The Water Queens (Keeper of the Water) (11 page)

Harriet eventually shakes her head at John and me.

“An evil man that controls women, that’s who you are,” Harriet tells John. “My mentor would never bring no man to our most sacred place.”

“I’ve changed as well,” I intercede. “Circumstances have required such a change. I
am
your Mentor and I trust this man to help us stop Cassie.”

Harriet still watches me intently, trying to decipher whether I’m actually alive. I consider telling her the memories that now run through my mind. Ironically, the story I think about involves a time when I thought I might find Harriet dead…

CHAPTER TWELVE

“You again?” the old black man asks.

He’s so old that I wonder if he ever mistakenly drank special water to keep him alive this long.

“You’re in the same spot I saw you last time, Rufus,” I say. “You move at all the last few years?”

Rufus smiles wide, showing only a few teeth left in his mouth. My question is a joke but I’m partially serious. Every time I come to this old building, he’s sitting in the same spot at the edge of the porch, wearing the same dirty clothes, tapping his bare feet against the dirt ground.

“Why I need to be anywhere but here?” he asks, shooting me a feigned scowl before erupting in laughter.

Rufus is always in a good mood and I look forward to seeing him almost as much as the woman inside the building. That’s why I’m worried when his laughter lasts only a moment before he turns serious. When he frowns, he looks to age several decades, if that’s possible.

“You best hurry if you wanna see your friend ‘fore she dies. I hear ol’ Harriet might not make it this time though she’s toughest old gal I ever did know,” Rufus says sadly. “I ever tell you ‘bout the time she had a doctor cut into her head without no medicine?”

“Just about every time I ever talked to you,” I say. Rufus erupts in laughter that again lasts only seconds; he looks back toward the entrance and frowns. I can tell he feels guilty about his moment of happiness. “Don’t think I got time to hear it again though.”

He nods his head. “Her family been here days just waitin’ fo’ the end. This world ain’t gonna be the same without Miss Harriet.”

“
This
world will never be the same, I can tell you that. I better go see her before it’s too late,” I say. “You take care of yourself, Rufus.”

The old man nods slowly as I walk by.

“Ain’t never gonna see you again, am I?” he asks. There’s no need to lie to him, especially since he already knows the answer. I shake my head. “It was real nice talkin’ to you each time you done showed up here. Got me a feelin’ you gonna have a real good future.”

I smile and pat him on the shoulder as I walk by. I push my way through the doors of the old folks home for ‘colored people.’ Although this section of Alabama is very poor at the turn of the 20
th
Century, the interior of this home – named in Harriet’s honor – is surprisingly nice and well-kept. Heat seems to fill the hallways. It’s already sweltering outside and must become twenty degrees hotter the moment I step inside; luckily, I’m used to temperatures much hotter than this.

Several old black people sit on wooden seats in the hallways. They’re of different ages and health condition but all have one thing in common: they stare at me and quiet down as I walk by. Even the workers and nurses look at me strange, though I guess they don’t get many tall, beautiful young women of my skin tone strolling these halls. Though this isn’t the first time I’ve visited the home, I always spoke with Harriet outside so I don’t even know where her room is located. I’m watched with intense suspicion, like I’m here to tear the place to the ground. Imagine what they’d think if I was wearing my normal Amazonian garb with a bow slung over my shoulder…

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I ask a nurse. “Do you know where I can find Miss Tubman’s room?”

The woman shakes her head. “We don’t want no newspaper reporters hangin’ ‘round here. You let Miss Harriet pass in peace, understand?”

I smile at the thought of possibly being a reporter though the nurse frowns at my reaction.

“Miss Harriet is a very special friend of mine,” I say. “I would greatly appreciate any help.”

The nurse is taken aback by my kindness; I’m guessing not too many non-black visitors are so polite to her. Her mood instantly changes and she leads me down the hallway.

