Freedom Stone

by Jeffrey Kluger

  Lillie took hold of Mama hard, her eyes filling with tears. “Mama, Mama,” she whispered. “Mama, your babies is here.”

  Mama wheeled back to her and cried aloud. “For how long, child? For how long?” She spun back to the overseer. “There ain’t nothin’ left of our family but what you see here! We ain’t got no man! Let me keep my children, please!”

  The overseer looked at Mama, his face now curling in full disgust. He whirled his whip around his head again and lashed it out once more. The tip of it struck the ground and this time seemed to explode against the soil just inches in front of Mama, pelleting the family with pebbles and dirt.

  “The boy’s gone, Franny!” Mr. Willis shouted. “Appraiser’s comin’ back inside o’ the week. You try to hide him, I’ll find him. I’ll find him, and I promise you, I’ll kill him dead!” The drunken man then looked down at them all, and his face this time lifted in a wicked smile. “Besides, Franny,” he said, running his eyes over her, “once you’re free o’ the boy, you’ll have more time for other things.”

  With that, Willis turned around, staggered back into his cabin and slammed the door. Mama collapsed onto the ground, and Lillie and Plato held her tight.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  IN THE QUIET of the cabin later that night, Lillie came to accept that Plato was well and truly lost—and that she and Mama were partly to blame.

  Mama knew better than to talk to Mr. Willis the way she had tonight, even if her fears for Plato made it impossible for her not to. There were few things that set Mr. Willis’s mind firmer to something he was planning to do than someone’s begging him not to do it. A slave about to receive ten lashes dared not plead for mercy, lest that ten become twenty. Twenty could easily become fifty the same way. Not long before Lillie was born, so the stories went, the Master ordered Mr. Willis to sell off four slaves and gave him leave to select which four. One of the slaves he chose was a strong boy who was the younger of a mama’s two sons. The mama wept and sobbed and clung to Mr. Willis’s leg when she learned what was to happen. Then she said the one thing she oughtn’t have said.

  “You’re too kind a man to take my baby away,” she cried.

  It would not do, Mr. Willis believed, for any slave to think him too kind for anything—so he sold off both of the sons instead. The mama died within the year, killed by sorrow as much as by the sure knowledge that it was her own words that had doomed her child.

  But Mama’s hand in dooming Plato was nothing next to Lillie’s. With all the noise and tears outside the overseer’s cabin, Mama did not seem to have kept hold of what Mr. Willis had said about Lillie helping runaways. The overseer was drunk and he was angry, and Mama likely reckoned he was just remembering the whipping he wanted to give Lillie when she told her tale about hurting Cal’s foot. But Lillie suspected there was more to it than that—and that Sarabeth was involved. More than once, her old friend had told her that there was nothing in the world she loved so finely and fiercely as her family—and no one in her family she loved so finely and fiercely as her father. If Sarabeth concluded that Lillie had had a hand in Benjy and Cupit’s disappearance, as she surely would have when she caught her coming out of the woods, she would just as surely have carried that news back home. The Master knows ’bout that now, Mr. Willis had said. He knows it good! Lillie was certain she knew how he came to know.

  Lillie turned her face into her thin, rough pillow and broke into quiet, helpless tears. The two people who loved Plato most had now also done the most to help send him away. Her tears came harder, and she covered her mouth to stifle her sobs and felt surely as if she might perish from the idea of what awaited the boy, and then—something broke clear in her mind.

  She flipped over on her back and stared at the ceiling with eyes wide and her breath quick. All at once, she understood! She’d figured it out, the “something else” the stones and the oven could do! It was the only thing that made sense. It was the only thing it could be.

  And with that, she also knew what she had to do. As she had on the night she wrote her letter to the farmer in Mississippi, she forced herself to lie awake until she could hear both Plato and Mama breathing steadily in their sleep. Then she climbed out of bed and crept to her dresser, silently cursing the floorboards of the cabin, which creaked with every step she took. She reached around in her bottom drawer until she felt what she was trying to find—an old dress she’d worn for much of last year and all the year before. The dress was too small for her now and was frayed around the hem and sleeves. But there was still some serviceable cloth in it, and Mama intended to save what she could for patches and scrap.

