by Peter Troy
You boys’ll drink this down like it’s water, the Doc says, but when you finally find something this shit is good for, you get scared.
He pours even more of it into the wound in your leg and now it’s on fire again, and the grayness starts setting in. It’s only when he tells Harry to hand him that instrument there that you shake off the gray enough to try and see just what instrument he means … if it’s the little scalpel or the saw …
Hold him down! the Doc shouts at Finny, who presses your shoulders back before you can see.
The Doc pours some of the OBJ on whatever it is he’s fixing to operate with, then more into your leg, and everything starts to turn grayer than before.
Give him another sip of that, the Doc says to Finny, who’s tipping the canteen into the side of your mouth. Then Harry’s placing a stick between your teeth, and the Doc’s looking right at you now, not more than a foot from your face.
Bite down on that now, son, he says. This is gonna hurt.
MARY
RICHMOND
SUMMER 1862
Good Lawd, dis mus’ be some ’potant work we doin’ here if’n they sent Yo Majesty down to do it wit’ us.
Mary’s heard the comments from her fellow slaves before. It’s the price she has to pay for the comfort of her life and the chance to speak French, wear pretty dresses in the shop, and pretend she isn’t just a common slave girl from the tobacco fields of Carolina. It doesn’t get any easier when Miss Juss decides she simply hasta volunteer in the army hospital the way Sally Henridge does. Sally’s still just seventeen and almost a full year younger than Miss Juss, and the thought of Sally havin’ those boys all to herself is enough to drive Juss into fits like she used to have when she was no more than ten years old. Of course, the only way Mista and Misses Kittredge’ll hear about Juss workin’ at the army hospital is if Mary goes with her every mornin’ and stays to walk her home again at midday. Juss spends some time every mornin’ readin’ letters to the soldiers, but with all the nurses and white ladies workin’ at the hospital, there isn’t much left for Mary to do. So they send her off to wash sheets and bandages down by the stream with some of the other slave gals, and that’s the beginning of the makin’ fun and callin’ her Yo Majesty and all.
It starts straight off the very first day she’s sent down there, with her fancy dress and the way she walks real straight, with her hair set back in pins and barrettes the way the white ladies do it. Truth is, it isn’t Mary puttin’ on airs so much as it’s that she doesn’t have any other dresses, but try tellin’ the slave gals that. Besides, Misses Kittredge’d never let her walk through town lookin’ like a common field hand, where some of the society ladies that come into the shop might see her, and that’d ruin the whole idea that Mary’s something special. So it isn’t Mary’s fault that she looks so out of place down by the stream. Not that it matters much to the other women, who have their fun pickin’ on her when they aren’t ignorin’ her altogether. Mary could tell the Misses about hangin’ sheets on the line, and the Misses’d tell the people at the hospital to have Mary do something else. But she doesn’t want to feel like this work is beneath her, and doesn’t want Gertie thinkin’ less of her, like she’d got uppity, and start scoldin’ her in her dreams.
So for four hours every day it’s hangin’ up the sheets and bandages the women clean, and noontime can’t get here fast enough when she can go and get Miss Juss from the hospital so they can walk home together. Juss spends the whole walk talkin’ about this officer or that and what so-and-so says in this letter or that one, and they have just a few minutes for something to eat before Juss goes upstairs for lessons with Miss Randall. Juss was supposed to be done with her lessons once she turned eighteen, but Miss Randall kept sayin’ that there was a whole lot more for her to learn, so that’s another year of long afternoons for Juss. Mary’d like to still be studyin’ with Miss Randall in the afternoons, learnin’ more about history and literature and such. But she’s in the shop every afternoon instead, meetin’ with all the ladies who’re buyin’ dresses again, now that the Yankees’ve been chased off away from Richmond.
Between all the work and all the teasin’, not to mention the way Juss is growin’ up and seems more interested in officers than she is in her, it’s a sad time for Mary. But a little more than two weeks in, things begin to change, just a little bit at first, then a little more each day. It isn’t that the gals stop teasin’ her, or that the shop gets any less busy, or that Juss is any less interested in officers, but that now Mary’s got a distraction of her own.
