by S A Ison
Benjamin related what he and Ginny had seen as they had traveled north.
“We had ta sleep out in the fields at night. We sent George to beg permission to sleep on the property and to hunt. Many times, we was run off at gunpoint.” Ben said sadly, shaking his head. His seventeen-year-old son, George echoed the movement.
Many of the white farmers were suspicious and frightened of the freed slaves. On the road, they saw many of the soldiers, wandering aimlessly about the countryside. When they were lucky enough, they were given access to a barn or deserted slave quarters. They asked for work and were refused, living one day at a time. Nights were the worst, there were men on horseback at night, riding through the farms and woods. They wore white hoods and carried torches. Ben had witnessed a lynching; he and George had left Ginny at the barn and had gone off to hunt rabbits.
Ben had sent George back to the barn with the brace of rabbits. Ben stayed out in the woods, looking for fruit trees near the small farm. It had grown dark as Ben made his way back to the farm. In the distance he saw the glow of fire. Curious, but with caution, Ben moved through the poplars and oaks, making his way to a small clearing. What he saw terrified him and tore at his soul. Before him were a group of hooded men, their horses tied to bushes. A large oak with a low branch had four lengths of rope hanging across its thick branch.
“They was four ex-slaves, with they faces battered and bloody. They hands was tied behind they backs. It looked like a family. A man, bout my age, woman and two young men. One, near George’s age.” Ben’s voice broke and tears slid down his lined face. Grief heavy in his voice.
The prisoner’s faces reflected panic and abject fear, the light from the torches distorting them into caricatures of humans. Ben feared his own heart beating would give him away, he watched in horror as the hooded devils placed the ropes about the families’ necks. One by one, they hung them, first the boys, then the man’s wife, and finally the man. Their bodies twitching and bucking grotesquely at the end of the rope, the acrid stench of urine and excrement making Ben gag. The hooded men laughed uproariously, pulling off their masks.
To Ben’s stunned disbelief, one of the men was the farmer, who’s barn they now occupied. Doubling over, Ben vomited onto the ground, his empty stomach pulling hard and painfully. It was all he could do to remain quiet, the heaving continuing for some time. Tears cascaded down his face unchecked, mingling with the vomit about his mouth.
It was sometime before he could regain his strength to stand and make his way back to the farm. His legs wobbled as he began to run pall mell through the trees. The men had long ago left the area, most likely to do more mischief. Reaching his family, he was grateful that no harm had befallen them. When Ginny had questioned him about his tardy arrival, he had told her the gruesome tale, urging her to gather up their belongings and leave the farm.
They spent the remainder of that night traveling northward, fear at every sound around them. They stayed off the road, hugging the forest as they went. On their trek northward, they ran into more scenes such as the one Ben had witnessed. When they had arrived in New York city, they found the city full of refugees. There were times when they stepped over bodies, left to rot, as they transverse the dirty and crowded streets.
Living was squalid, people crammed cheek and jowl in small apartments. The streets were strewn with garbage and open sewers ran like a river of gangrene, rotting the city from the inside out. There were no jobs to be had, the arrival of immigrants from Ireland, Poland and Russia was staggering and combined with the influx of freed slaves, it was a nightmare. Winter was fast approaching; they had no provisions and no hope. George and Ben went out daily to scrounge for food or work. Ginny found lodging in an old building, they were given a small space in the bowels of the old place, the room no larger than an outhouse. The walls were damp with seepage, Ginny suspected it came from the sewer system that ran beneath the city. The smell so foul, that Ginny complained she could still smell it to this day.
They feared leaving the room unattended, several times they had come home to find a family trying to move in. Ben had chased them off and ordered his wife to stay put while he and George went to look for work. There was no door on the room, there was no privacy, no light, nothing but dank air and darkness. Ginny sat for hours waiting fearfully for her husband or son to return.
