Chapter 13 #3
I didn’t ask to leave Mississippi, to give up the devil I knew for the one I had yet to meet.
At least not with them. Not walking on aching, blistering feet, bound in slavery, to erect their Mormon kingdom.
Plaiting my girls’ hair to prepare them for sleep, I had an itch for a new home that was my own, one of peace and safety where I rose each day with a prayer of thanksgiving that wasn’t an act of courage in the face of reality.
I wanted my own garden bed. A cow or a goat. A few chickens. A cabin without holes in the roof. Maybe a good man to share my life with. Wanted to earn money to take care of myself and my children while doing the things Mama Ruth had instilled in me, being open-handed and helping my community.
“Zinnie, my apologies. I couldn’t get these to you earlier in the day. But I hope you’ll have them.”
I eyed the men’s shoes Buck held out to me, Annabelle’s unfinished plait between my fingertips. A frown creased my brow when I looked up at him. “What’s this?”
“There’s a sizable difference between our feet. And they ain’t much in the way of pretty… but they oughta help a bit.”
I looked down at his feet, confused by the brogans he wore. “You got two pairs last Christmas at the annual handout?”
He shook his head and spoke quietly. “Remember that Quaker preacher that passed through with his family last year preaching and talking equality and ending slavery?”
Folks in Fulton, Mississippi ran them out of there faster than hounds on a fox for spouting what they considered heresy. I nodded.
He glanced about. “I’m the one showed them the back roads and helped them escape.”
I instructed Annabelle to get onto the cart with her sisters, promising to finish plaiting her hair later. I stepped away, taking Buck with me, not wanting my girls to hear anything they might accidentally repeat.
Once far enough away I listened, fascinated, as Buck explained heading to one of the jobs Master Ryland often parceled him out for and finding that family lost in the woods. He’d led them in the right direction and was rewarded for his kindness with brogans.
“I didn’t want nothing, but brogans were all they had that might benefit me and that preacher insisted. I’ve hidden them ever since… in case Master Ryland objected. They ain’t in the best shape, but you can’t walk on scraps. Ain’t good for your feet.”
He shoved the well-worn shoes in my hands.
I shoved them back. “I can’t take those!
I been walking barefoot since losing one shoe in the river.
How I’m supposed to explain to Master Ryland or Miss Norene coming by some new brogans?
” We weren’t allowed to have anything without their permission.
They’d demand to know where I’d obtained them.
If I indicated Buck and they learned he’d been hiding property I’d jeopardize him.
Consequences could prove even worse if they learned he’d gained them by aiding abolitionists.
“Either of ’em say anything about you walking out here with no shoes?”
I shook my head.
“That’s ‘cause they ain’t noticed. I have.” He pressed those shoes into my hands and spoke quickly. “They ain’t far off what we get at Christmas. Scuff ’em up some more. Drag ’em in the dirt. Make ’em look pitiful so they ain’t worth attention. But you’re wearing ’em.”
He walked away despite my calling him, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.
I stared at his offering of generosity before returning to the oxcart and sitting on its tail end, speechless at what I’d been given.
“Mama… you don’t like Mister Buck’s shoes?”
Absentmindedly, I answered Annabelle. “Stay outta of what don’t concern you, little bit.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She fell quiet for only a moment. “But you always tell me and Abigail to keep two hands open. One to give. One to receive, and to never reject a gift when God’s the one doing the giving.” She shrugged. “At least that’s how I remember it.”
I stared at my firstborn, chastened by her wisdom. “Look who’s taking heed of her mama’s lessons.” I pinched her nose. “Let’s finish that plait so you can sleep. Gotta be up early.”
My children were tucked safely on our oxcart, sound asleep, when I took the lantern and left, unable to relax despite the day’s fatigue in my state of restlessness.
We’d camped near a creek. Its gentle gurgle summoned me. Carefully, I navigated the terrain, lantern in one hand, Buck’s brogans in the other, until I reached the creek bed.
I sat on the summer-baked ground, unbound my feet, and considered their blistered, battered state before dipping them in the soothing stream. My world felt instantly lighter. Somehow sweeter. Or was that the result of Buck’s generosity?
Could be the water and the giving are cleansing.
This journey had been hard going. The constant walking. Abigail’s near drowning. Annabelle and that Bible. Miss Tandy’s death. Alretha’s escape. Nursing the Peterson infant. And Master Ryland’s resumed unwanted attention.
I’d managed the heaviness of life, and this journey pressing on me. But sitting with my feet in the coolness of the creek, I picked up those old brogans two sizes too big and felt myself unfold the slightest bit.
Their gifting was like a tiny flame where only darkness had been. Cradling them against my chest, I marveled at the kindness, lowered my head and quietly wept.