There’s a new work detail set up just down the stream a piece, where a few slaves are brought in to build a levee to steer some of the water off the stream for washin’ the sheets and bandages. Farther downriver there’ll be another levee, where the waste from the hospital can get washed downstream and out to the river once or twice a day. There’s a white overseer and seven slaves doin’ the work, but it doesn’t take long to see that the overseer isn’t there to do anythin’ more than make sure six of the colored men keep up with the other one, the one who’s really runnin’ things. Mary doesn’t recognize him straight off, what with him downstream a piece, but when noontime comes and she heads back past the men to the hospital to get Juss, she sees him lift his hat off his head as she passes. The six other slaves stare at her and smile and make jokes to each other, and not a one of ’em takes off his hat. Micah doesn’t say anything, but that’s nothing new for him, as far as she can remember.
When he worked at the dress shop the year before, he went about it like he was practically in his own world … nothing but sawin’ and hammerin’ and measurin’ as far as she could tell. But he’d always stop and take his hat off whenever Mary or the Misses or Juss or even Cora walked past. Never said nothing then, but took his hat off all the same. He built that extension on the dress shop in three and a half weeks, working only in the very early mornin’s and late in the evenin’s. Mr. Kittredge said it was well worth the high cost Mr. Longley charged to rent out Micah since he’s about the best carpenter in the city, white or colored, he said. And if there’s ever another job to get done ’round the store, it’ll be Micah he hires to do it.
Mary didn’t pay too much attention to Micah back then, what with the store plenty busy and her tryin’ to remember who she could speak French to and who she had to be that Carolina field hand with and everything in between. Besides, she still wasn’t in much of a mind to take any more notice of men than she had to back then, and when she’d talk to Gertie at night, she’d sometimes wonder if maybe Mista Grant had ruined her toward thinkin’ of men altogether. But that was a year ago, and seein’ Juss growin’ up more every day, talkin’ ’bout officers like she used to talk about dresses and hair ribbons, it’s made Mary start to do some changin’ too. The dress shop’s been seemin’ more like a job lately than some kinda adventure, the way it used to, and soon enough Juss’ll find a young man to make the most important person in her life, and Mary realizes she’ll be alone as Cora … or like Gertie was before she took Mary in. And somehow that’s got Mary wantin’ for something more, somebody who might understand her the way Juss and Cora, and Gertie even, can’t. Somebody who knows what it’s like to be an island.
And so when she walks past the workin’ men, and sees Micah take off his hat, standin’ up straight and noddin’ his head just ever so little, she sees him in a altogether different way than she saw him before. She looks at him with a smile she doesn’t mean to make, happy to see him, happy that there’s one person out here along this stream that ain’t teasin’ her like the women slaves or oglin’ her like the overseer and the men slaves. Next day she sometimes looks up from her work washin’ the sheets just to watch him. She sees how he’s quiet as ever, but not cause he’s broken. No, not at all that. He isn’t takin’ orders from the overseer but more like consultin’ with him, tellin’ him what needs to get done, and the overseer yells at the other men to do just what Micah says. Of course, the other gals all notice
Micah too, but they notice all the men, and for a time they’re spendin’ the mornin’s just talkin’ ’bout them and got no time for teasin’ Mary anymore.
Every noontime Mary hangs the sheets and bandages on the line ’til comes the best part of her day, walkin’ past Micah and him takin’ off his hat. She’s ready for it on the second day and gives him a little curtsey back when she passes. The gals’re just lovin’ that ’cause now they got something else to tease her about, and the other men laugh and take their hats off and bow deep at the waist, hopin’ she’ll notice them the way she does Micah. But this ain’t about none of them at all. They can tease and laugh and jump around like a buncha no-class nothin’s for all she cares. It’s like she and Micah are out there beside the river just the two of them. And he seems like he’s thinkin’ the same thing, like all this ain’t about washin’ sheets or diggin’ a levee or anything of the sort. It ain’t even about the war, no more. This is a Mary and Micah thing now, like they’re doin’ a little dance, movin’ closer and closer to each other in little tiny courtin’ steps. And Mary’s thinkin’ all the time about the secrets she still ain’t told him, wonderin’ whether maybe he’s got some secrets of his own, wonderin’ about what kindsa threads been makin’ up his stitchin’ up to now.
