shriek. “Sally, run git Mr. Cook. Tell ’im we got trouble on our hands.”
The voice grew distant as warm blackness swallowed Minty.
I Hear the
Train A - Comin’
Minty, baby. Can you hear your ol’ mama?”
Minty knew she must be dreaming. She heard her mama’s voice and she felt those beloved sandpapery fingers stroking her face. Her body ached but she could almost imagine she was cradled in her mother’s arms. Did I die? Do I rest in the arms of Jesus? She put her hand to her achy chest. No, she could feel the scratchy river-crusted tow-linen shift. No glory robes for me yet.
“Honey-girl, wake up. It’s Ol’ Rit. Please, Minty, wake up.”
Minty hated to leave the darkness. Nothing hurt back there, but as she began to fight her way toward Old Rit’s voice, her eyes burned. Each breath made her chest ache. Her head throbbed as the rocking movement of a wagon jostled her.
“Mama?” The sound was more like the croak of a bullfrog.
Minty reached up and touched her mother’s wet cheeks.
“Thank You, Lord. My baby’s done come back. He’p me get her home, Lord Jesus, and jes’ soothe her fever and ease her breath.”
Home.
Minty caught one word from her mama’s prayer. The word that conjured up the smoky haven of that cramped cabin in the Quarter, filled with the talking, laughing voices of her father
and mother and sisters and brothers. Home.
“Minty, Mama’s takin’ you home.”
The young girl felt her body go limp in her mother’s arms as the thought of going home swallowed all the loneliness of the last weeks.
“You been pow’ful sick.” Annie sat on an upturned crate beside the stack of quilts that made Minty’s bed. “Master set one of the field hands to watch the little’uns so’s ol’ Annie could come watch over you.”
“Thank you.” It was half bark and half cough.
“They say Master feel bad ’bout you getting so sick over to that Cook place.” Annie rocked back and forth on the crate and muttered that familiar old sound, “Um, um, um.”
Annie communicated many different meanings by that one sound, yet Minty never misunderstood. The old woman’s body lent the clues. When Annie’s eyes widened and her body tensed as she mumbled the um-um-um, it meant trouble was brewing. The very sound raised goose bumps on Minty and made the hair at the nape of her neck feel shivery. Other times, when it came with a pursing of the lips and a slow shaking of the head, it announced distaste for someone’s wild behavior—a kind of warning that no good would come out of evil. This time, however, Annie’s eyes narrowed and an unspoken criticism rumbled in the um-um-um. It wordlessly declared what she thought about slave owners who hired out children to folk who didn’t know how to take care of them.
“Old Rit says that Mrs. Cook’s Sally got word to Ben that I was sick. My mama went straight to Master.” Minty hoped to thank Sally someday.
“Master’s conscience must’a finally grabbed hold’a him, since he let Cicero take the wagon and he’p your mama fetch you.” Annie smiled. “I heared that ol’ Mrs. Cook was so mad she wouldn’t let them take you till Cicero gave her the piece of paper from Master.”
Minty turned toward the door and saw Old Rit carrying Nicey. “You carried Nicey over here for a visit?” Minty loved Ruby’s little baby.