Papa told Mama about Rees and the order from the General.
“I didn’t want to say yes, but Lord knows we need the money.”
“There’s something else,” Papa continued. He told Mama about Singleton and Kansas and the meeting.
“Nat!” Mama exclaimed. “It’s our dream come true! You’ve always wanted a bit of land for your own, to farm.”
“That’s true,” Papa said. “But Kansas? That’s a long way from here.”
There was silence for a time, and Hattie’s eyes grew heavy. Then Mama laughed, a sweet sound that roused Hattie into wakefulness once again.
“I have a bit of news of my own,” she said. “Another one of our dreams is going to come true. In about six months.”
Papa gasped. “Are you sure?”
Mama laughed again. “Women know these things,” she said, happiness in her voice. “Just think of the chance this child will have in Kansas!”
The kerosene lamplight disappeared, plunging the apartment into darkness. Mama and Papa stepped quietly into the bedroom, careful not to bump the trundle bed. After a few minutes, the big bed creaked and moved as her parents settled in. Hattie imagined Mama nestled in Papa’s arm, close and warm.
“I’ll consider the meeting, for you.” Papa said. “But can you believe a whole town with nothing but black folks? I can hardly imagine it.”
“I can.” Mama’s voice was sleepy and far away. “I dream it every day.”
Chapter Three
Miss Bradford must have run out of tea towels to mend because she didn’t send for Hattie the rest of that week or the next. Instead, Hattie spent every afternoon after school at the shop. Papa’s hammer rang all the way down the narrow Nashville street as he worked to fill Rees’s order. One by one, Papa fashioned hinges, latches, locks, and keys. He made strong, straight nails. There were also cooking pots and pothooks and fireplace tools. Hattie wasn’t allowed near the red-hot coals while Papa was working, but she didn’t mind. Blacksmithing was a loud and dirty business. She was perfectly happy to sit outside, practicing her recitation. Teachers needed to know how to do such things.
When the sun began to set, Papa would appear, covered head to toe in ash and sweat. She always had a brown jug full of water waiting. He’d drink deep, hang up his battered leather apron, and scrub the grime from his skin. Then together, they’d walk home.
Friday afternoon was particularly sunny and warm, and Hattie was tired of practicing. Papa was restless too. After lunch, he stood up and wiped his head with a cloth.
“What do you say we quit early?” Papa winked. “It’s too fine a day to waste.”
Together, they set off down the street. They dodged delivery wagons and carriages clop-clopping in the streets. The smells of fresh-baked bread and horse manure filled the air. Two busy blocks later, Papa opened a shop door, its small brass bell tinkling merrily as they entered.
The pharmacy was long and narrow, with tall shelves on both sides. Rows of jars brimmed with colorful liquids and syrups. Others held dried plants and flowers. Wooden crates were stacked here and there. Bags of loose tobacco sat near boxes of cigars, their spicy scent tickling Hattie’s nose. Bottles stood at attention along the shelves, with words like camphor, lavender, belladonna, and Balsam of Peru written in fancy letters on their labels.
“Hallo, Nat,” A short, white man with a bald head trotted from a doorway behind the counter. “What can I do for you today?”
“Here’s the pots you ordered,” Papa placed a parcel on the counter. “Hattie, this here is Mr. Banks.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance,” he said, smiling. “How about you go over there and pick out a piece of candy?”
Stunned, Hattie looked at her father. “It’s all right,” he said, smiling. “I need to talk to Mr. Banks about some business.”
Hattie slowly walked to the end of the counter. The large glass jar was filled with hard candies in every color of the rainbow. She was debating between a red and an orange candy when she heard Papa say the name “Rees.” Hattie’s ears perked up to listen. But before she could figure out what Papa was saying, the brass bell tinkled again. A white woman walked in, followed by a boy a year or two older than Hattie. They pushed past her to the counter where Papa and Mr. Banks were talking.
“I’m here for my order,” she said. The men stopped talking.
“I’ll be with you in a moment, ma’am,” Mr. Banks said.
