I Thought My Soul Would Rise and Fly Read online

  Early this morning three of them rode up the drive leading to The House. When the soldiers reached the cottages, they stopped their horses. Master and Mistress seemed small and old, but they held their heads as high as the pine trees surrounding The House. They talked to the soldiers at length, but I do not know what was said.

  While I was sweeping the passageway that separates the kitchen from The House, Master called everyone, including the field hands, to the yard. He stood between the gleaming white columns of The House as he talked to us. “The government says I have to pay you wages now. If you remain, your pay will be one tenth of the cotton crop you bring in, and you can live in your same cabins.”

  Then he looked at James, Cook, and Ruth and said, “I will pay you ten dollars a month and provide food as in the past.” He didn’t say anything to Nancy or Miriam — much less me. Maybe because we are the youngest of the house slaves.

  One of the Yankee soldiers spoke next. I had to listen closely to understand his words for his speech sounded so different from ours, as if he was talking through his nose.

  He explained that he is from some place called the Freedmen’s Bureau and that the Bureau is helping former slaves adjust to being free. “You must behave yourselves and work as you are accustomed. All field hands must sign a yearly work contract. Anyone found roaming about the countryside without a job or a place to live will be arrested for vagrancy.”

  Everyone was silent. I counted eighty field hands, men and women, and not a one was smiling. Even the birds stopped singing. Then one of the hands named Douglass spoke. Douglass used to always do chores for Mistress at special times, like take down the drapes when it was time for cleaning The House for Christmas. He was a boy then, but now he is a thin, handsome young man and works in the fields with his mother and sister. “Sir,” Douglass said. “Tell me one thing. Is we free?”

  Then other people started calling out, too. The Yankee shushed them. He told us that we are free, but whoever doesn’t work and follow the rules will be jailed. He says we are not free to roam about and cause trouble.

  Then the man everyone calls Brother Solomon, because he does the preaching in the arbor on Sundays, spoke to the soldier. “Sir, we will not stay here ‘less we get a school for our young ones and land for us to farm for our own selves.”

  Master turned a slow red and Mistress stared at Brother Solomon with angry gray eyes. I was surprised to see her look at him that way. She and Master always said he was the best hand they had. Brother Solomon is headman over the field hands and helps the overseer. He also makes sure the gardens and the orchards are taken care of.

  Master said to Brother Solomon that if they stay, he will give each family five acres of land and a plantation school. The hands smiled and so did I. Imagine a school on Davis Hall Plantation.

  But one of the elderly women, her hands shaking as she held on to her walking stick, asked what would happen to the old people who can’t bring in a crop anymore. She began to cry and she made me almost cry as well.

  One of the soldiers spoke before Master answered and told her that elderly people cannot be thrown off farms and plantations. Master has a responsibility to care for them.

  Then Brother Solomon spoke to the woman. “Mother Naomi, we all in this cauldron together. We take care of you.”

  Friend, if I was a brave girl, I’d have asked that Yankee whether I would be punished if I limped on upstairs to Master’s library and started reading and writing. Master never did say we was free, but I guess we are. I can’t wait until we get a school. I’ll be the first pupil there.

  Tuesday, April 25, 1865

  Dear Friend,

  I woke up this morning thinking about school. Will Mistress let me go? I wonder.

  When we were eating breakfast, James began to talk about names. He said now that we was free we had to have last names. Cook said she would take her father’s name, George, for her last name. Ruth took Luke’s father’s name. His name is John, and Luke is John’s son, so they will have the last name of Johnson.

  Miriam said that she would not choose a last name until she saw her mother again. Her mother lives on Master’s other plantation on Edisto Island.

  Ruth asked me what name I would take. I shrugged my shoulders. I started to answer, but Cook spoke for me, like always, instead of letting me finish.

  “She’ll be Davis. Most of these people will take the name Davis, especially them ones who always been here.”

