Chapter 7
SEVEN
ZINNIE
Mama Ruth, I hate the rain!
How you gonna hate what heaven sends to quench thirst, to wash you and the earth and make all things clean, Zinnie? Rain don’t fall with intent to harm nobody.
Damn rain nearly snatched my Abigail away!
But your girl’s still here, ain’t she? You giving credit to a disaster that ain’t happened. Get yourself together, and quit moping. After that’s accomplished, stop and count your blessings.
I counted easily. Even in sleep. Annabelle. Abigail. Hattie. My treasures three.
Our oxcart’s small confinement found us entwined most mornings. No matter my fatigue I instinctively managed to keep my youngest safe in my embrace. Her closeness was endearing. Snuggled against me, she nursed, making soft sounds.
“Zinnie?”
I jerked awake when I heard my name on a morning black as ink. The sun had yet to rise in grandeur or spread its golden splendor and majesty.
“Why ain’t you up and moving?”
My sister’s sharp whisper pulled me from the fragile arms of residual sleep, making it impossible to slide back into slumber. Or further converse with my beloved Mama Ruth. I breathed out disappointment on top of fatigue while rubbing a cramp in my leg. “Lovie, it’s mighty early for fussing.”
“Can’t say I disagree, but you best shake the dust from your feet ‘fore sunrise gets here and bops you on the head.”
“Pipe down ‘fore you wake the children.” Hattie mewled slightly when I detached myself. I rubbed gentle circles on her tummy and soothed her back to sleep before placing her safely in her basket. Sighing, I turned over on my bedding at the tail end of the oxcart to eye my sister’s silhouette in the dark.
I ignored my aching bones, wishing I could keep night from becoming day.
“You sound like a chastising rooster. Like you mad at being awake so early.”
She sucked her teeth, dismissively. “Just get up and come on here.” Lovie moved off, fussing underneath her breath. “Sleeping all late like somebody’s queen of England.”
At least I’m sleeping soundly instead of jumping awake every few minutes from nightmares of my child being washed away by a stream.
That horrifying incident was a few days behind us. Far enough so I could breathe. But too close for serenity. It left me nervous when my existence was already filled with uncertainty.
Daily, I walked a tightrope and navigated a maze of fear.
Same as any other enslaved person. But motherhood compounded my fears, churned them into a swirling, vicious cyclone surrounding my children.
I was petrified I’d be taken from them or them from me.
It was a real and present danger that could happen at any moment, for any reason.
A punishment. A whim. A means of plantation people satisfying their debts and obligations.
If ever my girls were snatched or sold and I never saw them again I knew I’d break and disintegrate and barely exist like a shell and haunted shadow of myself.
Still, I’d be required to serve the very ones responsible for my family’s devastation as if untouched by the hate their heinous acts generated.
Abigail’s near drowning aggravated that ever-present terror.
Had me watching my girls with the relentless gaze of an eagle locked on prey.
I found myself bundling Hattie more closely to me as we walked throughout the day and constantly checked that my older girls were present on the oxcart as if, without my notice, they’d somehow fallen off.
If our near calamity could be thanked for anything it was the fact that the children were allowed to ride now versus walking that long trek across God’s creation.
At least they can’t wander off and get into anything. Like those snake eggs.
I rubbed my tired eyes and exhaled slowly while unfolding my weary soul and pushing into an upright position. My knees creaked and cracked in protest as I scooted from underneath the cowhide covering the oxcart and eased to the ground before looking back at my children.
The dark hid them, leaving me to judge by the soft sounds of their breathing that they slept peacefully.
I leaned in, touching all three—reassured by the warmth of their skin.
Hattie slept soundly in her basket. Annabelle and Abigail lay wrapped about each other like a sister-blanket.
Thanking God for their wellness, I quickly and quietly moved to the top of the cart where my wares were stored.
Without moonlight to assist, I relied on touch and scent until I found the basket of moss and bay leaves kept for relieving purposes.
I pocketed some of each before digging down deep to where my girls’ water sacs were secured in a jar, nestled safely.
“Zinnie, you ready?”
It was Ella’s voice this time, urging me to face the day when it felt as if we’d barely said farewell to evening.
“Hold your britches. I’m coming.” I patted that jar and the preciousness it held before locating my walking stick and carefully, slowly making my way forward.
Much like the slumbering sun, the moon and stars refrained from kissing the sky.