“I want my order now,” the woman demanded in a loud voice, glaring at Papa. He looked at her calmly, and then nodded to Mr. Banks.
“I’m happy to wait a bit,” he said. “You go on ahead and help this lady out.”
“I will NOT,” Mr. Banks replied, turning to the woman. “Mr. Jacobs was here first, and I have business to conduct with him. You are welcome to wait your turn. We should be finished directly.”
“Mister? You call that man ‘mister’?” she sputtered, overcome with anger. “Come, Thomas, we’re leaving,” she spat, turning on her heel. As they passed Hattie, the boy gave her a kick.
“Oww!” Hattie cried, dropping the candy as the two left. She could hear the sound of the boy’s laughter before the door slammed shut.
Papa was at her side in an instant. She buried her face in his shoulder, tears of pain and embarrassment making a dark stain on his rough shirt.
“Why did he do that?” Hattie asked, sniffling. “I didn’t do anything to him.”
“Some people have meanness clean through,” Papa said. He put a finger under Hattie’s chin and raised her eyes to meet his. “You are proud and strong, and you must ignore folks like that.”
“Here,” Mr. Banks pulled a huge lollipop from a jar on the top shelf. “I hope you accept my apologies, miss. That’ll never happen again in my store.” He looked at Papa. “You have my word.”
“Thank you, John,” Papa said.
Mr. Banks waved Papa’s thanks away. “Don’t mention it,” he said. “And as for the other thing, yes, I’ll take care of it for you.”
Papa nodded.
“What do you say we head home and show Mama your lollipop treasure?” he said, smiling at Hattie.
April 20, 1879
Dear Diary,
Today wasn’t such a good day. A horrid boy kicked me when Papa and I were in Mr. Banks’s store. Mr. Banks was very kind though. Even though he is a white man. I think he and Papa are friends. He even gave me a lollipop! But Mama made me give some to Abraham. I broke off a big piece and gave it to him but he spit it right out! Three-year-old brothers are a trial to the soul.
I hope the new baby has better manners.
After supper Papa told us he had decided to go to Mr. Singleton’s meeting. I don’t want to go to Kansas. I love school and I love Miss Banneker. But Mama says she wants to leave Nashville.
I’m afraid for Papa tonight. I’ve heard stories of what happens to black people who go to meetings like this. One man went missing after such a meeting. They found his body a week later, strung up in a tree. The thought that that might happen to Papa makes my blood run like ice. Mama says he’ll be fine. He’s strong and well-liked by black and white folks alike. I’m not so sure. I think I’ll wait up for him, if Mama lets me.
Hattie
Chapter Four
The candle on the table had burned to a tiny nub when Hattie woke with a start. She had fallen asleep at the windowsill, waiting for Papa to return. Mama was wide awake, sitting in her rocker; Abraham a heavy, snoring lump on her lap.
“What time is it?” Hattie asked.
“Past midnight,” Mama replied in a low voice, her brow furrowed with worry. “I should have put you to bed hours ago, but . . .”
They heard footsteps on the stairs.
“Papa’s home!” Hattie exclaimed, running to the door just as Papa came in.
Hattie leapt into his arms, hugging
his neck like she’d never let go. He crushed her to his chest in a bear hug. She didn’t mind.
“What’s that smell?” Hattie asked suddenly, wrinkling her nose.
“I expect it’s Mr. Mabry’s hog pen.” Papa put Hattie down and kissed Mama on the forehead. He gathered Abraham up and walked to set his sleepy form on the trundle bed. Then he came back and sat at the table with a sigh.
“Where were you?” Hattie couldn’t contain herself any longer. “What happened? Are we going to Kansas? Why do you smell like a hog pen?”
“Let your papa be.” Mama handed him a cup of warmed-over coffee.
“Mary, you should have seen it,” Papa said, taking the cup gratefully. “There must have been a hundred black men at that meeting. It did my heart good to speak with so many respectable folks.”