By the end of the first week with the men there, Mary takes a minute to make sure her hair and dress are all in order before she walks back to the hospital at noontime. She smiles and curtseys at Micah, and he smiles back and bows just a little, needin’ some practice at all this type of thing. By the start of the second week, he says Afta’noon Miss Mary when he’s takin’ off his hat, and she knows he remembers her, too. After that first day of bein’ surprised by it and the next mornin’ of the gals teasin’ her some more about it, she takes to sayin’ Afta’noon Mista Micah, right back to him.
The gals keep noticin’ Micah sure enough, but they mostly only talk about the other men who pay any attention to them. Lunchtime comes, and they go over there smilin’ and battin’ their eyes at ’em, and there’s fightin’ among ’em now because there’s nine women and just the six men, after Micah, who ain’t interested in them at all. Micah takes his hat off when they pass, same as with Mary, but there’s no smilin’ or sayin’ Afta’noon or anything to make them feel like he’s got eyes for them, so after the second week is over, they leave him alone altogether. They start sayin’ he’s uppity and no wonder he and Mary get on so good together, and she could have him ’cause th’other men’s just as good lookin’ an’ know howta show a gal they’s int’rested.
Mary starts watchin’ Micah all mornin’ long, seein’ how he only talks to the white overseer when he has to tell him something about the project, and none of the other men seem to like him. One of the gals says she heard that Micah’s the only one there that ain’t donated by their Massas, that Mista Longley charges what he always does for Micah to work, and the government or the hospital or whoever it is that’s buildin’ the levees says they’ll pay it just to have Micah there. And that makes the men and the gals hate Micah all the more. But Mary starts to think that maybe he understands what it’s like for her, what it’s like to be all alone even with so many people around.
By the third week, Mary takes to stoppin’ for a minute or two to talk to Micah when she walks past. The men set themselves down by the stream eatin’ their lunch and talkin’ up the gals, and the overseer stuffs himself over by the shade tree, and there’s Micah all by himself like always. They get to talkin’ about the dress shop, and she says what Mista Kittredge said about him and what a fine job he done. He says something about how pretty her dress is, and she says it’s dirty some from hangin’ the sheets and bandages but thank you all the same.
Mary and Juss start gettin’ back to the house later and later since Mary’s stayin’ a little more past noon each day, and Juss ain’t about to complain that she’s got to spend extra time with them soldiers. Micah starts bringin’ something extra for his lunch, sayin’ that’s a kinda special privilege he gets and that’s part of the reason most of the other slaves don’t like him too much. Mary starts bringin’ whatever she can too, and the two of them share what they got every day, sittin’ under a tree all by themselves with the overseer stuffin’ himself and the other slaves busy fussin’ down by the stream. The gals tease Mary that the two of ’em are just like uptight white folks with all their manners, and when y’all gonna get to th’love makin’? But Mary just ignores them the way she’s used to doin’ by now. They don’t know about Mista Grant, and how he done to her before the runnin’ off, way back in Carolina, back when she was just a nothin’ field hand girl livin’ with Gertie. They couldn’t know, she thinks, or else they wouldn’t be talkin’ that way. But what’s it matter anyhow, she figures.
This here is a Mary and Micah thing.
MICAH
CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
SUMMER 1862
He still worked as much as he had with Dunmore. More even. Sometimes Sundays even. And sunup to sundown most every day of the week. Without the sometimes free days when Dunmore didn’t get outta bed until past midday. Then gave Micah a wallop or two for not wakin’ him up sooner.
No, with Massa Longley it was work most all the time. Lotta money to be made with this here war on. But Micah never minded the work, just like his Daddy. Took pride in it, like his Daddy. And with Massa Longley there wasn’t any talk about making a thing look done, even when it wasn’t. Like it had always been with Dunmore. Massa Longley understood the value of things like Dunmore never did. And working for him just this last year, Micah’d come to understand why his daddy got sold for so much back at Les Roseraies. And more especially, why he’d got sold for twice that much to Massa Longley.
