by Sienna Brown
Time soon come for the cousin them to leave and everything is a hustle and bustle in between the packing and goodbye dinners. I notice Stella get quieter and quieter, sadness clear cross her face.
‘Mistress Caroline not understand the way things is,’ Stella tell me, quietly, because the night have ears and we sitting outside the hut. ‘Not understand how much Massa listen to me.’
‘What you mean?’ I ask her. ‘Is you decide what going happen?’
‘No,’ Stella say quietly. ‘Massa done something right by me this time. Him ask for me blessing.’
‘Who dem going take?’ I ask. Feel me heart lurch when she look pon me and shake her head.
‘Dem taking James, me baby boy James,’ and Stella moan deep, like a wounded animal, from the pain of it. And I stay silent, knowing there is nothing I can say that going take that pain away.
A few days later, Stella, Eliza and me standing beside the verandah steps, watching as Massa and Mistress Margaret say goodbye to Master Jack and Mistress Caroline before them go sit inside the carriage, then the servant them climbing up to sit outside beside the driver. Massa shaking James hand like him a grown man. Then letting us gather round and hug him up, before him climb up to sit in middle of the cousin them, just like him is already part of a new family, no longer part of ours. It seem to happen so fast, the driver cracking him whip and the horses starting up. Suddenly the three of us start running behind, waving, hoping James going look out, but him don’t. The driver push the horses into a gallop and we stand breathless, watching till the carriage turn out of the plantation entrance and disappear.
After James gone, it take a long time to get used to the grief that fill up our shadows. James being taken away leave a big hole nobody can fill, a tear in the family that feel like it never going heal.
Even though him much younger than me, we was very close. I miss him as a brother, but even more as a friend. If I was to speak the truth, I also feel plenty jealous. Keep wondering why James so lucky, why him get all the good things. Him handsome, smart and he can do things I never could and now him get plucked away to a new life. A life we all been longing for, a life of you own choosing. What I envy the most is him don’t have to hide the skills him born with. James can grow into a whole man, not stay half a man as him move forward, into the light of a free day.
Luckily Eliza too young to really understand what happen. Is like James gone to another plantation and him soon coming back.
But poor, stupid Sammy. He didn’t even come out to say goodbye.
All them years believing him was the chosen one. All hell break loose when him discover is James going be sent to the Mother Country. Is James going learn all the word and number them, wear fancy clothes, eat and drink from fancy plates. All Sammy ever do is bow and scrape, hang him head and nod for Massa. Look where it get him.
At first, me happy to see Sammy get pulled down, finally put in him place. But the pain of it so clear cross him face, inside him body, the way it sag and fold, that I feel a great pity well up inside. And I try to make peace between us. Stay up late, sit beside him inside the hut. Listen as him shout into the darkness, beat him fist on the dirt floor. Most nights him rage have no end, till dawn sneak up on us.
As to Stella, she feel that big hole and tear most of all. Feel it in her body, in her heart, in her soul. Know she probably never going see her youngest again. Worry bout what going happen to him, living cross the seas with strangers. And it put a bitter cloud round her shoulder them. Make you not want to get too close.
Mistress Margaret mutter she don’t understand why Stella so upset. ‘Even though I do not approve, I can see the merit in it. It’s not as if he was sold, like Sydney’s girl children.’
And so any little bit of lingering sign of friendship between Stella and Sydney gone for good, replaced with a relentless malice pouring out from Sydney heart. Is only Calla that Stella can turn to for comfort. Old bony-fingered Calla who turn into Granny Callie, stroke Stella head. Rock her when she sit there not saying much, only moaning, crying, longing to hold her son once more.
‘Stella suffering from two sides of her nature,’ Calla tell me. ‘The bitter and the sweet. All that pain and suffering, working and saving she done, in the hope of freeing herself, turn into freeing James. She get what she been praying for, but not the way she want it. She beg Mistress Caroline to take Eliza. Get down on her knees, beg her to take her girl pickney, take dem both. But her pleading fall on deaf ears.’
‘We can only afford to take one child. A child not so overcome with the ways of slavery,’ Mistress Caroline say. ‘And it must be the male, the one who can carry forward the family name.’
The Reverend
Music is the first sign we getting close. Music calling out to us cross the sunlight, drawing us ever upwards along a dirt track towards its crown, the little white stone church high up on the hill. A hill that rise steeply with green on every side. The track is famous, many feet walk pon it, been there a long time. Calla tell me is the Maroon them that first discover this hilltop place. Even before the Baptist them build the church, long time before even the plantations. And if you follow that little dirt track, it going take you safely all the way up to the coast in the north. All the way up to Montego Bay. And when I look back on the morning I spend in that little white church, it going become like a sign to me. A sign that maybe me life can move in another direction, just like little James life did.
Soon after James got taken away, Stella started up with her churchgoing ways. She took Eliza with her and them went as much as them can, whenever Massa gave permission. Sammy refused to go. ‘The Lawd and him son Jesus done nothing for me. Why should me go listen to all that foolishness,’ and true to him word, him never went. I used to go, sometimes. Just to get away from the plantation.
