by Jon Walter
‘I’ll teach you,’ I tell her quickly. ‘Course I will. Only why stop there? I can teach you a lot more besides. I mean, if you want me to.’ A sudden idea makes my eyes widen. ‘You could join our class!’
Sicely shakes her head. ‘I won’t be doing that. Mrs Allen wouldn’t like it if she knew. Anyway, I only need to know my name. That will be enough. That’s all I need to know.’
‘OK. That’s up to you.’
We make a deal to meet in secret, down in a copse of trees that were girdled the spring before last and are standing dead, ready to be felled. Although it is close to the house, there are plenty of bushes that shield us from view and give us the privacy we need.
Sicely and I sit together on a log. As part of my own lessons, Gerald has made me a copy of the alphabet, written out by hand on a loose piece of paper that I have in my pocket, and I unfold the sheet and lay it on my knee so Sicely can see. We’re sitting real close, but it don’t feel uncomfortable like I thought it would.
I start by getting her to say her name. She says it real fast – ‘Sicely’ – and looks at me like I’m a fool for not knowing. I repeat it back to her. Slowly. Breaking it down into parts and sounds so she can hear how it might be spelled. I hiss the S like a snake and point to the letter. ‘That’s the easy one on account of it both sounding and looking like a snake.’ I take hold of her finger and put it on the page, make her trace the shape of it, slinking to the left and right across the paper.
‘Hissss …’ I say to her.
‘Hissss … to you too,’ she says, smiling.
I point to the letter I, tell her it looks like a person standing up straight and she repeats it. She’s doing well. I can see she’s concentrating, and when she smiles again it’s with her whole face, so I know it’s real. She points to the letter S again. ‘That’s the next one, the same as last time, that little old snake, coming back for more.’
‘No. That ain’t the one, Sicely.’ I point at the letter C. ‘That’s the next letter in your name.’
Sicely never likes to be wrong. ‘They sound the same,’ she objects. ‘Why’d they have a different letter do the same thing?’
‘It don’t do the same thing. Well, it does here but there’s other places where it does its own thing, like the word cure. You hear the sound it makes there? It’s all hard. It ain’t soft like a snake when you say cure.’
Sicely ain’t happy at all and she stands up off the log. ‘That don’t make any sense. Are you sure you’re a teacher? Do you think I’m some fool that don’t know my own name? My name’s “Sisely”.’ She says it quickly, hissing like a snake, and this time there’s no smile at all.
‘It don’t make any sense – you’re right.’
She watches me impatiently and I know she might walk away at any moment. I can’t explain why it has to be that way. It’s just the way it is, but she’s not gonna like me telling her. ‘Sometimes there are rules that you’ve just gotta learn and get on with.’ She scowls at me, uncertain whether I’m telling her off. ‘Like … like when you showed me how to lay a table. Do you remember? I didn’t understand why it had to be one way and not the other, but you told me that was just the way it was. I think it’s the same thing here.’
Sicely looks back over to the house. ‘Well—’ she smooths the front of her dress and sits back down on the log – ‘I want to make a better job of it than you did with the table.’
‘You’re clever though, so you won’t do it wrong again. It’d help if you could see it written out, but I didn’t bring a board.’
At our feet there are twigs that have fallen from the dead trees and they give me an idea. ‘Help me gather these up,’ I tell her, suddenly all excited. ‘We’re gonna write your name, Sicely. We’re gonna spell it out in big letters.’
I show her what to do, bending down and picking up sticks, kicking away leaves with our feet to clear the space, and we make a letter each, glancing at the paper so she knows the shape of ’em as we write her name upon the ground.
We climb the tree easily. We don’t need to go high, just a few feet from the ground and I help her up and she don’t mind holding my hand till she’s steady on the branch. When we look down, there are the letters of her name, three feet large on the ground beneath us: SICELY
She smiles. ‘So you’re saying that’s me?’
‘That’s you,’ I tell her. ‘That’s how you spell your name.’
Before Sunday arrives, Sicely has learned the letters off by heart. We have spelled her name to one another, whispering it as we work in the house, right under the noses of Winnie and Mrs Allen, without them knowing a thing about it.
