by Wendy Lawton
“If it did, wouldn’t the Little Dipper be like the cup that runneth over?”
Ben laughed. “The position of the stars changes with the seasons, but one thing never changes…the North Star always points north. Always. Find that ol’ North Star and you can count on findin’ your way.”
Harriet loved working with her father. He knew everything about God’s world. Even Master Brodas said her father predicted the weather better than anyone. Ben could tell how big a crop to expect in any given year. By noticing the thickness of an animal’s coat he knew whether to expect a hard winter or an easy one. He could even tell how old a tree was by looking at a slice of the trunk. Harriet wanted to learn as much as she could from her father.
“Can I tell which way is north by watching the geese?” She peppered him with questions every time they were alone.
“Tis true the geese fly south in the fall and head back north in the spring, but a goose ain’t a dependable sign. I seen ’em circle ’round and ’round lookin’ for a place to rest. Sometimes I even watch ’em backtrack for a time. No, not a dependable sign, those geese.” Ben looked hard at his daughter. “Why you so interested in north, Harriet?”
“North’s where freedom lies.” Harriet never hid things from her father.
“You not planning on running, is you, girl?” Ben looked deep into her eyes, almost as if to memorize her.
“No, Ben.” She continued working awhile before she said, “Just gettin’ ready for when the time comes.” She thought of what her mother always said, “By ’n’ by.”
“Hmm.” He was quiet for a time. “You’ll let me know, child, before you decide, won’t you?”
Harriet just put her arms around him. She had lots more to find out first.
“Harriet, this ol’ daddy is proud of you. Not jes’ because you work hard. No.” He leaned back and looked at her. “Times is good for us jes’ now. Mos’ our family still be together and you ’n’ me work way out here away from all the trouble. I watch you. ’Spite of our good fortune, you ain’t never forgettin’ how bad it is to take babies away from mamas. You still ain’t forgettin’ that it’s evil for a man to own a man.”
“No, Ben, I can’t never forget.”
“That’s why I’m proud of you, Harriet.”
That night she burrowed under her quilt, listening for the longest time to the sounds of her family sleeping. Times like these, she didn’t know if she ever wanted to leave. Before she fell asleep, she recognized the words of the song that she couldn’t get out of her head:
Go down, Moses,
Way down in Egypt-land.
Tell ol’ Pharaoh
To let My people go.
The one line that kept running over and over was: “Oppressed so hard they could not stand.”
Harriet burrowed deeper into her quilt, thinking of Ruby who escaped and her sisters who were sold South. Who knew if she’d ever have the courage to stand up to slavery? She remembered the question her mother often repeated, “How long, O Lord?”
As she drifted off to sleep a new song seemed to carry over into her dreams: “God’s goin’ trouble the waters.”
It’s Me,
O Lord
Time to quit.”
The sound of axes stopped. So did the rhythmic humming the timber cutters used to keep pace with one another.
It felt strange to be quitting work when the morning sun was still bright. Harriet and her father made their way back to the Quarter along with the rest of the timber crew. Today was a special day.
As they neared the cabins, a crowd of excited children ran out to meet them. “We goin’ to a shuckin’, we goin’ to a shuckin’,” they sang as they danced in circles.
Just then the conch blew, calling the field hands home. Harriet didn’t think the children could get any more worked up, but they ran toward the fields to meet the workers, singing and slapping rhythms with their hands.
Propping her ax in her corner of the cabin, Harriet went to wash up in the tub outside. “Old Rit?”
“Um?”
“I’m goin’ by Annie’s cabin and walk with her to the corn shuckin’.” Whenever anyone on the plantation said corn, they drew the sound way out until it sounded like cawn.
“Git there soon’s you can. I hear they got a heap o’ corn to shuck. We want to git it done fast-like so’s we have plenty o’ time to frolic. Uncle Eben’s bringin’ his fiddle and says he’s fixin’ to call figgers to you young ’uns.” Old Rit had a lilt in her voice. “Don’t dawdle.”