“I seen Miss Harriet sick lotsa times but none been so bad as this,” the nurse says. “Don’t think she’s gonna pull through this one. She done a lotta good for these people, been very generous to not just the old folks in this home she set up but also all the workers here.”

We reach the end of the hallway, where a crowd of nearly a dozen people stands just outside the last door, waiting their turn to go inside. At times like these, I think about the two children I left behind in my former life, wonder what has become of little Jean-Baptiste and my precious Lizette. I can’t help but feel envious as I see so many of Harriet’s family flocking here in her final days. I’ve tried to convince myself that leaving the children behind was best for them but deep in my heart I’ve always regretted never having the chance to be a proper mother.

I push those thoughts aside as the nurse excuses her way through the crowd. I receive a few more strange stares from Harriet’s family but also a few smiles from those who whisper to the others.

“That must be her,” a young man says. “Nana’s special friend she talks about all the time.”

“Didn’t think she was real,” a young woman adds.

“Me neither,” another of Harriet’s grandchildren says.

I smile at them as I’m brought into Harriet’s room. I never like being talked about but I’m certain Harriet knew better than to tell them
too
much, not that I gave her the full story. Her room isn’t very large considering she’s the founder of this home; from talking to her several times over the years, I have a feeling she’s not the kind of woman to insist upon – or even accept – special treatment. More people crowd this room, older people who don’t look many years from living in this place as well. I don’t receive as many friendly glances and smiles as I did from the younger group.

“Pardon, Miss Harriet,” the nurse says as she makes her way toward the small bed in the corner. “But you got another visitor if you’re feeling up to it. Miss…” The nurse stops and looks at me. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Just tell her it’s the tracker to see her,” I say with a smile. “She’ll know who I am.”

“I can still hear, ya know. I’m no child,” a tired voice says, though there’s a hint of excitement to it. “Let her in, let her in.”

The crowd parts and I see the frail woman in bed. She looks a lot older than the last time I was here, a lot closer to death’s door. But when our eyes meet, she begins to sit up, swatting away the people who insist she relax.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Ain’t dead yet,” she says. “Everyone let us be now.”

Harriet tries to appear strong but suddenly closes her eyes, her face scrunching in pain. I’ve mostly known her as an older woman but she’s always exuded strength and toughness. It’s hard to see her this way so I don’t blame her family for doting on her. I wish I could give them the peace of mind of knowing what’s in my pocket – of knowing that
the
Harriet Tubman might be back stronger than ever – but our secret can’t be shared with a single other person, good or not. The sadness of ‘death’ is the part of this process I hate the most but it’s also necessary.

The woman nearest Harriet’s bedside approaches me.

“Please, my mother needs rest now,” she says.

I nod. “I understand but I only need a moment of her time.”

“Maybe you come back later,” the woman says, growing angry. I could easily swat her aside but I try to remain peaceful during the trying time for this family. Luckily, I don’t need to force the issue with her.

“I don’t
have
a later, Gertie,” Harriet says.

“You don’t know that, Mama,” the woman says. “You beat back the sickness before; I reckon you can do it again.”

“Not this time, child,” Harriet says. “I had a good life, a long life, helped a lotta folks. But the good Lord comes for us all and this is my time. I wanna thank all ya’ll for stayin’ by my side but it’s time for you to go home now. Let an old woman go to Heaven and the Lord in peace. Just know that I go to prepare a place for you.”

More than a dozen people file out of the room, the woman named Gertie the last one to kiss Harriet goodbye. Plenty of tears are shed, none more than from a muscular man bigger and taller than me. No mortal man could ever prove my equal in hand-to-hand combat but this behemoth looks like he could give me a run for my money; of course it’s hard to be
too
concerned about him as he blubbers like a baby.

“My auntie mentioned the tracker would come,” he says between sobs. “We all thought she was losin’ her mind. Shame on us.”

“She’s a very sharp lady,” I say.

“Tough, too. Doctors been sayin’ fo’ a month that she die at any moment. But she fought off death till you come,” he says. “You know she once had her skull sawed open without takin’ nothin’ fo’ the pain?”