  Now I have something else to think about along with school. I will not take the name Davis. That’s Master and Mistress’s name. I will take my time and pick a beautiful name for myself. A name of my own.

  Wednesday, April 26, 1865

  Dear Friend,

  Instead of helping Cook, Mistress told me to help Ruth clean inside the house. I was glad, for Ruth is not as miserable as Cook is. It is Ruth and James who make sure that everything in The House is in order.

  As I swept out Annie’s chamber, I heard Ruth humming while she worked in the dining room. I guessed that she was in a happy mood so I found the courage to ask her whether I could dust in the library when I finished in the chamber.

  I went first to the partners desk where Annie and Charles used to sit, facing each other, and reading together. I didn’t see any of their books. My heart sank. They must have taken them all. I had to content myself with dusting Master’s and Mistress’s books on the shelves and reading the titles. I hoped maybe I would find a name for myself on one of the books.

  They did leave their magazine, The Youth’s Companion, on the desk, and when I picked it up, I found my favorite book, Little Goody Two-Shoes, under it.

  I dusted part of the desk with one hand and turned the pages of the book with the other. If anyone came in, I was going to pretend to be dusting. Time flew. I was startled when I heard Ruth say, “You not finished yet?” She wiped her hands across the dust on top of the piano.

  “You so slow, gal, and what you doing with that book? You can’t read it. I’m getting Nancy to come in here and finish.”

  Well, my Friend, you know how I talk. “I-I-I’m s-s-sorry,” I sputtered and got to moving faster than I thought I could. Then I told her that Nancy was busy fixing Mistress’s hair. She let me stay and I contented myself with reading titles again while I dusted. I’ve often noticed A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens and wonder what it is about. But I didn’t dare take it off the shelf.

  It’s lucky that Mistress didn’t catch me reading. But if I am free, then must I hide my reading and writing? Somehow I don’t think I am free or anybody else is. All of us in The House and in the fields are doing our same tasks. Who did the Yankees free? I wonder.

  Thursday, April 27, 1865

  Dear Friend,

  There are about eighty hands to work hundreds of acres of land. Will they get through it all? I wonder. I heard Cook say that many people are starving now because the farms were ruined during the War. People have to live off food the Yankee soldiers give out. But the land on Davis Hall is plowed and the seeds are planted—cotton, corn, and potatoes are the main crops. There’s a kitchen garden that Cook mostly looks after once Brother Solomon has planted okra, peas, and greens. I don’t think we will be starving.

  Mistress is everywhere, looking, peeking, watching every move we make. Nancy always crows that she’s Mistress’s personal ladies’ maid and flounces behind her as if she’s a mistress, too. I haven’t seen Master since the Yankees told us that we were some kind of free. But I know he is here because James shaved him this morning and made sure that Miriam ironed his shirts correctly.

  I had a good laugh today. Mistress was in and out of the kitchen all morning with her pet Nancy, worrying Cook about fixing tasty treats. But Cook sassed her. “If you can tell me how to make a pecan pie out of hominy grits, then I’ll make a pecan pie.” I thought Mistress would slap her, but she turned as red as a beet and stomped away with Nancy flouncing behind her.

  Cook sucked her teeth so loud, I thought that the
y’d pop out of her mouth. Maybe now Cook is free to sass Mistress to her face instead of complaining behind her back. Cook sent me to the icehouse to make sure there were no pecans left over from last year’s supply. I hoped they weren’t all gone. Cook makes the best pecan pie and always bakes one for us whenever she bakes one for the family.

  I limped as fast as I could (which wasn’t very fast) toward the peach and cherry orchards. They are full of weeds and only a few blossoms peek from among the leaves. Brother Solomon doesn’t have anyone to help him tend the orchards as he used to. Many of the younger hands was forced to go with the Confederate soldiers to build forts and roads and work in their camps, and those who are left have to work the fields.

