Black Angels (2 page)

It was winter when he was here before. Now the trees were thick with leaves. He was looking for a big crooked rock that stuck out from the hill. It had scrubby plants around it. The mud and leaves were almost covering his feet. He was ready to give up when he turned to the right and saw the place. It was pretty dry under there.

This wasn't good; he hadn't counted on rain. What if they had decided to go another night on account of the rain? It kept up lightning and thundering. Luke shuddered. He wished he had a quilt, but that was too much to be dragging along. He was not sure he could catch up with the others now, especially if they didn't stop for the rain.

Gradually the rain slowed down, the thunder moved off. Luke got to his feet. Which way now, which way to the haints' place? He looked around, trying to be sure he was walking in the right direction. It all looked the same in the dark, as if the leaves had closed behind him. He thought he had been more than halfway there before he stopped. But the more he looked, the more he didn't know for sure.

It was darker than the devil's mouth. When the moon broke through the clouds, he knew how late it was. He chose left, and set out through the wet underbrush, praying he was going the right way. Soon he saw the river again, and he knew he was right. But he didn't see nobody. This was the place. The river water was as shiny as Miz Higsaw's black silk dress. He could see little squints of light where the moon touched the water. The river was full of all that rain that had come down. And the big trees stood there like giant soldiers.

This was the place where haints was “subject to fix” you unless you had your mojo. Luke wore one around his neck. It was his mam's charm. Where could they be? He made the dove's sound, a signal from slave to slave on the run. Maybe they couldn't hear him over the sound of the river. Maybe they were hiding. And maybe he was just too late.

He made the sound again. Nothing. Ain't nobody here, he thought finally. They done left me. All there is to it. They done left me at the place where the haints get you. Tears filled his eyes and spilled over. He didn't care. Nobody here to see him crying.

Rain dripped off the trees. It was still coming down a bit. He heard an owl, and the moon outlined the footprints he had made in the mud. He had stuck the butt of his rifle in the muck, buckram and all, and he leaned on it, wiping his eyes with his wet sleeve. His stomach growled and turned inside out. But he didn't feel hungry, not even a little bit.

They were going north, he knew that. He ought to try to figure out which way was north by the stars. He'd follow the river away from home. This was North Carolina, and the river should take him to Virginia. He knew about that from Unc Steph. Owls hooted, but he didn't hear any sounds people would make. He was sure to be in these woods alone.

He'd have to work his way back to the road. It was close; he'd just have to turn the right way, and he'd see the road soon. Leaves were mushy under his feet. He had goose bumps from the cold. His shirt stuck to him. It was very dark for a while when the moon went under the clouds. Finally the trees thinned and he was back on the muddy road. His heart lifted a little. Maybe he didn't need the others anyway.

Luke walked until dawn. At least he could see where he was going. The damp air was much cooler than it was last night. He heard birds calling to each other from the trees. If the sun came out, it would warm him up, and maybe he could dry out a little bit. He knew his gunpowder might not be dry, but he was too tired to think about it. He walked until the sun was up far enough for him to know it would be a nice day.

Up ahead was a big old pine with branches that reached out and hung down, almost to the ground. It was off the road, and he could curl up on the east side of the tree and be easily missed by a passerby. Pine needles make a soft bed, he thought. Maybe it wouldn't be too wet under the tree. It was the best he could do. Maybe he'd be safe here. He slept heavy, wet and all.

 

 

Luke sat straight up with the sun in his face. He had that dream a lot, and he hated it. He guessed the devil was after him with that dream. Luke felt for his rifle and heard his stomach growl. He thought about Aunt Eugenia's biscuits and molasses. Maybe he should go back. But then he thought about being whipped for running away. Whatever happened, it couldn't be as bad as the whipping. Even Yankees couldn't be that bad. Luke searched in his shirt for the food he had wrapped in the napkin. It was soggy, but he ate it anyway, and set out to go north, on the river road.

CHAPTER 3

DAYLILY THE BEAR

Daylily couldn't feel her hands. They were there and then they were gone. She didn't know where. There was just cold where she thought her hands should be. They cut Buttercup's babies. Did they cut off her hands too? She didn't remember. Daylily started to shake. Maybe she'd never stop shaking.

Buttercup wasn't shaking any more. Daylily thought, if she stopped shaking, maybe she would be like Buttercup; she'd be dead. Maybe she'd go to Heaven if she died. Maybe she'd have a home in the kingdom like the preacher said.

She couldn't shut her eyes; she knew that. If she shut them, she'd see it again. Those big men with the whiskers. And Buttercup's arms and legs kicking like a scared chicken. And the babies screaming. She'd see it all over again, and then she'd pee in her drawers again. There was only dark in front of her eyes now; those men had gone away a long time ago.

She wanted a drink so much her tongue stuck to the inside of her mouth. Granny used to give her water from a dipper. Granny was dead.

Them soldiers was comin. Yankee soldiers. Everybody say they was gon be free. She remembered everybody was hollering and some running. Clearing out fore the Yankees come. Yankees be burning things, taking what they wanted. Then Granny died. Buttercup died. No, the bad soldiers killed her. Missus was right. She say Yankees from the devil. They do bad things and they kill. She reckoned the ones who killed Buttercup were Yankees. But maybe they was just bad mens.

