Copper Sun

by Sharon M. Draper

  Ka-boom! The musket shot sounded like an explosion as it was fired at the alligator. The water turned bright red as the animal rolled over in the water. The startled horses reared and pulled at the ropes that tied them to the trees.

  “You got him, Conrad!” Clay shouted to his friend.

  Amari could see only bloody water and foam in the distance. She couldn’t tell if Tidbit had been shot or bit or had survived. She didn’t know what she would do if she had to return to Teenie without the boy.

  “Good shot!” one of the others called out.

  “Pull the boy in and let him catch his breath,” Clay ordered. “The next gator will be mine,” he said as he checked his gun.

  Conrad hauled Tidbit in. The boy, dripping with blood and water, scrambled up the muddy shore next to them. He was shivering uncontrollably, but he seemed unhurt.

  Amari ran to him, knelt down on the muddy riverbank, and hugged him tightly. As she felt his narrow shoulders shake, the fury she had felt earlier began to build once more. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. She whispered, in her native language, the same words of comfort that Afi had once told her: “In spite of all you must endure, my little Tidbit, the flame of your life spirit will not leave you.” Then, because she knew he would not understand what she was saying, she told him, in English, “You will live. You are strong. Do you understand?” Tidbit nodded miserably.

  “Enough of that!” Clay shouted. He pulled Tidbit away from Amari, made sure the rope was still secure, and pitched the boy back into the water. This time two alligators surfaced. Amari wanted to scream out once more, but she realized she couldn’t distract the hunters. They had to shoot or Tidbit would be attacked. She wished she could run and snatch Tidbit out of the water and just disappear. Tidbit paddled furiously as the alligators circled him. Two shots exploded in the afternoon sunshine as both Clay and one of his friends fired at the huge reptiles.

  Amari wondered for how much longer the child could be tortured so.

  Twice more Tidbit was tossed into the bloody water, and twice more he barely escaped the jaws of the hungry alligators. It seemed to Amari that the young men always waited until the last possible moment to fire.

  Tidbit almost seemed to be in shock by the time they finally decided their afternoon of enjoyment was over. He could barely walk. Amari ran and picked him up.

  “It is getting late,” Clay said to his friends as he untied the rope from around Tidbit’s waist, “and this game is beginning to bore me. Let us retire to the house for supper, but I fear I no longer have a taste for gator stew!” The other three young men reacted with loud laughter as they readied their horses. The one who rode the black horse reached down and hoisted Clay up so he could ride with him.

  Clay looked down at Amari and smiled as she tried to comfort Tidbit. “We’ll have to do this again sometime. I had fun. Didn’t you?”

  “Yassuh,” Amari mumbled. Her fists were tight as she held Tidbit.

  “And, Myna?” he said, his tone changing from warm to cold in an instant. She looked at him in fearful expectation. “Don’t you ever raise your voice to me again!”

  “No, sir. Yassuh,” Amari stuttered. She knew she had escaped another beating—or worse.

  With that, Clay and his friends headed toward the north fields, where the corn was grown, whooping like children as they galloped off.

  Amari and Tidbit headed slowly back to the house. Neither of them spoke. Halfway there Hushpuppy met them, limping a little, but wagging his tail energetically. Tidbit fell to the ground and buried his head in the dog’s soft fur.

  PART SIX

  POLLY

  25. BIRTH OF THE BABY

  EARLY ONE MORNING, ABOUT TWO WEEKS LATER, the doorway of the kitchen was suddenly darkened by the unexpected shadow of Mr. Derby. He looked surprisingly agitated. Polly dropped the spoon she had in her hand. She watched as Amari moved swiftly to the back of the small room to try to make herself invisible. Tidbit ran behind his mother. Even the dog hid in a corner.

  “Where’s Lena?” Mr. Derby roared.

  Teenie looked around in confusion. “She ain’t here, Massa. I ain’t seen Lena since last night,” Teenie said truthfully.

  “And what about Flora? I swear I’ll kill her if she’s not back at the house when I return!”

  “I ain’t seen her, neither, Massa,” Teenie said as she stirred the kettle wildly. “I been cookin’ all de mornin’.”