  I remember the day the Confederates came and marched right down to the slave quarters to get the men they needed. That was three years ago. Master was upset because he had to give up his strongest slaves. I felt sorry for the women and children who cried so bitterly. That was when I first noticed Douglass because his mother held on to him so tight. But the soldiers didn’t take him. He was only a skinny boy then, not as tall and handsome as he is now. Why am I thinking these thoughts?

  The Confederate Army also got a share of the potatoes, corn, peas, and okra. Master had to give up some of his cattle, horses, and a mule. None of the men returned. Cook said they may have been killed in the War. I hope not.

  The icehouse is just beyond the pond, near the dairy and smokehouse. When the pond freezes in the winter, the ice is collected and put into the deep hole inside the icehouse. I entered the house and lifted the cover over the hole. A ladder goes all the way to the bottom. All I saw was ice and several barrels of brandy, cider, pickles, and preserves. No pecans.

  When I told Cook, she said, “Start kneading the gingerbread dough. You remember how I showed you?” I nodded, but imagined wrapping my lips around a sweet piece of pecan pie.

  I found out why Mistress worried Cook about the food. Her cousin Sarah from Columbia is coming to stay for a spell. She and her husband lost their possessions in the fire that burned down the city two months ago.

  Master say the Yankee devils did it. James say the Confederate soldiers burned it down when they realized that the Yankee General Sherman would capture the city. Why do people do such terrible things? I wonder. I hope that Miss Sarah has children old enough for school lessons.

  I am still looking for a name.

  Friday, April 28, 1865

  Dear Friend,

  There was such excitement and confusion today. As I was carrying the chamber pots I’d emptied back to The House, I saw Master charging along the passageway and into the kitchen shed. His britches were practically falling down, and his thick gray hair looked like a pile of hay. He shouted for James.

  Cook walked slowly out of the kitchen. “Ain’t seen him, Sir,” she said. It was strange for James not to be there. Every morning God has sent, James has been here to dress Master, shave him, cut his hair, and make sure that everything runs smoothly in The House. James walks tall and straight as Master, as if he also owned Davis Hall Plantation. It felt as though everything was backwards without James to tell us how to do things right.

  In the middle of all of the James confusion, Mistress’s cousin Sarah and her two little children arrived. The children are only babies, so there will be no lessons.

  When Ruth and I served the family at dinnertime, Master was not there. I guess he couldn’t bear to eat at the table without James waiting on him. The children were in the drawing room with Nancy. Miss Sarah could hardly eat for talking. She rattled on how she and her husband lost all of their home in Columbia and their plantation on Edisto Island. “Imagine, Cousin,” she said to Mistress. “This horrible Yankee military government we live under gave my land to my slaves.” She began to cry and Mistress tried to comfort her.

  When I carried their plates back to the kitchen shed, I was surprised to see Master eating there at the big, rough pine table where we eat. The only other time he ate in the kitchen shed was when he and Mistress had a fight. His plate was piled up with okra and rice. Maybe he thinks Cook knows where James is. She probably does, but she’d never tell.

  Saturday, April 29, 1865

  Dear Friend,

  James is really gone, but Master is still looking for him. At supper this evening, Cook told Ruth and Miriam James’s history. He’s been here since he was ten years old. He is forty now.

  Master’s father gave James to Master and Mistress for a wedding present. That’s why Master was so close to James — giving him special privileges, like passes to go out, new clothing, and his own room in The House. “He always been a favorite,” Cook said.

  Then she said that James went to North Carolina to look for his brothers and sisters. His mama died when he was a boy. When I was sweeping in the drawing room, I heard Mistress say to her husband, “How could he leave us without even saying good-bye? He is not to ever come back here. He is not to come near this house,” she cried. “He’s nothing but lazy trash, just like the rest of them.”

  I never thought I’d hear Mistress talk about James like that. I never speak to Mistress unless she speaks to me, so I didn’t tell her that he went to North Carolina to find his kin. It wasn’t none of my business to tell no how.

