Chapter 21 #2
“That’s the healing-est kiss ever.” I smoothed one of her long, thick plaits, loving her kindness and intelligence.
“Mama Ruth would be proud of you. I already feel the healing. Now, go help your siblings.” A weary smile touched my lips as she scampered off.
Looking at her little legs pumping air, I thought about how I’d carried her across the nation on our first voyage.
Now, she was big enough to do most things independently and preferred it that way.
Life has definitely changed.
I had much to do but stood there considering life for my brood of seven working in tandem to unload the handcarts. My three plus Lovie’s four.
I did my best to preserve my sister’s memory.
While it was hard for the youngest two to remember her, July certainly did.
He was becoming a handsome young man—quiet and often withdrawn since his mother’s death.
Juniper was the opposite. Her heart was bright as sunshine.
She was outgoing and gentle. I’d objected when she took to calling me Mama, feeling like it was a betrayal to Lovie. Buck helped me see it differently.
Maybe it helps her feel less lost and alone. Y’all both know who Lovie was to her. It ain’t hurting nothing, Zinnie.
I couldn’t rightly deny Juniper that comfort when Mama Ruth and others had rescued me from a motherless misery.
“Y’all be careful unloading that spinning wheel.
” I wasn’t sure why Miss Norene insisted on having it when she possessed invisible knitting skills.
Even so, I was glad they unloaded the contraption without damage and that there wasn’t much left to do.
My tribe needed rest. They were exhausted.
From Salt Lake to San Bernardino July had manned a wagon, same as my husband.
But the older ones in my brood had been paired up and made to pull handcarts same as Ella and me.
Like oxen. Their being used that way made my blood boil.
“Go on over to the well and wash up while I find something passable for supper. Annabelle and Juniper, I’ma need your help when you finish.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I watched my long-legged girls heading towards the well, obediently. Juniper was fourteen to Annabelle’s thirteen. Lovie’s youngest two were tucked in between Annabelle and Hattie’s ages. Same as Ella’s Nero. They were good children, but those oldest two caused me no small degree of worry.
No matter how tightly I had Juniper and Annabelle bind their breasts, womanhood still appeared in the curve of their hips and the narrowing of their waists.
Not that fanciness was ever our fortune, but I made sure their clothing was drab and shapeless to deflect attention. That didn’t mean they’d gone unnoticed.
Those Tolliver boys been looking at them.
Thankfully they hadn’t made any moves. Yet. That didn’t mean my girls were safe from them or any white man. It hurt me endlessly knowing I had yet to find a way to keep them untouched, undamaged.
Colored women oughta be able to choose when we do or don’t entertain a man.
“Get on with the supper, Zinnie.” Fretting wouldn’t lengthen my lifespan.
I headed for the makeshift lean-to that was ours to use for the evening while readjusting the cloths Hattie had wound about my hands. They put me in the mind of Buck and the ceremony we’d shared in Salt Lake that bound us in the eyes of God.
Leaving that place meant an interruption to our union.
Traveling to California in a caravan, there were no separate weekly prayer meetings allowing us to escape to our oasis in the blacksmith shed.
We lived in the open once again with a secret that could get us sold or badly beaten.
All because we dared to love without a plantation man’s sanction.
“Lord, let them get back to their prayer meetings.” This San Bernardino settlement wasn’t overly developed yet. I still hoped their religious gatherings were already established.
I need their prayer meetings so we can resume our loving.
“Zinnie, come here! Look at this.” Ella’s urgent whisper interrupted my thoughts.
Positioned near the road that ran parallel to the empty land assigned to us for the night, she hid in the shadows of an abandoned shed peeking around its wall.
She peeked and pulled back like a turtle popping its head in and out of its shell.
“Ella, what in God’s name’re you doing?”
Hattie’s high-pitched complaint prevented her answering. “Mama, Annabelle won’t let me carry the bucket from the well!” My youngest raced towards me—indignant. Plaits flying. “She says I’m too little, and I’ll drop it.”
I scooped her up onto my hip, choosing not to mention a whole life of servitude waited in the wings. “You’re fine, little bit—”
“Shh!” Ella waved us forward, a silencing finger to her lips. “Zinnie, hurry up before you miss it.”
I hurried with Hattie on my hip despite the weariness in my legs. My only wish was to get the evening meal out of the way so we could finally rest in this newest place we were to call home. “Ella, neither of us got time for games.”
“Honey, you need to see this for yourself!” She grabbed my arm and pulled me next to her. “Look!”
I moved forward to see what had her attention, but Ella pulled me back again. “How can I look if you won’t let me?”
“Are we playing peek-a-boo, Aunt Ella?”
“No, baby. We’re playing be-quiet-and-see.” She took Hattie from my arms and pushed me forward, whispering, “Do it, Zinnie. And hurry.”
I peeked around the corner of the lean-to that had outlived its use. I heard him before I saw him, a sunburned man with a heavy-looking sack draped across his back. In a singsong voice he announced his wares, inviting buyers to indulge in them.
I frowned and eased back beside Ella, not understanding her fascination. “We’ve seen peddlers before. What’s so interesting about him?”
“Not him. Them!”
I looked where she pointed. With Hattie perched on her hip, the three of us eased forward.
A one-horse wagon moved down the dirt road in the opposite direction. It was near enough that its occupants were visible—a Negro man and woman. Even from the rear the fineness of their attire was clear, with his high-collared jacket and her hat gussied up with plumage and ribbon.
“Dear, Lord Jesus.” I took Hattie when she reached for me. “Who are they?”
“I don’t know, Zinnie! They bought something from that peddler. Wanna know what he said? ‘Thank you, Mister and Missus Allen.’ That plantation man spoke to them proper! He didn’t say boy, gal, or nig—”
“I get the point, Ella.”
“Maybe their owners are rich.”
“Mama, that lady’s hat is pretty,” Hattie commented while playing with the soiled brim of the straw hat on my head that had accompanied me from Mississippi.
“It sure is, baby.” I watched the ribbons on the stranger’s hat bob and float as the carriage rolled on, thinking her finery beyond comparison. Then a thought hit me.
“Ouch, Zinnie!” Ella yipped when I grabbed her arm. “Whatchu pinching me for?”
“What if they don’t have owners?” I clutched Hattie as a delicious thought swirled through me. I’d never seen enslaved folks dressed so nicely. Or sitting, backs straight with such dignity. “What if it’s like Buck said, that California don’t allow slavery and they’re free?”
Ella and I stared at each other a long while before stepping from the side of the shed and onto the roadway. With Hattie perched on one hip, I reached for Ella’s hand and held it in my giddiness.
We watched until the wagon was indiscernible in the distance.
“Ella…” I faced my longtime friend. “I don’t care about being rich.” I kissed Hattie’s forehead as if sealing a promise. “But if they got free Negroes in California… we gonna be one of ’em.”