Crossing Ebenezer Creek Page 9

  “But me? You didn’t trust me, Caleb? You trusted that white man more than me?”

  “It wasn’t so much that I was trusting him. It just slipped out.”

  A saw-whet owl hoot-hooted.

  “I was planning to tell you.”

  “When?”

  “Was waiting for the right time.”

  “Why wasn’t it the right time when I told you about my pa, my ma? Why wasn’t it the right time when—”

  “Nothing’s changed, Mariah. I’m still the same man. Whether I was a slave or always free, what’s changed?” He unwrapped the bandana, put a potato slice to his left cheek.

  “We from different places, different worlds.”

  “We both colored. We both Southern born. Besides, you’re free now.”

  Mariah waited for him to go on, explain himself, but all he gave her was silence.

  Along with being angry, Mariah now also felt a tinge of guilt. Back when people were about to mob Caleb, for a split second she had wavered, remembering what Jonah had said the day they left the Chaney place. Any colored man got common ground with a white man gotta be a hazard to the rest of us. Yes, for an instant she had doubted Caleb, thinking if he had been a driver that explained why he talked more about the march than himself.

  And perhaps Caleb had seen her doubt.

  Mariah sat down across from him. “What was it like?” She had never met a free colored person.

  Now someone was playing a ditty on a reed pipe.

  “Ever been to the circus?” Caleb asked.

  “Once.” Mariah thought about that one precious day she saw a talking horse, a jester, tiny people juggling. “Years ago. With money ma made from her garden.”

  “Was there a tightrope walker?”

  Mariah stared into the fire as Caleb told her about white guardians to vouch for free colored, about free papers, kidnappings. “Over us hung a fear that if we were ever caught without our papers, we’d wind up on an auction block in New Orleans. Never let our guard down when not among just our own.”

  “Your own bein’ other free colored?” All this time what she thought was care—was it all just pity? When he looked at her, did he only see damage?

  “Our own being colored people, free and slave. Like I said, Mariah, we both colored, both Southern born, and now both free.”

  “Soup’s goin’ cold.”

  “Will heat it up in the morning, have it for breakfast.”

  An awkward silence followed.

  Caleb was the first to speak. “Look, Mariah, my pa spent twenty-six years in slavery. Most colored in and around Atlanta was in slavery, some of them kin. So it’s not like I lived in ignorance before I met you.”

  That stung and surprised her too. Mariah had assumed that … “How did your pa get free?”

  “His skills and good fortune.”

  Mariah thought for a bit. “A blacksmith?”

  Caleb nodded. “His fences, gates, railings—all of such fine quality, patterns of charm, grace—he never had trouble getting work. Most of his customers were big planters.”

  “This after he got free?”

  “Before and after. When a slave, he was allowed to hire himself out. Had to give his owner fifty dollars a month. All above that was his to keep. This was in Decatur.”

  Mariah saw pride rising in Caleb when he told her how his father scrimped and saved for freedom. “Cost him eighteen hundred dollars, and he had enough left over to buy a few acres right outside Atlanta. Built a nice-sized house, workshop out back.”

  “Why didn’t he go North?”

  Caleb stared at Mariah for a while, then said, “Because a fine young lady named Rebecca Baker wasn’t North.”

  Mariah smiled. She knew where the story was going. “Your ma?”

  Caleb nodded. “She and her family were freed years earlier. Owner got true religion. Anyhow, her family ran a secondhand clothing shop in Atlanta. That’s where Pa first laid eyes on her. Knew at first sight that she was the one. After he got himself set, he went about courting the apple of his eye.”

  “And was he the apple of her eye?”

  Caleb leaned back on his elbow. His eyes danced. “Ma always said Pa had been coming around the shop for weeks before she paid him a wisp of attention. Then Pa, he’d stroke her face and say, ‘Becky, you know you loved me right off,’ and she’d say, ‘Jacob Drew, you stop being so full of yourself.’ Then they’d laugh and let the story lie.”

  “Did your pa really love your ma from the moment he first saw her?”

  “That’s what he said. And Pa wasn’t one to trifle.”

  “And your ma, you think it took her a while?”

  “I tend to think not.”