  Friend, even though James never said much to me, he was never cruel to me. I suppose his back was so straight and his head so high he just never saw little Patsy limping underfoot. He was more of a gentleman than Master was, for I never heard James yell or cuss. I don’t think it was nice of Mistress to call him lazy trash. And who is “the rest of them?” I wonder.

  Next time someone gives Master and Mistress a present, they ought to make sure that it can’t walk away. I hope that James finds his family. I wish I had a family to find, then perhaps I would find a name as well.

  Sunday, April 30, 1865

  Dear Friend,

  Mistress and Sarah went to church today. Master stayed home and kept to the library. I think he is still grieving over James.

  Nancy was fit to be tied because she had to remain at home and look after the children. Mistress told Nancy that she was responsible for both children. She told me to help.

  The little girl, Nellie, is only a few months old and no trouble. She just wants to be held and rocked. But the boy, Thomas, is two years old and like a little hurricane. Nancy has to run behind him. It makes me grateful to have a limp, otherwise I would have to mind the more difficult child.

  I sat on the bench under the leaning oak. I call it that because the trunk bends almost to the ground and the branches curve upward. Since James is gone, Mister Joe drove Sarah and Mistress to church in the carriage. Mister Joe is the only free black person I knew during slavery. He had to carry a paper on him showing that he was free, along with letters from the people he worked for saying that he was a right kind of honest man. Does he still carry those papers on him? I wonder.

  Mister Joe lives near Davis Hall and hires himself out to Master and the other farmers in the neighborhood. Cook calls him Mister Anything because he does any kind of work. This morning, Mister Joe is the coachman.

  As I rocked Nellie, I could hear, faintly, the hands singing in the arbor. In St. Philip’s Church we have to sit upstairs in the slave gallery, and near the end of the service Father Holmes looks up at us and tells us that we must be good slaves and listen to our masters just as we listen to our Master in heaven.

  Father Holmes would say the catechism. He asked the questions and we had to answer. I know it by heart because he says it every Sunday. It goes like this.

  Question: Who keeps the snakes and all bad things from hurting you?

  Answer: God does.

  Question: Who gave you a master and a mistress?

  Answer: God gave them to me.

  Question: Who says that you must obey them?

  Answer: God says that I must.

  Question: What book tells you these things?

  Answer: The Bible.

  Question: How do
es God do all his work?

  Answer: He always does it right.

  Question: Does God have to work?

  Answer: Yes, God is always at work.

  Question: Do the angels work?

  Answer: Yes, they do what God tells them.

  Question: Do they love to work?

  Answer: Yes, they love to please God.

  Question: What does God say about your work?

  Answer: He that does not work, does not eat.

  Question: Did Adam and Eve have to work?

  Answer: Yes, they had to keep the garden.

  Question: Was it hard to keep that garden?

  Answer: No, it was very easy.

  Question: What makes the crops so hard to grow now?

  Answer: Sin makes it.

  Question: What makes you lazy?

  Answer: My wicked heart.

  Question: How do you know your heart is wicked?

  Answer: I feel it every day.

  Question: Who teaches you so many wicked things?

  Answer: The Devil.

  Question: Must you let the Devil teach you?

  Answer: No, I must not.

  These words were only for us up in the gallery. The white people didn’t have to say them. Maybe Father Holmes had another catechism he used for them when we weren’t around. Didn’t the Yankee tell Father Holmes we was free? He said the same catechism last Sunday. One day I will read a Bible for myself and see if it says those things. My heart is not wicked.

  Friend, I want to sit in the library, too, as Master does. I could easily hold Nellie and read a book at the same time. Instead, I rocked Nellie and listened to the beautiful singing from the bush arbor. I imagined that a gentle breeze carried the people’s voices to the leaning oak, just for me to hear.

  Monday, May 1, 1865

  Dear Friend,

  James is not the only one who has left Davis Hall Plantation. Today, while Mistress and Sarah visited with friends, and Nancy and I minded the children, two young men strolled down the walkway toward the gate.