A Reckoning Read online

  Once, Martin saw a woodpecker on a large dead log. When it flew away, he went to the place it had been and knelt down, which usually brought Cuff to his side, then lifted the bark to expose a colony of ants. Cuff ambled over and took no interest in the larvae but went straight for the big ants that came to the surface. The taste of those ants seemed to surprise her, or perhaps they were biting her tongue, but she shook her head after a single mouthful.

  By the end of July, Martin had taught Cuff to wait while he ran off to hide. She learned to sit on her haunches while he counted to ten. Then she would pant and sniff and come after him. A rare opportunity, the birdwatcher had declared. To train a bear. And sometimes Franklin came along. Who you like best, the bear or me? Franklin asked.

  Well, she’s faster than you, Martin teased. And they ran off to the woods with the bear loping behind to visit the old bear tree. This was said to be a place male bears left marks and scent. It stood above the trail on a narrow cliff and Cuff regarded it from below and then worked her way up the steep slope, but in minutes her screams brought Martin and Franklin to the rescue and they took her back down and led her around to the side of the rise where she could climb up easily, finding a trail of bear tracks straight to the old red pine. Why do bears come here? Franklin asked.

  And Martin wondered how Cuff even knew about the tree without a mother to teach her things that matter to a bear. He also wondered: Were the tracks made earlier in the spring, when the ground was soft? Or were they recent? If so, was there a male bear close by? Could it be Cuff’s father? Franklin hopped up and down at the thought of a male bear, but Martin would not go home until Cuff was ready to leave. He did not want to see his own father just then. His own father was in a disruptive mood. A Baptist had come through the town and several Methodists had agreed to be immersed.

  14

  Alexander Ross was very glad to be back in Canada. The United States had tired him with its various oppositions. No one in that country seemed to agree on anything. One thought the foundation of democracy was capital, another thought it was sacrifice, one bled the land, and another fostered it. Arguing was the primary occupation. It was not a communal country but rather devoted to the individual and to personal gain. Ross found his mother on her front porch having tea. She had given over the classroom to Eva Nell so that she could have a break. Lately, Eva Nell had taken on more teaching, walking from her house on the shore to the schoolroom at the back of the Ross residence, where she taught the girls to dye linen and spin wool, then to weave and sew, offering them useful industry while Missus Ross taught them to add and subtract, to read and to write cursive script.

  When she heard his voice at the front of the house, Eva Nell excused herself from the schoolroom and ran to the hall to stand at the door to the porch. She and Ross were closer than siblings and he had been gone all summer long, and Eva Nell wanted to see his face; she longed to hear his wonderful laugh and the highpoints of his trip because fighting slavery was a fine thing to do. It fit his character better than studying birds and trees. He would make a good doctor but there was more to him than that and later, when they had a few moments alone, she would learn the results of his secret assignment. Surely he would have discovered the truth of her mysterious past. She was older than Ross by seven years. She had no inheritance and no real father she could claim. Jones? It was a name on a marriage document found with her mother’s few papers. I have learned your history, Ross would say, crossing his legs and settling into his chair while a cup of warm water wobbled on his thigh. For the moment though he was leaning forward, telling his mother about the slaves he had met. He was saying: Remember when I first asked Nell’s mother about her background?

  Missus Ross said: Which she would not divulge at any price.

  But she told us about slavery and Mother, it’s so much worse than she said.

  Unseen in the hallway, Eva Nell was waiting for her turn with Ross. She did not want to share him with her employer. She wanted to feel his arms around her in that protective way he had with her, but Missus Ross was pouring tea and rambling on and finally Eva Nell stepped out to the porch because she could not wait any longer.

  Missus Ross looked up and said: So, she was listening behind the door. All right then, Nell, I’m sure the students will keep well occupied, if you must join in. I am hearing about my son’s efforts for the slaves. She allowed herself a sigh.

