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“Stop right here! Stop right here now or I swear ‘fore the Lord and your daddy I’ll whip you myself, Cosah!” Her chest rose up and sunk down rapidly as she felt the blood rush to her head, nearly causing her to faint. She hadn’t eaten anything all night long after picking cotton, and she was just about to when Cosah woke up, not even speaking, to head out to the cotton fields as he did every morning. It was obvious that he was still not feeling well, but he’d been raised to tolerate just about anything. Therefore, angry and sick, he tried to escape even looking at his mother but was forced to halt when she raised her voice, something that she never did.
Cosah stood there. He stared at the vast cotton fields that shown nothing but white underneath the rising sun. His six year old body just stood there with a big rip in his dusty, white shirt and worn down pants that were far too short in length while his toes curled in the shoes he wore because they were too small, all while his back remained turned to his mother as the tears rolled down his face. He continued to look at the cotton, like the cotton was all he was going to end up doing in his whole life...until he died like his father.
Shelone thought about walking toward him as her heart deceived her with pain for her child, the child that she knew she had to raise to be strong and almost careless to make it in the world. Although that emotion tugged at her to run and save him, she ignored it and demanded his respect instead, no matter how much she understood how he felt. There was too much at stake for her to allow him to disobey or dishonor her at any time.
“Walk back here right now, Cosah,” she calmly stated, forcing back her sadness in order to portray strength. Cosah slowly turned around to face the only mother that he’d ever known in his short lifetime, and that was a blessing in itself. Then, he began to walk back, his head held high, however, she could tell his soul was aching. When he reached her, she began to speak again, but was stopped by his voice.
“I ain’t never gonna see my daddy again, Mama,” he cried, his little chest swelling up as much as it could before it finally forced the pain out in a collapsing wail. “He wasn’t supposed to die, Mama, he wasn’t supposed to go nowhere! He said we was gonna stop pickin’ and be free,” he drowned in his sorrow, grabbing onto his mother’s dress like it was his lifeline to a peaceful heaven.
When his words entered his mother’s ears about freedom, she squeezed him tightly, shaken with fear and grief simultaneously as her tears began to puddle on top of his thick, dark brown hair that reminded her of his father. She didn’t know Marcus talked to him about freedom and escape. She knew they had their talks, but she had no idea that the root of freedom had already been sown into Cosah’s heart so early. She knew what the thought of freedom came with if the internal had no control over how much it screamed. If it screamed too loudly, the whites would hear it, and they would destroy it.
“Cosah,” she stammered, still flustered with his words, but he interrupted.
“What happened to him...tell me,” he cried.
Shelone’s strength completely left her body and she collapsed onto the floor with him, rocking her son back and forth. Then, finally she told him everything, how the whites ran him off over a crime he had nothing to do with. “And you know your daddy. He wasn’t gonna let nobody take him without a fight, but he knew he couldn’t beat all those whites. He had to run. And he could run fast, just like you, baby. He just couldn’t swim really good.” She took a deep breath. “Instead of him turning and watching death catch up to him, he swam the best he could. The slave they took to help the hunt said he saw him go down in the water. He didn’t holler for the whites while he was looking at your father go down. He said that your daddy chose to die in the water because he hollered out the words “I’m free!”. Then he let the water take him. By that time, the whites ran up to the slave that saw everything, and he told them what happened. They forced that slave in the water to find him, made him stay out there a good long bit, but he told me that when he saw your daddy’s body in the water, he didn’t pull it up. Instead, he pushed him on down further...said he did it so that your father could keep his freedom. Them whites would have drug him out and laid him here for all us to see. Cosah,” she cried softly, “your daddy did right. As long as he was living, he wasn’t gonna let fear of death or whites keep you from dreaming, so he died. Died right there...and I know it’s so you and your sisters wouldn’t see.” She pulled his head up and looked him in his watery eyes. “You hold in the freedom until it’s able to come out, and when it can come out, that’s when you run. That’s when we are all gonna run, Cosah. We gonna be free. Wipe your eyes,” she continued, wiping the tears from her own cheeks. Then, she pulled herself and her child together. “I owe you that, and we will get it. Hold it here,” she said, placing her hand on his heart. “Keep your mouth closed...until I say so. Don’t show your pain.”
