Chapter 8

Agnes pulls clusters of carrots from the earth in angry clumps. The girl’s hardly been here a week and they’re already rushing her out the door. There’s no way that gal’s making life on Walker’s better for anybody. She’s been here nearly seven days and hasn’t lifted a finger to help. She hasn’t cleaned the cabin, picked one carrot, plucked one berry. Has she helped in the fields? Not one bit. She’s too weak to be out in the sun. Nobody rushed her then. Why’s Mama Skins so bent on rushing her to do this now? Glaring at Mama Skins’s back does nothing to stop the woman from washing Ella. Mama Skins pulls, prods, dresses, oils, all the while cooing, “Won’t last longer than it has to. Don’t you look pretty? Ain’t no use in crying, be over soon enough.”

Thick-braided hair, skin rich like firewood, voice soothing like a summer bird. She looks like the same Mama Skins but the woman readying a shaking bit of a gal for plundering ain’t her mama. When Mama Skins is satisfied that she’s ready, she pulls Ella toward the door.

“I might as well take her myself,” Agnes says.

Before Mama Skins can respond, Agnes is up. She wiggles between the woman and the girl, then pushes, pulls Ella out the door, through the wood, toward the river. Ella fights her. She digs her heels into the ground, her nails into Agnes’s arms. Agnes drags her. They slip, stumble, fall. Each time they fall Ella picks up something to hit Agnes with. A handful of rocks, a thick branch. She isn’t going to let Walker anywhere near her, doesn’t matter what that crazy old coot or her crazy daughter says.

“I said I’d take you to the barn and I’m taking you to the barn. But first, we gonna get you some of that goo. Can’t do nothing about him touching on you today but put enough up in there and he won’t be bothering with you no more anytime soon.” Agnes leads her to the sweet-smelling patch of poison. “Myrtle done got it in Walker’s head that maybe ain’t nothing wrong with you. That ain’t nothing wrong with James that ‘a little time in the well’ won’t cure. As if soon as he got out she wouldn’t be fussing over him.”

Ella’s feet dig into the ground. Planted, her body goes rigid. She opens her mouth but instead of words, she speaks in guttural growls and wheezes. She spits. Drops of red and yellow sprinkle the ground in front of Agnes’s feet.

“What’s the matter with you?” Her words are like a hiss. “I told you,” Agnes says, “Little James don’t want no parts of you. Only reason he done what he done was he had to. If it wasn’t for James, Walker and them would be laying up with you way before now. Just like you to think he’d choose you.” Agnes scoops a handful of flowers, plucks the leaves off, squeezes the stems and drinks from the stalk. “When he was in you, you know what he was thinking ’bout? Me. He told me so. Now Myrtle trying to mess it all up. Got Walker thinking my James is lying. Can you believe that? Walker got to beating on him. Beat him so bad even Myrtle got to saying maybe she was wrong. James say hearing Myrtle say that almost made it worth it. But Walker act like he ain’t hear her, though. Said he gonna find out for his damned self. If ain’t nothing wrong with you, there ain’t nothing wrong with James. And if ain’t nothing wrong with James, soon as he heals up, Walker’s gonna sell him. You ain’t gotta like him but he helped you. Now you gonna help him.”

She watches as Ella’s lips twitch, her eyes squint. The hairs on Agnes’s arms stand up. She’s got something on her mind. Agnes steps away, turns her back to the girl. She listens as Ella moves closer. Her feet barely make a noise in the soft grass. Her breath is hot on Agnes’s neck. She cocks her head to the side, tosses the words over her shoulder: “Maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll go in and tell Walker there ain’t nothing wrong with you. What do you think will happen then? James will be sent down south. What about you? As soon as he knows there ain’t nothing wrong with you he’ll be on you like bark on a stick. First it will be Walker, then Old Walker, overseer, who else? They’ll get to bedding you all the time. Well, guess that’s up to you too. But you right, you don’t have to help James.”

Ignoring the burn, the girls slather the grainy mixture anywhere they think Walker might touch.

Five minutes after Agnes pushes her in the barn, Walker, still cursing, storms out. Agnes creeps from her hiding place and rushes to find Ella. Blood trickles down the side of her mouth.