Darkness was thick. There was no sound of movement.
All was quiet save the throaty song of bullfrogs sounding like a boastful choir of tenors as I trudged through muck and mud to reach my fellow bondswomen.
“Morning, y’all.” I mumbled a greeting, glad those ruthless rains that liked to whisk my sweet child downstream had finally ceased their hijinks and mayhem and granted us a reprieve.
Our caravan had traveled the last two days drenched by rain, trudging through downpours and barely moving.
The rains had since ceased their vicious downpour, but the ground was a gumbo-like mess as unwanted as fried chicken gizzards gone rancid.
“Morning, Zinnie. Ready for more walking?”
“Ella, I ain’t even ready for thinking.”
She chuckled quietly as the three of us linked arms to navigate our course towards the edge of the encampment. “Well, when you ready, at least you won’t be thinking in Mississippi.”
“Hallelujah for that blessing,” I praised, feeling like we’d made as much headway as a bull in a vat of molasses.
We’d finally left Mississippi only to be stuck in Tennessee.
Or so it seemed. The pace of our progress was grueling, felt like little to nothing.
Even so, slow moving was still moving. “I hold no excitement for Salt Lake Valley. I simply wanna end this drudgery.”
“Hush, now, ‘fore y’all rouse these menfolk.” Lovie’s caution quieted us as we navigated past oxcarts and bondsmen and older boys unfortunate enough to have to sleep on the ground, leaving the oxcarts to us women and children.
They’d formed pallets atop hay, covering them with flour sacks or coarse blankets when available, and slept in their clothing to combat the ground’s wetness.
In the dark I wasn’t sure which slumbering form was Buck; still, I sent him silent thanks, yet again, for rescuing Abigail from what could have been a watery grave.
Shivering in relief, I focused on Lovie’s whispered complaints.
“Who fooled around and forgot to tell Mother Nature it ain’t winter?
It’s spring.” The constant dampness made for irritable dispositions and uncharitable feelings, leaving Lovie whispering her opinion to the heavens.
“Hello-o-o, up there. Dear God, if you’re listening, I’m nearing my wits’ end with this wetness.
I’d be much obliged if you go’n and put a powerful plug in it. Thank you. And amen.”
“What kind of heathen prayer was that?” I questioned while passing out the moss and bay leaves stashed in my pocket.
“The only kind I had. God is merciful and understands.”
“Can’t argue that. It might be some kind of wet but at least it ain’t raining,” Ella added.
Heaven had tuckered itself and ceased its deluge.
Mud and muck sucked at wagon wheels, gripping the hooves of livestock as if the region was loath to see us leave.
Once and again Buck and the other enslaved men loaned those wagons and animals their strength—pushing, pulling them free from entrapment.
We womenfolk weren’t exempt. We labored alongside them fighting sludge, making every inch of progress a battle for Salt Lake Valley.
“Only reason it ain’t raining’s ‘cause the clouds ain’t got nothing left.” Lovie grunted and struggled to free a foot from the earth’s hungry grip, from a seemingly impassable terrain choking our progress. “They done already dumped their guts on us.”
“Good Lord, you’re in some sort of mood.”
“You’d be in a mood too Ella if your belly was swelling while walking from kingdom come to thy will be done. Zinnie, you got that stick ready to whack anything out in these bushes if it comes after us?”
I raised my stick. “I’ma whack it like it’s Lucifer and I’m Jesus.”
With muffled laughter we journeyed toward the caravan’s perimeter to relieve ourselves.
“Mama…?”
The call stopped me in my tracks. Even at a damp, dark distance I recognized the voice of my eldest. My heart throbbed in my chest, hoping nothing was amiss. “Y’all head on and do your business. Lemme see ‘bout Annabelle.”
Tending to her took precedence over tending to myself.
I hurried back the way I came as swiftly as the soggy ground permitted, despite knowing I needed to start the day before it began.
There was coffee to make. Animals to feed.
Tessie required milking. Smoldering campfires had to be smothered once the coffee-making was finished.
A breakfast of Johnny Cakes and jerky had to be distributed.
Buck and the others might require help breaking down the makeshift tents they’d slept beneath.
There was such a demand on time that none was left for hair-plaiting, or quick-bathing with rainwater captured in buckets.
Despite the tasks ahead, my oldest daughter’s voice pulled me like a string in her direction.
“Annabelle, child… I’m here.”
“Mama, I gotta go bad.”