Harriet walked quickly over to Annie’s. She loved to dance, so her mother didn’t have to tell her twice. There was nothing, save Christmas, as much fun as a corn shucking.
“Annie!” Harriet called from the yard. “I came to walk with you to the shuckin’.”
“Why, thank ye kindly, Miss Harriet.” The old woman made a curtsey of sorts. “Annie’ll be much obliged to ’company you, though I figgert a purt’ girl like you be fixin’ to walk out with one of them good-lookin’ bucks.”
Harriet laughed. “Oh, Annie. No boy wants to walk out with a scrawny little girl who’s stronger than them.”
“When time comes to sashay ’round the floor, we jes’ see ’bout that.” Annie wrapped her shoulders with her best shawl and they set out to the crossroads.
“Old Rit says that the masters have a heap o’ corn for us to shuck,” Harriet said.
“Nothin’ like the old days,” said Annie. “I ’members when we git together with six or sebbin other plantations for a shuckin’ and they be piles o’ corn as high as the Big House.”
“That so?” Harriet knew that if she said, “That so?” it would keep Annie telling stories all night long.
“Shor’ ’nuff. Now all we got is the Barretts’s Plantation and the Brodas’s Plantation and two piles of corn.”
“But Annie, it’s enough for a good contest, isn’t it?” Harriet loved the competition. Row after row of corn would be laid out. When the bell sounded, the shuckers began to strip the husks off the ears of corn, each worker trying to get to the end of the row first.
“We ’ll soon see, child, we ’ll soon see.” Annie made her um-um-um sound as they neared the sound of singing and clapping.
“Somethin’ wrong, Annie?” Harriet had long ago learned to read Annie’s worry sounds.
“No. Ol’ Annie jes’ borrowin’ trouble.” She slowed her step. “I hear tell that they be a heap of trouble over to the Barrett place. That overseer they got is meaner ’n a cornered wildcat. Barrett folks is plum worn out from the whippins and the work.”
“That so?”
“I jes’ hope they kick up they heels and have some frolic t ’night.”
The singing led them to the crossroads between the lanes leading to the Brodas place and the Barrett place. The only building was the country store. Any slave who was able to put a few pennies by looked forward to a visit to the store when the work was done.
Harriet knew that the first shucking had begun. She heard one of the work songs:
Watch the sun; see how she run.
Never let her catch you with yer work undone.
Harriet stepped up to be in line for the next shucking round. Not many girls or even women wanted to go against the men, but Harriet never shied away from a contest. As she waited, she watched one of the men from the Barrett place. He waited off to the side and kept looking around.
Before long it was Harriet’s turn. She stepped up to one of eight long lines of piled corn. One of the Barrett men, Jube, was making a fuss.
“My line is bigger’n all the others,” he said.
His fuss just made everything take longer. At this rate they would never get done in time for the dance.
“Let me take his line,” said Harriet. “Then we can get on with it.”
The crowd jeered as the girl traded places with Jube. He outweighed her by several stone and had at least another foot above her five feet in height.
“A girl ain’t in the cont
est to win, so it don’t matter none anyway,” he said to the laughing crowd.
“Um, um, um,” said Annie with an evil chuckle. “Poor boy.”
When the bell sounded, the crowd fell silent. The eight shuckers began to work. It took a few minutes for each to find his rhythm.
Harriet caught hers to the sound of “It’s Me, O Lord.” She grabbed an ear, pulled the husk off, and threw it in the bushel basket, all in the space of one line.
It’s me, it’s me, it’s me, O Lord,
Standin’ in the need of prayer.
It’s me, it’s me, it’s me, O Lord,
Standin’ in the need of prayer.
By the time she ’d sung the chorus under her breath, she ’d shucked four ears. The men had chosen different songs and different rhythms, but the crowd could always pick out Harri-et’s voice and soon joined her singing.
As she moved along the line, she saw that she was staying apace with the men. I guess I won’t be asked for many dances, she thought with a laugh. But it was worth it.
It’s me, it’s me, it’s me, O Lord,
Standin’ in the need of prayer.