  “Why is it that when I need a slave, they all disappear?” He strode across the kitchen and swept plates and platters to the floor in a fury. He stopped directly in front of Amari, who cowered at his feet. “Why aren’t you in the rice fields like I ordered?” he demanded.

  Polly could see that Amari had no answer. She knew that Amari had learned that, when not given a direct order, a slave’s best bet was to say nothing.

  Mr. Derby looked at Polly. “Does the African understand English yet?”

  “Yes, sir, a little, sir,” Polly replied. What is he going to do? she wondered, her fear growing.

  “Do you know anything about childbirth?” he asked Polly suddenly.

  “Sir?” Polly asked, confused. Then she realized Mrs. Derby must be in labor.

  Mr. Derby with concern edging his voice, said, “Isabelle is about to have the child. I have sent Noah to Charles Town for the doctor, but it will be several hours before they return.” He wrung his hands. Polly had never seen him look helpless or afraid. “She’s in a lot of pain. Can you help her?”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” Polly breathed with relief, for herself and for Amari as well. Amari would not to be taken to the rice swamps—at least not today.

  “And you,” he said, pointing to Amari, “get up and help her! Hurry! I’ll ride to the next plantation for more help.” He stormed out of the kitchen, leaving behind sudden sighs of relief.

  “You ever helped birth a baby, chile?” Teenie asked Polly.

  “Never,” Polly replied frantically.

  “What ’bout you?” Teenie asked Amari.

  “Yes, many, many,” Amari replied quickly.

  “Both of you get up there and see to Miz Isabelle. Here’s boiled water. Hurry!”

  Amari and Polly rushed out of the kitchen and up to the big house—their first trip back since the night of the spilled pie. They climbed the stairs as quickly as they could without splashing the hot water and tiptoed down the highly polished wood floor of the upstairs hallway, searching for Mrs. Derby’s room. Ordinarily, several slaves would be in the house, cleaning or washing, but today, oddly, there were none. Clay was nowhere to be seen either.

  “Oh, Lord in heaven!” they heard Mrs. Derby cry out from the first room on the right. She lay in her bed, which was surrounded on all four sides with thin linen curtains. Huge pillows surrounded her pale face. She moaned in pain as Amari and Polly entered the room and pulled back the curtains. She looked at the two girls and tried to smile weakly. “You must help me,” she said, desperation in her voice, “if the baby is, if the baby is . . .” She could not finish the sentence.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Polly replied. “We will make sure you and your baby will be just fine.” Polly had never been so close to a woman who was about to have a baby, and she was more than a little frightened. The smell of sweat and body fluids was overpowering.

  “You don’t understand,” Mrs. Derby said as another labor pain gripped her. “You must help my baby.”

  “Baby good thing,” Amari said, trying to reassure her.

  Mrs. Derby inhaled sharply, cried out once more, and tightly grabbed a handful of the sheet. When the contraction passed, she said urgently, “I will die, but you must save my baby.”

  “You not die, Missus,” Amari said in her most soothing voice. “Babies be born every day.”

  “She’s talking out of her head,” Polly said to Amari. “Let’s help her get more comfortable.” They adjusted her blankets, set up clean cloths and towels close by, and made sure the hot water was
ready in the basin. Polly hoped Amari knew what to do.

  Amari touched Mrs. Derby’s bulging belly and declared, “Baby come quick—very soon.” The labor pains rolled faster and stronger with each contraction. Mrs. Derby was turning red with exertion and pain.

  The girls massaged her hands, washed her face with cool water, and helped her through each contraction by talking to her gently and quietly. Soon it was apparent that the baby had no intention of waiting for a doctor or Mr. Derby or anyone else. Mrs. Derby arched her back, screamed, and passed out.

  Polly lifted the blankets and saw the baby’s head. She motioned to Amari, who gently eased the baby out. The infant cried—lusty, loud, and healthy.

  Amari held the child with a look of wonder on her face. “Beautiful baby,” Polly heard her whisper.

  Polly brought Amari some wet towels to clean the baby off. It was a little girl, with bright green eyes like her mother and curly dark hair. Then she froze, her hand still extended.

  “Oh, my Lord!” Polly exclaimed. “The child is black!”