“Seems like you tainted just like the rest of us,” she says. Agnes slips down to the floor next to Ella. Puts her head in her lap. Smooths her hair. They sit until their hearts stop racing, until swallowing no longer hurts, until breathing steadies. “Soon as James can walk without that limp, we leaving. Walker ain’t gonna sell him over this but if it ain’t this, it’ll be something else. Ain’t gonna wait to find out what that something else is. Don’t see why you can’t come too.”

“Why can’t she come?” James asks for the third time. “Because she don’t do nothing for herself. She would slow us down.”

It’s early in the morning, before the sun is up. Agnes and James lie side by side, her head touching his, in the tall grass.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with her legs,” she says, “she’ll be plenty help when we get to town. We can all work. Besides, she can read.”

“How do you know? She can’t even talk.”

“She can talk, just ain’t got nothing to say.”

“She’s got plenty to say from what I hear.”

“Not when she’s awake.”

“What if one night she gets to talking about us running away? Then what?”

“Even if she do, at least my mama ain’t gonna tell nobody about it.”

“Myrtle doesn’t mean any harm.”

“Well, my mama wouldn’t do what Myrtle done.”

“Are we going to sit here arguing about old women or are you going to hold me a spell before I have to get back? You know how Missus is if I’m late.”

Agnes nestles in his arms, breathes in his scent of furniture polish, lilac water, and ash soap. “She still coming,” she says.

“I know.”

Later, when Agnes tells her, Mama Skins says nothing. She has already heard the rumors: that gal ain’t no savior. She murmurs, gestures, grunts, but the yelling Agnes expects doesn’t come. The silence is worse. Agnes can feel Mama Skins watching her as she lays Ella down, washes and clothes her. The woman’s stare bores holes in her back as Agnes tidies the small cabin, taking care not to get in her mother’s way. She’ll tell her about the leaving when Mama Skins is ready to listen. Until then, the women move in silence with Agnes mending, scrubbing, dusting, polishing, and touching every tin cup, wooden plank, worn hide, or frayed cloth as if she was saying goodbye and Mama Skins watching her doing it. Keeping secrets don’t come easy. Agnes moves outside on the step to settle next to Papa Jonah; she feels the woman’s eyes even then.

“Wasn’t nothing else I could do,” Agnes says. “I had to use them herbs. She’s one of us.”

Papa Jonah chews on his empty pipe. For a second, his warm hand presses into hers before letting go.

Evenings with Mama, Papa, and even that girl give her something to look forward to during the long days. But picking, even if it is for her own supper, is still picking. The slave gardens behind the cabins are the coarsest on all Walker land. Still, year after year, Mama Skins’s patch grows blueberries and carrots that taste like green beans, squash, onions, and anything else that was planted and never grew. Her coveted concoctions are a natural delight. Agnes looks back at the tree Ella props up. She claps the vegetables together and watches the dirt rain down over gaping holes before snatching up another clump.

“I don’t know how things work where you from but here, if you don’t work,” she calls over her shoulder, “you don’t eat.”

Ella shrugs.

“Mama Skins said youse supposed to help me pick these vegetables for the circle.” She snatches a carrot up, curls her fingers tight around its hard flesh and shakes it like it’s Ella. “You ain’t fooling nobody, we know you can talk if you want to.”

Ella turns her back.

“Can run too.”

Ella straightens.

“All night long you screaming, Papa! Papa, don’t leave me! and kicking them legs like a mule on fire. That’s the honest truth. That’s why I had to move my roll from next to yours. I was afraid you’d kick me clear in the head. And you know what else? When you ain’t screaming, you mumbling all the time ’bout grabbing that rusty rifle and shooting somebody clear through the head. Shooting us that done helped and cared for you, mended you. Even worse, you talk about leaving us where we lay, not even stopping to bury us, and drowning your fool self in the river. Why I gotta be dead for you to kill yourself? When you ain’t busy killing us or you, you talk about running away. Can’t seem to get you to shut up lessin youse awake. Some nights I just pray and pray, Please, Lord, let that gal wake up so I can get to sleep!”

Ella snorts.

