The Healer's Daughter

by Charlotte Hinger

  And to have Jed and these other two wonderfully inspiring black men help plan lessons! It was unbelievable. Kulp and McBane were rapidly becoming wealthy, and they kept the school supplied with books.

  “I’ll leave these students in your capable hands,” she said. She smiled as she waved goodbye to the children.

  Since the trip to Topeka, energy just bubbled out of her. Although it was early afternoon and she had plenty of time to walk to Queen Bess’s and get a good visit in before dark, she decided to borrow a horse and buggy from Jim Black and take a pile of rabbit pelts to her mother. Queen Bess had begun making moccasins for the children to wear during the winter.

  When she pulled up, her mother was sitting outside. “Brought you some work, Momma,” she called cheerily, “and some news.”

  “I done heard your news, daughter,” Queen Bess said.

  “How?”

  Queen Bess ignored her question and helped Bethany unload the rabbit pelts.

  Bethany laughed. “Well, I’ll bet you haven’t heard all the details about our governor. Bet you don’t know everything there is to know about A. T. Kulp’s lady friend. And I’ve brought you some tea. From Topeka.”

  Queen Bess chuckled. “I always got time for a cup of good tea, daughter.” They walked inside her soddy and her black eyes shone with contentment as she studied Bethany’s lovely face, alive with joy. Her daughter was back from the dead. All fired up again with whatever it was that Bess would never understand and sure as hell didn’t want for herself, either.

  They were on their second cup, and Bethany was in the middle of telling her about Lavina Hardesty and her parents—black folks who lived like whites—when they heard the men approach.

  Queen Bess knew. She had always known. There was no place on God’s green earth. Not in the South, not in Kansas, not even in Heaven, where a black woman would be safe from white men.

  Aaron Potroff and Dr. Winthrop Osborne walked through the door. Silently, like a pair of jackals stalking two gazelles. Queen Bess’s heart fluttered wildly in her chest. Potroff carried a whip. How many times in this life had she seen such a whip? Heard the sound, the screams?

  They did not wear masks, which could only mean they did not intend to let her and Bethany live long enough to say their names.

  Queen Bess closed her eyes and trembled. Bethany’s back was smooth, unblemished. Her daughter had never felt the lash. Then she sorrowfully opened her eyes and looked at her virgin daughter, who had held on to her chastity like she was protecting the last vestige of her African heritage.

  She had told this precious, delicate woman too much. About the gold chains that indicated virginity, removed only at marriage. About the pride the women of their tribe once took in instilling virtue in their children.

  She gazed at the pasty, evil face of Aaron Potroff. Like soured buttermilk. Then her eyes were drawn to Winthrop Osborne’s filthy hands.

  The whip would only be the beginning.

  “Mr. Jed, you have a telegram. The man says it’s from that powerful governor what’s going to do us so much good.”

  Jed laughed as Jamal Gray eagerly jumped from one foot to another. “Anyone ever told you curiosity killed the cat?”

  Jamal flushed. Jed grinned and glanced around. He enjoyed sitting outside his soddy on sunny afternoons, catching up on little chores, and watching the children play after school let out. But it was too early for most of them to start their evening rituals. They all had chores to do first. He set the dress boots he had been polishing down by the side of the stump and reached for the message.

  “Now do you suppose there’s going to be anything in this you actually need to know, Jamal? Why aren’t you in school, anyway?”

  “Miss Bethany done give us young ones the afternoon off ’cause Mr. Kulp and Mr. McBane gots to work with the older ones. She done gone off to her mother’s with a load of pelts.” Jamal’s eyes shone with pride. “Reckon I brought down most of those rabbits.”

  Jed smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair. “That’s a pretty safe assumption.”

  “Anyway, I was off trying to sneak up on some more rabbits.” His slingshot stuck out of his back pocket. “Along came the telegram man from Oberlin. Said to give this to you, if I knowed who you was. Said he didn’t want to take no chances on your being gone, but it would save him a couple of miles. I told him he could count on me for pert’ near anything.”

  “He can at that.”