  Mariah found herself lingering a little too long in Caleb’s eyes. When she looked away, she scratched a spot on her neck that didn’t itch.

  “Could be your ma took to your pa at first sight, just like he did her, but she just wanted to wait a bit. Make sure he was a good man.”

  Caleb sat up and tossed a pine knot on the fire, looked directly into Mariah’s eyes. “You think my ma wasn’t smart enough to know a good man when she saw one?”

  Mariah scratched a place on her forearm that didn’t itch. “I’m sure your ma was plenty smart, Caleb,” she finally said. “Most likely she just wanted to make sure. Have some extra guarantee. Maybe she didn’t want to let on at first how she felt for fear he’d change his mind.”

  “My pa wasn’t the changeable type.”

  “But your ma didn’t know that.”

  Caleb laughed. “You got a point there.” He rubbed his hands before the fire. “Whatever was holding Ma back, it didn’t last long. They married two weeks after he gave her a gold double locket on a neck chain.”

  “What was in the locket?”

  “Nothing. Both sides empty. He asked her if she could ever see the locket with a portrait of him on one side and her on the other. As husband and wife.”

  “And she said yes?”

  “What do you think?”

  Mariah looked down sheepishly, feeling a bit silly. Somewhat giddy too.

  Caleb undid the top buttons of his shirt, took from around his neck a locket on a chain, and handed it to Mariah.

  She hesitated.

  “Go on,” he urged.

  Mariah wiped her hands on her dress before taking it. Carefully, she opened the locket, stared in awe at the two photographs. Woman on the left. Man on the right. Both in fancy black.

  Mariah saw that Caleb had his father’s cheekbones and jaw. Same broad shoulders.

  Caleb’s eyes and his full lips were like his ma’s.

  Fine color came from both. Pa like velvet midnight. Ma only a tad lighter.

  “They look so prosperous and so happy.” She closed the locket, handed it back to Caleb. “You fortunate to have a keepsake like that. Only likenesses I got of my folks is what I hold in my head.”

  Just then Mariah realized that she had failed to stay mad at Caleb. The anger, the hurt, it had all drifted away like dry leaves whisked away by a breeze. Even more unsettling—and scary—was that Mariah found herself wondering what it would be like to give Caleb her grace, and she found herself knowing that he was her somewhere place.

  But she thought it best to shift her mind to something else. Mariah puzzled for a bit. If Caleb was on the march, his folks must be dead. No matter how wrecked Atlanta was, if they were still alive, she couldn’t see him leaving them behind.

  “Your folks? Both gone?”

  He nodded. “Pa right before the war broke out, passed in his sleep. Ma went earlier this year.”

  Mariah saw that Caleb no longer wanted to talk about his folks.

  “You the only child?”

  “Yep.” After a pause Caleb said, “Only one to survive. Some died as babies and—”

  Caleb’s jaw tightened.

  “And what?”

  “Had a sister, Lily. She died earlier this year too. Was only thirteen.”

  Cale
b’s whole mood had changed. He looked in pain.

  Had his sister and mother been taken by consumption? Winter fever?

  Now was not the time to ask, she decided. “I should turn in,” she said.

  She didn’t want to leave, hoped Caleb would ask her to stay a little longer.

  Those words never came.

  OFFERED HIM A CHOCOLATE

  For Friday, December 2, 1864, Caleb jotted down that the division had moved out at daybreak, that the march had been zigzagging.

  What a jangled day it had been. “Pvt. L. who went missing 2 days ago was found dead. More things are breaking. Wheels. Wagons. Tent poles. Limber chests. Men.” Caleb wrote about the picket guard who took leave of his senses in the middle of the night. The Irishman had ripped off all his clothes and jabbered about Judgment Day.

  “J. attacked me this evening & tried to loose others on me, claiming I was a driver. I had to let out that I was born free so as not to be killed.” Caleb admitted that for a split second he relished the thought of Jonah in the stocks, but then he realized that if he didn’t intercede on Jonah’s behalf then he really was no better than a driver. “Capt. G. said when he had J. in his tent, he looked very sorry and said as much. For that, Capt. G. offered him a chocolate. When J. asked a favor, Capt. G. obliged him.”