“Just so you know, that rusted heap couldn’t shoot clear even if it did have gunpowder. So if you planning to kill us, you gonna have to find another way. Way I see it, there’s the poison down by the river. What’s to stop you from slipping a leaf or two into the pot when nobody’s looking? Time? Nah. Got plenty of that. Any chore Missus and them want doing, I been doing so you don’t have to. Who gonna see you? Field hands got better things to do than to wait for you to drag yourself cross the floor, down the step, through the grass. If you could find your way there. Laziness? Well, I ain’t one to say nothing about your mama but …” She lets the words linger.

With one hand holding on to the tree and the other reaching for Agnes, Ella stands.

“Only thing wrong with your legs is you. You want to get off this land? Run. Run as fast as you can because you know what? You ain’t gonna get nowhere dragging your legs behind you. You afraid? Got every call to be. You don’t know where you at. Don’t know how to get where you want to be. If you don’t know where you going, you ain’t never gonna get there. You want to get back to your people? You better get yourself to the circle. If anyone can tell you what you need to know, it’s them women. And if you want them to give you something, you better not get there without offering something in return.” Out of the corner of her eye she watches Ella stomp over to a ripe row of tangled vines and stems, bushes overgrown to bursting. Ella pulls, trying to rip up a tender carrot from the ground, root and all. Agnes grins and slows down her picking. Now she carefully lifts leaves and delicately pinches buds while Ella tears and rips. Agnes fingers the shell within her pocket. She wouldn’t miss the circle because of that heifer.

“I ain’t going to fight you. Come if you want to come, don’t if you don’t. But if there’s news about your people, don’t expect me to come running to find you.”

She gathers her vegetables and walks away. Ella follows.

The women arrive after sundown. They arrive, some from miles away, laden with slivers of meats, bits of breads, chunks of sweets, slices of soap, and other snippets that can be spared, will not be missed, or have been saved for the special occasion. Every full moon since Agnes remembers, the women of her life gather round to share stories. This will be her last one. When she runs off with James she’ll miss the circle most of all. She won’t let that gal make her miss this.

Agnes is too far ahead. The sounds of hushed laughter and lilted voices guide Ella’s steps toward the circle. She whispers her name. A hoarse moan from deep in her chest makes her jump. It’s been weeks since she’s allowed herself to speak. She tries again. A raspy, grating cough bubbles up, fills her throat and echoes into silence. Stumbling, she heads into the dark.

The women make room for her to sit next to Agnes. Agnes squeezes her hand. As they talk, the women weave and plait, knotting vines in intricate ropes.

I can’t talk, she mouths to Agnes.

Agnes nods to the side where Mama Skins and a young pregnant woman argue in hushed voices. “That’s Grace,” she whispers. “She wants Mama Skins to give her something to stop the baby. Don’t look over there!”

Ella looks away. She points to her mouth, slowly mouths, I’ve lost my voice.

“She says she don’t want her baby born a slave. Mama Skins says she waited too late,” Agnes continues.

Mama Skins joins the circle. Grace follows, slow and empty-handed. The circle makes room.

“Missus still mumbling about not getting this one.” A woman nods her head toward Ella. “Walker done told her time and time again, she for breeding. But Missus say she want a city gal to show off to her friends. You sending Agnes in her place sent Ol’ Missus to spewing and hollering about insolence and whippings.”

Ella’s skin prickles. Breeding?

The women laugh.

“I knew Agnes would satisfy the Missus,” Mama Skins interrupts. “It didn’t matter which one they got.”

“Sure do matter to Walker, though,” Myrtle says. “Walker got plans for that one that don’t have nothing to do with talking proper or impressing guests. Who she gonna breed with? Little James?”

Agnes stiffens.

“You got a name?” Samantha asks. She jabs a finger at Ella.

Ella nods her head.

“She don’t say much of nothing,” Agnes says.

“’Cept how she gonna kill us all?” Samantha asks.

“Mama!” Agnes shoots her mama the closest thing she dares to a dirty look.

“Ain’t heard that from me,” Mama Skins says.

Seem like the only time that Little James can keep his mouth shut is when he’s kissing. “She don’t mean nothing by it,” Agnes says. “She only talk like that when she sleep.”

“I’d sleep with both eyes open if I was you,” Myrtle says. She frowns at Ella.

“Why don’t you give her one of them special sachets, Meredith?”

Even Ella stares at Grace.

