Chapter 3 #3
“Might be best to have a word of prayer,” I suggested, knowing we needed every grace God might give on this foreign mission. The sound of an approaching wagon left my proposal of prayer unfulfilled.
The peace of dawn splintered as the Tollivers came up the lane in their oxen-pulled conveyance with Master Ryland’s ugly, silver-eyed horse from Hades roped to the rear.
Miss Norene sat beside her husband—their children in the back—a shawl about her shoulders, looking barely awake and far too thin.
Her voice was soft, her orders sharp despite any fragility.
“Good day. It’s early, but we trust everyone’s ready. Remember no matter where we are at any leg of this journey y’all tend to our family same as always.” She issued a slew of tedious instructions her husband had repeatedly given—drumming orders into our heads as if dolts prone to forgetfulness.
In addition to herding, cooking, and laundering we were to set up and break down camp, and everything else needed in between.
Her husband took over when she fell into a coughing fit.
“We’ll take resting breaks most Sundays, but our crossing state lines don’t change nothing.
South to west, only thing changing is the landscape.
Y’all remain my property. Same as these seven cows, my teams of oxen, eight mules, dozens of oxcarts and wagons making up my part in this caravan.
I want y’all walking at the rear of the—”
“Walking?” My head jerked upward as I spoke without thinking.
I ducked my head immediately but not before noticing the buckboard sway as Master Ryland stood to his feet as if needing to suddenly attend to something.
“You say something, gal?”
“Not now, Ryland, dear. The others are gathering and we don’t want to cause a delay chastising a nigra over a poorly asked question. Let today be a day of grace.”
I had his wife to thank for waylaying any discipline he might distribute.
My one-word question was accidental. Not a rebellion. We’d carefully packed the wagon beds and carts, allotting space on each for ourselves as well as our little ones. Now we were being told something contrary to our rational assumptions.
“Don’t take no sassing with you, Zinnie.
Leave it here in Mississippi. I said walking and that’s precisely what I mean.
” He spoke tersely, seemingly insulted that breath was needed for an explanation.
We were to bring up the rear, ensuring none of his livestock strayed or escaped.
“Y’all keep ’em safe. Walking ain’t to your liking, Zinnie?
Stay put. But those gals of yours’ll be with me.
” He turned to address our full assemblage.
“The smallest ones can ride an hour or two at a time so as not to slow down the journey. Otherwise, y’all’re strong-bodied and you’re walking. ”
He hawked and spat before slapping the reins against the oxen’s flanks, directing them toward the area where a fraction of the caravan had arrived and congregated.
I waved away the cloud of dust the oxen kicked up, needing God to forgive me for wishing that man a terrible fate like falling in a ravine during the journey.
I took a steadying breath and looked about at what I was leaving.
Mean-to-the-bone Mississippi. Back-breaking labor.
Rising in the dark before the sun. Working long past the sun was done.
Laboring in fields with cottonmouths and rifle-toting boss men who were just as poisonous.
Canning. Cleaning. Preserving. Beating laundry against rocks or choking on smoke in the tiny cookhouse.
Such things were embedded in the calluses of my palms and the muscled strength of my arms. I let my mind scuttle away from the two-legged, breath and blood nightmare that took womanhood and planted seeds that sprouted newborns.
Not one of us had ever left the south. And we’d certainly never been out west. A multitude of calamities could happen between now and then. But at least we were leaving here.
“Annabelle! Abigail!” I grabbed my daughters’ hands the moment they came within reach, clutching them tightly.
I looked down at Hattie strapped to my chest, too little to situate on my back, and wished I could leave Ryland Marion Tolliver, his kind and kin in that godforsaken region.
I looked at my fellow bondsmen, noting their uncertain expressions and the roundness of my sister’s stomach.
“Fool wants you walking with a child in your belly.”
Lovie waved away my whispered words as if afraid they’d audibly float on the spring breeze. “The good Lord’s with us. He sees everything. He’ll get us there safely.”
I considered her face filled with not hope, but stubborn insistence. It was enough to make me wonder if this voyage might provide the miracle of a new beginning. For us. For our children.
Gripping my girls’ hands, Hattie safe against my breasts, I lifted my chin, feeling like a baby taking its first steps. Ignoring my surroundings, I focused on the distance as Hattie squirmed.
I couldn’t say what waited ahead but, promising the good Lord I’d face it as long as my daughters and I were together, I took one step into the unknown. And then another.