  Caleb wished he had had some chocolate or other treat to offer Mariah when she came to his tent. The hurt and anger in her eyes grieved him. “At one point I thought she might throw the soup in my face. But she gentled down, went back to her sweet self. And now she knows how I came to be free, some things about my folks. I told her of Lily, but only that she was dead. Camped near Waynesboro.”

  TILL WE MEET AGAIN

  “You don’t need to do this, Jonah.”

  “Yeah, Mariah, I do.”

  “But where will you go?” asked Chloe.

  “Asked Captain Galloway to get me on to the pioneers.”

  Chloe shook her head. “We’ll hardly ever see you.”

  “I’ll keep in touch through the grapevine.” Jonah lifted a sack from the ground, slung it across a shoulder. Eyes on the ground, he said, “I’m real sorry for the strife.”

  Mordecai rose from a half barrel, patted Jonah on the shoulder. “None of us perfect. Owning up is a giant step.”

  Mariah’s stomach was in knots from the guilt. Had she never told Jonah “maybe” back when they were on the Chaney place, none of this would have happened. “Jonah, I’m sorry I—”

  “No, Mariah, you did nothin’ wrong. Only told the truth.”

  “But there’s no cause for you to go.” Mariah fought back tears. “Things will smooth over.”

  “As I see it,” said Jonah, “I’ll be gettin’ myself ready for full freedom. Learnin’ to build roads, bridges. Skills should put me in good stead wherever we—wherever I settle.”

  Zeke sat cross-legged beside Mordecai. “Jonah go?”

  Dulcina, sitting beside Zeke, looked up. “Texas?”

  “No, Miss Dulcina, not Texas, not that far.” Jonah squatted down next to Zeke. “That’s right, little man, Jonah go.” He removed his muffler from around his neck, put it around the boy’s, then said to Mordecai, “That other sack, will you mind it for me, please?”

  “Will do,” replied Mordecai.

  “And if … if we get lost to each other, y’all split it up fairly.”

  “We won’t lose each other!” Mariah insisted. “There’s the grapevine, like you said.”

  Zoe handed Jonah some breakfast wrapped in a bandana. Johnnycake and cracklins.

  Jonah nodded his thanks. “I thank all y’all for your goodness to me over the years.” Jonah reached into his breast pocket and handed Mordecai, then the Doubles, then Mariah a twenty-dollar gold piece.

  Zoe arched an eyebrow, Chloe gasped, Mordecai ran a hand over his head.

  “I’ll explain later,” said Mariah.

  “Y’all the only family I got left.” Jonah wiped his eyes. “Tell Caleb I hope he can forgive.” Jonah put his hat on his head. “Till we meet again,” he said.

  “Till we meet again,” said Chloe, Zoe, and Mordecai.

  Mariah closed her hand around the gold coin out of regard for the giver. She tippy-toed up, gave Jonah a kiss on the cheek. “Till we meet again.”

  FAMILY

  Caleb was of two minds about Jonah joining the pioneers. On the one hand, it put an end to the friction. It would, he hoped, also ease Jonah’s pining for Mariah. Caleb knew how he would feel if he couldn’t have her heart. And last night he knew he did. There was something in the way she looked at him when they talked about his folks’ courtship.

  But Mariah had known Jonah all her life. In time would she come to resent Caleb for the separation—even though it hadn’t been his fault? Every time she looked at him would she be reminded of losing Jonah?

  Only temporary, Caleb told himself. At the end of the march there’d be a reuniting. Lord, he said to himself, don’t let Jonah get hurt—or worse—while a pioneer.

  Caleb was on his way to see Jonah that morning, to tell him no hard feelings and urge him not to go. When he saw Mariah and the others huddled around Jonah, he stopped in his tracks.

  He was too far away to hear what they were saying, but he could see anew how very much they were family. A family forced and forged under slavery’s brutal reign, but a family nonetheless.

  What he’d give to have a family again. What he’d give to be part of this family. Husband to Mariah. Father to Zeke. Maybe even work into a bygones-be-bygones brotherhood with Jonah. Keep Mordecai and the Doubles close for fatherly and motherly advice. Keep Dulcina close, too, because it was the right thing to do.

  When Caleb saw Mariah give Jonah a kiss on the cheek, he felt he had no right to approach, interrupt their sad and tender parting. Caleb also thought it best if he kept his distance that evening.