“Wrap it up real tight, put a pretty bow on it.” Grace’s voice is deep, low. She glowers at Mama Skins across the flame. “Dead by morning. Isn’t that what you said?”

Mama Skins tosses a twig in the fire.

“I’m still here. Baby’s still here,” Grace pokes her belly. “I ain’t wake up dead.”

“Don’t always work. I told you that too. Ain’t gonna be no more talk of that tonight. I said no.”

A chill plays up and down Ella’s spine. How will she ever see Papa and Mama again if one of these heathens kills her?

“Iola,” Mama Skins calls to a young woman. “It’s time.” The women, even Grace, stand. Ella readies herself to rise.

Agnes shakes her head no, grabs her hand and holds tight. “They took my babies,” Iola says. Her words are mixed with old, deep sobs. “I’m bringing them home.”

The women nod as some strip Iola. Her clothes are tossed in the fire. They rub her pocked, bruised skin with soothing oils. With deft fingers they wrap bundles of herbs and twine around Iola’s calves and thighs. They wind the knotted vine around her belly, over her breasts, around her sinewy arms and tie it around her neck.

“It’s to throw off her scent. To give her time,” Agnes whispers.

Mama Skins unrolls a stiff dress made out of animal skins and cured in skunk essence. The garment’s musky scent makes the air bitter.

“For the dogs,” Agnes says.

The dress of skins makes Iola look wider, heavier. Weighed down like she is, she won’t get far. Ella looks around the group. She can feel the cool certainty of Iola’s failed escape. Iola slips into the night. The women resume their places around the fire. Ella jumps up to follow. If she can catch up with Iola, the two can help each other get away.

“Let her have her chance,” Myrtle says. Her annoyance clips the end of her words like teeth. “You’ll get your own chance.”

“Hush,” Mama Skins warns. “Ain’t nobody going nowhere.”

Ella rubs her hands together to stop them from shaking. “Walker set out to steal folks because he can’t afford to buy no more,” Samantha continues.

“And on account none are born on this place,” Myrtle adds.

Ella stares at Mama Skins. She stands up, trembling and pointing. If the old woman hadn’t been poisoning them, they’d have babies of their own and Walker wouldn’t have stolen her.

“Walker had a mind to do it and he did it. From the way I see it, you here now,” Mama Skins says. “If you have babies and break the curse while you here,” she shrugs, “so be it.”

“What if she don’t break the curse?” Samantha asks. “You gonna give him what he wants?” She nods toward Agnes.

“He ain’t got no call to want Agnes.”

“If this one can’t have no babies,” Myrtle asks, “what’s gonna happen to her?”

Ella doesn’t wait to find out. She stands, turns her back on the circle, and slips into the waiting darkness. If only she could wrap her hands around Mama Skins’s neck. She would shake and shake until the old woman begged her to stop, then she’d shake some more.

“He took you because he wanted to and wasn’t nobody with a mind to stop him,” Agnes says. She plops down next to Ella. “Mama Skins ain’t have nothing to do with it. Walker probably figured on getting you with child so he can afford all he’s missing out on like shoes and tobacco. Mama Skins is the only thing standing in the way between you and that.” Agnes points toward Grace.

Ella hasn’t gotten as far as she thought. Nearby, the fire’s glow casts shadows on the women’s faces.

“Well, the Missus is hopeful,” Samantha says, “seems folks stopped talking about the doctor and before long Mama Skins can be hired out again.”

While they talk, Mama Skins passes a bursting basket around the circle. Whoever wants something is free to take it. If someone else wants it they can share it if it’s enough or barter if it isn’t. In this way meats are exchanged for fur scraps, vegetables for clay, and slivers of soap for hope. Only Grace and Ella take nothing.

With a bundle of damp skins, Mama Skins smothers the flames. The smoke smells of cherrywood and sassafras. As the women chatter, Grace gathers her belly and leaves the warmth of the group to follow the soothing call of the river. With each step she takes, she puts a pebble in her mouth. She reaches the slippery bank and keeps walking. There is a soft splash as the water welcomes her. She walks to the middle of the river. The tide sucks and pushes her in deeper. She stops, as if uncertain. The tide pushes her on.

Ella watches the woman disappearing as the river swallows her a bite at a time. She shakes Agnes, points to the river, mimes jumping in.