Sicely.
It don’t matter if I fan too slow or the table ain’t been set correctly, cos with sweet Sicely on my lips, I am safe from harm. I even think she might like me.
But when I find her alone in the cookhouse on Sunday morning, she’s got a face like thunder and I know we’re back to normal.
‘What’s up, Sicely?’
‘Don’t you whatsup me! There’s plates on the side need going up for lunch. The preacher’s already here, so you better be on your best behaviour.’
No politeness. No smile. Nothing.
I put a sullen hand out to take hold of the platter, but Sicely’s suddenly upon me, seizing my arm and burying her head in my neck. ‘He said he won’t baptize me,’ she sobs. ‘Says I have to be in church to have it done and it has to be at a time that’s convenient to everyone concerned.’
I answer the back of her neck, where the tufts of hair peek out beneath the edge of her white linen cap. ‘Does he expect the missus to bring you in the cart?.’
That makes Sicely howl. ‘I don’t know! I told him it won’t be convenient till the war’s over and heaven knows when that’ll be, but he said I’d just have to wait. He told me patience was a virtue.’
I know to tread carefully, but I ease her off my shoulder. ‘Baptism is something between yourself and God,’ I tell her. ‘It’s personal.’
‘I know that!’ She folds her arms and glares at me. ‘What’s your point?’
‘My point is … well … I know it wouldn’t be the same but … I been doing a lot of the services down at the river … If you want me to do it for you, I think it would still count. I mean between you and God. It would be like it was at the Baptist camp. It wouldn’t matter that it wasn’t in a church.’ I hold my breath, not sure what she’s thinking or whether I even have the right to offer. ‘I can remember most of the right words,’ I tell her, hoping it might help. ‘I’m sure I can. If you want me to.’
And to my surprise, Sicely says yes.
*
A few days later, Gerald brings a book to the river called Robinson Crusoe. ‘Hey, Friday!’ he shouts to me before he’s even close. ‘You’re in a book! Look here!’ He arrives at a run and opens it up to show me the bits where the shipwrecked sailor meets a savage on the beach. ‘You’re famous! See here? Crusoe – that’s the poor shipwrecked sailor – he names him after a day of the week. He calls him Friday! Exactly the same as you!’
He thinks I should be pleased, but I scowl. I can’t tell him why, but inside my head I’m screaming the same thing, over and over again.
My name’s not Friday! My name’s not Friday! My name’s not Friday!
‘Ain’t no one ever been called Gerald in a book,’ he tells me when he sees I ain’t impressed. ‘Not that I can think of. You should be happy about it.’
He smiles at me, all big and generous, but I can hardly bring myself to look at him.
Friday’s the boy that lies to you. Friday’s the boy that makes you steal your mother’s books.
He holds it out to me. ‘Don’t you wanna read it?’
‘I expect it’d be too difficult.’
‘But you got to try. What if it’s all about you?’
It won’t be. My name’s Samuel. That’s the boy you want to be friends with.
‘It’s just a name.’ I tell him. ‘It’s no big
deal.’
We lie back in the grass, both of us silent and resentful, and I get to thinking ’bout Joshua and how he always loved his name. He was so proud of it – proud of the stories from the Bible and proud of how he was named after our daddy when he weren’t even the eldest son.
Once, when he’d been caned unfairly, he got together an army of his little friends and made ’em march around the schoolhouse seven times, trying to make it fall to the ground. Sometimes he got the other boys to fight for him, got ’em to hunt out Johnny Bradshaw and his gang in town, cos they were dirty little sneak thieves.
One time he came back with a bloody nose, but I reckon he gave as good as he got and I told him he deserved it. It don’t do to fight. I never seen any good come of it.
Gerald’s still lying in the grass beside me, looking up at the clouds, when I pick up the book. ‘I been ungrateful, Gerald and I apologize. I don’t know where I’d be without you bringing me books, and I’d like to read this one if that’s still all right with you.’