They had only a few candle stubs, which they used at night when they ate their meager fare. The winter was long and cold, the damp grinding into Ginny’s bones. Her hands started to curl with arthritis and her joins ached miserably. Ben had finally found work at a slaughter house, he earned a nickel a week, he was also allowed to bring home bits of bone and hide. George rummaged around for kindling and debris to use for fire. His mother needed something to keep her warm and to cook. Ginny kept a sharpened piece of iron handy, for any who would not be turned away with mere words. There were many who were desperate, needing to find shelter from the harsh and deadly winter. Life was miserable at best for Ben and his family. They planned to head back to the Anderson farm as soon as the weather broke and spring’s warmth on its way.
During the long trudge back down south, they had encountered Charlie and Jane, and their two sons, Willy and Teddy. They had dismal luck in finding work, there were just too many ex-slaves and immigrants to compete with. They had long ago used up their money they had been given. When they had passed through Pennsylvania, Carl and Ellen, with their three, Mary Beth, Sue and Thomas, had joined in the small party and made their way back to the Anderson farm.
Theo had welcomed them back with open arms, grateful for more help. The families took over Liza’s old cabin and Bethy’s cabin. The men built another cabin for Ben and his family. Liza moved into a smaller cabin, the one Patina had lived in.
“It sho is good ta be home. That world done gone crazy.” Ben said, wiping tears from his eyes.
It was good to be home, they all agreed. Life was hard at best, but worse if you were an ex-slave. The whites treated the ex-slaves with indifferent repugnance up north and barely concealed hatred down south. The only way to go was west and everyone feared the red savages that lived out there. The Anderson farm was a sanctuary in the middle the tempest that now held the recovering country.
The Anderson farm thrived because of the joint effort between Theo and the people that called the farm home. The children grew under Mary’s guiding hand, she had taken Drake and Rachel under her wing, knowing that Patina would have wanted it that way. Theo was grateful. Though Theo still grieved after his beloved Patina, he loved and reveled in his children. Theo never married; he could not bare to bring a woman into his home. He knew she would never love his children, their blood tainted with slave blood. Theo didn’t see it that way, but he knew that the people in the area and white people in general did. There had been a few incidents, when hooded riders came through. Tom, Henry and several other men stood shoulder to shoulder with Theo, refusing to be intimidated by the hooded cowards. The hooded demons had berated Theo for his mongrel children, threatening to take them away. Theo had shot one of the men between the eyes, telling his cohorts that should any of them ever enter his land again, he would shoot first and ask questions later.
Several more attempts were made and several more men were shot. After the fourth one, no one else dared to come onto the land. Word spread that Theo Anderson was a crack shot and a deadly and persistent enemy. With the solid phalanx of men on the farm, there weren’t many who were foolish enough to push their luck. Death was a sure thing on the Anderson farm.
Subsequently, none of the Anderson inhabitants were openly harassed. When any of them went to town to trade or do business, they went en masse, the men carried farm implements, their deadly threat apparent. The towns people soon went back to their lives, though still watched warily from their windows.
Life settled once more into a rhythm of hard work and laughter. The children of the farm were all taught to read and write, Mary held class in the morning. Ida absorbed learning like a
sponge, Drake and Victor had to be separated, they constantly played in the makeshift classroom. Rachel was a natural, loving anything to do with drawing. Theo had purchased canvas, paints, paper, pens and pencils for his daughter, encouraging her love of art.
Lil Theo was enthralled and bewitched by Carl’s twin daughters, Mary Beth and Sue. The girls carried him around like a little prince, until he was too big to carry. Thomas, who was sixteen, seemed the most obsessed with learning. His haunted eyes scanned the books, he didn’t want to be ignorant and left helpless at the hands of the whites. He had seen too much in his short span of years.
Theo invited Mary, Henry and their children to his table from time to time. He was lonely, but for his children. Smiling warmly at their antics and chatter, he would discuss their day at the table. It became habit, that Mary and her family would dine with Theo on Saturdays and Sundays, along with Tall Tom and his family. The discussions would be lively and fraught with laughter and shouting at times. Liza joined them from time to time, but she was becoming frail and her sight was going. Many days, she sat in front of her small cabin, listening to the children laugh and play. She wove baskets and knitted to keep her hands busy. On Sunday afternoons, she sat on a low stool as Mary combed through her gray frizzled hair. Mary’s hands would rub the older woman’s scalp, soothing away the headaches that now plagued Liza.