  Lillie wadded up the dress, tiptoed to the cabin door and stepped outside in her nightshirt and bare feet. The ground was cold and wet, and she stayed on her toes to avoid the crawly feel of it. She crept twenty or thirty steps from the cabin—far enough, she hoped, that her work would not be overheard. Then she bent down and felt around on the ground, groping for a sharp rock. She found one she thought was right and held it up in the watery gray moonlight. It looked suited to the job, but Lillie hesitated before she could go further. Mama had worked hard to make that dress, and Lillie remembered well the night she finished it. She had sewn straight through the evening and gave it to Lillie to try on just before bed. Papa had smiled broadly when Lillie twirled before him in it, and he said he could all at once see the grown woman hiding inside his girl. He pronounced it the finest dress Mama had ever made. Mama had beamed and given him a kiss.

  Lillie pushed that memory from her head and, with one quick move, slashed the dress with her rock. Carefully then, so as not to waste a bit of the fabric, she tore it into long ribbons, glancing nervously at the cabin to be sure the noise didn’t wake Mama. When she was done, she gathered the ribbons up in her arms and tiptoed back inside—taking care to kick the soil off her feet first. Then she tucked the strips of the dress under her mattress and slipped quietly back into bed.

  Day broke cold and drizzly, which Lillie noticed when she woke up and counted as a good thing. On rainy days, there were still chores for many slaves to do, but not for most fieldworkers, which meant the mamas would be staying around the cabins. If the mamas had the day free, they wouldn’t be bringing their babies to the nursery cabin, which meant Lillie had the day free too.

  The gray sky outside matched the grim mood inside the cabin as Lillie, Mama and Plato rose and had their breakfast. Mama’s eyes looked heavy and red. Plato had not spoken much about the terrible things the overseer had said, and it was not certain he really understood them. But he remained so quiet this morning—and clung so close to Mama—he must surely have been feeling the danger he faced. All three picked disinterestedly at their breakfast and when the meal was done, Mama put the uneaten hoecakes away. She’d serve them up again, along with some greens, when lunchtime came around.

  Mama did not press the children to do much cleaning, save sweeping the floors and washing out their breakfast plates and cups. Lillie did as she was told, waiting for a chance to be left alone. When, at last, Mama and Plato went outside to fetch some water, she hurried over to her bed and pulled the cloth strips from under the mattress. She hiked up her dress and tied them around her waist, pulling the dress back down and smoothing it out as much as she could. When all the work was done, a quiet Plato wanted only to climb into Mama’s lap and listen to stories, and that suited Mama too. When Lillie asked if she could go outside, Mama nodded, seeming to hear her only halfway. Lillie kissed her mother and her brother and left the cabin.

  Outside, Lillie slipped around the back of the cabin where no one could see her, pulled her dress up again and untied the strips. Then she hurried off to Nelly and George’s cabin.

  The distance to the cabin was a short one, but Lillie ran it in a sprint, heedless of the puddles she stepped in along the way. When she arrived, she knocked on the door and once again entered before she was invited. Nelly, George and Cal were sitting at their eating table having their breakfast. Cal’s inju
red foot was propped up on a box. George turned in Lillie’s direction and rolled his eyes at the sight of her.

  “Girl!” he snapped. “Do I have to talk to your mama’bout you?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Lillie said hurriedly. “I forgot again.”

  “You’re too old to forget such things.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lillie said. “But I come to see Cal.”

  “On what business?” George asked.

  “No business,” Lillie said. “I was just hopin’ he could come outside and play.”

  “Cal still can’t walk proper,” Nelly said. “He surely can’t play.”

  Lillie looked at Cal’s foot. It was still puffy, though it had begun to look much more like a proper foot again. “Maybe I can help,” Lillie said.

  She walked over to Cal, crouched down in front of him, and took the foot in her hand. Cal flinched and laughed at the tickle against the skin of his sole and pulled the foot away.