*
We go down through the darkened woods, a long line of us Baptists, with me out in front, holding Sicely’s hand as we head to the river bank. She’s in her new white dress and her hair’s tied up in pretty new rags. Her fingertips are soft to the touch and I weren’t expecting that, but it’s nice to hold hands and it’s strange being here in the dark with Sicely.
I don’t know which of us is more scared – her or me.
I’m trying to think what I’ll say when we arrive and how I’m going to lead these people in worship. I don’t know why I ever thought this was a good idea, and I’m praying to myself, ‘Don’t drop her. Oh Lord, whatever you do, please don’t let me drop Sicely in the water.’
We get to the river bank, same place we always go, and Henry sets the cross up on the grass and we start singing and dancing, same as we always do. We work ourselves up into a steam and Sicely takes her hand from mine, but she stays close to me in the circle and she’s shuffling her feet on the grass and her hips are swaying in her lovely white apron. I can still make out the shape of her beneath the cotton of her dress and she never looked as lovely as she does now. When I close my eyes, the smell of her lingers in the air beside me and I feel like a honeybee, all covered in the goodness of her, feeling like I might drown if I breathe too much of her in, but we’re both swaying with the will of the Lord and singing softly of the psalm as it is told. By the rivers of Babylon, where we lay down and wept. We got our hands up in the air. Singing take me to the river, take me down into the water.
I reach out for Sicely. Everyone parts to let us through when we step from the bank of grass and go down into the water, just the two of us, and then we step again, the water rising to our knees, so cold it takes our breath away, and Sicely comes closer to me, her fingers held tight around mine and I whisper for her to trust me, tell her it’ll be all right, and we step again, we go right up to our waists and her dress rises to the surface like a lily on a duck pond.
I put my arm around her waist to hold her steady. She’s got her hands up at her chest. They’re clasped together, real tight in prayer, and her eyes are closed and her teeth are chattering away as I raise my voice. ‘Before God we die and are born again. We take our name before God as a confirmation of our love of Jesus Christ.’ Sicely smiles and shetrembles in my arms. ‘You already know this young girl’s name.’
Lizzie calls it out, as loud as she dares. ‘Sicely!’ She looks to the left and right of her. ‘I named her myself the very day she was born and I called her Sicely!’
So then the rest of us chant her name again, singing it softly like a beautiful song that we all know. ‘Sicely! Sicely! Sicely!’
Well, I ain’t so nervous now. I’m full of the power of the Lord and I ask ’em to spell it out, same as they do in class, and they call out the letters like I taught ’em to. Sicely says it too, whispers it softly under her breath, but loud enough that I hear her hiss that S.
‘Sicely, do you promise to keep the commandments of God?’
‘I do.’
‘I didn’t hear you! I said, do you promise to keep the commandments of God?’
Sicely opens her eyes and shouts out, ‘Yes, I do!’
‘And do you reject Satan and his wicked ways?’
‘Yes, I do!’
‘Well, Sicely gives herself to God.’ I lift one arm in the air while still holding her sweet waist in the other. ‘I bathe this girl in the holy waters of God’s love, I bathe her in the light of Jesus and let Him cleanse her soul so she might enter into the kingdom of heaven, just as He Himself intended.’
I pause, coming closer to her ear. ‘Get ready,’ I whisper. ‘Here’s where I’m gonna dunk you.’
Her fingers dig into my arm and I clench the back of her dress, praying that I won’t let her slip, not for the life of me. ‘In the name of the Father, of the Son and the Holy Ghost, I baptize you sweet Sicely.’
I plunge her down into that dark water till she disappears completely. One … two … I bring her up on the three, all gasping and fresh, like a newborn baby with startled eyes, just how Joshua looked the moment he was born, though she don’t start crying like he did and I don’t slap her either. I wouldn’t dare. Not for the life of me.
Sicely breaks into a smile and everyone on the river bank starts clapping and shouting out, ‘Praise the Lord!’ without a care of being overheard.
Lizzie wraps us both in blankets as we step from the river and then the two of us sit on the grass, all shivering and smiling in each other’s arms, feeling like we’re the bravest and most beautiful people in the whole wide world.
I never felt so close to God as I do right now. Every nerve in my body is fizzing and alive. And I could be Moses. I really could.