  26. FACING MR. DERBY

  “BLACK BABY. WHITE MAMA. BIG TROUBLE!” Amari said with fear tightening her voice as she carefully washed the child and wrapped her in the blanket.

  Polly’s jumbled thoughts careened from how this could have happened (rape, perhaps?) to how Mr. Derby would react (uncontrollable rage, to be sure) to how she felt about a proper white woman producing a black baby (mild disgust, at the very least). “What should we do?” Polly asked, almost panicked. “Tell Mr. Derby?”

  “No!” Amari cried, alarm in her voice. “Get Teenie. Hurry, hurry.”

  Polly rushed out of the room, praying she would not encounter Clay or Mr. Derby as she ran to the kitchen. “Teenie!” she screamed when she got there. “Come quickly! We don’t know what to do!”

  “Is the chile borned yet?” Teenie asked as she ran with Polly back to the house.

  “Yes, the baby is fine and healthy,” Polly said, panting. “It’s a little girl.”

  “Do it look like Mrs. Derby—all pink and perfect?”

  “The child is not what anyone expected, Teenie.”

  “What you mean, chile? Is Miz Isabelle ailin’?”

  “No, she’s sleeping. She doesn’t know yet.”

  “Know what? You ain’t makin’ no sense, Polly!”

  By that time they had reached Miss Isabelle’s room. Amari was sitting in a chair with the baby in her arms, cuddling it close to her. Teenie stared at the baby in shock.

  “Oh, Lawd, Lawd, Lawd!” Teenie exclaimed as she sucked in her breath. “It be Noah,” she announced with finality. “No wonder everybody be scarce as hen’s teeth today.”

  Noah? Polly thought. Noah! Of course! It all makes sense now. But how could she? Why would she? Polly’s stomach churned as she tried to figure out the magnitude of this problem.

  At that moment Mrs. Derby opened her eyes. She looked around in fear. “My baby?” she asked desperately.

  “You got a purty little girl child, Miz Isabelle. But you got a big problem, ma’am,” Teenie told her with concern in her voice.

  “May I see her?”

  Amari placed the sleeping baby in her mother’s arms. Mrs. Derby gazed down at the child, her eyes brimming with tears. “My beautiful baby,” she murmured over and over. Finally calmer, she looked up at Teenie and the girls. “I must explain,” she whispered, “before I die.”

  “You ain’t gonna die, Miz Isabelle,” Teenie assured her. “You is fit and fine. Everybody feels a little poorly after havin’ a baby.”

  Tenderly, Mrs. Derby touched the infant’s velvety brown face. “You don’t understand. My husband will kill me,” she said with certainty.

  “He adore you, ma’am,” Teenie said reasonably. “Anybody who look at him can see that. He ain’t gonna hurt you.”

  Mrs. Derby blinked back tears. “Even though he married me for my money, I know he really has come to feel real affection for me. But I love Noah—I have for many years. And he loves me. But now Noah will die, and so will I. My husband is going to kill us both—and our baby.”

  “He would never do such a thing!” But Teenie knew that Mr. Derby was probably quite capable of murder and would be within the limits of social acceptability to do so for this impropriety. Her mind was reeling.

  “What to do?” Amari asked in a whisper.

  “What should we tell him, ma’am?” Polly asked.

  Mrs. Derby pushed herself up into a sitting position. She suddenly looked excited. “Tell him the baby died! Tell him it was a stillbirth! You must take my baby away to safety. Here, take her,” she urged them. She lifted the baby up, but when Amari reached for the child, Mrs. Derby drew the child to her chest once more.

  “He gonna want to see the baby’s body, ma’am,” Teenie tried to reason.

  “Tell him it was deformed—a monster! Tell him anything! Just keep my baby safe!” She kissed her daughter gently and snuggled her closer.

  “We best get you cleaned up ’fore the massa get back. He only went to the next plantation,” Teenie declared. “I got a bad feelin’ ’bout this. We all gonna hang ’fore nightfall!” she muttered. “Lawd, Lawd, Lawd. What we gonna do? We done fell out the trouble tree and hit every branch on the way down!”

  Polly, Amari, and Teenie moved quickly to help Mrs. Derby get cleaned up and ready to face her husband. The baby nursed peacefully at her mother’s breast, her cocoa brown skin a sharp contrast to Mrs. Derby’s pinkness.