  “What do you think you’re doin’, girl?” George asked, and then, noticing the dress ribbons for the first time, added, “And what do you mean to do with them strips?”

  “Somethin’ my mama did for me once when I hurt my own foot,” Lillie said. She laid the ribbons on the floor, then put out her hand and waggled her fingers, instructing Cal to give the foot back to her.

  “You ain’t no doctor,” he said. “Whatta you want with my foot?”

  Lillie ignored him and waggled again, this time giving him a firm glance—and this time he obeyed. “Cal, you are a lazy boy,” she clucked, taking his foot in her hand. “You ain’t never gonna get better just sittin’.”

  She unrolled one of the ribbons and began to wind it around Cal’s arch and instep. When Lillie was nine years old, she’d fallen from a tree and made the same mess of her foot as Cal had made of his. Mama had wound the foot in the same kind of ribbons Lillie had now, and while that didn’t heal her up fully, it did take away much of the pain and allow her to walk and even run a bit. Lillie got good at winding and unwinding the ribbons each day and learned well how to do it, and she remembered it now. The most important thing, she recalled, was to pull hard on the strips while she wrapped.

  “Ow!” Cal said. “That’s too tight.”

  “Hush,” Lillie said. “Don’t be a baby.” She continued winding, though a bit more loosely. Then she picked up another ribbon and did the same, then another and another until the ankle and foot were wrapped as snug and tight as if Cal were wearing a boot.

  “Where’s the shoe for this foot?” Lillie asked.

  “Over there,” Cal said, pointing to the hearth. “But it ain’t gonna fit over all that.”

  “It will if you don’t lace it up,” Lillie answered.

  She fetched the shoe, slipped it over the bandage and ordered Cal to stand up. He did so and took some careful steps forward, then smiled.

  “It don’t hurt as much,” he said. “It really don’t.”

  “Lillie,” George said, “if that foot gets hurt worse, the overseer is gonna want to know why.”

  “It ain’t gonna get hurt,” Nelly said, with an approving glance at Lillie. “And the girl’s right. We been treatin’ him like a baby calf, and it’s time we stopped. You done with your breakfast, boy?” she asked Cal. He nodded, used his fingers to scoop up the last bit of spoon bread from his bowl and gobbled it down.

  “Then go play,” Nelly said, shooing them out. “The both of you.”

  Lillie tugged Cal toward the door before Nelly could change her mind. They stepped outside, and when they were several yards away from the cabin, Cal asked, “Where do you reckon you want to play?”

  “Nowhere,” Lillie answered, her expression serious. “We ain’t playin’. We’re goin’ to see Bett.”

  Cal looked at her quizzically, but she merely took him by the wrist and began walking as fast as the still-hobbling boy could go. She chose the shortest route possible—straight through the tobacco field, seeming not to notice the way the rain had turned the crop soil muddy—and slowed only once, when Cal needed a moment to rest his lame foot. When they arrived at Bett’s cabin, Lillie wordlessly climbed the two little steps to the door and knocked. Bett opened it up and took in the sight of them.

  “I got to go see my papa,” Lillie said. “I got to do it now.”

  Bett nodded, opened the door and stood aside for them to enter.

  “I know, girl,” she answered. “I reckoned you’d be comin’ today.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  LILLIE HAD WAITED a long time to speak the words she’d just spoken. She’d cried them out over and over again in the days after she first learned that her papa had died, but while those words had been full of terrible, grieving feeling, they were also empty of meaning. When Lillie spoke the same words today, she spoke them the other way ’round entirely. These words were empty of the sorrow and grief she’d felt before and filled instead with a cool and deliberate purpose.

  “There ain’t no more time to wait for a letter ’fore they come to take away Plato,” she said flatly.

  “I know,” Bett answered. “But you got to come in ’fore you say anything more. It don’t do to be talkin’ ’bout such things out on the step.” She opened the door wider and beckoned Cal and Lillie in.

  Lillie entered, still holding on to Cal’s wrist and pulling him with her. Cal looked wary but went where he was tugged. Bett closed the door behind them and regarded them sternly.

  “This is serious business you come here on,” she said.

