Ruth’s Journey

by Donald McCaig

  I smell whiskey on Master Pierre but don’t say nothin’. When we ’bout ready to get in the train, Master Pierre walk Master Gerald down the platform where rest of us can’t hear. I ’spect Master Pierre sayin’ how Master Gerald got to take good care of his daughter, and I ’spect Master Gerald promise he goin’ to. Nehemiah ask I should write him. I never told him I can’t write nor read neither. I kiss Nehemiah like he were my husband.

  I thinks how many peoples I knowed I ain’t never gonna see no more and gets to cryin’, and Master Pierre is red faced and waggles he hands like he do when he don’t know what else. It’s for Miss Ellen to say, “Time we get in the car. Time and the Georgia Central Railroad won’t wait.”

  Railroad train is an engine car and a wood car up front and a passenger car and three empty freight cars after. We climbs onto the passenger car and the train conductor has me and Pork to sit on the very front bench. The steam engine is puffin’ and shiverin’ like any minute it gonna explode, and I reckon that’s why coloreds is up front.

  Master Gerald and Miss Ellen ain’t finished sayin’ good-bye to the Robillards when comes a jerk near to snap my head off and a whistle screams hurtful and then a second jerk, which yanks me forward, and another jerk into the bench and we is rollin’! Nehemiah and Miss Pauline joggin’ alongside. Miss Pauline got last advices for her sister.

  Pretty soon Miss Pauline drop back and Nehemiah too. Good-bye, Savannah! Good-bye, Bay Street! Good-bye, Everybody!

  We cross canal basin and swamp and we gets to goin’ faster and I learns why we up front: black smoke and hot cinders find us afore they find white folks and they cinders aplenty and they hot as hornets!

  I dabbin’ all over myself with my kerchief so I don’t burn up!

  When wind blows crossways, smoke gone. Train rattlin’ and clatterin’ and I sees Pork’s mouth movin’ but can’t hear one word. Swamp grass a-whizzin’ by. We goin’ faster’n fast horse! We goin’ faster’n Lucifer when he tumble out of Paradise, and if this train quit it tracks we surely gonna meet Lucifer or Jesus: one or t’other. Betwixt dabbin’ cinders I got death grip on my bench. Little black holes burnt in my new shift!

  Forenoon, train come into a town and stop. Miss Ellen says we is halfway to where we goin’. Halfway plenty for me. Train don’t fuss Miss Ellen none. Her duster has holes burnt and her hair a mess, but Miss Ellen ain’t fuss.

  Master Gerald, he laughin’ an’ carryin’ on. “Grand!” he say. “God’s nightgown! Isn’t this grand!”

  He go on ’bout how world changed now, how railroad gonna change everything. Master Gerald say folk gonna stop fightin’ each other ’count we closer and people gets to know each other.

  Master Gerald proud like he invent railroad hisself, and I ain’t got heart to say sometimes we fight ’cause we already know ’zactly who the other is.

  My hands sore from grippin’ my bench and my knees knockin’. I glad turn my back on that train!

  We is in Louisville, which wanted be Georgia state capital but didn’t get to be. Town’s near pretty as Savannah. Wide streets and big houses and fancy carriages and hundreds of cotton bales piled up for train. Across the street from train depot is this big hotel with white pillars and shaded veranda, and Master Gerald, he pick Miss Ellen up and totes her up the front steps past all them folks on the veranda, who is clappin’ they hands. Miss Ellen, she ’barrassed as can be. Master Gerald ain’t got deportment. Deportment don’t mean nothing to them Irish!

  Pork walk me round back to the hotel yard, and whilst Pork washin’ at the pump I come into the kitchen house, where Cook and her maids gettin’ supper for white folks. Directly Cook gives me a mess of greens.

  After a time Pork come in too, fussin’ like always. Pork a “gentleman’s gentleman.” Onct I ask Pork why ary gentleman needs a gentleman if he am one heself and Pork get huffy. He tell me if I got to ask I’ll never understand, which am one of them things men say when they got nothin’ to say.

  After the white folks gets they supper, kitchen quiet and Cook and me goes outdoors, where ain’t no hot stoves. Cook says she been at hotel since she pickaninny and hotel never been busier. White masters cotton rich and they buyin’ ’spensive horses and house servants.

