Mavis put her arms around the girl. “This here’s Hattie,” she said, pointing to their visitor. “She came by for a bite to eat. Now you go on back to bed, you hear?” The little girl nodded and disappeared.
“That’s my youngest, Annabel,” Mavis said with small smile. “Her daddy, well . . .” she paused. “He had a run-in with those men. I ain’t seen him since.”
Mavis stood up abruptly. “Enough of that. Now, come with me.”
Hattie followed her to a tiny pantry. Soon she packed a basket with a small bag of cornmeal, a tin of crackers, several plump sweet potatoes, a slab of bacon, and a packet of raisins.
“It ain’t much, but it’ll get you to Brownsville, at least,” Mavis said, tucking in a half loaf of bread. “When you get there, tell your daddy to find a Mr. Henry Walker. He owns a store on the north side of town. He’ll sell you whatever you need.”
It all was too much bear. Hattie leaned against the pantry door and sobbed.
“I’m sorry I stole from you,” she gulped, hiding her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thievin’ is a bad thing,” Mavis said, handing Hattie a worn but clean handkerchief. “But it ain’t no sin to do what you have to do to care for the ones you love.”
Hattie nodded and wiped her face until the tears were gone.
It was still dark when they walked outside.
“Can you get back all right?” Mavis asked, handing Hattie the basket.
Hattie gripped the handle and nodded.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Mavis gave a curt nod. “I’d be obliged if you didn’t mention where you got them victuals. I can’t have hordes of hungry Exodusters at my doorstep.”
“I won’t,” Hattie promised.
“Good luck, child.” Then she was gone, the screen door slamming softly behind her.
To Hattie’s relief, the camp was still asleep when she got back. Papa was sitting beside the wagon, waiting. He jumped up when he saw her.
“Hypatia Florence Jacobs, where on earth have you been? And where did you get that basket?”
Hattie rushed into her father’s arms, joy and relief washing over her like a flood. After the whole story came out, Papa peered into the basket.
“You met an angel tonight, I think,” Papa said in a low voice.
May 16, 1879
Dear Diary,
Mavis Robinson’s food lasted until we got to Brownsville, just like she said. Papa and Mr. Cooper found the store and we got plenty of food to get us to the steamboats. The rain finally stopped too. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and it wasn’t too hot. Our spirits rose with each mile closer we got to the mighty Mississippi.
There was much discussion between the adults about how to catch the steamboats. Some wanted to go into Memphis. Singleton had said there’s a steamboat landing a few miles north of the city. Mr. Ferguson thought that we shouldn’t bother going into town when we can get right on the boat. Everyone finally agreed to his idea.
We are all excited, even Abraham. He was screaming and running around like a wild thing. Mama couldn’t stop smiling.
And even if I don’t want to admit it, I’m excited too. Once we’re on the steamboat, it’ll only be a few more days before we’re in Kansas!
Hattie
It was late afternoon by the time the Exodusters climbed the last hill. Below them flowed the Mississippi River, big and mighty. A large wharf stuck out into the water, its dark wood planks wet and shining.
And stretching up and down the bank was an enormous tent city. Hundreds of black people sat in groups and cooked over campfires, their ragged tents flapping in the evening breeze. The air smelled of wood smoke, burnt food, and human waste.
Slowly, Hattie and the Exodusters picked their way down the hill into the camp. The group passed an elderly man seated next to a tent, eating something out of a tin can.
“Is this where we catch the steamboat to Kansas?” Ferguson asked. The man wiped his mouth on his sleeve and tossed the can into some weeds.
“There ain’t no steamboats to Kansas, nor anywhere else.”
Hattie’s chest tightened. She gripped Mama’s hand.
“What do you mean, no steamboats?” Mama asked, panic in her voice. “The government is supposed to give us free passage to Kansas.”
The man gave Mama a pitying look. “All lies,” he said, rising painfully. “You might as well go back to where you came from,” he continued. “No steamboats have stopped here for nigh on two weeks. And they’re not going to.”