  Jed opened the telegram and read, then reread the contents as though he could not take it in. Governor St. John was asking him to testify before the Voorhees committee. The state of Kansas would pay his way to Washington.

  The years, all the years he had spent collecting information. All the affidavits, the documents, the letters, the grisly tales of outrages; his wronged people would be given a voice.

  He let out a whoop. Startled, the boy’s eyes widened.

  “It’s all good news, Jamal. The very best of news, in fact. I’m going to Washington.”

  He dashed inside his soddy, grabbed his riding boots, and pulled them on. He wanted to tell Bethany and Queen Bess his good news while they were together. Sitting right there in his future mother-in-law’s house. He intended to go to Washington with Bethany at his side, as his wife, his lawful wife.

  He grinned. He would not give the stubborn old woman time to think. To work out any arguments for holding her daughter back. She’d already scolded him over the trip to Topeka. Made it clear she didn’t like Bethany “gallivanting around.”

  Ecstatic that men of influence would be hearing his testimony, he sprinted over to the livery stable and saddled up Gloriana. His notes would be entered into the Congressional record. Preserved for the duration of the United States of America. The mare sensed his exuberance, and when she took off like she was in a race, he did not check her speed.

  The grass waved him on. He laughed when Gloriana slowed to a trot, then a walk. He could see the faint tracks of Bethany’s buggy.

  Then he saw fresh horse droppings a few feet to the side of the buggy’s track. They could not have been left by Bethany’s horse. Puzzled, he dismounted and studied the ground.

  There were two riders, but he would have known immediately if Nicodemus men had ridden off mounted because he had been sitting outside. Besides, nearly all of the colonists still walked. And anyone fetching Bethany to doctor would have come directly to the settlement, and he would have noticed a stranger, too.

  Jamal said Bethany had left only an hour before he did. Edgy now, with his soldier’s sense of danger, he stared in the direction of Queen Bess’s soddy. There was no way a stranger would just happen by that place. It was too far off any natural trail.

  No local white person would go seeking out Queen Bess for any reason at all. It was well known none of them were welcome on her property.

  The riders were up to no good.

  He grabbed Gloriana, mounting as she whirled, ears laid back. Then he stopped and turned in his saddle. About a quarter of a mile behind, he could see Jamal, trailing him as usual. The boy could run like the wind. Deciding quickly, he hollered at the boy.

  “Jamal, I need you to do something for me.” He kicked Gloriana high on the flanks and galloped to meet the boy, who was running toward him as fast as he could. Jed would rather be safe than sorry. These horses had to belong to two white men.

  If he was wrong, he would apologize later.

  “Run back to the schoolhouse,” he told the panting child. “Tell Kulp and McBane I need their help. Ask them to round up all the men they can find.”

  Jamal turned to go.

  “Tell them to use the drums.”

  He pointed Gloriana toward Queen Bess’s soddy again, grimly checked his supply of ammunition, leaned low over the mare’s neck, and spurred her into a dead run.

  Winthrop Osborne slammed his fist into Queen Bess’s face, knocking her off her chair. She lay curled on the floor. He walked over to the table, picked up the awl she had been usin
g to make moccasins, and pulled the chair under the ridgepole that dissected the length of the roof. He stood on it and reached up, then scraped enough dirt away from the bare sod ceiling to thread his rope through. He tied the loop with a surgeon’s knot.

  He dragged Queen Bess beneath the rope, yanked her up, bound her hands together, and pulled her higher and higher. Stretched her out like a skinned, dark doe ready for gutting.

  Her feet barely touched the floor. She cried out with each jolt, and her head fell back. Her turban dropped behind her. Osborne ripped her dress down to her waist.

  Terrified, Bethany screamed. Potroff laughed, knowing there was no one to hear.

  “Don’t you know I’ve never let a nigger get away from me?” Potroff stood behind Bethany, clutching her wildly thrashing body. “I’ve brought them all back.” His voice was whispery, raspy. “Not a one of them ever got away. Not one.”

  Bethany gasped, and her head whirled. She felt all the blood leave her brain and pool, down, down. She started to faint. She remembered, remembered that voice, that terrible voice from when she was out doctoring with Queen Bess.