Liza’s wasted body, once robust and vibrant, leaned heavily on Mary’s legs. Her head nodding from time to time, a light snore drifting up. Mary smiled gently at her mother’s old friend. Liza had been like a second mother to her. Mary had known and loved her all her life. She had been a grandmother to her children, teaching them old songs and hymns. Mary’s hands worked methodically over the hair, braiding it into neat cornrows. She continued to rub Liza’s head, long after she had finished braiding her hair. Liza was dying and Mary knew it. The headaches made Liza vomit and nearly blind. Mary was sad, but she knew that Liza would meet up with her mother in heaven.
Mary went to Liza cabin one morning, when she didn’t see Liza up and sitting out in the morning sun. Going into the small cabin, she found Liza sitting in her bed, crying. Her head hurting dreadfully.
“My head is fair to splittin’, it wants ta come off. Go to my bag, you’ll see a little red square inside. Take that, there’s special leaves. Make me a tea, gal.” Liza whispered, rocking back and forth. Mary moved swiftly, taking the kettle from its hook and poured hot water into a chipped cup. Taking several small leaves from the red square, she crushed them into the cup. The smell tickled her nose and she went back to Liza’s pallet and sat beside the old woman. She guided Liza’s hands around the cup.
She instructed Mary what to fix, when Mary set water to boil. Liza told Mary she couldn’t get up from her pallet. Mary brought her old friend a cracked cup of steaming brew. Liza’s hands were shaking, so Mary helped her sip the tea. Soon, Liza became drowsy and Mary laid her old friend down. She pulled the quilts up and tucked Liza in and left her to sleep.
Mary left Liza, going up to the house to speak with Theo, before he left for the fields. Theo was sitting at the table, drinking coffee. He’d already finished his breakfast. He looked up and smiled at Mary, then saw her face and started to rise. Mary lifted a hand and he sat back down.
“I just stopped by to let you know that I think that Liza is dying. Would you mind if I stayed with her? I don’t want her to be alone.”
“I’m sorry. Yes, of course. Take all the time you need. Let Cookie know if you need anything. I’ll stop by later.” Theo said.
Mary found Cookie who was training Mary Beth, and asked for a small tray of broth and bread. Word soon spread that Liza was dying and throughout the next few days, everyone stopped by to speak with Liza. Theo had stopped by, holding the frail woman’s hand, he spoke softly to her.
“Mrs. Liza, I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done for my family and myself. You just rest easy and don’t fret, we’ll take care of you now.”
Liza nodded and patted his hand. Theo looked at Mary and Mary shook her head. Liza refused food and water, she no longer felt thirst or hunger. Her body seemed to shrink before Mary’s eyes. Her arms and legs grew cold as her body shut down. Mary still tried to tempt Liza with water or broth. The door was open, letting in light and fresh air.
Liza now babbled and Mary couldn’t understand the woman. Ginny stopped by to help watch over Liza. Many of the women sat with Mary, to keep Liza company in her last hours.
“She keeps talking, but I don’t understand.” Mary said, smoothing Liza’s hair back.
“She be talkin ta those who done already gone. Liza has one foot in heaven and on foot here, with us. Her soul is preparing its journey.” Ginny said.
“Do you think she’s talking to my mother?” Mary asked hopefully.
“Could be. Maybe even Old Bitsy.” Ginny smiled gently. Both women turned as Liza’s breath became labored and rattled in her thin chest. Mary gently caressed the Liza’s face. She whispered endearments and encouragement. Mary had not been able to do this for her own mother, who had passed away in her sleep. Her hands were as gentle as angel’s kisses, lovingly caressing the pain and suffering away. In Mary’s mind, she honored her mother and Liza with her loving administrations. She leaned over and kissed Liza’s forehead, tears splashing down on the older woman.