“You thirsty?” Agnes asks.

Instead of watching Grace, the women watch Ella watching Grace. She’d rather do it herself than ask the old woman for help. Following the light from pale stars, Ella makes her way to the edge. The river rushes and bubbles, swirls.

Grace smiles, waves.

In her mind, Ella screams, Help her!

“She don’t want no help,” Mama Skins says. “She waving goodbye.”

On the shore, the women wave heartily, silently. In the river, Grace sinks beneath the waves. Before the feuding starts, the women know there will be no more circles. Two in one night? Even if they didn’t believe it before, no one will deny Walker’s place is cursed. No owner would allow a slave to set foot on Walker soil. When they hug, they squeeze tight, linger. They settle their stories: some sort of spirit reached up and snatched Grace to the bottom of the river. Didn’t they try to help her? Yes. The women slip into the woods one by one, leaving Agnes and Ella to stare into the water.

“I ain’t leaving here like that,” Agnes says. She crosses her arms to stop them from shaking. “When I leave this place, I’m gonna be alive. You stay here waiting on somebody to save you if you want to. I’ll be long gone.”

The next morning word filters down from the main house through Little James’s lips. The sun hasn’t been up a good ten minutes. The air is cool. The water, ice cold. It’s Sunday, Agnes’s favorite day. It’s the only day she can sleep late. Still, Agnes has been up since dawn. She likes to slip out of the cabin, a biscuit in each pocket, before Mama Skins can get started with her list of things to do to occupy Agnes’s time. As soon as she finishes the wash, beats the rugs up at the house, and does the ironing, she can have the rest of the day to herself. She doesn’t count on Little James interrupting her washing. She has already gathered firewood to set the pot boiling. She strings a line of clothes to soak. The branches crackle like footsteps. She wades knee-deep into the water, a trail of underclothes behind her. She half expects to see Grace staring up at her.

“Ain’t none of y’all allowed to set foot off this property,” James calls from the river’s edge. “No walking to town, visiting neighbors, evening strolls, or trips to market.” He raises his voice above the lapping waves.

Agnes rolls her eyes and keeps walking. The water swirls and foams around her. She steps through nibbling fish and over slick grass.

“Not that any of y’all been allowed to leave since Mama Skins was accused of killing the doctor. No telling what would have happened if Old Missus hadn’t convinced the sheriff your mama was too dumb to mix up a concoction that would have done it. Master says none of you will ever set another foot off this land without his permission, ain’t anybody allowed on it either. That means no more circle, in case you wondering.”

Agnes stops walking. For a second she bobs along with the water before diving beneath the surface. She touches the soft bottom with her hands, plants them in the dirt, extends her legs and unfolds into a handstand. She wiggles her toes at James. Upside down, her tears drain into the river. When she returns to the edge, her arms piled high with the washing, she puts the clothes into the pot to boil and sits, arms crossed, under a copse of trees. James joins her.

“The first thing I’m going to do when I take you away from here is build us a house near the water.”

“That’s the first thing?”

“You already mine.”

Agnes nods.

James puts his hand on Agnes’s stomach. “Soon as we free, we can start a family.”

“You all the family I need. I don’t want to birth no babies until my babies can be free.”

“So we aren’t ever going to have a family?”

“Can you promise me they gonna be free?”

James stares into the river. He slips his hand into Agnes’s. Their feet dangle over the edge.

Later, as Agnes gathers the drying clothes, James tells her stories.

“The horses are still galloping and Doc Sampson comes jumping out of that buggy before it even stops. Walker Junior meets him before he can get to the ground. ‘Don’t you come here looking for no handouts,’ he says. James runs from the left side to the right. ‘Handouts?’ Sampson asks in that quivering voice of his. ‘You owe me one thousand dollars for ruining my I-Oh-La. I come to collect it!’ He jumps back to the other side. ‘A thousand? She wasn’t worth that much alive. I tasted her cooking!’ He puffs to the other side. ‘Don’t think I won’t get the sheriff. I’ll do it! This whole damned place is cursed!’ Sampson says. You know Walker Senior don’t like to hear talk like that so Junior gets to trying to whisper. Doc ain’t having no parts of it. He’s nearly yelling. ‘Don’t see why I allowed that visiting business in the first place! Bunch of Negroes gathering to do what? Share recipes and cleaning tips? More likely trying to figure out how to kill us all and you just setting there letting them! No more. You done cost me two heads.’ ‘Two?’ Walker says. ‘That crazy girl of yours walking off cost me my best hounds. You ought to be paying me!’ ‘Your best hounds chased her clear over that blasted ledge. Don’t you send none of your people on this land no more. Ain’t none of y’all welcomed here!’ ‘Welcomed here? You don’t have to worry about that. Next time you see me, it will be with the law!’ ‘Gentlemen,’ Little James says. He spreads his palms, wide. ‘Let’s settle this indoors, like neighbors.’”