Cropping season almost done when word reach us that the next church service going be a special one. A young pastor been invited to preach and he is one of us. A slave, coming up fast through the Baptist ranks. Rumour is that when him preach, it stir the heart so much, you think you gone to be with the Ancestors. I decide to go, to see if the rumour them is true.
Eliza, Stella and me set out early, just before the dawn, dressed in our Sunday best, following winding leafy trails, pass hibiscus bushes in full bloom, some pink, some yellow, some red. Pass ravines filled with ferns and tumbling streams, enjoying the cool breeze on our skin, before the sun wake up and bring him heat. Is the first time in a long time we walk together. I notice Eliza, how she no longer keep to childish ways. She growing tall, broad-faced, still have a sweet smile, seem strong like Stella, maybe stronger, but have a gentleness that come straight from the kindness in her heart. And as we get further from the plantation, the bitter grief wrapped tight round Stella shoulders start to lift. Her face soften and she start to look round, not hang her head, always looking down, hoping the ground going swallow her up.
And far away from Massa eyes. The shadow let loose him grip, our insides stop trembling, our minds become not so fretful. We become like me hawk friend William the Second, our spirits circling free. Been a long time since him moved out of the valley where I found him, must be mate and have a family.
Walking up the hill that early morning, we can hear that rickety old church organ pumping out all the note them. Calling out, saying come feed and drink from the soothing words of the Lord, to get strength to rise another day, no matter how hard the day before.
As soon as we get there, the deacon put me to work, setting up tables and stools and logs so people can stand and sit and talk. While helping out, I notice how some of the young women stroll past. Come in close, make chatty-chatty with Stella.
‘Morning, Miss Stella.’
‘How you doing, Miss Stella?’
‘You going market next week, Miss Stella?’
‘What a nice dress, Miss Stella.’
‘Is new?’
‘Make it youself?’
But I see how they circle, looking and look
ing pon me. Stella notice it too. She pull me aside, cuff me bout the ears. ‘Dem women not for you,’ she say. ‘You must stop you dreaming ways. Is time you grow up, Willy. Be a man. Plant you feet solid on the earth. This is the life you born into, no escaping that. You must work, work hard, no time for fooling around with young women.’
The deacon come up just then. Ask me to go inside the church help move the organ, make space for all the people. Lucky for me, because once Stella get going, sometimes it take a long time before she wind down, let you escape. She may be drowning in sorrow, but Stella still strong like stone.
Inside the church is like a beehive. All the women cleaning and dusting and sweeping. Fill up every nook and cranny with big bunches of flowers them pick along the way. Little offerings of mango and soursop, maybe a yam. And after I help move the organ, the deacon ask me to go take a cup of bush tea to the little room at the back. Tell me the pastor need a little pep-up before the sermon.
I knock and enter.
The pastor have him back to the door looking out the window at the clouds moving slowly cross the sky. Maybe him is a dreamer, like I used to be. Like James. Then him turn round and I know. The man in front of me is the biggest dreamer I ever going meet. Him look me up and down like him seeing all of me. Not just the flesh and bones of me, but the soul of me. The dreams of me. Even the dreams I been too frightened to dream.
‘So, you are William, Stella’s boy.’
‘Yes,’ I stammer, surprised him know me name.
‘Come closer so I can get a good look at you.’
I step forward, feel the sunlight surrounding him shoulders, surround mine. Then the pastor look me straight in the eyes. Not like how Massa used to look at me, sideways, but directly, simply like him is saying, you and me, we is family. We is one.
‘The deacon tells me you’re not always eager to come to church.’
‘No, sir. Don’t have no time for church business.’
‘Have you been baptised? Taken Jesus as your saviour?’
I shake me head.
The pastor take a sip of him bush tea, keep looking at me.
‘But you came today. Why?’
‘See if the rumour is true. That when you preach, it make a slave think him gone to be with the Ancestors.’
‘Died and gone to heaven,’ the pastor say, and him laugh. A strong laugh, with no fear sitting in the middle of it. ‘The Lord is our salvation. He leads us out of danger towards the Promised Land. But to get there, we must be baptised, work hard to cleanse our souls.’
‘Plenty work to do round the plantation,’ I say.
‘Tell me, what is this work that you do and why is it so important?’
Puffing meself up. ‘I do whatever work needs doing.’
‘And pray tell, what is the purpose of all this work?’
I think hard, notice how the pastor just smile and nod and wait. Finally I come up with something.
‘To keep the plantation going.’
‘So, the purpose of your life, William, is to keep the plantation in full production. And to make your masters rich.’
‘Is not what I mean,’ starting to feel angry.
‘If that is not your purpose in life, William, what is?’
The pastor quietly drink him bush tea. Pin me down with him eyes. Wait to see what me going say. I want to come up with some kind of answer, prove how smart I is. Then I come to understand, and don’t know what to say. I have no answer, even though is a question I been asking meself all me life. Finally he take me out of me misery.
‘Let me ask the question another way. What role do you wish to play in life? Mine is to preach, to lead. What is yours? You don’t know, do you?’ Then him come down hard on me. ‘From where I’m standing, it’s to play the stammering slave boy who bows and scrapes for any master.’
