Whispers of War

by Naomi Finley

  “I enjoy her company,” he said.

  “As she does yours.” I turned to face him. “So, is there anything more you’d like to share?” I had learned that getting any information from my father was like asking an animal to speak, and I wondered why he relished making me suffer so.

  “I’m uncertain where you come by such intrusiveness into others’ affairs,” he said, lips twitching with a smirk.

  I scowled. “Is it so wrong for a daughter to want to see her father happy? Should I not have an opinion of a woman who has caught his eye?”

  “Of course,” he said with amusement, crossing his arms and leaning back on the edge of the room’s small desk. “Am I to assume I have no choice but to hear these opinions?”

  I smiled. “I approve wholeheartedly of your choice. Miss Pippa is genuine and lovely. All the traits I’d imagined you’d seek in a wife.”

  “Wife?” He straightened. “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?”

  “Perhaps.” I shrugged, and my mind moved to another thought. “Have you stolen a kiss?”

  He lifted a brow. “And why would I reveal such things? Have you forgotten all manners?”

  I released a huff and moved to stand in front of him. “On the contrary. I’m invested, is all. Say you and Pippa were to marry. She would become my stepmother, and it is only fitting that I would be interested in knowing about the relationship developing between you and her.”

  He smoothed back a lock of hair that routinely slipped over his forehead and sighed. “All right, yes, my darling daughter, I care very much for Pippa.”

  I squealed and crushed him in a hug. “Splendid. I just knew she was the one.”

  He hugged me back and kissed the top of my head. “You may have got this one right. But don’t expect me to allow you to continue to pry into my affairs in the future.”

  I stood back, grinning, and crossed my heart in a promise. “I swear.”

  “That’s hard to believe,” he said with a laugh as the door opened, and the weaver’s husband and Kimie entered.

  After the runaway was settled into the bed, Kimie and I covered him with blankets, and soon after I left, with instructions to summon me when he woke.

  In an armchair in the parlor, I read a short story in an issue of Atlantic Monthly titled A Modern Cinderella: or, The Little Old Shoe by Louisa May Alcott. I considered the knowledge of the writer’s abolitionist parents and the family’s efforts in the Underground Railroad. Would future written works tell of her experiences, or perhaps childhood memories? I sat engrossed in her words until my lids grew heavy and I dozed off, only to awaken to a gentle nudge some hours later.

  “He is awake.” Kimie peered down at me.

  I laid the magazine aside and retrieved a shawl before following her to the sick hospital. I found the runaway propped up against pillows and eyeing us warily.

  “Hello,” I said. “It’s good to see you’ve awakened.” I walked to his bedside, where Ben sat offering him spoonfuls of broth. Pulling up a chair, I sat. “You have nothing to fear. You’re safe here.”

  He stared at me, not as a man seeking to flee, but as someone exhausted beyond measure. “You don’t seek to turn me in?” He frowned, perplexed.

  “No,” I said. “My name is Willow Armstrong. Can you tell me where you come from?”

  “I am a prince of de Yoruba people. Taken from my home in West Africa along wid many others from my village and surrounding villages. Held prisoner by too many white masas. De last one from North Carolina.” His voice was deep, and unyielding pride arched back strong shoulders while years of slavery kept his eyes from meeting mine.

  “You’ve traveled far. What do they call you?”

  “In my country, dey call me Ojore.” He held his head high. Then his tone grew bitter. “In dis country dey call me John.”

  “Why come deeper south when freedom lies in the opposite direction?” Ben asked.

  “I seek my boy.”

  “A son,” I said. “And you believe him to be in Charleston?”

  “Yessum.” He slurped back another mouthful of broth. “I lost track of him for a few years, but last I knowed he sold to dis plantation here.”

  I straightened. “To Livingston?”

  “Yessum.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “His name is Pete.”

  “Tillie’s Pete?” I shared a glance with Ben.

  He shrugged. “How old would your son be?”

  “Twenty, or one and twenty, I reckon,” he said, hope alight in his eyes.

  “We do have a young man by that name living here. He is married to my handmaiden.”

