Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
ZINNIE
“California! What in the name of God are you going on about, Buck?”
“Shhh, woman! Keep it down ‘fore you get us caught.”
I lowered my voice to a whisper and eased onto my side to wrap an arm about his bare waist. No matter that night hid my love’s face from me.
I knew every detail of his visage, his body, and the hands that touched and held me until I felt infinite.
“Well, what you’re saying ain’t making sense.
How’re we gonna up and go to somebody’s California when we just got here? ”
“That’s an exaggeration, Zinnie.” He slid his thumb down my nose and kissed my chin. “We didn’t just get here. We been here three years.”
“I know that! Every aching muscle I own is a testament to it.” We’d done exactly as Ryland Tolliver and Brigham Young commanded and put our backs and bodies into building up Salt Lake Valley’s settlement.
Farms. Cabins. Gardens. The bowery that served as a temporary school and church until permanent edifices could be erected.
Stores. An irrigation system. Organized plots of land that defined the community.
We provided the free labor that contributed to it so that Salt Lake Valley was no longer a modest camp but a center of Mormonism with its continuous influx of newcomers.
All the while my girls and Lovie’s clan had sprouted like gangly weeds and were made to contribute their labor as well.
My Abigail was seven now. My Annabelle, thirteen.
Then there was the precious baby I’d carried on my back, my little Hattie, who was three.
She might’ve been born in Mississippi, but her growing had been elsewhere.
The trail. Here. The teething, the crawling, her first wobbly steps.
Her babbling words. Playing patty-cake and peek-a-boo until she fell backwards, giggling.
Sucking a drumstick bone. And blowing kisses.
All of her becoming happened in this foreign territory.
Now, plantation folks wanted to uproot us again when we’d just settled in?
I burrowed against Buck’s chest. “Other than that nuisance of a cricket infestation last year, I thought things were good for them.”
As long as we were enslaved no place would ever be paradise, but the valley was pleasant enough. The surrounding mountains provided freshwater streams, plenty of fish, and there were orchards in abundance. “With all of that why’re we moving again?”
I listened to Buck’s explanation of The President—Brigham Young himself—sending seasoned saints to create a California waystation.
“They got Mormons pouring in from everywhere, but this waystation’s gonna support those sailing up from South America.
It’s in some place in California called San Bernardino. ”
“I don’t care about none of that, and I don’t feel like walking nowhere else.
My feet still give me problems after coming here from Mississippi.
” Sometimes sharp pains stabbed the balls of my feet; other times heat flashed through my heels so viciously my eyes watered.
“Ella and I got our garden looking good. And the cabin ain’t half-bad.
Now we gotta up and leave again? I’m sick of Old Man Brigham and his highfalutin demands.
” I propped an arm on his chest and pushed up so I was looking down at Buck.
“You know the real reason we’re leaving? ”
He threaded his fingers through one of my plaits that had loosened during our lovemaking. “What’s the real reason, Zinnie?”
“They running outta room and tryna empty up space for all his wives and children. Why these Mormon men gotta have so many women?”
Buck’s deep chuckle vibrated through me. “Wouldn’t know. The one I have is plenty.” He ran a hand down my naked buttocks and squeezed gently. “Polygamy is for the greedy.”
“Let them tell it, it’s for the godly. But then again, in their eyes so is slavery.”
“Which is why our going to California’s a good thing, Zinnie.”
“Meaning?”
“When California was admitted to the Union last year it joined as a free state.”
I sat up straight, hope flushing my veins. “Does that mean we’re free when we get there?”
Buck shook his head. “Don’t know, sweet thing. I heard ’em talking about Old Man Brigham warning them to be careful because California’s state constitution prohibits slavery. But we know how slippery they get when it comes to being law-abiding. We gotta wait and see.”
I felt deflated when I lay against his chest but was quickly comforted by his heartbeat as I allowed myself to dream this San Bernardino was a magical place of freedom for all God’s children. Not just those with pale skin. “I tell you what, if I go to California I ain’t leaving.”
“How you figure on making that happen?”
I rolled onto my back. “No idea. All I know is I’m getting too old to be pulling up stakes every time Massa Marion gets a new notion in his thick head. I don’t know how I’m gonna get it for me and my children, but I want a safe and stable life that’s solid.”