  Mrs. Derby patted the baby, held her close as she slept, and brushed away tears. Finally, she handed the infant to Amari. “Protect her,” she said simply.

  Amari blinked to keep away her own tears and took the baby with great seriousness. Polly watched as Amari held the perfect little infant close to her breast.

  “We must go now, Missus,” Teenie said with quiet alarm. Mrs. Derby nodded with sad resignation as Polly, Amari, and Teenie left with the baby.

  As they crept down the steps, Teenie whispered to Amari, “Sara Jane just borned a baby ’bout three months ago. She got lotsa milk. That’s where we’ll hide her for now.” They tiptoed down the hall.

  Only Polly noticed Clay through a window as he approached the other side of the house. She signaled for Amari and Teenie to be still. He seemed to be looking in the other direction. She prayed he had just arrived back home and had not seen anything. When they heard him enter the back of the house, they exited quickly through the front.

  “Tidbit!” Teenie called as they reached the kitchen. The sleepy boy and his dog jumped up from the pallet they shared near the fireplace. “Take Myna and Polly down to the quarters to Jubal and Sara Jane’s place. And don’t ask no questions!” The child looked at his mother’s frightened face and seemed to realize this was no time for foolishness.

  Teenie told Polly, “Don’t tell her nothin’ except this baby’s mama is dead and she gotta nurse it. Of course, don’t take no genius to figger out whose baby this be. Lawd, what a mess! Hurry!”

  Amari and Polly dashed out after Tidbit, Amari clutching the child close to her.

  “Baby be safe with Sara Jane?” she asked Polly.

  “We have no choice. The baby’s life is at stake,” Polly replied, trying to sound hopeful.

  Sara Jane’s large, loving arms took the baby girl with no questions. “She be fine, chile,” Sara Jane said to Amari. “Sara Jane will keep this little one safe. Now y’all get on back to the kitchen. Tonight be full of danger.”

  Polly shivered as they hurried to Teenie’s kitchen. Will this work?

  As soon as they got back, Teenie told her, “Get on up to the house and see to Miz Isabelle, Polly. Amari, you stay here with me. I still got supper to fix.” She began pulling down pots noisily, mumbling, maybe praying, to herself, Polly figured. She hurried off to the main house.

  Polly had just made sure that Mrs. Derby’s hair was brushed and that she had on a fresh dressing gown when Mr. Derby returned. Polly heard him rush up the stairs. She bra
ced herself. He burst into the room, where he found his wife fast asleep. Polly, sitting in a chair next to her, pretended to be weeping. Her heart thudded in her chest. She prayed she could convince him.

  “Where is the baby?” Mr. Derby demanded. He looked around in confusion.

  Polly, eyes full of honest fear, told him sadly, “The baby was stillborn, sir. I’m so sorry. But your wife is fine,” she added.

  “What?” He took a few steps back. “It died?” He raked his fingers through his hair. His face seemed to crumple. “Was it a boy or girl?” he asked, barely able to choke out the words.

  “A girl, sir.”

  “I want to see her. I want to see my baby.” His voice broke.

  “You don’t want to do that, sir,” Polly said, stammering a little. “The child was, uh, not normal. It is better to bury it quickly.”

  Anguish ripped Mr. Derby’s face. “Don’t you try to tell me what I want to do! Bring me the body of my daughter.” He blinked furiously, but Polly could see the tears in his eyes.

  She didn’t know what to do. At that moment his wife’s eyes fluttered open. She looked around, confused for a moment. When she saw her husband, she said with a sob, “The baby never took a breath, Percival. I’m so sorry.”

  “Are you all right, my darling?” Mr. Derby asked her gently as he leaned over her.

  She reached up and touched his face. “I am fine.”

  “Did you see her—our daughter?” he asked.

  Mrs. Derby hesitated. “Yes, I did. She was . . . she was . . . deformed.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Polly was impressed with how effective she was.

  Mr. Derby narrowed his eyes. “Something doesn’t make sense here,” he said suspiciously. He paced the room and looked at Polly sharply.

  “I prayed every day for this baby,” Mrs. Derby whispered.

  That much Polly knew was very true.