“Can you do somethin’ for me?” Mattie asked as she pulled a black string out of her bodice. On the end dangled one of the shells from her necklace. “Give this to Lisbeth, okay?” Mattie whispered. “She ain’t gonna understand why I gotta leave her. You help her, ’kay.” Mattie’s tears flowed freely.
The two women embraced tightly. Rebecca whispered into Mattie’s ear, “I gonna pray for you every night. For always.” As they pulled apart, Rebecca looked intently at Mattie and spoke emphatically, “You get word to us you made it, promise?”
“Promise,” Mattie confirmed. “Goodbye.”
“Bye.”
Without a backward glance, Mattie journeyed away from her home toward freedom, leaving behind the bones of generations of her ancestors and their captors.
Dinner was excruciating for Lisbeth. Neither Mother nor Father spoke of any runaways, so clearly they did not know Mattie was missing. Doing her best to hide her sorrow and anxiety, she answered their queries with the explanation that she had a headache. It was not a falsehood. She had cried so much in the afternoon that she had given herself a headache. Lisbeth felt great relief when Father excused her from the ritual of gathering in the drawing room and sent her to bed early.
Kneeling by her bed for her nightly prayers, Lisbeth whispered to God, “Please, God, make Mattie change her mind and return. No one knows she is gone yet so she will not be in trouble. Tell her I want her back. Amen. Oh, and bless Mattie, Jordan, Mother, Father, Grandmother, and Jack. Amen.”
Lying in bed, her head on her soft pillow, Lisbeth clutched the shell necklace tightly in her right hand. She quietly sang to herself, Go to sleepy little baby, Go to sleepy little baby, as she drifted off to sleep.
The next morning Lisbeth sat in the rocker and gazed out the window by her bed, hoping desperately that Mattie had returned in the night. When the door to Mattie’s cabin opened at the customary time, Lisbeth stood to get a better view. Poppy came out, all alone, looking more stooped than ever as he made his way to his work. No Mattie. No Jordan.
In the breakfast room Mother spoke privately to Lisbeth. “Lisbeth, I have sad news.”
“What is it, Mother?” Lisbeth asked nervously, extremely conscious of the shell necklace in her pocket.
“Mattie is missing. We fear she has run away. I do not know what she is thinking, taking that baby away from her safe home to go into the woods and heaven knows where. Your father is confident she will be found, but we thought you should know. I know you are quite fond of her. However, it shows you what I have explained before. You cannot trust any of them no matter how well you think you may know them.”
“Yes, Mother. Thank you for telling me,” Lisbeth said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. “I will pray for them.”
“Yes, we must all pray for their return.”
Lisbeth nodded, though she did not share her mother’s certainty about what to pray for.
Stumbling west through the underbrush in the forest, Mattie made it to Herring Creek in two hours. The heavy boots protected her feet as she waded through the stream for a mile before getting out on the western bank, but soon she felt blisters rise on her heels and ankles. Ignoring the pain, she trudged through a forest of cedars, cottonwoods, and river birches for another mile, then backtracked to the stream, headed two miles north, then west in a crooked path through the dense forest until sunrise. Climbing into the branches of a sycamore tree, Mattie breastfed Jordan before dosing her again with valerian root, and then she waited. Waiting was a hard but very essential part of this journey. Internally Mattie sang, prayed, and imagined. She pictured herself holding Samuel. She thought of the home Emmanuel had waiting. She practiced introducing Jordan to her father and brother. She did everything but think about getting caught. And when images of being captured intruded upon her mind, she quickly pushed them away. The day passed slowly, and they set out again at nightfall.
And so they went, heading north and west. By night Mattie walked, by day she hid in trees, bushes, caves—any shelter where she could imagine they were safe. Mattie’s dried meat and hard tack ran out after five days, so she foraged bits of food from the forest—elderberries, gooseberries, paw paws, black walnuts. It was just enough to keep up her milk for Jordan.