Papa told them how black residents and businessmen from all over Nashville had gathered to talk about the exodus to Kansas. “Mr. Singleton has gone back and forth to Kansas for a few years now,” Papa explained. “He takes groups of folks with him, his ‘exploring committees,’ he calls them.”
He drained the coffee cup and sat back. “Singleton thinks nothing will get better for black folks in the South. At least not in our lifetimes.”
“Is that what you think too, Papa?” Hattie asked worriedly.
“There was a time when I couldn’t imagine being free. And now we’re free.”
“Well, the way I see it,” Mama spoke up, “It may have only taken the Yankees four years to set us free, but it took more than two hundred years of our people living in slavery to get to it.”
“Your mama has a point,” Papa said with a weary smile. “And it’s time for you to be in bed.”
Instead, Hattie climbed into his lap and snuggled against his wide, warm chest. “You never told us why you smell like a hog pen.”
“Oh, that!” Papa’s arms curled around her. “Well, a bunch of us had a bit of excitement after the meeting broke up,” he said. “We was chased most of the way home, and I hid in the hog pen for a time.”
Hattie gasped as Mama exclaimed “Nat!”
“Now don’t go gettin’ all upset,” Papa said. “No one got hurt and I’m fine.”
“What happened?” Hattie’s stomach did a little flip.
Papa shrugged. “Some white folks don’t like it that black folks were meetin’ and talkin’ about leaving Tennessee,” he said, his voice light. Hattie wasn’t fooled, though, and neither was Mama.
Hattie laid her head on Papa’s shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re home.”
“Now you get on to bed,” Papa said. “We’ve both got a busy weekend. Rees is coming for his order tomorrow, and you’ve got your recital Sunday.”
Hattie slid between the covers of the trundle bed, gently shoving Abraham’s legs away from her side. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the ache in her stomach. She wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or something else. It’s the recital, she decided. But in her dreams, she was hiding in a pig pen, terrified in the dark.
Chapter Five
The next day was gray and chilly, and it matched Hattie’s mood. She sat grumpily on the stump outside Papa’s shop, eyes closed, straining to remember the words of the poem she’d chosen.
Thank God for little children,
Flowers on the earth . . .
“No, that ain’t right!”
Thank God for little children,
Pretty flowers by the way . . . way . . .
“That ain’t right either!”
She peeked at the folded paper in her hand.
“Bright flowers by earth’s wayside,” she grumbled. “I’ll never be able to get this in my head by Sunday. Why didn’t I pick an easier poem?”
Her head ached and her back was stiff from sitting so long. She jumped off the stump and went into the shop. Papa was busy packing up some things for delivery.
“Papa, why do you work so hard for such a dreadful man like Rees?”
“It’s about doing your best,” he said. “What would happen if I made shoddy hinges, or weak horseshoes?”
“They’d break.”
“Doors would fall off. Horses would go lame. Word would get around that my work weren’t no good. Rees wouldn’t get blamed, I would. And rightly so.”
“Always do your best, Hattie,” he said, tucking another bundle into the box. “If you can respect your own self and know you did your best, no one else matters.”
From outside came the sound of a wagon rattling to a stop. Before she had a chance to take a step, Rees stood in the doorway. He fixed his watery eyes on Papa.
“I’m here for the order,” he growled. He was wearing a threadbare Confederate jacket, dotted with dark grease spots. A huge revolver hung in a holster on his hip.
“Here it is,” Papa replied, glancing at the weapon. “All packed and ready to go.” He handed Rees a paper with columns of items written in a steady hand. “This here’s a list, and the boxes they’re in. You see that everything the General asked for is here.”
Rees snatched the paper from Papa’s hand and squinted at it for a moment. Then he shoved it into his pocket and gave a whistle. Two grimy white men appeared and began loading the boxes onto the wagon.
Papa straightened up to his full height. “I’ve marked down the cost of each item on that paper. I’ll be taking the rest of the payment now.”