Chapter Twelve
“We’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t worry,” Mr. Ferguson smiled, trying to be comforting. The group found a patch of land big enough for them all and set up camp. While the women fixed supper, the men went off to find out what was going on.
Hattie stood by their tiny campfire, her eyes burning from the smoke, keeping watch on Abraham and Eliza, the Ferguson baby, and trying not to worry. Surely Singleton hadn’t lied to all of them? But then why were there so many people here, waiting?
It was dark by the time Papa and the others got back. The women silently fed everyone tin plates of crispy johnnycakes, made with cornmeal and bacon fat. No one talked until the plates were clean.
“So?” Hattie couldn’t stand it any longer. “Was that man telling the truth?” she cried, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. “There’s no steamboats?”
“Not exactly,” Ferguson replied sullenly, shaking his head. “There are steamboats. But there ain’t no free ones. In that, I was dead wrong. The papers were wrong. There’s no free passage to Kansas.”
“Not only that,” Papa continued, pulling Abraham onto his lap. “The steamboats that do pass haven’t been stopping, even for those who can pay.”
“Then it’s over,” Mama sat heavily and buried her head in her hands. “I’m so sorry I pushed us into this terrible trip. It’s been nothin’ but hardship and pain since we left Nashville.”
“Mary, it weren’t your fault,” Papa said softly, putting his hand over Mama’s. “We both made this choice.”
Abraham pulled at Papa’s sleeve and they played peek-a-boo until the little boy laughed with delight. Hattie wished she could be little again, just for a minute. Then she wouldn’t be worried or afraid. She wouldn’t be homesick, longing for her old life.
“Word is that the government just passed a law that says the steamboats have to take us,” Papa continued. “I think it’s true. That’s why there’s so many folks still here.”
“How long ‘til they get here?” Hattie didn’t want to spend one night in this crowded, smelly camp, let alone a week. Or more.
Papa shrugged. “Hard to say. The next steamboat is expected to come tomorrow. We’ll see then.”
The next morning, the whole camp was buzzing with the news that a steamboat was on its way. By early afternoon, people began gathering along the landing. Hattie had just put the kettle on the fire when a voice rang out, clear across the camp.
“Steamboat a’comin’!”
A ragged cheer went up from the crowd. Far downriver, Hattie glimpsed a smudge of smoke in the sky. Soon, a tiny white dot appeared beneath it.
It grew larger as it slowly paddled its way upriver, shining so bright in the sun that Hattie had to shade her eyes to look at it. Its colorful flags snapped in the breeze as black smoke billowed into the blue sky.
“I’m going down to the wharf to see what’s going on,” Papa said casually. He, Mr. Cooper, and Mr. Ferguson headed down the hill as the steamboat approached. Hattie could see hundreds of black people crammed on every deck. There were so many people on board that it seemed the boat might sink into the muddy water. When the boat reached the dock, the huge paddles slowed to a stop.
A white man in a crisp blue uniform stepped off the boat onto the landing and addressed the hope
ful crowd. Their camp was too far up the hill for Hattie to hear what he said, but after a few minutes, the crowd began to mutter and shuffle, the happy mood broken. A few people pushed through the crowd and boarded the boat. The rest simply stood there as the huge steamboat paddles roared back to life. With a belch of smoke, the steamboat churned through the brown water and on upriver. The crowd slowly broke up, leaving nothing but muddy footprints.
Papa returned to camp, grim-faced.
“What is it?” Mama had her hand over her heart, as if it couldn’t bear any more bad news. Hattie held her breath.
“The good news is that the new law is working,” Papa said. “All those folks were Exodusters like us. The bad news is that the boat was full.”
“And,” he continued, “The steamboat captains are chargin’ twice what a ticket should cost.”
“How much?” Hattie asked, half afraid to find out.
“Five dollars. Each.”
Hattie and Mama gasped.
