Descendants of Hagar

by Nik Nicholson

  “She ain’t rude, Madelyn has always been shy,” Mrs. Harper correct what dirt Mama trying to throw.

  “Who’s Madelyn?” Zay laugh from the carriage, and Jeremiah punch ’im in the arm.

  “Ms. Graham,” Mama poke ‘a chest out looking at Mrs. Harper. “This here one of my middle daughters, Madelyn Remington. She gone be your host while you here in Zion,” Mama say all official and proud of me for the first time I can remember.

  Zay raise his eyebrows at me like he ain’t never seen this neither.

  Ms. Graham offer ‘a hand nervously, and say, “Good afternoon” with another little curtsy.

  I’m looking at everyone round, and her. Iain never seen no nigga bow like that cept for when serving white folks. I accept ‘a hand, but I don’t smile. All I can do is nod hello and stare. Ms. Graham a small girl, slim, brown with sharp features and beautiful eyes. She has the longest most beautiful lashes I done seen on a woman and ‘a lips is full, and she smell good, too.

  “Ain’t chu gone show ‘a round?” Mama push me a little, maybe I’m lost, maybe I stare too long. “Make me thank I raised ya wrong. Where dey treat people like dis?” Mama fuss, then take the small bag Ms. Graham holding. “Excuse ‘a, honey, she ain’t neva seen a lady. That’s why we wont you to stay wit ‘a. Maybe she’ll stop wearing pants,” Mama fussing at me more than saying it to her, “when she thank ain’t nobody round!”

  I just stand there watching them going in and out my house, moving ‘a in the bedroom across the hall from mine. Everybody else do the talking. Iain shy most times cause I know everybody round here, but new people and white folks make me hold my tongue.

  “You never did say what you thought of our school,” Reverend Patrick ask again.

  “Honestly, I…” Ms. Graham searches for words. “I didn’t know what to think.”

  Her words received cold, Reverend and his wife looking at each other having they own eye conversation.

  “No, not like that,” she try to clean it up. “I didn’t have any expectations. I don’t have anything to compare it to. I mean, this is my first assignment.”

  Reverend Patrick relaxes and starts skinning and grinning again. Mrs. Harper stare at Ms. Graham like she still waiting on something.

  “Well, Reverend Patrick, there were a few things I’d appreciate if… I wondered if someone could take a look at, and some things would need to be fixed before school begins.” She finishes politely, avoiding Mrs. Harper’s eyes.

  Reverend don’t pick up on it, the way me, Mama and Mrs. Harper do. Me, Mama and Mrs. Harper know immediately Ms. Graham is disappointed, and there is more wrong than she willing to admit.

  “Linny will come see about it first thing in the morning, or over the next couple of days depending on what else going on,” he say, looking over at me.

  Before Daddy and nem leave, Zay tease, “Now Madelyn, you be nice, and you might learn a thang or two bout the world and being a lady.”

  “A lady,” Mama put in wryly.

  “Yall gone need a man round here to help you git settled.” Zay go on staring at Ms. Graham. “Think Ima be stopping by here more often.” He take off his hat, smiling all big teefed and then put it over his chest like he bout to sing a song to the lord.

  “Make sure ya brang ya wife witcha, Zay,” I remind ’im teasing back.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ENTERTAINING STRANGERS

  When I get back in the house and close the door, I don’t look at ‘a or say nothing. I just go back to the kitchen and see what I can make us for supper. Then I look out the window at Anastasia, Ms. Graham follow.

  “Would it be alright if I go get cleaned up? I’ve been traveling all day and night it seems,” she say, laughing fake.

  I just nod yes mutely.

  “This is a beautiful house.”

  “Thank yah,” I’m sure I say just above a whisper. She walk away slow, then ease back.

  “What happened to your husband?”

  “What make you think I was married?”

  “This house, I guess. I don’t know any other women living alone, except widows. Back home, a girl doesn’t move out until she’s married.”

  “You married?”

  “I always wanted to be,” she say all dreamy, like all the young girls in Zion do when they talk about marriage. Then I know it cain’t be that different where she from. Then again, here she is travelling far from ‘a family.

  “How much should I pay you for letting me stay here?”