I open my mouth to say something, to shout out is not so. But then I feel me face get hot with the shame of the truth him is saying. Look down at me feet.
The pastor take a few steps closer, lay a hand on me shoulder. Wait till I look up at him.
‘While we are here on earth, the most important part of our work is to discover what kind of man we want to be. This is the work the Lord asks of us, William. Nothing less. And there is always plenty of work to be done at church. Church is a sanctuary, a place where, through the words of our saviour Jesus Christ, we turn weak souls into strong ones. Where we learn to no longer see with the eyes of slavery, but with human eyes, the eyes of men. Where we move from being children into maturity. Where we plant the seeds of courage that will ripen. Blossom. Flourish and rise up like there is always a new tomorrow. Church prepares us, so we can break the silence of slavery.’
I find meself nodding and smiling, uplifted the way William the Second lifted up on the wind and hovered. Him words make me feel a happy madness. Nobody ever talk to me bout these things before. Is the way, I always imagined, a father talked to a son. The father I have, but him is not up to the task.
I look in the face of the pastor and see how young him is. How him is doing so much with him life, when I do so little with mine. Come to understand how much wasted time I been spending only feeling hard done by and sorry for meself.
Him say gently, ‘There is no great dignity in remaining quiet, William. Only action will relieve the suffering caused by silence.’
Then him go back to looking at the clouds and I head back into the church, shutting the door softly behind me.
When Eliza see me, she ask what happen, but the pastor words struck me too deep to say much. And the rest of the morning I go bout in a daze. I don’t even really hear the sermon, not this first time. Later, I will live off him every word, but this morning, all I do is watch. See the way the people round me change as him plant seeds inside each and every one of us. Watch how the seeds start to grow and blossom with each hallelujah, till the seeds become a jungle of longing, for all things better.
After the sermon the pastor stand outside beside the deacon shaking hands with the congregation. Smiling, laughing, calling each one by name. No one making a move to leave. Everybody hovering but Sister Jacinta, lead singer in the choir, hovering the closest.
‘What a good service, Reverend!’
‘Thank you, Sister.’
‘Will you be stopping by later? Me daughter can prepare you a lovely meal. Have a little saltfish from Christmas time. Fry it up good with onions, lots of pepper. Put aside a little rum me save up special …’
‘Your generosity shows no bounds, Sister Jacinta, but I have a long trip back to Montego Bay and then a midnight service to attend to. My visit will have to wait until next time.’
‘Next time, Reverend Sharpe.’
‘Next time it is, Sister Jacinta.’
Then the man of dreams set out on him mule, up the dirt track behind the church and disappear.
That was the first time I meet Sam Sharpe, first time I hear him preach. Him word them help me to enter a new world. Instead of the watching and waiting, collecting up stories of other people, start to think bout the kind of life I want to live. Where it going take me? What him mean when him say, we must break the silence of slavery? I don’t have answers. Not yet, but I keep the words of Sam Sharpe alive in me searching heart. Keep them burning.
New Skills
Late one afternoon, me down at the river filling the last of the water barrels and fastening them to the mule when Eliza come running up.
‘Massa want you. Come wait outside the front verandah.’ She don’t know what for, but she tell me, ‘Mek haste!’
By the time I make it up to the Great House verandah, a tall, grey-haired gentleman I never seen before is standing beside Massa. They looking and measuring, standing over a piece of paper laid out on a big table, and the gentleman making the word and number them in him notebook.
I go stand at the bottom of the steps, buck up me courage.
‘You want to see me, Massa?’
Massa nod, turn to the gentleman and say, �
��Mister Buchanan, here’s the slave I was telling you about. His name is William. Fit and strong. Tomorrow he’ll ride out to the quarry with us and you can show him how to cut the stone.’
Mister Buchanan look me up and down.
‘Yes, he looks strong enough, but will he take to the craft? Mason Charlie already knows how to repair and restore the stonework. Might be best if I bring him along, he—’
Massa stop the flow of talk.
‘Let’s wait and see how William goes. Mason Charlie is getting old, feeble in the head. He served my father well, but he’s not up to the task ahead.’
And with that him turn back to looking at the paper laid out on the table.
I come to understand me dismissed, so I head round the back to the kitchens. Look through the window check see what Melon up to. If she in a good mood, I might get a little feed. Mary scrubbing pots like always and Melon laughing and joking with Tiny, one of the new kitchen helpers she have working under her. A young girl, she short and big-armed just like Melon and she seem able to suffer Melon moods.
‘Evening, Melon, evening Tiny, evening Mary,’ giving them me best smile as I come through the back door.
‘What you a’do? Begging food like always,’ Melon say. She pinch me cheek.
‘Remember that crab him bring for us,’ Tiny say, giving me a wink.
‘That puny one, have no meat? That one?’ Melon say in a teasing voice.
‘Puny or not, me earn a little feed.’
‘True enough, but see that wood out there?’ Melon say. She point outside.
‘What wood?’ trying not to notice how big the pile is.
‘The one right in front of you nose,’ Mary say with a giggle.