“What are we gonna do, Nat?” Mama asked. “We don’t have that kind of money.”
Without thinking, Hattie felt the hem of her dress. The five-dollar bill crinkled softly under her fingers. Should she tell her parents about the money? It was nowhere near enough for all of them. No, she thought. Not yet.
For the rest of the evening, everyone talked. Papa wanted to stick around for a few more days. Maybe the captains would come to their senses, he thought. Mr. Ferguson thought maybe the government would find out about this mistreatment and do something about it. Mama wasn’t so sure.
“Maybe it’s time to admit this was a mistake,” she said sadly as she scrubbed the supper dishes. “We could settle around here somewhere, I suppose.”
“But we’re still in Tennessee,” Papa replied. “It ain’t going to be no better for us here than it was in Nashville.”
Much later, after everyone else had gone to bed, Papa pulled Mama and Hattie aside. “I have another idea,” he said. “I’m going to Memphis to find work.”
Hattie’s heart almost stopped.
“But you swore you’d never work for another person again in your life!” she cried.
Papa looked stricken. “Yes, I did,” he said slowly. “But remember what that Mavis woman told you?”
Hattie nodded, too angry and miserable to say it out loud.
“Well, then.” Papa laid out his plan. He would find work as a blacksmith in Memphis until he’d earned enough for the tickets. Mama, Hattie, and Abraham would stay behind in camp.
“I expect I’ll be gone a few weeks, maybe a month at most.”
“A month!” Hattie yelped. “We cain’t live in this filthy camp a month!”
“I’m sorry,” Papa said, reaching for her hand.
Hattie jerked away.
“This is all your fault!” she cried. “Why did you make Rees mad? Why? If it weren’t for that, we’d still be home and I’d be in school! You ruined everything!”
May 18, 1879
Dear Diary,
I’m ashamed of myself. When Papa told us he was going to leave us in camp, something just broke inside me. All the anger I’d been carrying around since we left burst out like fire. I ran through the camp to the river. It’s a wonder I didn’t fall in someone’s campfire along the way. When I got there I sank to my knees in the mud, I didn’t care. I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe.
It was almost dark by the time the tears stopped. I felt empty and dried out, like an old cornhusk.
Someone sat down next to me and I didn’t have to look to know it was Papa. We were quiet for a time.
“I’m sorry,” we both said at once.
I told him I didn’t mean what I said about Rees.
He told me I was right to be upset. That if he’d just gone along and allowed Rees to cheat him, we wouldn’ta left.
“But the price was too high,” he said. “Do you understand?”
He said that if he let Rees get away with it, other folks with hearts as dark as his would try to cheat him too. He said he needed to have respect for himself. If he’d let Rees get away with it, he wouldn’ta been able to look at himself in the mirror.
I understand what he means, I think.
He told me we’re never safe in the South. And that he doesn’t know what’s waiting for us in Kansas, but he knows it’ll be better than the life we’ll have here.
Mama was rocking Abraham in her lap by the fire when we got back. Papa tucked me into the wagon and kissed my forehead. He told me he won’t be gone long, and that we’ll be on that steamboat to Kansas before we know it.
I can’t sleep. My tears are gone, but there’s a lump in my throat that won’t go away.
Hattie
Chapter Thirteen
Dear Josephine,
So much has happened since we got to the Mississippi that I almost don’t know where to start. When we got here we found a big, dirty camp full of Exodusters waiting to get to Kansas. We also found out that the steamboat captains were charging twice what tickets were worth. So Papa decided to find work in Memphis to pay for them. He’s been in Memphis now for almost a month. He found a job at a blacksmith’s shop. He says they treat him well and the pay is decent. His boss lets him sleep in the shed. He charges him five cents a night for the blanket.
Yesterday, we took the long walk to Memphis to visit Papa. Memphis is a loud, dirty city. The shop Papa works in is big! The forge fires blaze so hot you can feel the heat halfway to the street. Papa thinks he will have enough money for our steamboat tickets in another week or two. But we have to buy food, so I’m afraid it will take a lot longer to raise the money.