  I sent Kimie to fetch Pete, requesting she say nothing about why, and she hurried to do as instructed. A short time later, Pete and Kimie entered, and he froze in his tracks just inside the door.

  The wounded slave gasped, and a low moan rumbled in his chest.

  “Pappy?” Pete gasped. “Dat you?”

  “My boy.” The slave’s voice was thick with tears before he rattled off in a dialect I recognized as Lukumi. In years past, I’d encountered a slave passing through our hands who’d spoken the same dialect.

  Pete bolted across the room and flung his arms around his father’s neck.

  I sat back in astonishment. I wouldn’t have connected the bulky John and the lanky Pete as father and son. My chest swelled with glee at the reunion.

  I glanced up at Kimie as she placed a hand on my shoulder. She smiled happily down at me as tears dropped on her cheeks, rosy from running. I covered her hand with mine.

  “Blessed be Orisha to bring you to my arms one last time,” John breathed, but Pete tensed, and his father cast a worried glance at us. “Apologies. In my excitement, I forgit de forbiddance of gods foreign to dis land.”

  “A glorious day, indeed,” I said, brushing off behavior that would be punishable by most.

  “Dat et is, Missus Armstrong. Dat et is.” Pete beamed. “Pappy, I got me a wife and a boy.”

  Tears streaked John’s face. “Dat mighty fine, son.”

  “I feel there’s much cause to celebrate. After all, this is a rare and seemingly impossible reunion.” My mind spun to the reunion between Jimmy and Ruby, and my heart swelled at the memory. “I am curious about how you found out where Pete had gone. I mean, it’s been so many years, has it not?”

  “Slave folkses talk,” he said. “After my boy was sold de first time, I asked ’round ’bout where de masa sold him. Slave tell me he was sold to a white man in town. When I got a chance to go in to town, I go, and found dat man’s house. Only my boy warn’t dere. De butler said he had bin, but de masa sold him to a plantation in Georgia. Before I got a chance to find him, dey done sold me to another masa, but I still hold on to hope, and when I got de chance, I set out to find him. And I ’most find him, but dey found me and drag me back. Spent de next years trying to find a chance to run again, but already marked a runner dey watch me close. When I got free, I made et back to de plantation. But dey told me he was sold to an estate in Charleston. I bin asking slave folkses along de way, and deir help led me here.”

  “And where did you come by your injury?” I asked.

  “It appears to have come from a dog attack,” Ben said.

  “Dat right. Slave catchers came upon me some weeks back. I escaped dem at first, but one of deir bloodhounds sniffed me out and got me real good. But I wasn’t ’bout to go back. I got free, but de dog warn’t so lucky. Den I hid my tracks by following de river.”

  “In Africa, my pappy was a warrior of his tribe.” Pete sat straighter, giving his father a doting look. “Ain’t nothing stopped him ’fore. Ain’t dat right, Pappy?”

  I smiled at the pride on Pete’s face.

  “I wish et were so,” John said with a grave sadness.

  Pete frowned. “What eating at ya?”

  His father’s eyes misted. “Long ’fore you come into dis world, deir be someone I would travel all dis land to find. Somepin’ I always re
gretted.”

  “Who you talk ’bout?” Pete’s brow puckered.

  “De ’oman I always loved. De one I love to dis day, and ’til my soul joins my ancestors.”

  “You mean ’fore Mama?”

  John’s expression grew dreamy. “She be de purtiest li’l thing you ever saw. Gentle and hardworking. She caught de masa’s eye and, well, he do things to her dat left her broken. Changed her forever. She got wid chile by de masa, and sought to end ets life, but I told her I love any babe of hers as though et my own.”

  My heart struck harder at the similarity of that woman’s story to Mammy’s. Wishful thinking, I told myself, and turned, intending to give the men some much-deserved privacy. John’s next words made me pause.

  “Soon after, de missus sold her and de babe—”

  “Did she have a name?” I waited, my heart thumping in my ears.

  “Missus?” John’s deep voice asked.

  I spun around, and with more harshness than intended, I said, “The woman. Her name.” Tears made my voice tremble.

