by Mikki Sadil
Ben’s father and brothers stood beside Cracker, and Pa was saying something. Ben felt torn between a morbid curiosity of seeing a man hung and being deeply upset that his own father was doing such a thing. His stomach twisted. After hesitating a moment, he ran the rest of the way up to his grandmother’s room.
“Grammy, Pa and the boys are hanging Cracker!”
Grammy dropped the book she was reading. “What? Are you sure it’s Cracker?”
Ben picked up her book and laid it on the table beside her chair. “It’s him, all right. He went down to the Williams’ place last night to see a girl, and when Pa and the men came to get him, he knocked down one of the track fellows. Pa says the law is that he has to hang him.”
“Yes, that’s true. I’m sorry it’s Cracker. Your grandfather bought his momma when Bess and Cracker were children. But the truth is, he has always been a handful. Granddaddy used to say that Cracker could give a lesson in meanness to a pit full of rattlesnakes. I’m not too surprised at his coming to this end.”
“But for Pa to do the hanging…I didn’t think I’d ever see my father do something like that.” Ben shook his head.
At that moment, screams rose from outside. Ben rushed to the window in time to see Cracker’s body jerking and twisting, while the horse he had been sitting on raced toward the barns. As Ben watched, the slave’s body convulsed one more time, his head rolled toward one shoulder, and his mouth opened. He was dead. Jesse was holding Bess upright, and the other slaves all around them were crying. Ben turned away, disgusted and fighting to quiet the upheaval in his stomach.
* * *
When Ben, his father, and brothers came in after their evening chores, Ma was taking up supper.
Pa said, “What are you doing, Laura? Where is Bess?”
Ma put dishes of boiled ham hocks with white beans and corn bread on the table. “Wash up before you sit down, all of you. I took Mama her supper. She is feeling poorly. I told Bess she didn’t have to come in to cook tonight. Besides, the coloreds are all having a sit-down at the grave tonight.”
Pa dried his hands and dropped down into his chair.
“I don’t see why you couldn’t have found a tree where you were, instead of bringing him back here,” Ben said.
Pa leaned over and put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “It was necessary for the slaves to see what happens when one of their own puts his hands on a white person. If I had not done this, the others would see it as a weakness on my part, and there’s no telling what some of them would have tried. Now, let it go, Benjamin. We’ll have no more talk about this.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Besides, I’ve been thinking on something and have made some inquiries around. I do believe it is time to sell Josiah and I think I have a buyer for him. He’s…”
The fork clattered onto the floor from Ben’s suddenly nerveless fingers. “No, Pa, you can’t sell Josiah. He’s only a little boy, and he can’t work…”
Pa held up his hand to silence Ben. “And that is precisely why I’m going to sell him, the fact that he can’t work and earn his keep. This is a matter of practicality. It costs money to feed and house him, and if this man wants to buy him after his inspection, it’s all to the good. I have a plantation to run, and any slave who can’t do his fair share of work has to go. Age after the seventh year is no consideration.”
“It will kill Bess and Jesse…”
Pa bit into his cornbread, chewed, and swallowed. “No, it won’t kill Bess and Jesse, and they will get over it, as will you. Indeed, I reckon this will be a good lesson for you, as you seem unable to fully grasp what it means to be a slave owner, which you will be, some day. Slaves are bought and sold every day, son. You can close your eyes to it if you want, but it isn’t going to change anything.”
Ben looked around the table at his mother and brothers. Ma’s hazel eyes were full of tears, but she merely shook her head slightly and said nothing. James sat with his head lowered, and Andrew looked everywhere but at his brother.
Ben stood up so quickly his chair fell over. “I don’t understand you. Maybe Josiah can’t work, but he’s still a little kid…” he managed to get out before his father could reprimand him.
“Slaves are a commodity, to be bought and sold just as any other, and I’m more than a mite concerned that you refuse to accept that.”