“Let me guess, that was you?” Agnes says. She folds the linen in tight squares and sprinkles them with dried herbs. Jasmine fills her nose.

“Who do you think kept them from killing one another?” James laughs.

“What really happened?”

James frowns. Stares across the river.

“I ain’t mean nothing by it,” Agnes says. “Tell it like you want to.”

“It ain’t that,” James says. He stands behind her. Pulls her close. A sheet slips from her hands. He breathes in the smell of her hair. “Things gonna get a whole lot worse around here.”

“What you mad for?” Agnes asks. Later, Ella sits on the step whittling away while Papa Jonah whittles at his pipe. Even layered in skins, her bones poke through the garb. The rise and fall of her back is the only sign she’s breathing. “No more circle? What that mean to you? I’m the one been suckling on them stories since before I could walk. What you think I grew this big on blueberries and carrots? Them women are my family and I don’t get to see them no more till Walker and Sampson make nice or die. You don’t see me burrowing a hole about it.” Ella hasn’t looked at her since supper. She’d sat there not even pretending to eat the steaming plate of coon tail and smothered carrots. Stood up before Agnes had even finished the telling and sat on the porch, without asking Mama Skins if she could leave the cabin.

“Come on,” Agnes says, slipping beside Jonah to stand face-to-face with Ella. She doesn’t wait for Ella’s silent response but drags her around the back of the cabin, through the garden and into the woods. The trees here are taller than any on Walker land. Agnes drops her hand. She wraps her arms around a thick tree. She wiggles and stretches them but still, her fingers do not touch. “Go around the other side,” she commands.

Ella rolls her eyes, drags her feet and faces the tree. She looks up and up and still can’t see the top of it. The bark is smooth in some places, worn in others. Here and there scars and holes dot the thick trunk. It oozes sweet-smelling sap. Sniffing, she leans closer.

“It ain’t gonna bite.” Ants scurry up and down the thick bark. Patches of moss and clusters of leaves barely conceal knotted wood, holes, and burrows. Sap slides lazily from seldom used holes. The tree tickles her cheek, but Agnes waits. Finally Ella’s hot fingertips press against hers. “The end of the circle don’t mean we not gonna get out of here. Just mean none of them can help us. All I need you to do is hold on and I’m gonna hold on just like this,” she says. “We keep holding on just a little while longer, we gonna both be free.”

That evening the girls sit with their backs pressed against the rough bark. The cool night air wrinkles Agnes’s nose. “Don’t nobody out there care nothing ’bout how you feel ’bout being here,” she whispers. She breathes deeply so the air fills her lungs. “Just do what you told and don’t end up dead. You better start eating too.”

Ella snorts.

“I mean it. I ain’t going to do all this planning just to end up carrying you. You heavier than you look. I swear them bones got to weigh more than a head of hogs.”

Ella giggles.

“It ain’t gonna be long, you’ll see.” No sense talking about bringing James. He’s coming no matter what.

Agnes is up before dawn the next morning. Before sunrise she has done her share of picking, washed the windows up at the house, soaked pots, and scrubbed the front room. By noon she has washed the steps and beat the dough for supper. Grinning, Samantha hands her a full chamber pot. She whispers above the stench, “James heard that gal’s pa is looking for her. Folks in town talking about a gang of black men heading this way. They gotta be her peoples. Sheriff sent them every which way but here. He told them this place is haunted but they heading here just the same, should arrive just before suppertime.”

Agnes nearly drops the pot. Its contents swirl and slosh like her stomach. Come to take her home. Agnes’s hands tremble.

“Go tell your ma,” Samantha says. “She’ll know what to do.”