  NIGHT BECAME A WISHING WELL

  Mariah stayed on the lookout for Caleb that evening. When they camped. When they supped. When she got the tent up. She could understand why he made himself scarce what with the way folks had ganged up against him on Jonah’s wild say, but didn’t he want to see her? She had only laid eyes on him once that day, at the Buckhead Creek crossing. But he said not a word to her. Just helped.

  With Zeke in the tent, tucked in with his pouch of peppermint sticks and his timberdoodle, Mariah sat alone by the fire. Missing Caleb. Jonah too.

  She wondered, hoped, second-guessed. None of it did a bit of good. She finally gave up and joined a gathering around a bonfire.

  Mordecai beside Chloe. Between her and Zoe, Dulcina curled up in a ball. Effie, who had joined the march outside Louisville, made room for Mariah between herself and Zoe.

  Hagar was telling of what she called her “all-time scariest meet-up with a haint.” The ghost was swooping down, she said, when her brother cried out, “ ‘Quick, turn your pockets inside out!’ Quick, I did, and that haint wizened into vapor!”

  Some in the gathering seemed frightened. Others not much.

  “Dead can’t do us no harm,” said Effie. “Seen plenty o’ haints in my time. All on the playful side. None never done me harm. All my hurts and pains come from the livin’.”

  “Amen,” said Hosea, after a puff on his pipe.

  Mariah felt a growing tension in the air. Like me, they all have scars, she thought. Like me, they all have terrors to tell.

  “My whitefolks was both devils,” testified Dessa from Davisboro. “Come Christmas warn’t no use chillun scamper to the Big House shoutin’ ‘Christmas gif’! Christmas gif’!’ Git they ears boxed is all.”

  Mariah recalled Christmases past, days when the Chaneys had everybody head to the Big House back door for bounty. Dried Fruits. Fresh meat. New shoes. Cloth. As a child, Christmas after Christmas, she believed that the Chaneys’ gifts were a sign of a softening of their hearts.

  She remembered, too, Christmas merriment in the quarters. Her pa playing his fiddle—fast-time tunes during these days. He
r ma shake, shake, shaking her gourd rattle. Others strumming banjos, blowing the quills. And ancient Aunt Minda patting her feet, bobbing her head, ancient Aunt Minda who beguiled her, Jonah, and the other children with tales of a village far, far away in a land called Guinea, tales she’d been told as a child and told to pass on. Along with the stories of frisky spiders and big cats getting spots, Aunt Minda sometimes taught little Mariah and other children words from Guinea.

  Aban—Strength! Akoben—Devotion! Akofena—Courage! Sankofa—Remember!

  Mariah remembered boundless cheer at Christmastide until they were made to gather outside and listen to that preacher with a fire-and-brimstone mind. “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse be War, Famine, Disease, and Death!”

  “We call it the killin’ stone.” Those words wrenched Mariah back from memories. Effie again. “We call it the killin’ stone,” she repeated, rocking slowly, eyes on the fire.

  Effie told of a rock outcrop on the edge of her town, of white women snatching light-skinned babies from black women’s arms. “Them white women cuss up the colored women somethin’ awful. Scratch, kick, slap. Act like the colored women had a power to keep massas off ’em.” Effie wiped her eyes. “Them white women bash colored babies’ brains out on the killin’ stone. Sometime they hurl the little bodies into the bush, sometime just drop ’em right there by the stone. Howsoever us could, us sneak and bury. Warn’t right to leave ’em for varmints to devour.”

  Across from Mariah, a woman new to the march began sobbing. “Was sold from place to place when young on account of I couldn’t bear no children. Each time farther away from my folks.”

  “Take your time, take your time,” said Mordecai softly as Miriam struggled to tell about the bloodhounds unleashed on her brother. The boy had been caught sneaking a ham from the smokehouse, then he fought back when the driver tried to whip him. “D-d-d-dawgs t-t-t-tow the flesh fr-fr-fr-from m-m-m-mah br-br-br-brutha buh-buh-bones.”

  Copper-skinned Ben held up his right hand with its forefinger missing the first joint.

  “Tried to learn your letters?” asked Mariah.