Treasure in a Tin Box (Wall of Silence Book 1)

by Dorey Whittaker

  The four years above the livery were difficult ones. Whenever Pearl or I were tempted to complain, Brother Samuel would remind us just how good we had it.

  Pearl would be the first to tell you that she has never been good at suffering silently. To this day, I do not know how she managed all those years as a slave. Slaves were not allowed to express their opinions, and she had plenty of opinions. I think of how much Momma had to stuff down and hide, always fearing banishment and knowing tagging was just outside the kitchen door if she failed to keep her thoughts to herself. Thankfully, by the time Pearl and I were old enough to hear Momma’s story, tagging, at least on our plantation, was a thing of the past. But Momma always reminded us that trading or selling was still a possibility, and other plantations could be much, much worse.

  While sitting on the train, Tobias couldn’t help but think about how emotional his aunts were when they were telling him that story. Reminiscing made him think about sweet little Hannah. He thought about five-year-olds these days—so full of energy. Tobias wondered what Hannah’s momma had to do to keep a tight rein on her little Hannah? After all, every little child—black or white—is born with an imagination, and they all dream big dreams. What must her momma have done to her in order to kill her imagination and stop her from dreaming? Parts of slavery have remained in the shadows because the whippings, hangings, and demanding labor is such an easy picture to paint for people. But when you have to destroy a child’s will in order to keep that child safe, how do you fix that broken will once freedom is achieved? Once their spirit and will have been broken, only God can put them back together. For so many, breaking free went way beyond the physical. They needed to learn how to hope and dream before they could ever even begin to feel free.

  So it was for all those years above the livery for Grandpa Samuel and his sisters. They struggled to learn that it was all right to dream, to plan and to share their innermost thoughts without the fear of that unbearable feeling of dread overwhelming them. So many displaced people, both black and white, were wandering the city looking for work and looking for lodging at the end of the war. Blacks who had been released from slavery, but who had not yet been released from its effects, had no idea how to manage. They had never made a decision on their own in their life; now their life depended on their making the right decision. Many crumbled under the weight of their own responsibility. Many surrendered to former masters and became sharecroppers because that was the only life they knew or understood. Many surrendered because starvation required it. Ill-prepared for life outside the plantation, former slaves either returned or they died. Most whites misread these actions, believing the slaves were happier with the old ways. These choices thereby reinforced their opinions of blacks as being worthy of nothing more than being managed.

  Young Samuel understood this and warned his sisters, “Never surrender. Never give up your right to choose your own path. Never give away your self-determination for a crust of bread or a soft place to lay your weary bones. I, for one, would rather starve than surrender. I will die a free man before I will surrender and live as a slave ever again.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Pearl Remembers Freedom Has A Price Tag

  WHILE LOOKING OUT of the window on the train, Tobias was filled with admiration for his grandfather. What courage it took for him to stand his ground! He had worked hard all of his life and had tried to do right by his family; as did his sisters. Even while the three of them struggled to get by, they never walked away from an opportunity to help others. Reviewing all of these wonderful family stories, Tobias never tired of replaying them in his head. Soon he was back in the past, reliving one of the Pearl’s stories about their life of freedom.

  By the time we were ready to move out of the livery, Brother was twenty-four, and Ruby and I were twenty. I found a job in the office of a black-owned welding shop. The boss wanted someone who could put nice ads in the newspaper for him, write his business letters and pay his bills. I loved the office work, and old Mr. Washington made it clear to everyone that I was off-limits.

  Mr. Washington had a daughter who was several years older than us, but she never left their house. Well before the war, she and her mother had been caught by patrollers while trying to run. She was only eleven when the squad caught them just as they had crossed over the South Carolina border. Estée was tied up against a tree and had the bottoms of her feet whipped for running, then she had to sit and watch while the patrollers repeatedly violated her mother. Three days had passed before the patrollers returned Estée and her mother back to the farm and collected their bounty.