It started raining and they said some bad words, and then they took the mules and wagon and cut out. There was no light out here. If the moon came out, Daylily would see. Buttercup was lying over there. She hoped the moon didn't come out.

But if the moon did come out, she could make her way to the water and not fall on Buttercup. She could see snakes too if they wasn't asleep in the leaves. They was probably asleep. Maybe it was the wrong time of year for snakes to be out. Maybe they'd be sleep. Maybe.

Daylily was afraid. Granny said, “Sing, can't be afraid if you sing.” But the sickness came and got Granny. Her eyes was open too. Rolled back in her head like two glass balls. Her arm twitched.

Granny had said, “Sing, gal. It keep you strong. Sing bout them angels in the White folks' church. They be flyin roun. Us Black folks, we don't fly nowhere, we just work till we die. Preacher say we gon have wings too. Well, we'll see. You go on now, gal, you fly away. You be free for Granny.”

Maybe Granny was right. If she would sing, maybe she wouldn't be so afraid. She tried to make a noise come out. Then she felt the hard roots of the big tree under her behind, and that broke something she had been holding on to.

She shifted her weight. Her body hurt everywhere. The clouds had moved too, and the moonlight finally broke into the woods. Her mouth opened just a little. She wouldn't turn her head though. Buttercup was there. Right there.

“Mama, are there angels . . . ,” she tried to sing, but no sound came out.

Daylily thought it silently in her head, the way Granny used to sing it. “Mama, are there any angels Black like . . . Black like me? I've been as good as any little girl can be. If I hide my face, do you think they will see? Mama, are there any angels Black like me?”

The leaves rustled a little in the wind. Buttercup was there, right by the water. You can't be scared if you sing. In her head she could hear the tune just a little. The song came out a tiny bit like a sick kitten she'd seen once down by the big house, mewing for its mama. And then more of it came out. She sang, “I have been as good as any little girl can be . . .”

The moon was shining on the running creek. Maybe they'd come back. They'd stuck Buttercup with a knife like she was a pig, and left her dead. Daylily's throat hurt. She was so thirsty. She could tell by the quiet of the woods that it would soon be morning. Soon be day. And she'd have to see her, even if she didn't go get some water. And she'd have to remember it all.

It was there in her head. The big men and the wagon they took. She could hear it. She could still hear the babies screaming for they mama. She started singing to cover up the sound in her head. “If I hide my face, do you think they will see . . .” But she remembered Buttercup's face was all twisted. Buttercup tried to hide herself. She tried, but they tore off her dress anyway; the babies was dead then.

Daylily guessed one man covered them up with his big hands so they couldn't holler and couldn't breathe, and they was dead, and Buttercup was all full of blood and spread open like a hog, like a brown and red hog on the ground.

They didn't know Daylily was hiding, right there where she still was, cause Buttercup fell to fighting so hard. When they wasn't looking, Daylily got up from the wagon bed and stole away. But she saw it behind a bunch of blackberry bushes and honeysuckle vines all knotted up. It was getting on to dark fast, but she saw it. One had red hair. A big beard.

When they left the home place, Buttercup was going to find her man. Two plantations to the north, she said. War done come. They was free, she said. Her man was free. Was they flying around free now? Daylily wondered. Was Buttercup and her babies free angels?

“Are there any angels Black like me?” the song said. Her small, high voice took up very little space. “I have been as good as any little girl can be.” She could feel her hands now. They were tingling. She could see the water move in the gray light. “If I hide my face, do you think they will see? Mama, are there any angels Black like me?”

Just one or two steps and she'd be there. She'd step over the other way, away from where she knew Buttercup was left by the bad men, and she wouldn't turn her head. Just a drink. A swallow.

She was there and she bent over on her knees and drank. It was a cold, dark feeling, but it was good.

She turned around, not really seeing anything clearly, but heading away from the water some, and as far away from the bodies as she could manage. She was already half asleep, and damp with last night's rain. She was very, very sleepy, and she closed her eyes tight, feeling the crying come on her.

She heard a wood thrush in a tree somewhere. Its partner answered. A squirrel stirred and buzzards circled overhead. It tasted like salt water was running down her face and under her chin. Dew formed its tiny bubbles. It would be a fine September morning.

CHAPTER 4

CASWELL THE WOLF

He only had to find her. He only had to reach the Burwell place and she would be there. It was late afternoon now. Daniel taught him about the sun and how to read it. Before he got to the Burwell place, he'd have to wash his face. He was a big boy, seven years old. He had no business crying. Mamadear would die if she knew how filthy he was. He thought his face was probably black with grime and his trousers looked like niggers' trousers, covered with mud and dust.

His papa was away fighting Yankees, a brave and true son of the Confederacy, and he had no business crying like a girl. Not ever. No excuse for it. Caswell wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Now he was on the river road. He knew that he was right because he knew the river road ran down to the Burwell place. He was on the river road cause he had to find his Mamadear.

 

When Papa went off to war, Caswell remembered he could not cry, and so he ran off down near the pond to wash his face quick, and Sweetbriar saw him and said, “Yo daddy whup you for blubberin, Marse Caswell?”