  “What do you usually pay?”

  “I’ve never lived away from home, except for when I attended college, and then room and board were part of the tuition.”

  “Well, Iain never had a guest. So I’ll let you know when I figga it out.”

  “You own this house, and all the land around it?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do to get this house? I mean, how did you get this house? I mean, your folks didn’t seem rich.”

  Holding the poker and some wood, I stop lighting the stove and stare directly at ‘a. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  Turning ‘a hat in ‘a hands, squirming under my gaze, she smiles fake and apologetically, the way women do when they ain got the gall to stick to they guns. Or they find they done over stepped they boundaries. “How else do you get to know someone, if you don’t ask them questions?”

  “That another question?” I decide to leave ‘a and take Anastasia to the stables. Then I can come on back here and tend to her.

  “Where are you going, Madelyn?”

  “To put Anastasia away,” I answer absent minded; I’m wondering if this is how it’s gone be. She gone be talking at me and asking questions all the time. I like the quiet of being here alone, now that I done got use to it. Still, guess it won’t be so bad having somebody else here with me.

  “Mind if I go?”

  I don’t say nothing, just go out the back door and leave it open for ‘a to follow. And she do. I go look at Anastasia, see if she tired, too tired to carry two folks. Maybe I’ll walk and lead them to the stables. Once I start rubbing on Stasia, I feel better, calmer, and I find the will to ask, “Ever ride?”

  “No, I’ve never been out in the wilderness like this. I’m a city girl. I’ve ridden in trains, carriages, but nothing like being on my own horse.”

  After I untie Anastasia, I decide it ain’t a good idea to put ‘a up there by ‘aself. So I climb up first, then move my foot out the stirrup. I grab hold of Anastasia’s reigns so she be solid like a wall.

  Then I tell Coletta, “Put yo foot in that stirrup and gimme ya hand. When I pull yah up throw ya leg over.” I pull ‘a up on the horse. Then she scoot in close, wrapping ‘a arms round me to hold on. How nervous she is makes me feel protective. Ms. Graham trusting me make me feel proud and strong.

  I rub Stasia to calm ‘a down when she starts to dance trot, meaning she ready to go, go, go. “Hold on.” I lean back guiding Stasia back and away from the trough. We start slowly.

  I feel Ms. Graham tense against me, holding ‘a breath. “I’ve got you,” I promise. She feel so scared I forget I’m shy.

  First me and Stasia do a little trot. I ride gentle, then when I feel Ms. Graham breathing easy, and she rest ‘a head against me, I trot a little faster. When I feel she know Iain gone hurt ‘a, I take off.

  “This is soo much fun!” Ms. Graham yells. I decide to take ‘a for a lil ride. When we hit the main road, Daddy nem ahead of us.

  “Madelyn!” Daddy holla at me standing up in his coach when I pass. I just speed up and laugh.

  “You sure like to pull your father’s chain,” she say, holding on to me and ‘a hat.

  “I couldn’t pull it if he ain’t leave it out there.” I smile back at ‘a. She holds on tighter, and I feel better, more relaxed.

  “So what they call you, Ms. Graham? Coletta?”

  “Coley.”

  ***

  “Guess, since you here, Iain gone eat leftovers,” I think o
ut loud, just accepting it, I guess. When I see I’m making ‘a feel like a burden, I remember my manners and explain. “I just hate cooking late in the day like this cause it’s so hot, and cooking make the house hot. Not to mention, I had planned on doing other things today. Now I got to make a whole nother meal.”

  “It is hot,” she agree, using a hand to shield ‘a face from the sun and squinting at the red road ahead. What I done said seem to ease ‘a mind. “It’s not the heat that bothers me so much though. I don’t like being out in the sun. If I keep on, I’ll be black as a piece of coal.”

  “You ever seen a piece a coal?” I look at ‘a good. She don’t entertain the question, just keep on stepping.

  “You’re so light.” She stare at me like she in a daze. “You don’t have anything to worry about. So I don’t expect you to understand how the blacker you are, the harder your life is,” she add after it’s silent for a while.

  “You got a real sensitive nature. Cain’t stand the scent of the stables. You making all kinds of faces, and they was clean. This gone be a hard transition for you.”

