by Ann Towell
The wheels creaked as they went down the road, heading due south, and I remember thinking how strange it was that they had to head south to safety this time, instead of following the north star or drinking gourd. Uncle Amos had told me about that once.
“Oh he’s a veritable font of information,” Aunt Sadie said last Christmas, when I bragged to her that he had so much knowledge. I had been arguing with her that I could learn so much from Uncle Amos.
My uncle thinks I’m destined to be a lawyer. That’s the word he used, destined. He figured a person who could talk as much as me should have no trouble being a lawyer. What he didn’t figure on is lawyers have to have courage too.
Well, by now you’ve surely figured, I took my uncle’s advice and began writing. Lem showed up one morning with some notebooks and a pen. He brought some ink and moved a table into my room.
At that point, Lem took my glasses. “These need to be fixed, Titus. You might have to leave off reading for awhile …”
I nodded to show him I understood. It would be nice to see a world where everything didn’t look like it was in pieces. Lem put the glasses in his pocket, and told me he’d take them to Sarnia and have them repaired.
My hand is sometimes sore because there is so much I have to tell you about. I want you to know how good Moses was, and how his family never did no one any harm. I learned from Moses to be quiet some of the time. He showed me that words weigh heavy on you if you talk before you think. He figured words were more powerful if you didn’t overuse them. Moses should be the lawyer, to my way of thinking. He knows when to speak and when to be quiet. He’s also smart and longs for justice, more than anyone I’ve ever met. Even more than Uncle Amos, and that’s saying a lot.
I suppose there are some who are happy I can’t speak. Aunt Sadie would probably say “God has struck you dumb so you’ll learn to listen.”
So I listened to her voice in my head. I listened to the sounds of Mercy cleaning house, humming and singing. I listened to the sound of the anvil in the blacksmith shop. I listened to the clop of horses on the road, the creak of wheels, the sounds of men shouting hello to one another. I listened to the crackle of the wood in the grate and the spring rain against my window. I listened to the beginning of birdsong, to the opening and closing of doors, to the murmur of voices and the running of feet along the boardwalk. I listened and listened and yet, I didn’t get my voice back. So I wrote and wrote, and my hand cramped. My fingers were black with ink. The first book was filled, then the second and third. I started on the fourth.
I wanted to get to the end of all this. I figured when I was done writing, I should be able to talk. Then I began to worry that I wouldn’t be able to talk because my throat wasn’t getting exercise. What if I had to learn to speak all over again, like a little baby?
I still woke at night and saw fire all around me, but I knew now it was a dream, and the dream didn’t have the same power over me. I was thankful that Beulah and the baby hadn’t had to see the burning of their home. Beulah would probably be sleeping good at night, and she would be back with family and friends. Moses was probably back at school, learning right quick.
I was almost at the end of this book when Uncle Amos came up to see me. He said the court date was set for May 15, only a week off. I felt a frantic need to finish this book because I had decided to act as a witness. And sir, if my voice didn’t work, I sure hoped you would believe the words of two boys over the words of grown men, even if you had to take the time to read most of mine. Writing these here books was something I needed to do. If Moses had the courage to speak out I would too. If my voice fails me, maybe these words won’t.
I figured I had to get ready for the court day somehow, so I started coming out of my room and helped with chores around the house. I still didn’t have the courage to go to the store or post office, but I tried leaving the yard once and broke out in a cold sweat. My legs were shaky and I felt like I was going to vomit.
I returned to the house where Mercy was ironing some shirts for us to wear the next day. She looked up at me and raised her eyebrows.
I shrugged my shoulders and lifted my palms in the air as if asking her what? She smiled and continued to iron. There was something secretive about her as if she wanted to keep something from me. I wondered what it was, but felt too queasy to stay in the kitchen long. I went up the stairs and began writing again. I could see where this was doing me some good because each day I slept a little better and today I finally had left the gate and stood in the road way out where the manure was steaming and the oil ran in little rivulets through the dried ruts in the road.
I was real nervous about the court date. I heard Lem and Uncle Amos talk about it with Mrs. Ryan and Tom Abrams. Tom was going to be there to cover it for the paper. There were only two still being held in custody. The rest had either escaped or been let go. Uncle Amos said that justice was not always served and often judges were afraid of the people too.
“I’d like to believe that most people will be on our side of things, Titus, but then I never thought something like this could ever happen in Oil Springs,” Uncle Amos said.
He took my pulse, felt my brow, did all the things that he normally did when he checked up on me. He also looked carefully at my eyes each time.
“It was only a handful of people, Amos,” Mrs. Ryan’s voice was soft.
“You call a hundred people or more a handful?” Uncle Amos yelled.