  “Her name be Rita—”

  I bolted for the door. Oh God in heaven. Big John. Mammy’s Big John. I lifted the sides of my skirt and raced, weaving along the paths to the main house. Dashing through the back door, I almost collided with Mammy.

  “Heaven’s sake, gal, whatcha be doing? I ’bout to send Tillie out to find ya. Masa Bowden home and supper’s ’bout ready.”

  I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door. “I have something I must show you.”

  “Right now?” she protested. “I ain’t ’bout to let de food git cold.”

  “The food can wait.” I closed the door behind us without releasing her. “Let’s make haste.”

  “You skeering me. Why you got dat strange luk in your eyes?”

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  “You and your secrets. Always conjuring up somepin’ in dat purty head of yours,” she muttered as she trailed behind me.

  “Oh, hush now.” I forced myself to keep from running and dragging her behind me as excitement beat in my chest.

  “Gal, you bes’ slow down. My legs ain’t as young as yours.”

  I stifled a giggle as urgency pushed me forward. When we reached the corner of the sick hospital, I came to a sudden stop, and she plowed into the back of me.

  “What in de—”

  I caught my balance and swung to face her. “Mammy.” Love swelled in my heart as I looked deep into her eyes. She’d suffered in the worst possible ways, but strength and resilience were hers. She’d raised me to become a woman of purpose, and from her I’d gathered courage, heart, and hope. She and the folks of the quarters had provided me with a sense of family and belonging I’d so desperately craved. Admiration for the beloved woman before me flowed into every part of me as I gathered her hands in mine.

  Her brow furrowed as she studied my face. “What is et? Evvything all right?”

  “Someone is here that wishes to see you.”

  “Who?” She looked to the hospital.

  “John. Your Big John.”

  She pulled away, hurt and insult playing on her face. “Why you do me lak dat? Don’t play wid me, angel gal.”

  “I’d never do that,” I said. “You know that runaway I found early today?”

  “De one passed out by de smokehouse?”

  I bobbed my head. “He came here looking for his son, Pete.”

  “Tillie’s man?”

  “Yes.”

  She stumbled back. “He my Big John’s boy?”

  I nodded, my vision blurring.

  “No.” She shook her head, tears in her voice. “Ain’t possible after all dese years.” She turned pain-filled eyes on me. “Why you be so cruel? Telling me dese lies.”

  I stepped forward and clasped her upper arms. “I would never hurt you so. If I wasn’t certain, I’d never tell you.”

  She glanced at the hospital. “But how you know he mine?”

  “Because he spoke of a striking woman that he yearns for.” I swallowed back tears. “He referred to her as ‘my li’l Rita.’”

  She trembled under my hands. “Can et be true?”

  “Come see for yourself.” I turned to pull her toward the stairs, but she stood rooted to the ground, and I swung back. “What is it? Isn’t this the day you’ve dreamed about?”

  “Et jus’ dat…I skeered.” She looked at me with wide eyes. “Plumb skeered. Et bin so long since he seed me. I changed.”

  “I’m sure he has also changed,” I said.

  “He may not see me as purty no more.”

  Her troubled expression and her admission gave me pause. “Here, turn around.”

  She frowned at me but did as instructed, and I untied her dirtied apron, removed it, and bundled it in my arms. “Now, look at me.”

  She again obeyed. I tucked a few wisps of hair underneath her scarlet head rag and straightened the collar of her floral cream cotton dress. “One last thing.”

  “What?” She eyed me eagerly.

  I leaned in and gave her cheek a hard pinch.

  “Gal, what ya doing?” She lifted a hand to soothe her cheek as I gripped the other.

  “There, that should do.” I stepped back and smiled. “A little color in your cheeks is all you need. Let’s go.” I urged her toward the stairs, and to my delight, she moved with me.

  We paused outside the door and she looked at me, again worried. “It will be all right. I promise.” Before she could flee, I opened the door and stepped inside, pulling her along behind me.

  John tensed in his bed, and I glanced at Mammy, who stood with her head lowered, too afraid to look.

  “Rita?” Emotion clotted John’s voice.

  Mammy jerked at the sound of his voice, and slowly lifted her gaze. She froze as she beheld him.