  “Transition?” she repeat like I’m stupid or something. Like she cain’t believe niggas read round here. I don’t even entertain ‘a now. I just feel how different we is, as I walk with my hair blowing in the wind and hers all pinned up. I have to keep slowing down cause she walking in that dress like she ain never done no work in a dress.

  Since we back here, I decide to go head and stop at the chicken coop. Shoulda asked Reverend Patrick if he had some extra meat in his smoke house, fore he left. Then I coulda went and got that. Since I’m by myself, and got so much work to do, I don’t be having time to fill my smoke house. Mostly I’m eating from the garden, and I like that. Whenever I do eat meat, it seem to wear me down.

  In the silence I start to feel Coley’s uneasiness, but I don’t address holes without clear questions. And the questions, I may not have the right to ask. So I just stare at ‘a curiously. Most folks cain’t stand to be looked at. Usually they start talking to calm they self.

  “You know how to make fried chicken, or baked chicken, or chicken stew?” Coley ask, her face lighting up.

  I respond by smiling at ‘a.

  Then she smile back and say, “I miss my mama’s chicken. Then again I miss all of her cooking. She doesn’t cook much now.” Her arms swinging a mile a minute, like I’m walking too fast. So I slow down and find she catch ‘a breath. She slow down and stay in step with me. She a short thang.

  I’m going through the back gate on to the chicken coop, Coley gums still a flapping.

  “This is my first time away from my family and Daddy’s friends. It’s also the first time, I’ve been out of contact with them regularly,” she saying more to ‘aself than to me, thinking, she getting sad. “W.E.B. Du Bois is a close family friend. You ever heard of him?” She pull ‘a spirits up.

  “Cain’t say I have,” I answer absent mindedly. I’m looking for a bucket. Coley hot on my heels, her mouth just going. For the first time since I met Coley, I’m glad Iain go riding in nothing nice.

  “How don’t you know who W.E.B. Du Bois is? Every Negro in America should know him. But I bet you know who Booker T. Washington is?”

  “Yeah, cause he came here a few times. Use to put stuff in our newspaper fore he died.”

  I’ve found a bucket, now I’m looking for a apron so I don’t get nothing on me. I’ve already decided not to cut the head off til it’s dead, keep from getting mess everywhere. I’d rather cut his head off, but Coley a lady and the blood be everywhere if I do that. I get a knife off the wall in the barn, and sharpen it out of habit, cause it’s already clean and sharp. Just a couple times on the sharpening leather to get a feel for the knife.

  “Washington kept Du Bois out of most southern Negro papers. They didn’t really like each other. Washington was a back woods Uncle Tom.”

  “You ought to know who you talking to fore you start talking bout folk,” I say, tying the apron on and looking at ‘a. I walk to the chicken coop.

  Coley following. Then she stop outside the gate surrounding it, like she scared of chickens. “Are you some kin to Washington or something?”

  “No. But you ain’t know that fore you started dragging the dead through the mud. He did a lot a good for us niggas.”

  I go in the coop, and Coley keep on talking, but I cain’t hear what she saying, it’s loud in here. The chickens going wild cause I’m in here. When I see the one I want, I snatch it up by the feet and hold it away from me to keep from getting pecked.

  When I come back out whatever Coley was saying she freeze. The chicken flapping it’s wings and trying to get loose. I close the door on the coop, walking as far away from it as I can inside the gate so the chicken will calm down. Soon as it relaxes, in one smooth firm move, I grab it’s neck tight, snatch down, jerk up til I feel it snap then drop it.

  “Aaaaaaaah!” Coley scream like a crazy person when the broken-neck thing run at the gate.

  I just stare at ‘a, she real emotional. I lean on the inside of the gate and wait for the life to run out of it. When the chicken finally fall, I grab the bucket, the knife and cut the head off.

  “Oh god!” Coley cry out.

  Iain paying ‘a no more attention, cause she running out. The chicken jerk a bit, but that’s normal. Then I turn it over in the bucket to let the blood drain out. When I look up, Coley throwing up.