  Ross went to Eva Nell gladly, putting his arms around her while he kissed her lightly on the cheek. He then turned back to his mother, mimicking a Southerner’s voice: Oh but we don call em slaves, ma’am. We never saaay that awful word.

  Missus Ross pursed her lips and shook her head, the long ties on her cap swinging fitfully, and Ross admitted that he did not know which slaves had escaped due to his efforts or even how many, but he had visited several towns where he had seen notices advertising for missing Negroes and one article in a Cleveland paper had proved his own personal success, he said, bowing formally and tipping an imaginary hat. Mother, before you send Nell back to the classroom, may I have a moment with her?

  Missus Ross rose from her porch rocker and called to a former student who was serving as her maid. Jilly, please take in the tray. My son drinks only water, which makes life so much poorer for the lack of flavor, but leave him his glass. And she swept up her full, stiff skirt and went inside as Ross said quietly: How have you been, Nell? Is the school holding itself together for you? I’ve worried. Was the summer pleasant? Did you find entertainment? Any sales?

  Well, I’ve been making new dyes. Finding new plants. A strong black, wonderful for patterns and outlines. And indigo. I boil it down. Yes, thank you. But please, Alex, tell me what you learned. I am…I cannot wait another minute longer. There is a gentleman…

  A suitor? But that’s wonderful, Nell. Although you may find some of what I have to say unsettling. Will you sit down and let me do the same?

  Eva Nell sat down without bothering to smooth her skirt.

  I found your father on a farm near Jonesville, Ross said, taking his seat. It wasn’t difficult. I think you always knew he would be there, didn’t you? He may have fought up here in 1812, but he must have gone back home. As Ross spoke, he watched the wariness of Eva Nell’s expression while, from the interior of the house, the sounds of the schoolroom were pleasant and familiar. He leaned back and took a deep breath. Eva Nell was waiting for his report as she had never waited for anything before and he must be careful.

  Her hands gripped the arms of her chair. She frowned and her warm skin began to pale.

  Your father’s name is Rafe Fox, not Jones. He’s a neighbor to your maternal family and it’s not a pretty tale.

  I’m listening, Alex.

  The point is…the fact is…well, the worst of it is that Mary Jones was not your mother. It is, I mean, the truth is that Mary Jones was your aunt. She was…

  Mama? My aunt? Why would she say what’s not true?

  To protect you. Ross looked across the porch at the woman sitting in the shade of a climbing hydrangea and he said gently: Your mother was Mary’s young sister, Jemima, who died giving birth to you. He paused, as if he had just comprehended the sorrow of this, and then he said: She fell in love, do you see? She was too young to know the harm of it. She must have been carried away by her feelings if her parents’ approval was of so little consequence and…

  And?

  She ran away with Rafe Fox, an older man, a neighbor who…

  Didn’t marry her?

  You don’t sound surprised.

  I am surprised that my mother…that she never told me.

  Nell. She was a Southern lady. Your safety and reputation were paramount.

  A Southern lady who did not tell the truth! And my father? Did you tell him about me?

  I did not. He is no friend to your family.

  Eva Nell bowed her head: He is my only family. I will write…

  Ross said: No. And I will not mention this to my mother, Nell, and you must do your be
st to forgive your aunt and keep the facts of your birth to yourself. You see the importance of that, I’m sure.

  15

  Emly’s new baby bore a striking likeness to Granny Ruth Boyd, or so John believed. White people do not look closely at black babies but this one smiled and cooed and her nose was a little hooked and her chin had that Ruth Boyd shape and the brow too; well, it was plain as day but then it was late July and five of Emly’s dewberry pies were getting pulled from the outside oven while the workers – those remaining – held out tin plates. John stood to the side, taking note of mood and relations among them. The cotton harvest had made everyone giddy with fatigue and there were jokes that John didn’t understand but his heart beat hard at the sight of the baby girl tied to Emly’s breast. He was wondering what the workers would make of her sixth child. Unable to read their faces, he shifted on his feet, watching Emly as she cut steaming chunks of pie and served them up. Her clothes were clean and pressed. How did she manage? How could she look so regal when she could also wrap her legs around his shoulders like warm, thick vines and roll onto her stomach when he asked or put his most private self into her body so that even to think of it meant…he moved away from any eyes that might notice the bulge in his trousers. But he could feel Emly through any distance and he turned and left the oven yard with a sign to her, then went to the barn.