Cosah remained near his mother for longer than usual that morning so that he could calm down. His sisters were already out in the fields, and it was only five minutes later that he was able to go out along with them. Before he left, he stopped at the cabin door and turned back to face his mother.
“He better not sleep, Mama.”
She turned around with Abraham on her breast, rocking him so as to soothe him during feeding time. “What you say, Cosah?”
“I’m gonna kill Mr. Marksman...one day.”
Shelone’s heart plummeted, so much so that she ripped baby Abraham from her nipple. Fear crept quickly back into her heart, and before she could loosen from the grip Cosah’s words had on her tongue, he was already headed toward the fields. As she watched him run, she noticed that he ended up right next to the man everyone called Bigun... She knew then that he was truly his father’s son. He accepted things for what they were, and made up his mind to change things his way when he felt it was needed. She knew deep inside that Cosah meant every word about Mr. Marksman, and she would be able to do nothing to stop him. She turned back around, sending her thoughts of all that had just occurred away from her, when another voice came through her cabin.
“Shelone,” it called. It was a very distinct voice, one that only certain people heard and only a certain times. The voice may have been strange to many new slaves that were to step foot on the Marksman’s plantation, but to Shelone, it struck a deep chord all the way back to when Isaac had to run for his life.
Shelone shuddered, placed her baby down, and then quickly turned around to face her. “Yes...yes, Mrs. Sarah. You look...right nice early this morning. Is there somethin’ the matter that I can do you for?” Shelone always spoke differently around the whites. She knew better English than what she performed. Mrs. Marksman didn’t answer right away, and it made Shelone nervous, so nervous that she starts speaking again. “I see somethin’ musta’ been done gone wrong at the place, lesson you wouldn’t be ‘round here by me,” she continued, walking to the other side of her cabin for the sheets to hang Abraham up in while she goes to pick cotton.
“I hear Lady Rose died. Is that so?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s so,” Shelone answered with her eyes lowered to the ground. Thoughts of Mrs. Sarah naked at Isaac’s cabin plagued her mind as she fought to keep her eyes steady and her back as straight as an arrow through the awful pains in her side.
“I need you to come with me then. My child is sick. I can’t tell what’s wrong with her at all. I told her about playing with you Negroes, but she feels like she needs to be around you so much. You all probably gave her the sickness.”
Shelone remained silent about her children. There was nothing that Mrs. Sarah could say to make her utter one word for or against her own because a word, whether it be for or against her children, would be used against them at all times. That was common sense with the Negroes. It was almost like they were born with that kind of sense.
“And you need me for what now ma’am?”
“To care for my child, Shelone. What is it that you think? You have four of your own, and they’re all well and strong. Seems like they haven’t seen a sick day since they’ve been born onto this earth, so you must know how to care for them, don’t you?”
“Lady Rose did most of the...”
“Lady Rose.” She stepped into the cabin, looking around disgusted. “She’s dead. I know she did it, but now I need you to do it and right now.” The sound of her voice turned from sarcastic to a snarl, and Shelone knew she had to leave with her.
“Yes ma’am. I’ll do what I can. I’ll be right there behind ya.”
“Come now. Bring that baby of yours, too. Charity likes babies, even the Negro ones. Give her something to play with.”
Shelone’s tongue was heated for attack, but for the sake of her children, she took a slow breath, so slow that even Mrs. Sarah couldn’t detect it or for that matter call a lie on the whole Negro quarters. She simply turned around, gathered Abraham tightly into her arms and followed Mrs. Sarah out of the cabin door, only taking one small glance at her children who were staring directly at her. As she passed by, she raised her hand to her side and lowered it, causing the children to obey and continue picking cotton.