After seven days, she came upon a dirt road in the midst of the trees. Using the stars as a guide, she followed the road north, staying hidden in the brush, until she came to an intersection. Though it was the middle of the night, she moved more deeply into the forest searching for a cave marked by a faint charcoal star. After finding it, she settled in and waited for what was to come next.
Chapter 16
Lisbeth went through each day in a fog. It was hard to concentrate on her studies. At dance lessons, she acted terribly, even to Mary. She was disoriented without the anchor to her life. Each morning and evening she stared out the window looking for a sign of them. She longed for Mattie’s return, but even more she yearned to know her Mattie and her Jordan were safe. Desperate for news, she sought out Rebecca for information.
“Rebecca, you will tell me if you hear from Mattie?” Lisbeth implored.
“Lisbeth, if we hear they safe in Ohio it not gonna be for a long, long time,” Rebecca explained. “If they caught and brought back, you probably gonna know as soon as I do.”
Hope rustled in Lisbeth’s heart. “Do you think it is possible they will come back?”
“If that happen, they gonna be paraded in front of everyone before they sold South.”
“Sold?!” Lisbeth exclaimed.
“Yeah, sold. To Alabama or Georgia. She ain’t gonna get a second chance.” Rebecca’s voice caught. “They gone from here for good.”
“No, that is not true!” Lisbeth insisted. “I will ask Mother and Father. I can get Mattie to promise to never leave again. They will believe me!”
Rebecca shook her head in disbelief, but did not argue with the young mistress of the plantation.
Before the sun had fully risen, Mattie heard the low call of an owl. She returned the call. It came back doubled. She responded in kind. After the third call, she came out of her cave to look at the road. A tired old horse, hardly more than skin and bones, with open sores on its dirty white hair, was harnessed to a creaky wagon. Driving the hay-filled wagon was a middle-aged white man. Small, with narrow eyes and pockmarked skin, he did not look at Mattie as she and Jordan emerged from the forest.
“Hello, I—” Mattie began.
“Don’t need to know who you are. Just give me your papers and climb in.”
“Yes, sir,” Mattie replied, following his directions. Then they drove west down the road in utter silence.
Hours later, when the sun was low in the horizon, the driver called out, “Here comes some folks.”
Quickly Mattie dug a hollow in the straw, placed her drugged child in it, and covered Jordan over with hay. The sounds of hooves echoed closer, closer, closer, and then passed. Mattie breathed a sigh of relief, then her heart raced as the horsemen doubled back, circled around the end of the wagon, and crossed to the front, blocking the way down the road. “Looky, looky, looky! What do we have here?” exclaimed the large, mustached man on the left. “Looks like you be transporting a nigger along with your hay.”
Wiping sweat from his red brow, the driver nervously responded, “I don’t want no trouble. I got her papers right here. She paid me good money. I ain’t looking for no trouble. Just making an honest dollar.”
“Well, I’m the local law, and my job is to make sure everything is legal,” replied the sheriff. “Let me jus’ take a look at those papers.”
After examining the papers carefully, he rode over to Mattie. “Hey, Vern,” he shouted to his deputy, “you got that list of local runaways? Let see if she matches any of ’em.”
The deputy dug the list out of his bag. “Looks like only two women are taking their chances: Mattie Wainwright and Rose Cuthbert. Can you imagine, Vern? A nigger named Rose? Hah!” Turning to Mattie, he yelled, “Ge
t your ass out of that wagon.”
“Yes, sir.”
Clammy with sweat and shaking all over, Mattie turned around to climb down from the wagon. With her back to the authorities, she slipped a bit of wild ipecac plant into her mouth and swallowed it.
Sheriff Lucas dismounted his horse. He came close, flickered his eyes up and down Mattie’s body and drawled out, “Do you fancy yourself a Rose? No, I guess’n not, you are too old to be her. But Miissss Maaatie, now that might be you.” Moving in so close that flecks of his spit hit Mattie he went on, “Says here this Mattie has herself a pick-a-ninny, but I suppose you might have killed it just so’s you could get clean away. Ain’t that right? No telling what a nigger will do to her own young. Don’t have the same motherly feelings as a lady now, do you?”