The crowd began to pick up the tempo of the song. Harriet had everything to do to keep up, but she wasn’t about to be beaten by a row of corn. She saw, from the corner of her eye, that one man had dropped out. She was ahead of four of the men. Another man was even with her. Only the big man who traded piles was ahead of her.
It’s me, it’s me, it’s me, O Lord,
Standin’ in the need of prayer.
One by one as the work went on, the men dropped out. Most of them said this was too good a contest to miss. Finally it was Harriet and Jube. The crowd was singing faster and faster as they were nearing the ends of their rows. Harriet was working as fast as she could.
“I quit.” It was Jube. “I can’t even think with all this caterwaulin’.”
The crowd roared with laughter as Harriet continued to the end. Annie brought her a dipper of cool water as her father came over to help her to an old crate to catch her breath.
The contests continued until the last cob was thrown in a basket. Everyone agreed that nothing was as exciting as the contest between Harriet and Jube.
Before dark, boards were laid across sawhorses and the food was spread. There were smoked hams and preserves, greens, peas, fried chicken with cracklin’ gravy, and all sorts of sweet things. Only Christmas offered a meal such as this one.
As Harriet took her plate and filled it at the table, she saw the nervous Barrett slave again. Why is he so jumpy? And why doesn’t he join in the meal? All of a sudden she understood. The man was going to make a run for freedom.
She looked around for the Barrett overseer. He was across the clearing, but he was alert. No. This is not a good time. Don’t run. There was nothing she could do from this far away. She continued to watch as she ate. When she finished she put her plate down as she moved closer to the slave.
She almost reached him when the fidgeting stopped and he took off like a rabbit let out of a trap. Didn’t the slave know that in an easygoing crowd a frantic movement would draw immediate attention? The overseer moved almost as fast. Harriet followed along with several others.
The slave ran into the store, probably hoping to hide, but the overseer followed him in there. Harriet followed and stood inside the door. The man was cornered.
Getting out his whip, the overseer yelled to Harriet, “Hold him so I can tie him up. I’m goin’ to whip the clothes right off his back!” He was livid.
Harriet couldn’t move a muscle.
“Girl.” The overseer was so angry that he spat the words out. “You there. I said hold him.”
Courage to stand. Harriet almost heard the words.
Where did that come from? Harriet remembered when she prayed for courage when the time came. Courage to run, courage to stand, and courage to return, if need be. Somehow she knew she was being called to stand. “Here I am, Lord.”
“Don’t mumble, girl. Just get in and hold him or I’ll flay the very hide off you.” The overseer was fumbling with ropes and his bullwhip.
The young man saw his chance and bolted for the door.
“Stop him! Stop him, I say!”
After he ran out the door, Harriet took two firm steps sideways, blocking the low door completely. Run. Run and be free.
The overseer, in a fit of rage, grabbed one of the heaviest weights off the grocer’s scale and flung it at Harriet with every ounce of strength he possessed.
She heard an explosion—a kind of cracking explosion that caused her to fall to the floor. Her arm ended up under her head somehow and she could feel something warm and sticky running over her arm and onto the floor. From a long way off, she heard Ben saying over and over, “Lord have mercy, Lord have mercy.”
She gently lifted off the floor. Her body no longer felt heavy as it floated above the room until Harriet was flying. With arms outstretched she looked down to see rivers and fields and…
Let My
People Go
The floor of the cabin felt cold under Harriet’s quilt. She saw a weak beam of sunlight on the wall.
“Ummmm.” She groaned. Her head hurt. Dizzy. Why was she lying abed when the sun shone through the chinks in the cabin?
“Minty? Honey, it’s your mama. Old Rit.”
Harriet could only grunt as she felt her mother’s hand brush her cheeks. Why did she have that stabbing pain in her head? It hit with every beat of her heart and nearly took her breath away.
“Minty, honey, you been pow’ful sick with that crushin’ hole in your head.”