“That’s something I won’t ever do, Pa. I’ll never own slaves. And you’re wrong about Josiah, he’s a person just like me and you. And I don’t care if you like that or not.”
Ben ran up the kitchen stairs. He stopped at the top and realized there was absolute silence coming from the kitchen. I reckon I’m in mighty big trouble for saying that to Pa, but I don’t care. It’s how I feel.
A short time later, a knock sounded on Ben’s door. His grandmother called his name softly, but he didn’t answer her. His stomach was still churning, and he was not in the mood to talk to anyone. He turned over and stared out the window. The leaves on the trees were turning into the scarlet, gold, and brown of fall. A couple of branches brushed gently against the window, the leaves scratching on the panes as if they wanted to come in out of the cold.
He got off the bed, walked to the window, and looked down at the spot where Pa had hung Cracker. He could see Cracker’s body swaying from the tree as if it were still there. He thought about the tears running down Bess’s cheeks, and about what it would do to her and Jesse if his father sold Josiah as a “commodity.” I have to do something. I don’t know what, but I can’t let Josiah be sold.
* * *
Ben finished his chores quickly the next day, because he wanted time to talk with his grandmother. As he walked into the kitchen, Bess was wrapping up hot bread and a leg of pork to put into a satchel as Grammy watched. Grammy looked up and smiled.
“Ben, I was coming to look for you. I’m going into town.… would you like to come with me?”
“Sure, Grammy. That will give us a chance to talk.”
His grandmother looked sharply at him. “Oh? You have something on your mind, do you?”
He cast a surreptitious glance at Bess and shrugged without answering.
Outside, Shadrack was putting the top on the carriage. His movements were slow and painful, as the iron collar put on him three years before for trying to run away hampered his movements.
Ben offered to help, but Shadrack shook his head and went about his business. When he was finished, he turned to Grammy. “There, Mistress Tate, Shadrack takes care of you. Carriage now be dry when that gully washer come.”
“Thank you, Shadrack, you did a most splendid job. Bess has hot coffee in the kitchen. You get some before you go back to the fields.”
Shadrack touched his worn straw hat with two misshapen fingers, helped her into the carriage, and walked away. Ben jumped up into the seat as Grammy slapped the reins lightly over Traveler’s rump, and they were off.
Mid-September thunder rumbled in the distance. “Sounds like Shadrack was right about the gully washer. With a storm coming, do you really need to go into town today?” Ben asked.
“Yes, Ben, precisely because there is a storm coming. However, we aren’t stopping in town. We’re going straight to the woods on the other side of town.”
Grammy looked troubled, so he decided to wait to tell her about Josiah.
As they approached the town, the usual quiet was shattered with the shouts and cries of a large group of men gathered in the street in front of the Marshal’s Office. They were brandishing clubs, pitchforks, and even a few guns.
Grammy gave a slight pull on the reins to slow Traveler down.
“Grammy, what do you suppose is going on?”
Before she could answer, a man came running up to the carriage and caught Traveler’s bridle. He pulled back hard and the horse reared before settling down again. The man walked up to Grammy. He was tall and thin, his long scraggly mustache stained with tobacco juice. His rheumy eyes were small and mean, and his thin-lipped mouth spewed spittle when he spoke.
Grammy slapped away the dirty hand he held out to her. “Well, Phineas Taylor, I see you are back in town. By what right do you stop my horse? What is all this ruckus about, anyway?”
The man smirked, and Ben thought maybe this was what the devil looked like.
“We done caught us some runaways, and they’ve been…persuaded… to tell of some white people who are helpin’ them and bringin’ supplies. We knows you feel kindly for these no-count slaves. Don’t s’pose you’re one of them that’s helpin’, now, are you?” He snickered, and tried to grab Grammy’s arm.
Grammy pulled away, her face wrinkled in distaste as both she and Ben got a whiff of the man’s foul odor. “I can well imagine what kind of persuasion you brought upon those poor people. Now allow me to pass, please.”