  To be undone. Like this: Say my name. Say it to me. Say, John.

  The breasted baby blinked at him.

  Why won’t you use my Christian name? Is it my brother? Some rule he made that…

  Your brother…she dropped to her knees. Will sell me. Me and my little children, may the dear Lord Jesus save us. On her knees with her breast wet and the barn light so unexpected, changing from shadowy to bright, and the child pressed between parents, Emly wept for some time without stopping, pulling at John while he fell into a timelessness where they were as no other man and woman had ever been. One flesh as he poured himself into her bones. My name, he begged. Just say it and I will never see you sold, I swear this to you. How could I let that happen? Say my name, he said, meekly pleading…Please, opening her blouse and pressing his mouth to the milky flesh. And he muttered the promise again and wept his own salt on her milk. He is driven, he protested, speaking of his brother as well as himself, and there was the ache right through him as he unclasped the leather at his waist and he wondered for just a moment if Benjamin had sent her on this errand in order to enlist his financial aid. But what a contemptible thought that was and anyway what could John offer his wealthier brother, he who was prone on the hard, strewn floor, he who could bear anything but the loss of this? A mother and child suckling.

  John, she said.

  16

  When more rains passed over the fields, drenching the corn, Benjamin visited his brother in the cabin again. Six hundred acres gone to waste…He kicked the old table their father had made.

  We’ll hold, I tell you.

  One good hill of corn in ten and me with fifty hogs to fatten. Benjamin put the blame on John again. I should take you to court for giving that nigger thief shelter.

  I couldn’t count the study of birds against him, could I?

  Birds flying north, Benjamin snapped. I’m going to sell the females.

  No! We won’t do that. They are…we need them to keep things going. John studied his options. What would Rakel bring, anyway? But Emly had been frightened and for good reason. He thought of Lou, Emly’s ten-year-old daughter, who was too young to weave but who would be useful in time. He thought of what they had built, he and his brother with the help of their workers. He thought of any way he might save them, his mind floundering. Emly. A silent cry.

  With them sold I can get me a man.

  No! I forbid it.

  They are mine, Brother John. My farm, my workers. My decision to make. Benjamin’s use of the word brother was meant to remind John that his work as a preacher was less important than Benjamin’s work, that John’s vocation had saved him from the gamble that farming involved.

  John was thinking out loud. We can rent out the men.

  As breeders? Maybe. But…

  John interrupted with a groan and walked to the window their father had long ago cut in the front of his cabin. It helped him in many ways, having a room in which to think and a window from which to look out. He stumbled through the next two words, Our father…and he squeaked: A worker is not to whore! He rapped angrily on the glass with bent knuckles.

  Benjamin laughed: Of course no man of the cloth will profess to an interest in profit. He looked down at the account book, seeing John’s scrawls and jottings. I trade three females for one man. No one has to know Rakel’s condition. Lou is near ripe. He smiled at John, showing teeth, almost a grimace. Do you mind so very much?

  John’s chest a knot. Another loan will tide us over.

  With what collateral, Brother John?

  John waved at the window. All that out there.

  Mortgaged. Every inch, and you know it. There’s the loan in addition and nothing paid up for three months.