Looking at his mate, he asked, “What do you think, Vern? Do you think…” he looked at the papers the driver had given him. “Is ‘Georgia Freedman’ Mattie Wainwright? Let’s take a closer look.”
Back in Mattie’s face, he asked, “What brings a ‘free’ nigger to these parts?”
“My momma been sick, sir. I went to visit afore she died. She gots the ague,” Mattie barely stammered out through a dry mouth.
“Well, ain’t that sweet,” he replied, a smirk on his face, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You wanted to see your momma afore she dies.”
Vern broke in, “She don’t look so good herself, Lucas. I’d stand away if I were you.”
“She just scared of getting her neck in a noose.” He stuck his tongue out, disdain in his eyes, as he mimicked being hung.
Mattie shook hard, then suddenly heaved. In an instant, a gush of vomit erupted from the depth of her stomach. The men jumped back, disgust on both faces. A horrid stench rose up. Mattie fell to her knees in front of the law officers, expelling the limited contents of her stomach. Vern gagged. Continuing to retch, Mattie emptied her stomach of its bile. With nothing left to vomit, dry heaves violently wracked her body.
Rushing to the side of the road, Vern leaned over the grass to throw up bits of beans from his dinner.
“Looks like maybe you got the ague too,” Sheriff Lucas declared, staring down at Mattie with no compassion in his eyes. Looking at the driver he declared, “I reckon you should just leave her here. Don’t want a dead nigger on your hands now, do you?”
“No, sir.”
“Okay, then, get on. We gonna take care of her.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver replied, signaling his horse to move on.
Horrified, Mattie watched as the wagon drove away with Jordan. Shivering and sweaty, she held back screams of protest. Instead she lay curled in a ball while tears of frustration and fear seeped from the corners of her eyes.
Vern returned to peer down at Mattie. Specks of vomit mottled her dress, her skin glistened with moisture, and she shook hard all over like she had a fever. Vern asked, “What we gonna do with her? No reward is worth touching that for! Suppose she ain’t even that Mattie?”
“We ain’t gonna touch her, fool.” Scorn was in the sheriff’s voice. “We just gonna leave her here to die. If she’s a free nigger, we don’t want her thinking she can just come and go from Virginia as she pleases. If she’s a runaway, she gonna get hung anyway. No need for us to mess up our clothes getting her anywheres else. Let’s go.”
They mounted up and rode off, taking Mattie’s travel papers and leaving Mattie huddled on the dirt road.
With the sun behind the horizon, dusk soon turned into complete dark. Mattie wanted to move, willed her body to crawl down the road toward her daughter, but she could not. Every ounce of energy had been drained from her body. She lay there sick and helpless. Entirely spent, she was too weak even to shoo the flies off her gown. She feared she might fulfill the sheriff’s desire and die in the night.
But she had the strength to pray, “Dear God, I sorry I runned. I shoulda stayed home, but I only wanted to see my son. I want my baby safe. Please, God. Let me see my baby again. She need me, God. You know she does. Please God, have mercy on her. Have mercy on me.”
Shivering, parched, and fevered Mattie prayed, dozed, and dreamed of her daughter. Screams. Desperate toddler cries of “Momma, Momma, Momma” filled Mattie’s dream world. Tears streamed from her closed eyes. She woke with a start, rubbed the moisture from her eyes, the dream still so present she heard the echo of faint cries.
In the pitch black, nearly moonless night, Mattie heard the faint crunch of wagon wheels. “Please, God, let him be coming for me. Please, Lord. Please, Lord. Please, Lord,” she begged.
Mattie listened hard. This was not a dream. Sounds from a wagon drew louder and louder. “Please let it be him, Lord. Let it be him with my Jordan.”
She stared hard at the darkness until she made out first the old horse and then the familiar face of the driver. He had come back. The driver steered the horse past her, bringing the rear of the wagon next to Mattie.
The driver flew over to Mattie, “Are you all right? I hated to leave you, but I had to go. I couldn’t take the chance.”
“My baby!” Mattie croaked out weakly.
“I left her at the next house. She cried too loud when she woke up. Are you all right?”