I smile. “I’ve heard that about her.”

The large man leaves, followed closely by Gertie, who gives me a final suspicious glare before closing the door behind her. Once we’re alone, Harriet launches into a coughing fit. Her entire body convulses and leans dangerously toward the side; I rush to make sure she doesn’t fall from bed. I consider reaching into my pocket to hasten this process but Harriet knocks away my hand as I try to help. Her paper-thin skin covers nothing but bones yet she feels surprisingly strong when she strikes me. I wait until she finishes coughing and pulls herself up. When she looks at me, I still see a spark in her eyes.

“Ain’t dead yet,” she snaps again. “Took you long ‘nuff to get back here. Thought a few times that the Good Lord would take me ‘fore you got back.”

“If you hadn’t made me come back so many times before accepting my offer, I wouldn’t have almost been late,” I snap right back.

Harriet’s brow furrows for a moment. Based on the outpouring of love I just witnessed from her family, I doubt
anyone
has snapped back at her in a long time. But it’s not long before a smile appears on her face and she laughs, which no sooner turns into another bout of coughing.

“Child, I told you I still had my life to live, I still had goals to finish,” Harriet says. “You realize how many colored folks this place will help? I seen too many old people like me dyin’ in barns ‘stead of nice cozy beds like this here.”

I’ve met a lot of strong, famous women since becoming an Amazon – queens of major nations, ruthless pirates who made men cower, a freed slave who willingly returned to spy on the Confederacy – but it’s hard not to be most awed by Harriet. I have so much respect for not only what she did in her earlier years, but also for the way she never stopped helping people when she became older. This respect is the reason I’ve kept coming back for her.

“Someone once told me I was the only woman ever to receive more than one offer for a spot with our tribe,” I tell her.

“And look how you turned out,” Harriet says. “Besides, why you not join first time you was offered?

She raises an eyebrow at me and I smile. I don’t care how old and senile her family thinks she’s become; with one look, I
know
she remembers every conversation we’ve ever had. To appease her, I give the answer she wants to hear, which just so happens to be the truth.

“Because I still wanted to live a life on the plains and do good for
my
people before focusing on
all
the world’s people.”

“You and me must be lot alike,” Harriet says.

I couldn’t agree with her more. From the moment she first turned down my offer, I felt a strong connection with her. Other Amazons argued that Harriet shouldn’t receive a second offer; the queens, in particular, argued that nothing good would come of
anyone
who didn’t join right away. But I urged the Keeper to let me keep returning and I’m glad she agreed. I see as much potential in Harriet as my Keeper hopefully sees in me.

“Plus I needed time to talk to the Lord ‘bout joinin’ your group,” Harriet says. “Gotta admit I was worried at first ‘bout these powers you say this special water got. Sounds almost like makin’ a deal with the devil. But God promised me your cause is a righteous one.”

“Well
I
could’ve told you that,” I say.

I mean this is a joke but Harriet turns very serious.

“You don’t know as much as you think,” she says. “You young folk never do.”

“I’m older than you are,” I counter.

“It sure don’t look like it,” she says. “God also told me…” She stops and coughs violently again before finishing. “He told me to be careful ‘cause one day there be betrayal by one of my closest friends.”

“I would never betray you,” I promise her. “If you decide to join us, you’ll see the loyalty of each and every woman in the group. We may not all be friends but we’re all united around
one
leader for
one
cause. The moment you join us, I would die to protect you as I would die to protect our Keeper, the water and every other Amazon.”

Harriet slowly shakes her head and begins coughing before she can say anything. The cough eventually turns into a gasp as she struggles for breath. I’m worried she’s dying so I quickly remove a vial from my pocket. The bright blue water shines sparkles in her eyes; it’s so cold that I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter the glass. I’ve carried this water with me every time I’ve seen her but this is the first instance I’ve shown it to her. I’m about to pour it down her throat but she waves me off and catches her breath.