Chapter 28

In Which Jemma Makes Me Cry

October 13, 1860

Dear Nell,

I wish you could tell me more about the Pickled Onion and what she is doing—and why she gets to wear costumes, if that’s what your last cipher said!

I like you sharing what you can. But most of all, I love hearing about that food. The pecan pie makes my mouth water. Have you ever heard of a dessert called iced cream? I was down at the store buying some flour for Mama last week when I listened in on some old men talking about it. They say it marries right with pie.

I don’t want anyone around here to know, but I’m going to try to make “maerc deci allinav” as a surprise for Mama soon. That might sound like one of your fancy Italian foods, but you’ll have to turn it around in your head to figure it out.

Maybe someday I’ll make some for you, too. I wonder when that will happen. For now, my memories of our last day together and that big weeping willow are still clear in my mind. Do you know why we had to leave? I think I should tell you some more, because it has to do with the Maple Tree.

You and I were so young and eager to get away from the old folks, we didn’t hear all the things that happened on the farms. But I think you might recall my uncle Ezekiel and his family. There were eight of them, and they kept to themselves on the other side of the river from us. We saw them at Christmas and Easter, and that was about all. They had two sets of twin boys, so things were always noisy and messy whenever they were around.

But my uncle Ezekiel was friendly, and he’s the one who gave me those baby ducks. You know how much I loved my ducks, so you can imagine how much I loved Uncle Ezekiel.

About a month before we left, I woke up one morning to the sound of the Maple Tree crying. It wasn’t a quiet kind of crying either—he was howling at heaven and shaking all over. He’d just found out about Uncle Ezekiel’s family, and the hurt in him opened up like a river. Tears poured out of him when he told me Uncle Ezekiel and Aunt Liza and all their six babies had been stolen by some slave hunters.

Mama says your daddy told her it was all right, that we’d be fine since we’d been farming the same fields in Chemung County since the Maple Tree was a baby. Your daddy said over and over not to worry, that he knew ways to keep us safe. But the Maple Tree said it didn’t make any difference. Some folks don’t see a black man as a man at all. He said some folks just see him as property.

I guess maybe for those slave hunters, they saw a lot of property in Chemung County that needed to be taken back down South.

It wasn’t too much later, and we were gone just like Ezekiel. Only Mama and me and the babies went north instead of south. Your daddy probably told you all about it, what with his brother and all.

When my mind gets to wandering off, like when I’m at church (don’t tell Mama), I think about Uncle Ezekiel and his babies and where they all are now. I catch every word those old gossips say at the chicken dinners after services. I know that Uncle Ezekiel and his babies aren’t together anymore. That slaves get sold off to the highest bidder. That nobody thinks twice about tearing twins apart from each other.

Sometimes my ears burn when I hear such things. And I feel like running out the church door and across our fields, running all the way to where the Maple Tree is so I can help. I even dream I’m running, some nights, my legs so fast that I begin to fly. And I am one of those blue herons, with mighty wings spread out wide and far.

I know Mama says not to pay attention to all that talk. But I think the most important thing we can do is pay attention, especially when what we hear hurts so much. How else will we know the work to be done?

I need to ask something of you now. I need you to tell the Maple Tree something if you find him. It’s too important to turn into a cipher, so I’ll put it to you straight. Tell him I’m coming. I don’t know when or how, but someday soon, I’m coming.

Your friend forever and ever,

Jemma