  I tells her we is goin’ Up-country but can’t say how far. She say Up-country planters swears and drinks and whips they servants for no good reason. I say I never seen Master Gerald with no bullwhip, and she says I ain’t Up-country yet. She says bein’ Up-country coarsens ary Master so he don’t know who he is nor what he doin’ no more. Up-country Masters worse’n savages. Pork has ate he supper and is stuffin’ he pipe and he say he has known Master Gerald many a year and only onct did he take a whip to a colored and that nigger deserved it. Pork strikes his lucifer and I sneeze at the stink and he light he pipe and puff like a railroad engine. Pork say, Master Gerald hate to whip a horse, and if he don’t whip no horse, why he whip a man?

  Cook say many a Master kinder to he horse than he coloreds. She know one Master come to this hotel many a time and he sob like a baby when he horse break it leg and he gots shoot it. Very next day he whip a colored boy, ain’t sixteen, until boy couldn’t stand on he feet no more.

  Pork say Master Gerald a kind Master. Field niggers take advantage of him. Don’t take advantage of Overseer Wilkerson, no sirree. Pork so smug so I asks who hire overseer and who give overseer run of the plantation. Pork pipe smoke set him to coughing. He tell Cook Tara Plantation just as civilize as Louisville. Cook snort and won’t hear ’bout that.

  That night I sleeps in kitchen house and Pork sleep in hall outside Master and Mistress door. Pork ’customed to sleep foot of Master Gerald’s bed, but them days gone!

  Pork distress next morning ’count Master Gerald shave himself ’stead of waitin’ on Pork bring hot water and soap and brushes and neckcloth and strop like he do. Mistress Ellen she quiet like always but smilin’ like she got some secret nobody else got. We quit hotel for train, which different train from yesterday but smoke just as stinky and cinders just as hot. Masters got no sense. When you can ride or walk without cinders in your hair, why pay good money burn yourself up?

  Train was quicker’n lightnin’, but we didn’t get to where we was goin’ until evenin’, which was Macon. Pork been to Macon afore and knows all ’bout it.

  Today, Master Gerald don’t tote Miss Ellen into the hotel. Likely Miss Ellen has say somethin’ to him. Today Master Gerald got deportment.

  Pork ask me walk to livery where Master Gerald have he horses. I say I seen enough stables last a lifetime and Pork say he show me somethin’ I never seed. Past the livery we comes to old stone house with wooden house built atop. Last summer’s weeds standin’ round and door barred and boards fallin’ off it. I say what this? Pork say it a fort. I say I don’t care ’bout no fort. He say, it fort for when the Indians come. I looks round and say what Indians? Pork say they gone. Been drove away but I show you where they been. We walks to a hill like a big green hoecake and Pork say this where Indians bury they dead.

  Might be. Hoecake hill was hummin’ like beehive when spring locust flowerin’. Pork don’t hear hum, but I does. Pork never sees the mist clutchin’ at that Indian hill in the sunset, but I do. I shivers and tells Pork I seen enough Indians and I cold. We goes back to the hotel. Pork sleep outside O’Hara door that night too, which he don’t like better’n he done afore.

  There ain’t no more railroad for us. No more stink, smoke, and fire. I say huzzah. Hip-hip-huzzah. Master Gerald want me and Pork ridin’ horses while him and Mistress Ellen ridin’ the buggy, but I say I ain’t never seen no colored woman on no horse and I ain’t gonna see one this day. Horses ain’t no good for nothin’ ’cept killing folks.

  Master Gerald he get red faced and say he’s had enough of insolent servants and where his bullwhip and I say he bullwhip in the whip socket where arybody got eyes can see it, so Master
Gerald say him and Pork ride the horses and Mistress Ellen and me in buggy.

  We side by side. Miss Ellen drivin’. She were babe in my arms. I first person to carry her. Miss Ellen tellin’ me ’bout red dirt. She been studyin’ up. Red dirt can grow cotton, yes it can! Miss Ellen sayin’ how Up-country ain’t Savannah, and how glad she is we comin’ to Tara. She sayin’ we gots to count our blessings and I say yes’m and yes’m and my won’t that be nice, but everything changed betwixt us. She Mistress now and I Mammy. Same like she never lay in my arms and I never changed her nappy. I gots to smile and like it ’cause that how it am.

  We comes to the Ocmulgee River, where ferryman know Master Gerald and they talkin’ ’bout Up-country happenin’s. Ferryman ask buy buggy horse and Master Gerald ask what horse pull the buggy and ferryman say, “Niggers can walk,” and laugh fit to be tied. Pork don’t laugh. I don’t laugh. Master Gerald, he don’t laugh neither.