Rees broke out into a grin, his yellow, uneven teeth showing. “And I’ll be taking this order for what I done paid you,” he said. “You think you’re as good as us, don’t you? Well, you ain’t.”
Just then, they heard shouting from outside. Rees’s eyebrows shot up. His hand went to his gun as he ran toward the sound.
“Stay put.” Papa pointed to Hattie, and then rushed out. Hattie couldn’t stand not knowing what was going on. She crept to the doorway and peeked out.
Rees and his two assistants stood in the middle of the dirt street, surrounded by men. Hattie recognized Mr. Banks from the store and other shop owners from the neighborhood. Some were black, others were white. All of them were armed with rifles or guns. Hattie held her breath.
“What’s this?” Rees was red-faced with fury.
“Well, it’s like this,” Mr. Banks began. “Us merchants here on this street, we watch out for one another. Thieves aren’t tolerated. Mr. Jacobs here was a mite suspicious that such a thing might happen to him. He told us to watch out for thieves. Do you know about anyone tryin’ to make off with merchandise that isn’t his?”
“No!” Rees’s voice squeaked with fear as he gripped his gun. “This is all mine, fair and square. Already paid for. Stand aside.”
“‘Fraid not,” Papa said. Hattie was shocked to see him holding his ancient rifle. It was already old when he picked it up from a dead rebel during the Battle of Gettysburg. “This man, Rees, only paid me half. He owes me five dollars.” He looked Rees straight in the eye. “And fifty cents.”
“Well, then, Mr. Rees, it’s time to pay up,” Mr. Banks smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. “Or you can return these boxes to Mr. Jacobs and call it a day. What do you say?”
Rees’s face was red as a beet, and his scraggly hair seemed to be standing on end. If the tension weren’t so thick in the air, Hattie would have laughed.
“You think you got me beat, don’t you?” he said in a voice so low, Hattie could barely hear him.
He began to slide the gun from its holster. The air instantly filled with soft clicks as the men cocked their weapons, ready to fire. Rees paused, eyes wide.
No one moved.
Then slowly, Rees took his hand off the gun. He reached into his coat and pulled out a thin leather wallet. He counted out five dollars and fifty cents and slapped it down on Hattie’s stump.
“This ain’t over, Nat,” Rees hissed as he climbed into the wagon. The two other white men j
umped into the back with the crates, glaring at the crowd. As they pulled away, Rees stood up, shouting so loud, the words echoed down the street.
“THIS AIN’T OVER!”
The street was silent except for the rattle of the wagon until it disappeared around the corner. The men gave a great collective sigh, breaking the tension.
Hattie ran to her father, who was shaking hands with Mr. Banks.
“I’m beholden to you, I truly am,” Papa was saying.
“Nat, you don’t have to thank us,” Mr. Banks said. “I was speakin’ the truth. We don’t allow thievery in our neighborhood.”
“You’d do the same for us, Nat,” another man said.
“If you ever have another dust up with that maggot, you send for us,” another said. Slowly the crowd broke up and went back to their own stores and shops, leaving Hattie and Papa alone.
“You knew Rees wasn’t going to pay, didn’t you?” Hattie asked.
Papa shook his head. “Not exactly,” he replied. “But I was sure he was gonna try something. That’s why I asked Mr. Banks to keep an eye out when Rees showed up. He must have told the others.” He gazed down the street where Rees and the wagon had gone.
“Hattie, do something for your papa,” he began. “Don’t go out alone for the time being. I’ll walk you to and from school. If you go to Miss Bradford’s, one of us will fetch you.”
Hattie nodded as a chill went up her spine. Rees was right, and they both knew it. This wasn’t over yet.
April 22, 1879
Dear Diary,
How does a heart go bad, I wonder? It ain’t always from terrible things that happen to a person. Papa and Mama were born and grew up in slavery. They don’t talk much about those days but I know they were horrible times. Papa was sold away from his family when he was just a little boy. He never saw his parents again. I can’t think how I would feel never to see Mama or Papa again.
Journey to a Promised Land Page 2