Chapter 13
Connie was returned to his owner the week after I baptized Sicely, and the whole thing was done sneaky, so maybe that’s what upset me. One minute he was in my life and the next thing I knew, Connie was gone and I never even had the chance to say goodbye.
The two of us were in the yard when Hubbard told Connie to make the wagon ready instead of going to the field. ‘You gotta come with me,’ he tells him. ‘We gotta fetch a couple of sows from a farm about ten miles down the road.’
Connie lifts his hat up and scratches at his head. ‘Which farm’s that?’
‘The one up by the crossroads,’ Hubbard answers him calmly. ‘Up near Hare’s End. We’re meeting a farmer there. He’s coming to us from over near the border and he’ll give us the pigs to bring back.’
I should’ve guessed we didn’t have the money to be buying pigs, and even if we did it wouldn’t need two fellas to bring ’em here. Connie mumbles something about seeing me around and turns away from me, all cold and distant. ‘Whaddya say?’ I ask, and catch his arm.
He turns back to face me, though he won’t hold my eye. ‘You take care while I’m gone.’
That was the closest I got to a goodbye, and all I got to say in reply was, ‘Sure.’
After lunch I’m cleaning the dining-room windows when I see Hubbard come back up the drive and he don’t have no pigs and he don’t even have Connie sitting next to him on the wagon, so I know immediately that something’s wrong and I hurry downstairs.
Hubbard is seeing to the horse when I reach the yard. ‘Is everything all right?’ I ask him, my voice all high and breathless.
That big man barely turns to look at me. ‘Everything’s fine, Friday. Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘You didn’t come back with no pigs and Connie ain’t with you either. Is he hurt?’
Hubbard stands upright and steps closer to me. ‘He ain’t hurt. Why would he be hurt?’
‘Cos he ain’t come back?’ I can feel the panic rising up into my throat. I feel like screaming, feel like crying out in pain and I need to know why that is, even though my guts already ache with the truth of it, cos Connie ain’t coming back. I already know it. He’s gone. Just like my daddy left. Just like all the men who�
��ve ever looked out for me.
Hubbard seems unsure of what to say, but then he shrugs. ‘I suppose you’ll find out sooner or later. Mrs Allen asked for him to be returned to his master before the end of his contract. I’m sorry, Friday, but he won’t be coming back.’
‘Why’d she want to do that?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘But it ain’t fair!’ I shout out, feeling like he’s lit my fuse. ‘You could have told me! You should have said he had to go!’
‘The missus decides how things get done,’ Hubbard tells me matter-of-factly and turns back to the horse like that’s the end of it, but I’m all full up with a hurt and righteous indignation that won’t be ignored.
‘I’ll ask her myself!’ I turn on my heels and head back for the house where I know Mrs Allen will be working on them uniforms.
‘Now hold on there!’ Hubbard shouts to my back. ‘Don’t you go …’
My head’s all light and giddy, like I’m walking on clouds that carry me inside the door and on into the hallway where Mrs Allen is already there before me, walking down the staircase on her way to the parlour, with her arms all full of shabby.
‘Excuse me, miss?’
I pretty much run towards her, taking the first few steps in one long stride so that she looks alarmed. ‘Friday? Whatever’s happened? Is everything all right?’
‘No, ma’am. No, I don’t think it is.’
Hubbard bursts through the door at my back. ‘Friday!’
‘Is someone unwell?’ Mrs Allen asks the both of us.
‘No, ma’am,’ I tell her. ‘No one’s ill. It’s not that. But I want to know why Connie left.’
Hubbard grabs a fistful of my shirt and pulls me two steps back down the staircase. ‘That ain’t no way to speak to the missus. Now you get back outside and stop your bothering—’
‘Hubbard, let him go.’ Mrs Allen looks surprised at the sudden fuss. ‘Whatever the matter is, I’d prefer to hear about it.’ Hubbard releases his hold of me, but he stays right there, all breathing down my neck and ready when he’s needed. ‘Take this into the parlour, Hubbard.’ Mrs Allen offers him the folds of cloth and he takes them reluctantly and carries them downstairs.