Buck grunted in agreement. “You deserve all of that and more, Zinnie. I pray you don’t only get it but that we’re blessed to share it together.” He was silent before taking my hand and placing it between his legs. “In the meantime, I got something solid for your enjoyment.”
I snatched my hand back while softly squealing with delight. “Quit acting mannish.” I pushed away from temptation and located my clothing. “We gotta get up from here. Prayer meeting’s ending soon.”
In the three years since Buck and I had approached Ryland Tolliver for his consent in our becoming man and wife he had yet to give it despite our frequent requests.
Eventually he forbade our asking altogether, claiming he’d had enough of our “whining and weaseling” and was unwilling to hear another thing about a “darkie wedding.”
Being disheartened didn’t keep Buck and me from finding a way around the hindrance.
One night, two years back, we stood by the stream in the moonlight and wrapped a cloth about my wrist before securing the opposite end about his. Our hands clasped, we spoke words of devotion for our ears and God’s and joined our hearts as one. Just the two of us.
We left my children out of our ceremony to keep them safe.
The older ones were trustworthy. My Hattie?
She was a feisty yet sweet chatterbox. By being excluded, the children could answer honestly, saying they knew nothing if ever our union came to Master Ryland’s attention.
With only heaven to witness we became man and wife, consummating our love while serenaded by the liquid symphony of the stream.
No one except Ella was privy to our marriage. It was a carefully guarded and delicious secret I relished. Buck and I carried on as usual, careful not to give ourselves away—coming together only during weekly prayer meetings.
On Sundays during their services, we were made to stand outside the bowery and listen to whatever sermon was being preached.
But our attendance wasn’t required during weekly prayer meetings, which gave us the opportunity to steal away to Buck’s blacksmithing shed and sip from our cup of marriage.
Our union felt like a touch of heaven, and I offered daily thanks for this man.
My only sorrow was the children I couldn’t give him.
I couldn’t allow conception. Doing so could expose our relationship.
Even worse was Ryland Tolliver’s still coming for me occasionally.
I thought to take the chance and allow my belly to grow big, but the possibility of growing Massa Marion’s seed wasn’t risk-worthy.
I refused to ever reproduce another child for him to add as an “item” to his property list that he had become hellbent on expanding.
Instead, I drank the pennyroyal I’d planted and harvested and was careful to never mention my consumption of it or Tolliver’s “visits” to my husband.
“I don’t like getting so little time to ourselves.”
I helped Buck pull his shirt overhead when he lifted me to my feet. “Neither do I, my love, but we gotta take what we can ‘til we figure something better. Maybe that’ll be in California.”
He held me close once we were fully dressed. “That mind of yours is already spinning over the state and we ain’t even got there yet.”
“I told you Lovie left me her optimism.” I missed my sister so much I’d taken to holding conversations with her same as I did Mama Ruth.
“Maybe… or could be your big heart has a beautiful capacity for dreams.”
Wasn’t nothing dream-like walking from Salt Lake to San Bernardino.
The saving grace was this new contingent being half the size of the original caravan and not needing to travel as far as we had when we left Mississippi.
The weather, however, was equally horrible with searing heat as we walked from June to September to reach our new destination.
Even worse was the Tollivers losing their minds and trading their oxcarts for new conveyances.
Master Ryland had turned to cattle ranching when his herd fared well in Salt Lake territory. He was greedy for greater fortune and chose to sell possessions to his fellow Mormons before leaving—including most of the oxen and oxcarts that brought us from Mississippi.
“That puts money in my pocket for more cows once we get to California.”
Fewer possessions meant smaller conveyances that didn’t require teams of oxen.
Lighter in size and weight, those two-wheeled contraptions were pulled by humans and were called handcarts for a reason.
If anything left me feeling like a beast, pulling those carts hundreds of miles through mountain ranges, valleys, and deserts certainly did.
By the time we reached San Bernardino in September, my hands were a field of blisters.
“Will a kiss make it better?” My Hattie wound cloth strips about my hands after I’d smeared salve on them. Her doctoring was comical and its efficiency questionable, but her kiss was pure joy.