That was the first time I saw him angry with Mrs. Ryan, and I didn’t like it. There was enough anger already in this town. I could feel it through the walls of the house. When Lem and Uncle Amos came home I could see it in the tension of their shoulders. I could hear it in their voices when they talked about it. All we could do was wait and see what the day in court would bring.
I was glad that all the colored families had left because I wasn’t sure what could happen after the court date. The last thing I wanted was to see another riot.
The evening before the court case, Tom came and had supper with us. Mrs. Ryan and Mercy were there too. We were very quiet and ate without much talking. I think everyone was nervous. I pushed my plate away after a few mouthfuls.
“Titus is feeling like the rest of us,” Uncle Amos said with a crooked smile. “I don’t feel hungry, either.”
Mercy moved her plate away too. “Don’t like your own cooking?” Tom teased her.
“She cooks well enough,” Lem muttered in between mouthfuls. I don’t think there is anything that would keep my brother from food. We all watched him as if he had sprouted two heads. But really, he was the only sensible one of the lot. Starving to death wasn’t going to do any of us much good.
Tom pulled something out of his pocket and glanced at Uncle Amos, who nodded. He handed the package to me. It was small and oblong. I unwrapped it to find a black case. Inside were my fixed glasses. I put them on. It was startling to see everything so clear once again.
My smile of gratitude must have been very wide because everyone at the table had these foolish grins on their faces. Slowly but surely, my life was returning to normal. Having my glasses back was another step in the right direction.
CHAPTER
28
It was May 14, the night before the trial. I still had no voice, and where was I going to get one? I don’t believe in miracles, though Mercy says they happen all the time.
Mrs. Ryan looked at me worried, while Uncle Amos kept rubbing my head as if that would help me. I figured he’d probably rub the hair right off of my skull, and I would be the sorriest looking witness ever.
What I didn’t know was that Mrs. Ryan and my Aunt Sadie had been writing letters to each other through all this. Mrs. Ryan let her know about the happenings in our town. And so it came about that Aunt Sadie decided to take the train down to Wyoming. She got a ride on the stage to Oil Springs and ended up on our verandah late that night. She told us the bumps in the road were so bad that the passengers were often thrown from their seats into the floor o
f the coach. There were mostly men in the coach and she was indignant that she had to suffer like that. It was immodest and improper to be lumped together with a bunch of people, banging into one another.
Uncle Amos, Lem, and me glanced at each other while she was complaining. It was a great matter for us not to laugh. Uncle Amos gave me a stern eye when he saw my mouth curve into a smile. But there was a twinkle in that eye. I supposed we would have a good laugh over it when Aunt Sadie was gone.
She ordered us to carry her luggage to the guest room, and we all did what we were told because we wanted Aunt Sadie to leave here a happy woman this time. I was glad she had come to see me in court. It meant she loved me, didn’t it? Or did it mean she hadn’t given up on the idea of taking me back to London with her?
Either way, I wanted her to be happy she had come to see me. I overheard her talking with Uncle Amos in the hallway, while I was cleaning myself up for bed.
“I don’t know what you are thinking, letting that boy go on the witness stand tomorrow,” she said.
I suppose she thought I was asleep already. My hands paused over the ewer basin as I strained to hear. I tiptoed to the door, dripping water as I went.
Uncle Amos didn’t respond because I don’t think he knew what to say. Besides, Aunt Sadie didn’t give him much opportunity to speak.
“He’s lost his voice, in case you haven’t noticed.” I felt sorry for my uncle. “What do you think he can do up there in his condition, that would be any use to anyone? Hasn’t he been terrified enough? I think he should stay here …”
Her voice droned on, and I pictured Uncle Amos, standing there with his head hanging. I wanted to call out to him to speak up, but he remained silent. Aunt Sadie carried on something terrible. Where was my uncle’s tongue? Where was his courage? I could feel the blood boiling in my veins and I wiped my hands on my trousers. I ran into the hallway.
“You shut up! What do you know?” I shouted.
Aunt Sadie turned to me, her eyes glowing like a cat’s in the dark.
Then I woke up. I’d heard myself yell, hadn’t I? Or had I? I lay there for a few seconds before Lem ran into my room.
“What’s going on, Titus?” he asked.
He held a candle high over me to get a good look. “Did you just holler?” Uncle Amos and Aunt Sadie were next in the room.
“What was that all about?” Aunt Sadie looked frightened.
I pictured her glowing eyes from the dream and felt angry again. Uncle Amos sat down on the bed.
“I suppose you’re all worried about the morning,” he remarked. “Look, Titus, we were wrong to have you agree to be a witness. Tomorrow I’ll tell the attorney that you won’t be able to do this.”
“Aren’t there any others who will come forward?” Aunt Sadie asked.
“No. Looks like there are those willing to lie for the likes of them, though,” Uncle Amos replied. “Do you think I wanted to put Titus through this? If I could have found someone else, I would have. People just don’t want to get involved. They figured all the colored folks are gone, and now, we can get back to living in peace with each other.”