“I all right now that you back. I ate some poison plants. I figured they gonna leave me alone if I got sick all over. I didn’ count on them sendin’ you away too.”
Mattie tried to sit up, but her body shook too hard and her arms did not support her weight. Tenderly the driver helped her up and into the wagon.
Before the sun rose again, the driver turned into a small, well-kept farm. He pulled behind the white clapboard house and came to a stop by a door in the earth that led to a cellar. Pointing to the door in the ground, he said, “You wait in there till someone else comes for you.”
Mattie replied, “Thank you…Uh, I don’ even know your name?”
“Better that way. Keeps us all safer. Best of luck to you and your little girl. God bless you.”
“God bless you, sir.”
Mattie’s weak arm shook as she pulled open the whitewashed door. Jordan stood frozen in the center of a damp, dark cellar. She was alone. She looked awful. Terror shone in her deep brown eyes and her face glistened with a thick coat of mucus, sweat, and tears. Her small body shook violently.
Mattie squeaked out to her daughter, “Momma’s right here, baby girl. I back. You all right now.”
Still weak from the ipecac, Mattie cautiously climbed down the steep staircase. As soon as Mattie got into the cellar Jordan threw her body against Mattie’s legs. Shaking uncontrollably and gasping for breath, spasms wracked Jordan’s small body. Desperately she clung to Mattie, burying her face into her chest, whimpering in a hoarse voice, “Momma, Momma, Momma.”
Mattie held Jordan tight as a clamp, moisture streaming down her face. “Sorry, baby. I so sorry. You musta been so scared. So sorry. I jus’ had to do it. We gonna be free. We are. And it gonna be worth it. It gonna be worth it. Some day, it gonna be worth all this.”
Jordan clung tight to her mother through the entire night.
Mattie and Jordan stayed in the small, dark quarters alone for two days. Hard tack, boiled eggs, and water, delivered in the dead of the night, sat inside the door each morning when they awoke. Then in the middle of the night of the third day they were transported to a new farm as the sun rose. Before the door to this cellar closed, Mattie caught a glimpse of the four figures already present in the cramped room: a skinny young woman, a boy who looked to be about six years old or so, a tall, dark man missing his left ear, and a woman so old she only had one skinny tooth left sticking up from her bottom jaw. Mattie never did learn their names as the man glared Mattie into silence when she went to tell him hers.
The skinny young woman, not once looking at either Mattie or Jordan, occupied herself by biting tiny bits of her nails over and over, spitting the small fragments of her body onto the dirt floor. The frail woman hummed lullabies until the man told her to “hush up!” in
a fierce whisper. Every few minutes she would begin humming again and he would repeat the hushing. The boy, cowering in the corner, watched it all in silence.
In the middle of the night, Mattie awoke to the screams of the old woman. “They gonna get me! They gonna get me!” she cried out as she clawed at the closed door.
“Shut up, old woman!” roared the man before slapping her hard to the ground.
He towered over the nail biter.
“We got to bring her, you say!” he yelled. “I ain’t going without her, you say! I shoulda left you all behind! We all gonna get caught ’cus of her. She gonna get me killed with all her carrying on. Don’ she know we got to be quiet?”
He paced in circles like a caged jaguar, mumbling to himself, “Gonna get me killed. We in danger. This the real thing. I the one they gonna kill. You all only gonna lose an ear or get a whippin’ or get sold to Alabama, but me, they gonna kill me. They gonna kill me! But before they do they gonna chop off my balls and shove ’em down my throat. I shoulda left you all.”
Wedged into their own corner, Mattie clutched Jordan close, silently watching the drama.
Food appeared at irregular intervals, as did other escapees. No words were passed among any of the strangers. On the third night, the cellar dwellers continued on their journey to the next safe house. They stayed there for only one day before they moved on to the next station. Weeks passed with the group traveling most nights and hiding during the day in a cellar, basement, or attic. Each night Mattie closed her prayers with a request that the old woman sleep through the night. Occasionally God answered “yes.”
Yellow Crocus: A Novel Page 11