  Slave catcher. A slave catcher. Before the war, this man had made his living bringing back fugitive slaves. She had heard the voice before.

  Unnatural. A writing nigger.

  The same dry voice. Subtle like a snake’s hiss. The same words: “They never get away from me.” The same voice that had made her so fearful she’d handed Jesus back his gold pen. Told him to keep it. Didn’t want to be an unnatural, writing nigger.

  She had decided when she was just nine years old, there was nothing in this world worth attracting the attention of a slave catcher.

  Queen Bess’s cries pulled her back. Frantically, Bethany tried to break Potroff’s grip. “Momma! Please, no, leave my mother alone.”

  Queen Bess’s eyes were wild with fright. Tears trickled down her black cheeks. The first crack of the whip knocked her off her toes, and she could not regain her footing to support her weight. The lash cut across the old scars on her back and laid them open and raw. Scars left by the Yankees, her liberators.

  Queen Bess set her teeth. She could not save herself or her daughter. But she knew men. They were saving Bethany for dessert. And they had the kind of evil souls where they would want to torment her first by having to watch her own mother being whipped to death. A cry of unbearable pain and raw fury ripped from her throat. Bethany lunged toward her again, but Potroff laughed and pulled her back.

  Jed heard the scream and pounded his heels against Gloriana’s flanks, urging the mare faster and faster. He reined up abruptly at the top of a rise, thinking like a soldier, an officer, assessing danger. His mind floating above the screams long enough to think, suppressing the impulse to dash recklessly ahead.

  Only two horses were tethered a short distance from Queen Bess’s soddy. Just two white men. The buggy Bethany had borrowed was out in front.

  He slid off the mare and ran swiftly and silently as a panther toward the windowless back of the soddy. As he rounded the corner he heard another anguished scream and knew he could have made any sound at all and the men wouldn’t have heard. They were too distracted by the women.

  He drew his pistol and peered through the single glass window long enough to see that their backs were toward him. Then he burst through the doorway.

  He shot Osborne in the shoulder just as the man was drawing his arm back to wield the whip again. Queen Bess’s body jerked like the bullet had hit her instead. Her muscles were still quivering with dread of the next cruel blow.

  Potroff did not have time to get to his own pistol lying on the table. But Jed’s aim was spoiled when the man whirled around and darted toward it, and the bullet went high up on Potroff’s chest. Jed kept his gun trained on him while Bethany ran to Queen Bess’s side.

  Jed dug out his knife and handed it to her, never taking his eyes off Potroff, who lay moaning on the floor. He was going to see to it that both men died very, very slowly.

  Bethany cut the rope but she could not support Queen Bess’s weight, and the woman fell heavily into the pool of blood and urine beneath her. Bethany cradled her mother’s head in her arms and felt the faint pulse in her throat.

  “It’s weak, but she’s still alive.” Her eyes widened with fright. “I can’t doctor this. He hurt her too much.”

  “Go get the buggy, and move it right next to the door,” said Jed. “We’ve got to get her to the doctor at Stockton.”

  Bethany ran outside. She saw riders in the distance and shook uncontrollably. More of Potroff’s people? More coming to back him up?

  They drew closer. Terror gave way to bewilderment. Black men. All of them black. Men from Nicodemus. Some were mounted.

  She shielded her eyes. She could see another group on foot about a half-mile further out. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Help!” she called. “Please help.”

  The men on horseback began galloping toward her. Bethany’s voice carried to the men who were walking, and they began to run.

  “Get the buggy!” she yelled at the first rider when he came over the rise. “Bring it over to the front door. My mother. We’ve got to get her to Stockton. There’s a new doctor there.”

  Earl Gray headed for the buggy, and Henry Partridge and Jim Black followed Bethany into the house. A vein throbbed in Jim’s temple at the sight of Queen Bess lying there, and he began to swear in a soft monotone. He went to her side and knelt.

  “Need some help,” he said to Henry. “Two more to help carry her.” He turned to Bethany. “Want you out of here. Right now. You shouldn’t be seeing this. Henry, you take Miss Bethany outside.”