He caught hold of Grammy’s skirts. “You don’t understand, Missus, you ain’t goin’ nowheres ’til I sees what’s in them bags.”
Grammy reached into her reticule and pulled out a small ivory handled pistol. Ben didn’t know who was the most surprised, him or the man she called Phineas. She pointed the pistol directly between the man’s squinty eyes. “Phineas, you knew my husband. You know how well he could shoot. He taught me well, also. I suggest you stand back and let me pass. Do. It. Now.”
Phineas glared at Grammy, but he stepped away from the carriage. She clucked to Traveler and guided him carefully around the group of yelling men. She clucked again and he broke into a fast trot. Behind them, Ben heard the man yell.
“Joseph Tate ain’t here no longer, Missus. You got no one to protect you now.”
As Traveler trotted down the main street of the town, Ben looked over his shoulder uneasily. “Who was that man, Grammy?”
“Phineas Taylor runs a gang of men who consider themselves slave hunters. Truth be told, they’re all evil men who shoot the slaves on sight, and then drink themselves into a stupor. He and I have had our little run-ins over the years, and he has always suspected me of being an abolitionist, but he was never brave enough to confront me while your grandfather was alive. I reckon he thinks he can scare me now, but he best not bet his buttons on it or he will be surprised.”
“Would you really have shot him, Grammy?”
“Yes, I surely would have. He has no right to give me orders or to go through my things. And no man puts his hand on me without my permission. He…”
Shouts and the sound of horses’ hooves behind them interrupted her.
Ben looked back. Phineas and another man were chasing them. Grammy shook her head.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake…” She pulled Traveler to a stop, and took out the little pistol again.
Ben wondered if she was going to have to use it this time.
Phineas and the second man stopped their horses slightly in front of the carriage. The second man tipped his hat to Grammy.
“Well, good morning, Luther Harvey. I must say I am surprised to see you in the company of a man such as Phineas Taylor,” she greeted him.
Whereas Phineas was the epitome of a farmer’s scarecrow in a field of corn, Luther reminded Ben of an over-ripe plum. His short, squat body was clothed in dark maroon trousers, matching shirt straining to remain fastened over his plump belly, and a short black vest that had long ago given up the fight to button. His greasy dark hair fell to his shoulders from under a soiled black hat and mingled with a long beard. Ben laughed, but quickly put his hand over his mouth when Luther glared at him.
Luther’s pock-marked face turned red. “Good morning, Missus Tate. I, er, we’ve caught us some runaways, and we need to know if you’re helping them. I’m sorry on it, ma’am, but we need to ask some questions.”
Grammy’s eyes narrowed. “Just why do you think you need to ask me questions, Luther?”
Phineas broke in. “I told you, we’re gonna inspect them bags of yours and see what you’re carryin’. Now you just get down from that bench, and the boy, too.”
Grammy’s hand curled around the horsewhip she carried mostly for show, as Traveler never needed it. “Phineas, I told you only moments ago you have no right to stop me or search my belongings. The fact that you have someone along to bolster your courage does not impress me. Now, step away from my carriage.”
Luther started to back his horse, but Phineas began to dismount, swearing at Grammy as he did so. Grammy raised the whip and snapped it with a twist of her wrist. The lash snaked out over Traveler’s rump and coiled around Phineas’ shoulders. His horse reared and dumped him on the ground. Phineas got up cursing, but Luther moved his horse between Phineas and the carriage.
“Come on, Phin, you’re right peevish now and that’s gonna get us in a heap a trouble. Let’s just skedaddle out of here afore it’s too late.”
Phineas brushed himself off and glared at Grammy. “This ain’t the last of this, Missus Tate. Your high talk don’t mean nothin’.”
Grammy waved her small white-gloved hand. “And a good day to you gentlemen, too.” She flicked the reins lightly and Traveler moved out at a trot.
A few minutes later Ben looked back to make sure they weren’t being followed, but the men were no longer in sight.