This boy’s the finest craftsman this side of the Atlantic, Massa Longley’d say to folks tryin’ to hire him. And most of ’em would protest about paying so much for a slave to fix their stables or make them new bookshelves. But Longley knew how to deal with ’em. Made them feel like they was gettin’ something special. Told them how he had ten or twelve projects lined up waiting to be done. That if they paid that much he’d put ’em right to the top of the list. Otherwise … might be two three months. He’d say, shakin’ his head. And folks almost always paid to have it done now.
And with a year of that, of extra food and a cabin all his own, Micah had begun to feel like a man again. Proud. Like his Daddy. Used to receiving compliments from white men and ladies. Mmm-mmm, you do some fine work boy. The men’d say. Oh it’s lovely. The ladies’d say. ’Til they caught themselves, realized who they was talkin’ to. And Micah’d just nod his head, eventually got comfortable enough to answer back. Thank you Suh. Or. Thank you Ma’am. Was as much as he’d ever say. Not like Daddy, who could talk to white folks almost as comfortable as if he was white himself. He’d spin some kinda tale about where he learned to do this. Or how he was watchin’ some bluebirds buildin’ a nest and got an idea for that. But not Micah. His Momma once told him that Daddy and Bellie was the talkers in the family. And she and Micah were the thinkers. And that was good enough for him. ’Til Mary come along.
He first saw her just a few months after he come to Richmond. Workin’ on the store since business was so good. Didn’t take more than a few days to know that she was the reason for it. And he full-on smiled the day Massa Longley was late gettin’ there and he heard her speaking French to one of the society ladies. Like his Momma did back in Nawlins and sometimes ’round the cabin. But he was just a short time with Massa Longley then. Still walkin’ around mostly with them blinders on. Still feelin’ like a mule most days. And not a man who could interest a woman such as Mary.
Massa Longley hired him out to the government a few months later. Did some work on the soldier hospital and some more on the prison. Then come July and a worse job than he’d ever had with Dunmore. Digging levees so the soldier shit could get flushed out to sea without upsettin’ none of the white folks’ delicate noses in town. And he hated hearing about that job. Ha
ted looking over the site that first morning. Hated having a useless white overseer he’d have to clear everything through. Hated that it’d take most of the summer to finish. Six fools there to get in his way an’ laugh an’ dance like fools in fronta the fool women. Then midday came that first day and Mary walked past. A breath of elegance cutting through the stink of the latrines. And there was no more hating that job. She was something to make him think beyond the shit-filled streams and working like a mule for another man’s benefit. A reason to look forward to noontime every day. A reason to work slower than he ever had, just to drag out the stolen moments they’d have together. A reason to know there was a God.
’Cause something like her couldn’t happen by accident.
As the summer progressed, they went from tipped hats and curtseys to all manner of conversation. And he was slowly restored himself. Back past the year working for Longley. Back past the nightmare of Dunmore. Back to Les Roseraies. Only not as a little boy anymore, but a full-grown man. Talkin’ with his Momma and Daddy in some of his dreams. As a man. And them no older than they was when he was a boy. Momma reminding him about the words. Saying she didn’t spend all those evenin’s writing letters and words in the layer of flour on the table just for him to forget all about ’em when times got tough. Remindin’ him that those letters and words was the sorta things nobody could take away. And then there was Daddy, sayin’ how it wasn’t such a difficult thing to tell a story. Just gotta figure how things feel, he was tellin’ him. And then compare it to something else. How a sunset ain’t just pretty. How it’s pretty as a sweet tater pie inna windowsill at the harvest jubilation. And so on.
He’d wake from those dreams sometimes and step outside his cabin. Find a small stick, then sit on the log out front that served for a chair. His eyes straining in whatever light the moon cared to offer. And write in the dirt beneath him. Letters first. Remembering all of them. And in his head thinking what Momma said about the sounds they made. Then putting them together in words. Like so many piles of flour. ’Til it got so he couldn’t seem to think any thoughts without spellin’ the words out in his head. Couldn’t ride from Longley’s to the soldier hospital without slowing down to read every sign and every storefront in town. Smilin’ to think of what his Momma would say. Thinkin’ ’bout how Daddy would describe such a woman as Mary. And how she changed everything just by bein’ there. More than all the sweet tater pies and sunsets and harvest jubilations there was ever gonna be.