The conversation went on over my head. They talked sadly as if it would all be over because most of the witnesses were from the black community. Uncle Amos, Lem, and me were the rare white folks willing to put our feet forward to help them. It was depressing to see my family get more and more despondent as they talked.
We had been more hopeful at dinner and so anxious we couldn’t eat. Now we were hang-dog and I didn’t like it one bit. I thought I would try one more time to speak.
So, I opened my mouth and said, “I can do it.”
No one noticed me. They just carried on talking – kind of arguing. Lem was standing up for Uncle Amos and his voice was getting louder. It wasn’t often that Lem lost his temper.
Words began flashing like swords, words that were cutting. At least it was Lem, this time, not me hurting my aunt.
Finally I had had enough.
“I CAN DO IT!” I yelled.
That stopped them in an all-fired hurry. The look of shock on their faces was enough to make me laugh. I laughed so hard tears came from my eyes, and I couldn’t stop. They didn’t know what to do with me. It was as if me talking now was more of a shock to them than when I lost my voice in the first place. Finally, Aunt Sadie found her tongue.
“The boy’s hysterical. What should we do with him?”
“That’s enough now, boyo.” Uncle Amos clapped me on the back, which made me cough. But it sure stopped my laughing.
“Did you just talk, Titus?” Lem asked.
I nodded. My fingers picked at the threads on my quilt.
“I can do it.” I said.
This time my voice was a little squeaky like a door that had rusty hinges from not being used in a long time. Aunt Sadie and Lem laughed first, but Uncle Amos and I joined in before long. We hugged and hooted. It felt so good to know I could speak again. It was the strangest thing, but after struggling for so long, it seemed to come easy. Suddenly, I wasn’t so nervous anymore. I almost looked forward to seeing that courtroom in Sarnia.
“I think we should all try to sleep,” Aunt Sadie said picking up her candle. “It’ll be a long day tomorrow, and the next …”
“… and the next,” I responded.
“… and the next,” Lem said.
“… and the next,” Uncle Amos laughed and led them out of my room.
He turned back at my door. The candle filled his face with light. I loved my uncle.
“You’re a brave lad,” he said.
EPILOGUE
When I entered the courtroom, John and Max were in the dock. They didn’t look none too happy. When I walked past John he sneered, “Cat got your tongue?”
He must have heard about my affliction. The guard told him to keep quiet and he did after that. Max looked scared and not so full of himself, but John was defiant sitting there. He would find out soon enough that the cat had returned my tongue.
I had to put my hand on the Bible and swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God. Well I tried to do just that. I trusted the judge had read all that I’d written and I said as much to him. I didn’t figure I wanted to start all over at the beginning to tell him what had happened here, in Oil Springs on March 20, 1863. It’s a day that’s marked forever in my memory. I was there to do the right thing, to use my voice and see that justice was served. I stood beside my friend Moses who witnessed there too.
As God is my witness, all the events leading up to that fateful day are written in these books. May He strike me dead if I have told a lie. I’ve no more to add or subtract.
The lawyer let me step down from the witness box and I looked over at John Longville, who stared in amazement. You could see he had been counting on me being dumb. Both John and Max got a couple of years in the Kingston penitentiary. That was all.
But I stayed on in Oil Springs, and Uncle Amos eventually married Mrs. Ryan. Mercy still helps out, and Lem has stayed on, though every now and then he talks about moving. These people are my family. They are the reason I still live here, in this swamp.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This is a work of fiction whose characters and circumstances are based loosely on historic events. This story would not have been written without the inspiration of my children and grandchildren; Charles Fairbank and Pat McGee, whose oil business has been in production for 150 years – walking their fields is to step back in time to where this story takes place; my friend Lawrene Denkers and my daughter Naomi, who both critiqued the original manuscript; Gwen Robinson of the Chatham Kent Black Historical Society, who gave moral support; Kathryn Cole and Kathy Lowinger, who maintained the spirit and essence of the work; and lastly my husband, Larry, who shares my life in every way.
Text copyright © 2010 by Ann Towell
Published in Canada by Tundra Books,
75 Sherbourne Street, Toronto, Ontario M5A 2P9
Publi
shed in the United States by Tundra Books of Northern New York,
P.O. Box 1030, Plattsburgh, New York 12901
Library of Congress Control Number: 2009941215
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher – or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency – is an infringement of the copyright law.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Towell, Ann
Grease town / Ann Towell.
For ages 10-14.
eISBN: 978-0-88776-984-9
I. Title.
PS8589.O93G74 2010 jC813’.54 C2009-906906-7
We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) and that of the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Media Development Corporationís Ontario Book Initiative. We further acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program.
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