  Knowing she got a sensitive nature, I think it be best if I can get this off ‘a mind. Best way to make folks feel better is to make ’em mad. Standing up, I put my hands on my hips and look at ‘a for a while. When she pull a handkerchief from ‘a dress and clean ‘a lips I say, “Now what was the name of that uppity nigga you was tellin me about?”

  “I beg your pardon?” She stands poking ‘a chest out like a rooster, and matching my stance. She done forgot she sick.

  I try not to laugh at ‘a lil biddy self getting all worked up, and prepare to get my head tore off.

  Then she gets going, “I’ll have you know Mr. Du Bois isn’t an uppity nigger. In fact, I’m appalled by the word ‘Nigger,’ and you should be ashamed you don’t know who Du Bois is. He has earned the right to be referred to with honor and respect. He is the first Negro to ever attend Harvard. He got his Bachelors and PHD from there. He has travelled all over the world, and is a credit to the Negro race. Where have you ever been except here in cotton-picking country ass Zion?! What schools have you attended outside of that broke down back woods cabin?”

  “That’s where you gone be teaching,” I egg ‘a own, while taking off the feathers.

  Now she ignoring what I’m doing, she so upset.

  ***

  “This is very good. I was starving when I got here.”

  “Ain nothing.” I suck on the chicken bone, tasting the gravy made from its broth and spices, taking her in.

  She don’t eat like she starving. She taking small bites, and cutting everything into small pieces. A bit of this and a bit of that. Then she got all this silverware laid out beside ‘a, stuff she ain even using. Done asked me for a towel for ‘a lap, and now she dapping the corner of ‘a mouth after every other bite. It seem harder for ‘a to eat dinner than it was for me to make it.

  “Oh don’t be modest, I haven’t tasted cooking this good since my grandma lived with us.”

  “What’n that hard, it practically cooked itself.” Compliments always make me feel uncomfortable. For some reason, hers don’t make me feel as uncomfortable, but I’m so use to responding like that. Folks round here don’t say you smelling good or beautiful unless they want something. On the other hand, if somebody say I’m strong or smart, it’s easier to take, but I wouldn’t let them know I appreciate that neither. Plus, Iain did nothing big, ain’t nothing but some boiled chicken, gravy, cabbage and rice. Supper did pretty much cook itself.

  She smile while she eats. That’s more pleasing than compliments. What be more pleasing if she eat like my brothers do, like somebody got
a clock ticking and all they don’t get down somebody gone take from ’em. Still, I’m glad for the company, and wanting to ease ‘a, I don’t want ‘a to think she no trouble.

  “How do you get by out here? Working on the farm? Are you a sharecropper?”

  “You must not know any sharecroppers.”

  “Does a man stay here?”

  “There you go with that again.” I watch ‘a looking round like she expecting somebody to come. “Not unless you a man.”

  Cracking up, she slaps my hand, “Your mother told me you come across hard like your daddy. Folks think you’re mean, but you’re really sweet. I must admit, I didn’t expect a young woman to be so ornery. Then again, yellow women usually are.”

  “I don’t like being called none of them names, redbone, yellow, high yellow, mulatto, octoroon or light skinned. We all niggas round here. Field niggas at that.”

  Clearing ‘a throat she gets serious and antsy again. Away from ‘a familiars, she takes another bite. “You just aren’t what I expected when I met your mother and father is all.”

  “How you got expectations for a stranger?”

  After a moment or two, she say, “It does sound foolish.” Then she do that little laugh for comfort, not because anything funny. “You feel safe living here by yourself?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I mean, doesn’t there need to be a man here, too.” She stops to reconsider ‘a train of thought and the direction of the conversation. “You know, to protect you? Us?”

  “Who after you?” Curious I’m trying to understand ‘a reasoning. Worse thing could happen to a nigga round here, Klan catch ’im out somewhere by hisself. Matter fact, when I think about it, be a woman come to beg the Klan for ‘a husband, or son’s life all the time. So we ain really the ones got to worry. It’s just lonely, and a little scary being in this big old house by myself. Then when I think about what I’m scared of, I’m alright.

  “Nobody is after me! I’m just concerned. No man is going to be here with us at night?”

  “Not unless you done brung one with you.”

  Clearing ‘a throat she starts again, “Well, what do you do for fun round here?”