  “De gods be praised,” John said. “My Rita, jus’ as purty as I recalled.”

  A sob came from Mammy. “Is et you?”

  “Et me.” He threw back the blankets in an attempt to rise.

  “No!” Mammy said, rushing forward. “Dey say you injured. Stay put,” she ordered.

  John’s brow dipped before he broke into a grin. “You bossier dan I ’member. I reckon wid good cause.”

  She inched toward the bedside, coming to a stop just out of reach, and looked down on him. “Et is you,” she whispered in disbelief.

  “Yessum.” He held out a hand. She studied it a moment and then slipped hers into his. He stroked the top of hers with a thumb and pulled her closer.

  “I can’t believe et you,” she said, dropping to her knees beside the bed.

  He cupped her cheek in a large hand. “Et me, Rita gal. I come to find my boy. After losing you and our gal, I never thought I’d see you again. But I never stop loving you.”

  “Da Lard be good.” Mammy laid her head in his lap and wept.

  Tears streamed over my cheeks, and with a full heart, I departed with Ben, Kimie, and Pete.

  As we stepped off the stairs, Pete turned a troubled gaze on me. “Missus?”

  “Yes.”

  “What we gwine do ef his masa tracks him here?”

  “We follow protocol,” I said firmly. “I will never allow him to be parted from Mammy’s side or from yours, for that matter.”

  “I awful grateful. I never thought Pappy would ever meet my chile. But dis night de impossible is possible.” He smiled.

  I clasped his arm and squeezed gently. “Go find Tillie at the house and rejoice with her over the good news. Tell her I’ve dismissed her for the evening.”

  “Many thanks, Missus.” He grinned and darted off.

  “Won’t you both join Bowden and me for the evening meal?” I said to Ben and Kimie. They agreed.

  Kimie and Ben entered the house before me, and I turned and rested my hands on the veranda railing. Tilting my face to the heavens, I whispered my gratitude for bringing Big John back to Mammy’s loving embrace.

  Mammy

  AS I LA
Y AGAINST HIM, my tears fading into the linens, I inhaled his medicinal scent. My John. The ocean of pain within me receded, and I found refuge and comfort in the gentle touch of my man’s hands as he stroked my head and back, offering hushed words of solace until the weeping subsided. Rocking back on my heels, I used my sleeve to dry spent tears.

  Under my weight, the grooves of the plank boards dug into my knees, and I stumbled to pull myself up, biting back the wince from the constant pain that hummed in my hip. An ache I dared not reveal to Mary Grace or angel gal, because Lard knows what schemes they’d unleash upon me. I recalled the evening when they dragged Crazy Henry from the quarters to extract my tooth—a night I wasn’t keen on revisiting. No, sah! Catching those gals with their heads pressed together was a sure sign of trickery and scheming. And I warn’t about to let them fool me again.

  I dropped into a chair, and the grinding of my knees screamed of a life spent scrubbing, cooking, and cleaning for white folk.

  John beheld me with a strange look in his eyes, and I dropped my gaze, growing self-conscious of how I’d changed. Why, it was just that very morning while cleaning the bed chambers that I’d caught a glimpse of myself in the looking glass—something I had avoided for decades—and the person staring back at me, I failed to recognize. My body was plump and ample, a shield I’d unconsciously forged to ward off men’s lustful appetites. However, it wasn’t the disappearance of the sensual curves or the wobbly, fleshy bits that consumed the figure of my youth that left me pondering. No, I was all too conscious of that forged protection I carried—I was reminded each morning as I hauled myself out of bed and heaved to catch my breath while climbing the staircase. But Lard help me, when had I gotten so gray? If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought my mama was in that room, peering back at me. I’d smiled fondly at the brief glimpse before it faded, and my focus shifted to the deep grooves in my forehead. And the jowls, where had they come from? Foolishly, like a woman filled with vanity, I’d lifted a hand to smooth away the telltale signs, but as I studied the peculiar woman before me, my hand stilled and dropped. Tilting my head, I had viewed the woman with a new reverence. Eyes lacking the glow they once held but replaced by the wisdom only age could bestow. Eyes that told a tale of survival and perseverance—my story and my truth.