Liza was not alone, there were many who loved her. Liza had been a force to be reckoned with, in her youth. The minutes ticked by and Liza’s breathing slowed. Mary knew that Liza would see Nan and grandchildren when she arrived at the heavenly gates. Mary’s heart squeezed when she thought of Nan’s senseless death. It had marked them all with the impossible brutality of it. As the shadows from the day lengthened, Liza stopped breathing, giving up the fight for the living. Her chest gurgled and rattled a bit, then quit, plunging the cabin in silence. Tears spilled forth, as Mary pulled the faded quilt over Liza’s lifeless face, the animation completely and eternally gone.
Feeling spent, Mary left the cabin quietly, going to speak with Ginny and Ellen, wanting Liza’s body prepared for burial. She then went up to the main house, getting a bite to eat from the kitchen. She was drained and felt as though Liza had taken part of her spirit with her. Cookie gave her a mug of mulled cider, putting a stick of cinnamon in it, the piquant aroma seeping into Mary’s tired body.
Warming her hands on the hot tankard, Mary could feel the spirit easing back into her body. She nibbled idly on a flaky biscuit, listening to Cookie instruct Mary Beth. She smiled tiredly as she listened, Cookie was in her element, wanting to instruct the twelve-year-old, the proper way to prepare food.
Leaving the kitchen, Mary went in search of her children, whom she had sadly neglected. Thirteen-year-old Ida was up to her usual, bossing eleven-year old’s, Drake and Victor around. The boys were rushing in and out, touching her smock, much to Ida’s chagrin, deviling her. Thoroughly vexed by the boys, Ida stormed off in search of her best friend, Sue. Lil Theo, who had turned eight a few months back, tagged after Ida, knowing the older boys would turn their tormenting on him.
Rachel was nowhere to be seen, this was not unusual, since she was normally in her own world with her sketching. Her talent was becoming more apparent, and her father contemplated sending Rachel abroad. Her mixed race would not be known there, for she was as fair as her grandmother, Victoria. The locals speculated, but didn’t know for sure, who her mother was. Mary knew Theo fretted for his children and he was even thinking about sending Drake along as well, his chances were better in Europe.
For now, Mary had charge of the children. Mary did a splendid job tutoring the children. Theo sent for school books from up north, wanting the children to have the best education he could give them. Mary was quick to learn the subjects and in turn, taught the others. Mary knew that Theo was hard pressed to send his children away just yet, there was time. Mary dreaded that time, when it came.
Ida was growing tall like her parents; she was almost as dark as her father. She had the bea
utiful delicate bones of her mother, though her temperament was on the bossy side. She reveled in arguments with her brothers and Drake. She tolerated Rachel; who’s abstract personality rarely conflicted with her own. She merely rolled her eyes, leaving the eight-year-old to her own devices.
Mary fretted for Ida. At times the child was wild and almost uncontrollable. Her father had to clamp down on her antics and her verbal sparing from time to time. Only Lil Theo seemed immune from her sharp tongue. She pretended to put up with her younger brother, but if truth were to be told, she loved her little brother and was protective of him.
Mary had noticed gray in her hair lately, where had the time gone to? Her children were growing up, happy and healthy, safely insulated on the farm. Mary knew that when her children grew older and went to live elsewhere, that life might be more difficult. Especially for Ida, she was a strong young lady and was very outspoken when expressing herself. Mary feared that strangers might take great offence with her, especially whites. Still, Mary would never hold her daughter back, Ida would have to make her own way in this world.
Dark Henry had built on to their cabin, expanding to accommodate their family. Victor showed a proclivity to carpentry and Henry noted that he was exceptional when it came to working with wood and carving. Victor sat out on the porch in the with Drake, who was never far from his side. The boys whittled blocks of wood, while they made disparaging comments to the girls. Mary noticed that Victor had taken a shine to Mary Beth, who brought him tidbits from the kitchen.
Mary shook her head, Victor was a bottomless pit, and was always carrying something to eat in his hand. He would only set it down when he was carving a piece of wood or whittling. His carvings became so intricate, they were becoming sought after at the local market. This earned Victor a few pennies and recognition.