  Estée got by with one more really bad whipping, but her mother did not fare so well. Wanting to make her an example to the others, the owner ordered her tied to the barn door, broke one of her legs and ordered everyone to leave her there until she could walk away from the barn on her own. Estée was allowed to bring her food and water once a day, but she was forbidden to stay and talk. Mr. Washington had made his escape several years earlier and had been working in the Baltimore shipyards. Once the war was over, he made his way back to Atlanta where he found Estée and her mother still living on the farm.

  Now an experienced welder, Mr. Washington opened his own shop and started building his welding business. His wife would only live a few more years, so by the time we met them, it was just Mr. Washington and Estée. I had only been working for Mr. Washington for a short time before he asked me, “Would you mind taking this over to my house, Pearl? Estée won’t come out of the house these days, and I was careless the other day. I knew we were getting low on supplies, but I didn’t want to go back out to the store. This morning I left Estée alone in the house without food enough to make tonight’s dinner. I know it is not your job, but I sure would be thankful.”

  That was the day I met Estée Washington. I must have knocked on that door for five minutes before she opened it barely a crack. Seeing the fear in her eyes made me want to cry, and I felt immediately drawn to her. I told her that her daddy had sent me there with supplies, and I offered to help her get her dinner started.

  Estée slowly opened the door, making sure she kept the door between herself and me. I found my way to the kitchen table, set down the bag and began to unload it. I tried to start up a conversation, but no matter what I said she made no comment, no response. I tried very hard to speak calmly to Estée, hoping to draw her out of that invisible shell she had all around herself. On purpose, I pulled out the wrong pan for doing sausage, and sure enough, Estée could not stop herself from running into her kitchen to correct my mistake. She didn’t say a word, simply bent down, pulled out the cast iron pan and switched it with the copper pot I had taken out. I just smiled at her.

  Once we had the dinner well in hand, I asked, “Estée, I think you and my sister, Ruby, would get along wonderfully. She is sweet, calm, and is not as pushy as I can be. Would you like me to bring Ruby by after work on Saturday? I only work until one o’clock, and we could help you make your daddy’s dinner while we visit.” Estée remained silent for several minutes. I made my way to the front door, assuming I would never be invited back. Just as I reached for the door knob, I heard a soft, squeaky, high-pitched voice say, “I’d like that.”

  I turned around and smiled at Estée. I knew this reply had taken all of her strength, and I did not intend to push her anymore that day. I winked at her, nodded my head, and closed the door behind me.

  When I told Ruby about my plan for us to visit Estée, my gentle sister came up with a wonderful idea. “Pearl, if it took so much for Estée to say three words to you, I think we need to do something that will take the pressure of talking off of Estée until she gets comfortable with us. Why don’t you bring the new book Brother just bought for us? If we just sit with her and you read to us, Estée might enjoy her time with us. It might help.”

  I remember staring at Sissy. “You are amazing, Ruby. I would have talked at her until she caved in. I would have asked her questions and pushed her to answer me. You,
on the other hand, really thought about her. You listened to my story about Estée, and you came up with a safe way to be with her—not for us—but for Estée.”

  Praise always embarrassed Ruby, but she knew how to get close to Estée. The year was 1869, and Brother had been working steady for four long years at this point. Brother would often surprise us by stopping by the used book cart downtown and buy us a book. Our newest used book, The Count of Monte Cristo, was a tale of love, friendship, betrayal, riches, and revenge. Of course, Brother could not afford anything as fancy or expensive as a first edition, but that did not matter to us. This book was worn and well-used, having been printed in London in 1859. It was almost worn out when we received it, but we still loved it.

  That first Saturday with Estée, we took our time getting the dinner ready for the stove. Then I opened the book and began our adventure. I was not three pages into it before we all knew we had wasted precious time fussing with that dinner. We spent the next few Saturday afternoons quickly preparing the Washington dinner and getting it on the stove so we could take our glasses of cold water and get lost in the life of Edmond Dantès.

