Chapter 19 #3
Goodness wasn’t at the forefront of our days.
Building log cabins was. The cold season was around the bend, and plantation people were set on being ready when it landed in Salt Lake Valley’s Holladay-Cottonwood.
Even after walking miles that I’d never be able to number, there was no rest for the weary.
No time to admire the pretty landscape with its crystal-clear streams. Or celebrate Hattie’s sitting up on her own and rocking on her hands and knees ready for crawling.
The demands for our labor took precedence.
Our arrival at the settlement had been welcomed by the Mormon pilgrims already living there.
At least the plantation people among us were treated like an answered prayer.
We enslaved were ignored by some, visually inspected and dissected by others staring so long and hard we might as well have been three-headed creatures.
“They act like they ain’t never seen brown folks before.”
I’d glanced at Ella’s exposed arms, noting how her paler hue had bronzed beneath the summer sun, and agreed with her whispered observation the day we entered the settlement and were surrounded by more plantation people than I’d ever encountered.
We were oddities, greatly outnumbered, and the scrutiny was disconcerting.
“Might as well be blackberries in buttermilk with all this whiteness.”
“Well, there goes my hope that this Mormon kingdom might be one of justice.”
“Like Massa Marion warned us, nothing’s changed but the terrain.” We remained enslaved.
Those first few months we watched the men fell trees for firewood and cabin-building while we harvested, foraged, canned, and preserved in preparation for Old Man Winter. Better put, I watched one man. And he watched me.
I had been laboring all my life and was skilled enough to work with one eye on what I was doing and the other on Buck. I aimed to be discreet but more than once Ella caught me looking. Smiling. Admiring.
“Ella, what’s wrong with me?” Love between a man and woman was a new experience for me. It left my heart light with uncustomary feelings. “I’ve known this man since I was eighteen and ain’t never thought about him like this.”
“Maybe Lovie’s leaving helped you lose some stubbornness.”
“Perhaps.” Whatever the reason, I found myself opening to Buck’s affection that conveyed itself in ways my heart treasured.
The herbs or roots specific to the region that he happened across and left on my oxcart might as well have been a beautiful bouquet.
His playing his mouthpiece for the children was a symphony.
His making sure we stored enough firewood for the season ahead warmed my heart beyond comprehension.
I reciprocated his care with subtle gestures that I hoped were meaningful for him.
A touch of honey in his chicory still serving as stand-in coffee. Or two pieces of cornpone versus one. And plenty of fried apples picked from the settlement’s orchards.
When our enslaved community sat about the campfire at night and he played his mouthpiece, I clapped Hattie’s hands together and patted my feet, hoping he felt the appreciation streaming from my being.
When he pulled me aside one night I knew he did. “Zinnie… I aim to ask Master Ryland for your hand… if you’ll have me. That is if you’re feeling the same way—”
“I am.”
Those two words, filled with possibility, steadied me when Buck gently kissed me—when he took my hand and we quietly stood before Ryland Tolliver and Miss Norene.
“Zinnie and I are fond of each other. We wanna jump the broom and be married.”
To her credit, Norene Tolliver found the idea “splendid.”
Her husband had a different opinion. “I agree that you two mating would be a good thing. You’re young and strong and any procreating you did would increase my holdings.
But right now, our energies oughta be spent on enhancing the settlement for winter and readying it for the newcomers on their way here.
There’s a lot of work to do. I can’t have your attention divided. ”
“Yes, sir, we understand and wouldn’t give any less. We’d work even better as man and wife. Our entire family would. Even our children.”
“Are you saying those gals are yours? Have y’all been consorting without my permission all these years?”
I clutched Buck’s hand to still my angry trembling, wanting to slap the stupid from that man’s mouth. It was his wayward seed that had sown my children and he knew it.
“No, sir,” Buck continued calmly. “I simply mean I’d take Zinnie’s girls as mine when we marry.”
“If you marry. And be clear, Zinnie’s gals are my property. Same as you two. And as the head of my household, I say what does or doesn’t happen and when. I’ve heard your case and, while it’s not entirely objectionable, it’ll need to wait.”
“Sir, may we know for how long?”
“Until I pray and decide. Go’n. Get to your respective sleeping places. Good night.”
Angry waves rippled from Buck, blending with the waves of disgust I felt.
I waited until we’d arrived at my oxcart to lay my head on his chest and voice my thoughts. “I hate him.”
“I don’t feel no fondness for him, but don’t let him taint you, Zinnie.”
“He ain’t got a right to play God!” I pushed away from Buck’s chest, teary-eyed but steel-hearted. “One day we’re gonna be free of him. He gonna have a rude awakening when he finds out who the real God is.”