  “No,” she said flatly.

  “It’s too much for you to take,” Jim said. “Go on now till we get her outside. Just take us a minute.”

  “No.”

  Earl came in with two more men.

  “Grab a plank off my mother’s worktable on the porch.” Bethany’s voice shook, but her training took over. She pulled a blanket off Queen Bess’s bed. “Won’t be good for her to sit in my buggy. We need to keep her flat with her back covered.”

  “Wagon’s coming right behind us,” Jim said. “Earl, go tell them to get a move on.”

  Jim looked over at Jed. Talbot’s handsome mahogany features were stone still. He had dragged Osborne closer to Potroff where he could cover them both at once.

  Jim had seen that look before, but never in a black man’s eyes. Black men always knew that no matter how intense their rage, vengeance was beyond their abilities, out of reach.

  This time, it wasn’t.

  As sure as he knew his own name, Jim knew what Jed Talbot was going to do.

  The wagon clattered up. Jim and Earl went to the door.

  “Peter, Sidney, need you inside here,” Jim yelled. Then he went back to Queen Bess. She was lying on her stomach, her naked back carved into protruding strips of oozing flesh. Jim gently lifted her torso while Bethany slid half of the blanket beneath her. Then she lifted her mother’s legs and hips and eased down the remaining length.

  Queen Bess screamed, then fainted. Fresh blood rose to the surface of her back, which was scored like meat sliced for marinating. The four men covered her back, picked up the slab, and carried her outside to the wagon bed. Bethany climbed up beside Queen Bess and grasped her hand.

  “Hurry,” she called tersely to Earl. She pressed her fist against her trembling mouth. If her mother went into shock, there was nothing she could do. Earl climbed onto the wagon beside Elijah Woodrow. He turned and looked helplessly back at Bethany, then at Queen Bess, feeling every jolt of the old wagon in his own body.

  Inside, Jed silently handed his gun to Jim. He walked outside around to the back of the soddy and got the rope he carried coiled on his saddle.

  He needed two ropes for what he was about to do.

  He went back inside and looped his rope over the ridgepole. The one Osborne had already put up would work just fine.

  Jim’s
eyes widened with awareness. His hands shook as he watched Jed, but he kept the gun trained on Potroff and Osborne.

  Jed grabbed Osborne first and savagely strapped his hands together like he was tying up a calf.

  “You black bastards. You’ll never get away with this. Never.” The words jerked from Potroff as Jed yanked his arms away from his bullet ripped torso and savagely hoisted him upright.

  Jed braced his feet and pulled on the rope looped across the ridgepole. He stopped when Potroff’s feet were barely touching the floor, and the man was wild with pain.

  There was a post outside the door. Jed went there and wrapped the rope around it. Then he went to work on Osborne.

  The two men hung side by side like fresh game. Jed ripped the shirts off their backs and picked up the whip Osborne had dropped.

  Jim Black said nothing.

  The men from Nicodemus who had to walk were there now, and some of them filed into the soddy. They stared.

  “Once for me. For this hand,” said Henry Partridge, stepping forward. He thrust out his mangled claw. “And once for my sister who died because she was split near in half by men like this. She was just ten.”

  “And once for me,” said Peter Jenkins. “For the man who slit my wife’s belly open just to see if she was carrying a boy or a girl.”

  “Once for me,” said Sidney Taylor, “for killing my uncle and my brother when they tried to vote.”

  Jed closed his eyes. The voices went on and on. Ghostly. Detached. From a world left behind.

  Voices crying with the grief of lost, dark ghosts.

  Do it for me, for us, they whispered in Jed’s ear. For all of us.

  Jed turned as though he were waking from a daze, but he could not speak. His fine, full lips trembled, and his gray eyes blackened with despair.

  Kulp and McBane stepped inside the door, arriving late because they had come in their spring wagon.

  McBane started forward, but Kulp held him back. Made him check his words before they left his mouth, knowing Jed’s soul would be scarred forever if he didn’t lay down the whip on his own.