  All that mornin’ was up one hill and down t’other. Piney woods all round. Piney woods droop over the road and not lettin’ no sunlight through. I so cold I wraps my shawl to my neck. I ask Miss Ellen is there Indians in the woods and she say don’t be silly and I say I ain’t silly if they is Indians in the woods and they scalps and murders us. Every few miles some track veer off into piney woods. Somebody live in there, which don’t make me feel no better. Sometimes we pass by fields which is red dirt without nothin’ growin’ in ’em. Master Gerald all the time pesterin’ us, “Is dearest Ellen comfortable,” and she smile at him and say she just fine. We rides into smoke, gettin’ so thick I sneezin’, which is trees field hands burnin’ from clearin’ land. Them Up-country coloreds stare at us like they never seed nobody in their whole lifes.

  Midday, we eats some cheese and some biscuit, and when we sets off again, Pork is drivin’ the buggy and Miss Ellen ridin’ with Master Gerald. They falls back for a long time, and when they catch us pine needles am stuck to Miss Ellen’s clothes.

  We comes into a small town I never did catch the name of. It were rough but had a hotel for the Master and Mistress. Mister Hitchens owned hotel. He name on it. The kitchen coloreds was friendly and fed Pork and me fatback and greens. They ask us a hundred questions ’bout Savannah because they never been nowhere civilize.

  Another weary day travelin’ up and down hills. Piney woods sparser and I sees a plantation house now and again. Sun droopin’ and turnin’ river gold when we fords the Flint River. The road climbs a hill and Master Gerald standin’ in he stirrups pointin’ and I sees a roof through the trees which is Tara we comin’ up on.

  Them fields we rollin’ past am Master Gerald’s. Last year’s trash been turned under and plow furrows neat and straight. We comes around so the sun at our backs and we trottin’ betwixt cedar trees, some big round as I am. Master and Mistress gallop on ahead. Pork says Master Gerald always gallop when he comes home, like he afeared Tara not be there no more.

  Big white house on a hilltop with a commotion out front where coloreds comin’ round and greetin’ Master Gerald and he bride. Pork and me drive round back to the stables. Pork shouts “Toby!” and this spindle-shanked boy come runnin’, takes the reins, and ask Pork how Master Gerald get Tara new Mistress and what sort of Mistress she am though how Toby know Tara got new Mistress I don’t know.

  Pork say what Master do or don’t do is for his gentleman’s gentleman to know but ain’t no business for no ignorant stableboys. I reckon Pork still smartin’ ’bout sleepin’ outside Master’s door.

  Toby say he been prayin’ for Pork’s safe return, which make Pork sorry for what he say, but he can’t ’pologize ’count he gentleman’s gentleman. I ’splain I is Miss Ellen’s Mammy and she good and she kind. Toby, he bow from the waist just like Masters and say, “Welcome to Tara, Mammy.”

  Toby tells what happens whilst Pork gone, what field hands doin’ and what house servants up to. Pork, he don’t want to hear ’bout none of it. Afore they come to Savannah, Master Gerald done made Pork driver of the house servants. Driver tells servant do this, do that, go here, go there, but Pork don’t want be no Driver. He happy be gentleman’s gentleman and don’t want drive no stableboy nor no milkmaid nor no housemaid nor no cook nor no scullery nor no farrier nor no coachman. Pork glad Master Gerald gots heself a wife for to drive the coloreds. Now Mistress Ellen drivin’ house servants and Pork get back to doin’ what he knows.

  Pork put on mournful face when Toby say coloreds whipped while Master Gerald off in Savannah. Phillip and Cuffee whipped ’count Overseer Wilkerson, he drunk and he whip them boys for no good reason.

  Pork ask what Toby want him do ’bout it. Whipped boy can’t get unwhipped, can he?

  Toby says there don’t be no ’scuse them boys whipped. “No ’scuse at all.”

  I leaves them gabbin’ and goes into Tara House, which has it kitchen inside. Me, I like kitchen out-of-doors, where it ain’t so hot in summer and if it catch on fire don’t catch house on fire.

  Tara kitchen newer’n Pink House kitchen, but ain’t enough pots cook proper meal and sink’s filthy! Ladles and stir spoons and whisks in a jumble in one drawer when drawers either side ain’t got nothin’! Tara got one of them newfangled step stoves, but don’t look like it never used. Cook pots on that stove been sittin’ there so long they rusty. Cook been cookin’ in the fireplace like folks in olden times.

  ’Spect I speak to Cook. ’Spect I speak to scullery maid too.

  Down Tara hall is little room what got papers heaped on a big old table like where Master Pierre lay bolts of cloth. There a whiskey decanter and some dirty glasses on a shelf. Hanging on the wall is a picture of a foggy meadow which didn’t ’pear be red dirt Georgia so I reckon it Irish.