  Estée sat quietly for several Saturdays. We could see she was right there with us, and her eyes blazed with excitement or fear as Edmond’s story unfolded. She did not make a comment until Edmond escaped from his terrible prison and came up for air on the faraway beach. I had been reading with the same excitement the story demanded, and when the story reached a resting place, so did I. Then we heard Estée’s first comment: “I am so happy Edmond found his way out of Chateau d’If.”

  Being the pushy person I am, I jumped in and began talking about the guards, the priest, and the thrill of the escape, when I noticed Ruby’s face. She gave me such a disappointed look that I instantly knew what I had done. I had stomped all over Estée’s first comment just so I could share my thoughts. Ruby was so wise. I sat back and allowed the quiet of the room to overtake us. We all wanted to enjoy the thrill of Edmond’s escape before moving forward. I watched Ruby studying Estée. I dared not open the book before Ruby thought it was time. Finally, with a soft and gentle voice, Ruby asked, “Estée, it feels good to see Edmond get free, doesn’t it?”

  Estée was silent for a long time before sharing, “Yes it does, but Ruby, I feel like I am still in Chateau d’If. Oh, I’m not beaten anymore, but I am still there.”

  Ruby did not say a word. In her wisdom, she allowed Estée to voice her feelings in her own time. We could both see that Estée was deep in thought; we just were not sure if she would say her thoughts out loud. Ruby was so much better at being still and patient than I was. But then came, “I hate that I am like Edmond when he first arrived at the prison. Until he met the priest, he just wanted to die in his misery.”

  Suddenly, I knew what to say. I looked over at Ruby, smiled, then suggested, “Estée, then you be my Edmond, and I will be your priest. Oh, I can’t teach you how to wield a sword, but I can teach you how to read and write. Estée, once you know how to read, you can escape your Chateau d’If whenever you want to by picking up a book. Just like Edmond had to prepare for his freedom, so must you. Are you willing to work with me?”

  “Oh, Pearl,” Estée responded with such hope, “do you think I could?”

  Being careful not to push Estée too far, I smiled and said, “Just like Edmond, we aren’t going anywhere, and we have nothing but time. It took Edmond many years, and it will take you many years. But Estée, just like the priest said to Edmond, I am saying to you—you can either rot away here in your prison or you can use the time to improve yourself. Time is life; how are you going to use it?”

  Estée took her first step of courage that day. She decided she was going to learn how to read, and she was going to let me be her teacher. Once Mr. Washington learned that I was going to teach Estée how to read, he changed my work schedule. For three mornings a week, I was to report to his house for one hour of teaching, and I was no longer scheduled to work at the office on Saturdays. While Ruby finished up her laundry business by noon on Saturdays, Estée and I did school, then we all had a quick bite to eat, got dinner on the stove and spent the afternoon and evening reading together.

  Over the next year we reread that book twice before moving on to other books. We three talked about Edmond’s feelings of revenge—a feeling we all knew quite well. We felt safe to explore our own feelings in the life of someone who lived so far away from us and so many years before our own experiences. We all wished we could wield a sword like Edmond, never to be weak and vulnerable again, but that was never to be. After reading the book twice, we struggled with the book’s ending. Edmond did get to see those who betrayed him punished. He lived out his life with the ones he loved, but he did learn the lesson that revenge would destroy him. We did not understand it, but we loved it.

  Two or three books later, Mr. Washington told us the house next door to him was available. Samuel did not believe we could afford it and refused to go look at it. Mr. Washington came by the livery to talk with Brother. “Samuel, I own that house. I bought it two years ago. My Estée is so fragile I was afraid of who might move in. I want you, Pearl and Ruby to live in it. Estée needs to have Ruby and Pearl close by. She is actually starting to come out of her shell. I will make you a deal, Samuel. Pearl is due a raise, and I will help Ruby get new laundry customers. I only ask that Ruby keep Estée company during the day, and I will pay her.”