  Now John saw in Benjamin what he had not seen before: the heartlessness of a man who had control of their lives. Had his brother noticed the nose of Ruth Boyd on the face of Emly’s newborn? Or was it the influence of Matilda, his second wife, who would have a new buggy, who would have breakfast brought to her bed. John said, looking out the window again: Our father built this farm acre by acre and you’ll lose it all if you start…Voice cold. We need…Voice wheedling…I will sever our partnership, Benjamin.

  You’re not my partner. You work for me.

  Then. John closed his eyes and spoke at the nothingness in front of him. I will apply for a loan. Co-sign whatever is required. If you promise not to…

  Benjamin had been pacing but now he stopped and pointed at the preacher’s threadbare jacket. You are worth nothing.

  I have fifty acres. Two pigs. Four sheep. Two milch cows. A house. And a bear, John added to ease the terrible strain he felt. If you promise that…they…are safe…I will sign. We’ll go to a New York bank this time. Nothing local.

  Benjamin lowered his head as if in a game. As if he might reach out and jab at John’s arm and John would jab back and they would then run outside to play as they once had played when Benjamin, so much older, always won everything. He found a square piece of paper where John put his name, first and last.

  17

  Bry had studied the hand-drawn map and learned its rivers, although the ink had smeared during a fall in a puddle so that two of the rivers bled into each other as if a geologic drift zone had been opened between Virginia and Kentucky. His plan was to get to Point Pleasant. Avoid Kentucky and cross the river just above the state line. Ohio, river and state. If he kept north. River. State. And free. Meant going through the mountains that rise up on the left all brown turning green. Meant knowing how far to go north and where to stop and how to see a river buried in a forest too far down to keep an eye on where it sits. There was a place named Holderby’s not to be trusted as a crossing place. So had said the birdman in his quiet, secret voice. Better to pass on to Point Pleasant, the Northman had said but he was talking fast and he was hard to hear in all the whispering and hum of fear. Lord, Lord. He had that map that showed the river in ink and around Point Pleasant there was a swamp where French people put their money on bad land. The birdman had a story to tell about that but it was nothing the men needed to hear. Buying land? What’s that about?

  The map with smeared ink. How to keep paper dry? Keep paper in your mouth? Tucked under your hat? There were places he could mention as a joke but he flattened the wet paper on a stone and made the lines stay fast in his head. He knew the course of the Ohio by now in his sleep and the fact was that in order to get to Point Pleasant he had to cross the big Sandy and next the Kanawha and they were the ones run together in a smear on his map but maybe he would smell the difference in the waters or see a change in color where they met. This he said out loud because, having no on
e to talk to, he talked to himself. He made up things that did not exist or he made himself remember true things from the past. A day when Mama Bett saved a neighbor’s brown foal. He had seen it born and seen it fail to take in air. And that was a good day for a boy of nine, running as fast as his legs could go to fetch his mothers who had ways to heal anything even a foal. And it was Bett who got there first. Bry remembered how the neighbor didn’t trust her to touch his animal but she put her hands on it and brought it back to life and that was a memory to think about when he was too tired to sleep on the wet ground under the cypress trees where he was doing his best to hide. Was Bett alive? How could that be? He remembered the strong parts of his life and put aside the weak parts and the suffering parts and the gelding knife that was so sharp he didn’t feel the first poke cutting into him but the next jab made him scream and he didn’t now remember anything except the rope tight on his neck and that first little painless nick under his limp man sack before the sharper slash and even now he cupped his hand over that missing part where he could feel blood making everyone jump away and the thought made him sick but he could also think of the newborn foal who got up on her legs even before Mary came down the road and collected a dime from the farmer along with his thanks.

  18

  Maybe Cuff was lonely. This is what Martin reported to Clotilde, who made pecan biscuits for the bear. He also said it to Franklin, that Cuff seemed to be missing someone and it had to be his mama because who else could it be? Martin said to Cuff: Your mama is a rug now. He spoke the truth in order to earn her trust, believing all parents should do the same. When he led her into her stall, he stayed with her, telling her stories or singing hymns and these were Martin’s happiest hours.