“Grammy, we’ve been going on these trips for almost four years now, and we’ve never seen him before. Why now?”
“I heard Phineas and a couple of his boys got into some trouble over to Louisville. I suspect they’ve been guests of the jail over there for the last few years. Now he’s back and meaner than ever.”
“Then is he somebody to be scared of?”
Grammy smiled at Ben. “Well, I don’t reckon ‘scared’ is quite the right word. I think he is someone to be wary of, that’s all. Phineas is a coward, he’s always been a coward, and he’s not about to try anything bad with me. He knows the Marshal would shoot him on sight. Besides, Ben, I never go out without my pistol. I would have no trouble in shooting him myself, if that’s what it came down to.”
Ben didn’t feel as confident as Grammy seemed to, but he decided not to ask any more questions about Phineas Taylor.
As they went deeper into the woods, Ben asked, “Grammy, if you can find the runaways to bring supplies to them, why can’t the slave hunters?”
“Those who help the runaways know where they are at a given time so we can bring their needs to them, but after, we have no idea where they go. We know these things because we have our own way of communicating that no one else knows about.”
“You mean you have a kind of drum signal like the Indians so you can talk to each other?” He laughed at the thought of his stately grandmother using an Indian drum.
Grammy’s laugh lines deepened. “Well, not exactly drums, but I reckon it’s some close to that. We’re almost to the settlement, so we’ll walk the rest of the way.”
Grammy brought Traveler to a halt. She buttoned her tight-fitting wool jacket up to her neck to keep out the chill air and gathered her long skirts in one hand before stepping down from the carriage. She tied Traveler’s reins loosely to a tree before she and Ben lifted out the satchels of food and clothing.
“Oh, Ben, there are quilts, too. They are under the carriage seat.”
He pulled them out, folded them over one arm, and picked up two of the satchels.
They walked as quickly as possible through the forest to a tiny settlement of small huts built into tree trunks burned out by lightning strikes. From a distance the huts looked like just another part of the forest. As they got closer, Ben realized the huts were built out of tree branches, leaves, forest foliage, and flowers, all held together with a sticky adobe-like clay that came from the banks of the many streams running through the forest.
The handful of coloreds who lived here were all freed slaves who gave whatever sanctuary they could to runaways. Men and women and a few children came out to meet them. Ben could sme
ll their unwashed bodies, and he winced at the few ragged clothes they all wore. Grammy emptied the satchels of the food and clothing she had brought, handed the quilts over to the women, and they left the tiny clearing.
Ben untied Traveler, and they began the journey home. They had only gone a short distance when Grammy stopped. She reached under the carriage seat and brought out several brightly colored balls of yarn, some knitting needles, and a couple of half-completed afghans. She arranged them in the bottoms of the satchels that had held the food and clothing. When she finished, she took up the reins again and clucked to Traveler.
Ben asked, “What’s that for? Are we going somewhere else?”
She laughed. “No, that’s so if we run into those scoundrels again, I’ll have something to show them that they can’t complain about. Ben, do you have something on your mind?”
He told her about his father having a buyer for Josiah. “If Pa sells Josiah, it’s gonna cause a big heartache for Bess and Jesse.”
“Oh, Ben, I’m so sorry to hear this. I can’t think of a single good reason for your pa to sell him. Worse, I can’t think of a single good reason for someone to buy a slave who is crippled. But let’s not panic yet. When is the man coming?”
“Pa said in a couple of weeks or more.”
“I doubt he will want Josiah, anyway. He’s too young to work in the house and he certainly can’t be a field hand. This might all fall through, Ben.” Grammy cast a sideways look at him.
“But Pa seems determined to sell him somewhere, even if this man doesn’t want him. I’ve got to think on something to do, Grammy. I can’t let Pa sell him.”
“Ben, be careful what you say. You’re only a few years older than Josiah and you have nothing to gain by going against your pa. You can’t prevent him from selling the boy, no matter how much you want to.”