9

Years had passed. More children had come: Jane, Mary, and finally Hannah. Little John grew into a fine young man who was popular in the town. He was invited to the many picnics along the water and to skating parties and sleigh rides. He, like his father, was well dressed in knee breeches fastened with silver buckles over black silk stockings, and with buckles a bit bigger on his shoes. John looked nothing like either of his parents. He had a high forehead, blue eyes, and a straight nose. Every morning his long hair was carefully braided, in what he called a queue, and rewound around his whole head. And small curls that had remained in paper until he finished breakfast were let to fall on each side of his neck.

John was known as the baby Bett had delivered, so Bett’s fame as midwife and healer had spread throughout the area, and not only among slaves. As her fame grew, the master gave her more responsibilities. Bett answered the door and decided who would see the master on business that pertained to the court.

The mistress was not pleased with these additional duties and often tried to interfere when Bett had made a decision. One day the house was quiet and not many people had come all day. In the early afternoon, a young girl with her hair uncombed, her clothes wrinkled and dirty, knocked on the door.

When Bett brought her in, I was surprised to see someone so young. Her dirty face was streaked with tears and her gray eyes with long black lashes showed that she was afraid.

“Why are you here?” Bett asked.

“I must see the judge,” the child said in a timid voice.

“Sit down and I will tell the judge you’re here. I know he’ll see you.”

When the mistress came into the kitchen and saw the child, she became red in the face. Her eyes flashing, she asked Bett, “What does that baggage want?”

“To speak to the master.”

“What does she want to say to your master?”

“I don’t know, ma’am.”

“I know.” She turned to the child. “You slut, you’re here because you tempt honest men. Get out of my house. Out!”

I had never before seen my sister lose her patience with the mistress. “You sit right there!” she said to the child.

Mistress flew into a rage. “This is my house and she will go, and she’ll go now.”

The child, frightened, rose to go. Bett stepped between them and said to the child, “Sit still.” She turned to the mistress. “If this child has a complaint, she has the right to see the judge; that’s lawful.” The child saw the judge.

It was not long afterward that the master gave his permission for Josiah and Bett to get married. The mistress went into her room and stayed for a few days. She tried to alienate young John from Bett, but that didn’t work. I sometimes felt that John thought Bett was his mama, instead of the mistress.

Women who owned slaves usually gave the bride a wedding that was celebrated in the yard. Not Mistress Anna. Bett’s wedding was planned with the help of Nance and, of course, our brother, Brom. Everybody was invited to Josiah’s house for the occasion. I was more worried than excited about Bett getting married. What would happen to me when she went to live with Josiah? Would the mistress let me live with them?

The night before the wedding, Bett was very sad. I thought she was tired, for she had picked fruit all day and helped to prepare it for canning.

We lay in the darkness and the silence was so complete that I knew something was wrong. “Fatou,” I said. I had not called her by that name in a long time, and she burst into tears.

“What is it? Do you no longer love Josiah or want to be his wife?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course I want to be his wife. If only Yaaye was here. She would tell me what to do.”

“What is there to do that Nance, Brom, and I can’t do?”

“Where our parents came from, a marriage took a long time to arrange and settle. A wedding was not done in one day. It was a big occasion. There was the dowry from the man’s parents, announcing the engagement, signing the wedding contract, and other ceremonies. Families on both sides were together in all of that.”

“Josiah talked to Brom and they are planning you a wedding.”

“That’s nothing. We have no family. There will be no drinking from the calabash, no dowry, no really big feasts. And there’s no one my age to talk to, to share my doubts and my joys.” She burst into tears again.

I went to her and took her in my arms. “Please. Don’t. Why are you crying like this?”

“All the women in Claverack said an African girl was usually married at fifteen or before she was twenty. Here I am older and don’t know how to care for a husband. If I was home, my family would give me their blessings and I would go to Josiah ready to make him a good wife.”

If only Olubunmi was here, I thought. She would know. I didn’t know what to say. The only married woman I had ever known was the mistress. Suddenly I understood why my sister was crying.