Minty? Was that her name? Who was Harriet? The drumming of blood beat in her ears. She tried to stay to feel her mother’s hand on her face, but she slowly began lifting up again, floating across the fields.
As she flew over the slave quarters, she heard strains of one of her favorite songs:
Oh, freedom. Oh, freedom. Oh, freedom, over me.
And before I be a slave, I’ll be buried in my grave,
And go home to my Lord and be free.
Was she dreaming? She could see the overseer in the cornfield below, but he couldn’t see her. As she crossed the Big Buckwater River, she wondered if Mr. Cook was checking his trapline. Swim, little muskrats. Swim to freedom. Freedom. That’s what flying felt like. Freedom.
She crossed back, looking down on the red bandanas of slaves working in the fields. As she flew higher, a new song began to play in her ears:
Go down, Moses,
Way down in Egypt-land.
Tell ol’ Pharaoh
To let My people go.
Go down. It felt like a command. Did Moses wish he could fly away when he was told to go down to Egypt to help his people to freedom? Harriet felt her body become heavier. Her head began to throb with pain. Lower and lower. How she longed to fly above the plantation again.
She remembered a prayer she prayed long ago, “Lord Jesus, help me be strong for You. Help me to stand when I need to take a stand, to run when You call me to freedom, and to return when You call me back.”
“Rit, she’s comin’ round again.” Annie spoke softly.
“Honey-child,” said Old Rit, stroking her cheek, “do you know where you be?”
“Uh-huh.” She meant to nod her yes, but the pain in her head was intense. “I came back to Egypt-land.”
“No, child. This be our own cabin on the Brodas Plantation.” Rit turned and spoke to Annie. “She still betwixt wakin’ and sleepin’.”
“Mebbe she was jes’ dreamin’, Rit,” said Annie as she stood to leave.
“I came back,” Harriet whispered.
“God brought you back, Minty. He shorely did.” Annie paused in the door. “I’ll be back tonight, Rit, so you can get some sleep.” Harriet loved the feel of her mother’s hand on her face.
“Do you ’members the corn shuckin’ over to the Barrett place?” asked Rit.
“I think so.”
“There was a sl
ave fixin’ to run and when you refused to help the overseer, he threw a two-pound weight and it purt’ near crushed your skull.” Rit settled in on the floor next to Harriet to tell her all that had happened since.
Though Harriet drifted in and out of sleep as her mother talked, she understood that she lay near death for many months. Christmas had long since passed without Harriet even knowing.
She raised her hand to her forehead. Over her eye she felt the swelling and the odd squishiness of her head. As she touched it she heard a whooshing sound in her ears and felt the blackness creep up once again.
“Just lie still, Harriet, and don’t be touchin’ it. The bone still needs to knit over your brain if it can.”
Her mother’s voice came from what seemed like a long way away.
“You wakin’ up, child?” Annie sat next to her pallet.
“I’m awake.”
“You gettin’ stronger every day,” Annie said.
“Why do I keep fallin’ asleep?” Harriet was aware that she often fell into a deep sleep right in the middle of a sentence. Her mother said that when she woke up, she always continued the sentence as if she was never interrupted. She did gain strength every day. Sometimes she even had an hour or two without pain, but the dullness and sleeping attacks continued.
“That doctor Master fetched for you said you goin’ have sleepin’ fits and headaches the rest of your life. He called it a brain injury.”
“You mean I might fall into that sleep anytime, no matter what I’m doing?” Harriet couldn’t imagine how she could work anymore. When she had one of those spells, no one was able to rouse her.
“That’s right, but don’t you be frettin’ ’bout it, child.” Annie had her no-nonsense voice. “You be thankin’ the good Lord for them spells.”
Thank God? Whatever was Annie thinkin’? All those months she lay in a coma, Harriet had tasted freedom. How she wanted to fly away, but she had been called back into her Egypt-land. She was sure of it. She knew the Lord had given her the courage to return, but she thought it was because He wanted a Moses to bring her people into the Promised Land. If her brain was damaged and if she could fall into a sleeping spell without warning, what good was she?