  Chair rails paint chipped, they’s hand marks on the plaster and spiders favorin’ everywhere light don’t get to. I ’spect I speak to housemaid too. Staircase golden oak straight to second-story landin’ with nary curve. Good-bye, Pink House!

  Plenty jubilation out front; coloreds carryin’ on like they do. Master Gerald Home! Master Gerald Home! Hip-hip-huzzah! Ain’t nothing happier or foolisher than coloreds carryin’ on!

  I comes onto front porch, which got swings and rockers so wore I figure porch where Master Gerald mostly been livin’.

  Master Gerald, he beamin’ like a damfool. Miss Ellen askin’ the pickaninnies who they am and how old they is, and even the shy ones answering back. Miss Ellen set one on the buggy seat and sure it wouldn’t do until they was every one of ’em in the buggy just like they was white folks with somewhere’s to go.

  Big woman in a filthy apron might be Cook. Toothless woman, so old and crippled she can hardly hold herself up, she might be housemaid. Tara Plantation only got two house servants not ­countin’ Pork? I thankin’ Le Bon Dieu Big Sam bringin’ servants for Tara House!

  White man gallop up, scatterin’ dust ’n’ coloreds. He toss reins to a boy and jumps down. He pluck hat off to Master Gerald and bow to Miss Ellen sayin’ how honored he is, so on and so on. Man don’t talk like folks. Talk like Yankee. Overseer Wilkerson long and slick like string beans fried in lard.

  Coloreds’ faces tighten and pickaninnies creep out of buggy. Master Gerald askin’ Overseer how things am whilst he gone and don’t notice tight faces, but Miss Ellen, she sees ’em. Miss Ellen don’t miss much.

  Overseer Wilkerson claps boy on he back sayin’ how Cuffee got “bit in his teeth” while Master Gerald away but Cuffee a good nigger now, and Cuffee flinch but he nod and grin and say how he seed “the error of his way” and won’t backslide no more, no sir, no more.

  Back of my head like voice comin’ from ’nother room I hears: “What you pretend you is, you comes to be,” but I don’t want hear that voice, I despise that voice, and I shuts my ears.

  Hand touch mine. You wouldn’t know what Miss Ellen meant with that touch, but I do.

  Overseer makin’ it sound l
ike Master Gerald should have stayed on Tara Plantation ’stead of runnin’ off to Savannah chasin’ a wife. Overseer didn’t never exactly say that, but it what he mean.

  After Master Gerald hear nothin’ burned up nor flooded nor blowed down nor die, he don’t care what Overseer say. Master Gerald he push he chest out and he lookin’ round like this is where Le Bon Dieu lives, right here on Tara Plantation. Overseer Wilkerson talkin’, tellin’ everything he do big ’n’ little till Master Gerald break in on him. This woman, he tells him, is Mammy. Been with Miss Ellen since she were born.

  Overseer mouth slow from canter to walk and say how Georgia coloreds are “gratifyingly loyal.” I don’t know nothin’ ’bout that. Overseer, he say how he overseein’ all coloreds on Tara Plantation. I’m gonna ’ject but Miss Ellen squeeze my hand and says, “Thank you, Mr. Wilkerson. I’m sure you’d manage the house servants better than I, but they are properly the Mistress’s duty and henceforth I’ll direct them. Surely you have enough to do supervising our field hands.”

  Overseer can’t do nothin’ ’bout that. Deportment knife so keen you don’t feel it goin’ in.

  How Me and Miss Ellen Bring Deportment to the Up-country

  UP-COUNTRY WEREN’T ANYTHING like that Louisville cook say. The closest town were Leaksville and got two stores, a smithy, a tannery, a saloon, a cotton gin so planters who don’t own one can gin they cotton. Leaksville got a Baptist church with a garret for coloreds and a school and a racetrack, where folks sell pigs and chickens and mules and slaves Saturday mornings and race they horses Saturday afternoon. Railroad tracks down the middle of Broadway street, but weren’t never no trains. Railroad gone bust afore it get to Leaksville and grass growin’ twixt the tracks. Weren’t no wild Indians Up-country, and Up-country Masters weren’t no different than Savannah Masters. Some better, some worse; most middlin’. Tara Plantation beside the MacIntoshes, who Master Gerald don’t care nothin’ about, and the Slatterys, who is purely white trash, and the Wilkeses downstream on the Flint River. Wilkeses’ Plantation is Twelve Oaks. Twelve Oaks Plantation house all of one piece. Ain’t one room added nor subtracted since Twelve Oaks built. Twelve Oaks fancy as the Pink House. It even got a curved staircase, though not so fine as Jehu’s.