  Brother Samuel finally agreed to the deal, and Ruby was allowed to come and go as long as she never left Estée for more than two hours. She developed a regular routine. Mr. Washington took parts from an old hay cart and welded a small frame with better wheels to it. He then made a wooden box and fixed it to the frame. Ruby was able to pull that cart all over the area, picking up laundry and mending from customers. She could fill that cart and return home well within the two-hour limit. Sometimes Estée would venture out as far as the shade tree in her back yard and sit and chat with Ruby as she worked the wash tub and hand-cranked ringer Mr. Washington had made for her. They would stop and have a cool drink of water and visit once the wash was on the line, but if ever anyone walked behind the back fence, Estée would fly back into the house and stay there for days.

  Whenever Mr. Washington could, he would buy a book off the used bookseller’s cart that came around about twice a month. He would ask me to show him which ones I thought would interest Estée. Some were children’s books that Estée could now read, while others were books that I would read aloud to us. Our very favorite book turned out to be Little Women, and Estée made me read it three times. Estée always thought of herself as Beth, the fragile one, and she would tease me and call me Jo. Estée loved my strength and fearlessness—so opposite her own fearful nature. Ruby, on the other hand, wished to become Meg. Just like Meg in the story, she longed desperately to marry a Mr. Brooke, keep his house and have her own twins, just like Meg and our own Momma. She was going to name them Demi and Daisy just like Meg did and live happily ever after.

  Estée never truly escaped her Chateau d’If. She did, however, learn how to read and began many an adventure on her own in the world of books. She often said that while lost in one of her stories, she truly felt free. We three had many years together and remained friends until the day she died. To the last, her greatest treasure was that first book, The Count of Monte Cristo.

  Tobias stopped here and took this book out of the tin box. He was seven when Aunt Pearl had read this book to him. He gently caressed the cover, knowing his Grandpa Samuel had purchased it for Auntie Pearl. This book had been read to dozens of people, and that sweet, broken bird, Ms. Estée, had loved this very book. Holding it always made him feel connected to Estée—even though they had never met.

  Placing the book back inside the tin box, he could not help but think about all of the hard work his grandpa had to do in order to purchase this book for his sisters. As he closed the tin, he smiled, remembering how loyal Ms. Pearl always was toward her big brother and how well-deserved th
at loyalty was. With a thankful heart, Tobias returned to Aunt Pearl’s story.

  Brother Samuel struggled to find work. Between his regular jobs, Brother would help Mr. Washington in exchange for welding lessons. It took him almost a year to save up enough money to buy his used welding helmet and gloves before Mr. Washington would start the lessons. Brother took to welding, but there wasn’t enough work for two full-time welders at the shop, so he kept doing backbreaking day-labor jobs and practiced his welding on anything he could find. He would spend his Sunday afternoons digging through people’s dump-piles looking for anything he could fix by welding it back together. After a while Samuel became fairly good at seeing the value of broken items, picking them up, welding them and selling them back to the very people who had tossed them out. Word got round that he could fix things, and people started looking him up instead of tossing out something that had broken.

  Brother always had a project going. He loved welding more than anything, but being practical, he knew that any job that put cash in our money jar was good work. He would get up early every Saturday morning and make his way down to the railroad yards in hopes of getting pick-up work. He never minded the grueling labor of the railroad yards—after all, he was young and strong. Although he tried to downplay his concerns, Brother knew that standing among the labor force at the entrance of the railroad yards was a dangerous place for him. Jobs were scarce, men were hungry, and lines were quickly drawn. A black man who did not keep his wits about himself could easily become the scapegoat of someone’s anger and frustration. Atlanta was struggling to hold on, and the white men of the city were not used to hard labor. On more than one occasion, Brother had been selected instead of a white man. The yard boss knew Samuel would give a whole day’s labor without complaining, but Samuel’s character meant nothing to the white men who were turned away without work that day.