The camp is horrid. When it rains, the ground turns to thick, smelly mud. Clouds of mosquitoes devil us all day and night. One of the women in camp brung us some leaves and told us to rub them on our skin. She said the skeeters wouldn’t bother us. It worked!
Sometimes days go by without a steamboat. Then one comes but it’s too full to stop. Or it stops, but only takes a few folks.
Folks are running out of money and food. Every day I wake up and more people are gone. Almost all the Exodusters who started with us have left. Only the Coopers and Mr. Ferguson and his wife are still here.
There’s a sickness going around the camp. Abraham has it, but me and Mama have been spared so far.
Mama’s been helping folks out best she can. She spends hours makin’ medicine for folks in camp. She works from dawn ‘til long past dark but I don’t ever hear one complaint.
I hope Kansas is worth all this trouble and hardship.
Your devoted friend,
Hattie
Hattie folded the paper and put it into her letterbox for safekeeping. Abraham, who was lying next to her, whined and fussed softly. Hattie grabbed a handful of leaves and started rubbing her brother’s arms.
“Mama, he’s burnin’ up!”
“I know, baby,” she said, smoothing Abraham’s sweaty forehead. “Fevers run hot and quick in young’uns. How are you feelin’?”
Mama pressed the back of her hand to Hattie’s forehead. “Cool as a cucumber,” she said, relieved. “Go to the river and fetch some water. I’ll make up another batch of broth.”
Carrying water was the worst chore, but Hattie knew better than to complain. Sighing, she filled the kettle and lugged it back to camp. It was hard not to let the heavy thing bump her legs and splash water on her dress.
Mama gave her a tired smile as she fried slices of silvery white onions in a dab of bacon grease. Hattie was thoroughly sick of the smell of onions, but it was the only medicine anyone had. It was pure luck that Mama had found that bag of onions at one of the abandoned camps. Most of them had been moldy, but she cut away the spots and made them as good as new.
Once the onions were brown and soft, Mama scraped them into a huge pot of simmering water. While it cooked, she s
et out a bunch of tin cans. She’d found them during another one of her “explorations” around the camp. Mama had scrubbed them clean, sure she’d find a use for them somehow. She didn’t waste anything.
When the broth was done, she filled each can.
“You stay here with Abraham. If he fusses, give him some broth.”
Hattie watched Mama pick her way from camp to camp, handing out tin cans to anyone who needed it. She shoulda been a doctor, Hattie thought suddenly, instead of a washerwoman.
It was dark when Mama came back. Abraham had woken up, still hot with fever. He spit out the onion broth and cried so loud that Hattie thought her ears would burst.
“Let me sit with him a spell,” Mama said tiredly, pressing a wet cloth around his neck. That seemed to calm him some. Hattie closed her eyes and was instantly asleep.
When Hattie awoke the next morning, the world looked bright and wavy. Every bone in her body seemed to ache. She found Mama at the fire, making more broth.
“I don’t feel so good,” she said. “I’m hot and cold at once.”
Mama felt her forehead. “Lordy, you’re sick too.” She laid Hattie back down in the tent next to Abraham. She put a cool cloth on Hattie’s neck.
Everything looked and sounded strange to Hattie. For a long time, she didn’t go to sleep, but she wasn’t fully awake either. She tossed and turned, throwing off the blanket, and then wrapping it around her. There were voices outside the tent, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying. The world got dark, and then it was so bright, the light hurt her eyes. Someone put a tin cup to her lips, and she gulped cold water. Mama made her sip onion broth out of a tin can.
Abraham felt like a ball of fire beside her. He kicked and cried and made her cry too. Big, rough hands put cold cloths on her head. A familiar voice told her over and over that she’d be just fine.
When she finally woke up, it was nighttime. Abraham was no longer next to her and she was alone, covered in sweat.
Journey to a Promised Land Page 5