  “I know,” Lillie answered.

  “Dangerous business.”

  “I know. Still, I got to go see my papa.”

  “What are you sayin’, Lillie?” Cal asked. “What do you mean, seein’ your papa?”

  “You puzzled it out, didn’t you?” Bett said to Lillie, ignoring Cal.

  “I did,” Lillie answered.

  “You puzzled it out last night, so that’s why you come today.”

  Lillie nodded. “Backwards!” she said. “Them stones can send things backwards! You slow down enough, you come to a stop; you slow down more, you start things movin’ the other way.”

  Bett nodded. “You is a smart child.”

  Lillie waved that off. “That means I can go see Papa today. I can catch him ’fore he went to war and tell him why he can’t go. Then everything’ll be like it was.”

  “Lillie!” Cal exclaimed. “I asked you what you’re sayin’—what you’re both sayin’! Her papa’s dead, Miss Bett. Dead since spring. She don’t even know where his bones is buried.”

  Bett smiled at Cal. “I know he’s dead, boy,” she answered gently. “And dead is dead. But now and then, it ain’t. This here could be one o’ them times.” Lillie nodded in agreement.

  Cal spread his hands in confusion. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “Sit, children,” Bett answered, pointing both of them toward her eating table, with its two simple chairs pushed up to it. “Sit.”

  Cal stepped toward the table, but Lillie stayed where she was and glanced about. The cabin was in its customary order, but Bett’s work area was not. Bowls and spoons were set out on her counter, bags of flour and other supplies were open, and a small fire was beginning to grow in the oven. She looked at Bett expectantly.

  “Are you fixin’ to bake?” she asked.

  “I told you to sit,” Bett repeated. She looked troubled. Lillie had not seen this expression on her face before, and the sight of it quieted her. This time she did as she was told, and Bett stood before them.

  “You done right to come here,” she said, “and you done right to do it today. The men is comin’ for your brother quick. I don’t know if it’s tomorrow or the next day, but I seen this kind o’ thing before—over and over again. By the time the work horn sounds three mornings from now, he’ll be gone.”

  Lillie looked startled and started to jump up, and Bett gestured for her to stay where she was. “You got to listen to me, girl!” she snapped. She tur
ned to Cal. “And you too, boy!” Lillie settled back into her chair, and Bett went on.

  “It’ll go hard on your mama when your brother’s gone, harder than she knows. Mr. Willis ain’t foolin’ about the wolf’s eye he’s got for her, and without the boy to take her attentions, he plans to pay her some o’ his own. An overseer botherin’ a slave mama don’t like no one in the way—and you, child, won’t be nothin’ but a nuisance to him. Come the spring, the Master will surely need to raise more money, and he’ll surely need to sell off more slaves, and this time, you’ll be among ’em. That letter o’ yours was all you had, but after the business with your brother yesterday, time’s even shorter than it was.”

  “Miss Bett,” Cal said, “if what you say is so, there ain’t nothin’ to fix it, ’cept escapin’. I don’t got no fight with that, but all this other talk ’bout seein’ Lillie’s papa, that just ain’t talkin’ sense.”

  “You’re right, boy,” she said. “But you’re wrong too.” She regarded him closely. “You as smart as I think you is?” she asked.

  “I am,” Cal answered, raising his chin a little.

  “Smart enough to know things and not talk of ’em?”

  “Yes.”

  Bett nodded. “You ain’t got no cause at all to believe what I’m about to tell you, ’cept that it’s the truth.”

  Then, in a slow and patient way, Bett told Cal the story of her oven—of the stones that came from Africa, of the charm they worked in that well-loved land and still worked in this enslaved one. She told him of the baking she’d done to save him from the slave driver’s whip when the appraiser came to call. She told him of the baking that had quickened Lillie’s feet and sped her to Orchard Hill and slowed the dogs and horses so that Benjy and Cupit could escape. She also told him that Lillie was right, that if you baked long enough and hot enough, you could slow things so much they’d run in reverse—far enough back to let a child go see a papa who was dead in this world but had been alive in an earlier one.