Courage to Run Read online

  Before she stepped into the house, Minty turned around to get one last look at her mother sitting in the wagon. Cicero climbed up beside her and flicked the reins. Seems like my life is just one good-bye after another.

  “Stop dawdling, girl. There’s much work to be accomplished and I intend to get my fair share out of you.”

  Minty followed Miss Susan into the house. It was a fine house, filled with pretty things. The young woman led from the back door along the hallway and up a flight of wooden stairs.

  “These are the back stairs, girl. I don’t want to catch you traipsing up the front staircase, y’heah?” Miss Susan’s voice was soft and fluttery, but Minty caught the ugly undertone. “Put your things here in my room, next to the baby’s cradle.”

  The room held a bed, draped in linens, and a small draped table with sparkly bottles, jars, and a brush set atop it. An ornate mirror hung above the table and a draped stool in front of it. Two chests of drawers stood on either wall of the far corner. In the near corner was a highly polished cradle. Next to that was a rough-hewn trunk.

  “You may put your things in that trunk. You will find another blanket in there. Since you already have a quilt, you may keep the blanket to wad up as a pillow. You are not infested with lice, are you?” Miss Susan stood with her arms bent at her waist and her hands resting one on the other. Her skirts were so wide from the hoops underneath that her arms could not hang down without popping the front of her hoop up.

  “No, ma’am.”

  Miss Susan smelled of jasmine. Minty had never seen anyone dressed as fine as her new mistress.

  “You’ll find a linsey-woolsey dress in that trunk as well as three aprons. See that your aprons are always clean and starched. You’ll have to do them up in your spare time. Sadie will find you a pair of shoes and stockings. I don’t want you embarrassing me in front of my friends, y’heah?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “My sister came to stay over the past season to help with Baby Lucinda. Emily’s room is down the hall. My husband’s room is right next to mine, just through that door. You are never to bother him. Neither speak to him nor even raise your eyes to him, y’heah?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I expect you to care for the baby. She’s a fussy thing and cries much of the time. My husband expects me to be well rested, so you will have to rock her throughout the night when she stirs.”

  Minty wondered how she would wake in time to calm the baby.

  “During the day, I expect you to wait table and do the light housework. I have a woman who comes in to do the heavy cleaning. Sadie is out in the summer kitchen and won’t want anyone bothering her.”

  Miss Susan went on and on. Minty knew she was in for trouble. She couldn’t possibly remember all the things being said. Go here. Don’t go there. Do this. Don’t do that.

  “Are you listening to me, girl?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Since my sister is still out with the baby, I want you to tidy up the parlor. Let me show you where to find the feather duster and the broom. I want the room finished in time for you to wash up, change into your clothes, and be ready to serve luncheon.” Miss Susan talked slowly and formed her words carefully. Her voice sounded as sweet as the jasmine scent she wore, but she never stopped giving orders. Minty already noticed that her two favorite phrases were “I want…” and “I expect….”

  When Miss Susan was finally gone, Minty set to work. She had never been in such a fine room, let alone had to clean one. She took the feather duster and began whisking it around all the tabletops. Each surface was covered with pretty things—little boxes, wax flowers under glass domes, clocks, and other pieces Minty couldn’t identify. There were crocheted doilies like the ones Annie sometimes made for the Big House.

  Minty chased the dust around. Every time she looked back at the furniture already finished, she could see a fine coating of dust begin to settle once again. When she dusted the whole room, she took up the broom and began to sweep it across the carpet. The harder she swept with the bristly broom the more dust swirled into the air. Miss Susan was right, this room needed a good cleaning. Minty finally corralled the dust in a pile near the door. Going back, she began to sweep the wooden floor around the carpet, scooting that pile into the pile from the carpet. The air was dancing with dust motes.

  There. I think I dusted and swept everything.

  At that moment the door swung open and a gust of wind swirled the pile of dust back into the room.

  “Well, I never…” The words slipped over Miss Susan’s lips like honey sliding over the pouring spout, but Minty could see the set of her jaw, the clenched teeth, and the stiffening of her back as she reached behind the settee and pulled out a little whip. “Do you believe I am stupid, girl?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Do you think I cannot see that this room is covered in dirt?”

  Minty looked back over the room. Miss Susan was right, the room looked dirtier than when Minty had begun. What went wrong?

  “I’ll not stand for lazy help.” Miss Susan stomped her foot like one of Annie’s toddlers. Her voice was becoming more shrill. “Speak up, girl. What have you to say for yourself ?”

  Minty didn’t know what to say. She did know from the rise in Miss Susan’s voice and the quiver of her body that nothing she said would help. When white folks got themselves worked up like this, nothing she could say would head off the whipping. Sometimes it just added to the trouble.

  “So you choose to stand there insolently defying me?” She stretched out the word insolently, seeming to enjoy the sound of the word on her tongue.

  Minty moved in preparation for the blow. She had seen enough angry whippings in her life. She turned a quarter turn and brought her elbow up over her ear. The upturned arm kept the whip from slicing across the face, possibly damaging an eye or ear.

  If a mistress cut a slave’s face too badly, she often later regretted her anger. It became difficult to look at the damage day after day. When friends came to call, it didn’t speak well for her character, since a refined woman was expected to exercise self-control. Many a slave was turned out to the field or sold South because of an embarrassing scar.

  Annie always said that a whip in the hands of a mistress was worse than one used by a cruel overseer. The overseer took great pleasure in the show of the whipping. He’d tie a slave to a tree or the whipping post and lay thirty-nine lashes across the back. It often flayed the flesh right off the bone, but it rarely maimed him. An angry woman just started flailing and the whip would slice into anything it happened to hit.

  “Are you going to answer me, girl?” Miss Susan cracked the whip, catching Minty across the soft underside of her arm, the ends whipping across her neck.

  Minty screamed. The first blow was always the worst. It felt like her flesh was on fire. Her scream seemed to make Miss Susan angrier and she began to slash the whip repeatedly. Minty tried dodging the whip. She knew if she ran, she’d escape further blows. The Brodas slaves who lived in the Quarter always said that ladies almost never chased after a slave, whip in hand. If any friends happened to be passing it did not seem ladylike. Running never worked with Mrs. Cook. She didn’t care what anyone thought.

  Miss Susan was stronger than she looked. Minty lost count of how many times the whip came down. Her screams turned to moans—it took too much energy to scream. As another blow sliced open her neck once more, she screamed again.

  “Susan!” It was a woman with a baby. “Whatever are you doing to that poor girl?”

  “I told her to dust and sweep this room and she stubbornly refused.” Miss Susan dropped the whip and kicked it back behind the settee.

  “How old are you, child?”

  “About eight or nine, ma’am.”

  “Emily, you need to stay out of household affairs.” Miss Susan’s eyes flashed at her sister. “It is my job to see that my household help is kept in line.”

  “Why do you whip the child for fai
ling what she has never been taught to do?” Miss Emily handed the baby to Miss Susan. “Leave the girl to me for a few minutes and you will see that she will soon learn how to sweep and dust a room.”

  Miss Susan turned with an angry swish of skirts and left the room. The pile of dust Minty had gathered by the doorway was caught by the hem of her gown and left a trail down the hallway.

  “Go to the dustbin on the back entrance and get the dustpan—the scoop with a handle.” She looked at Minty. “Wait. First stop at the basin outside the back entrance. There will be a clean rag beside it. Wipe the blood off your cuts. The cooling water should help some.”

  Minty did as she was told and hurried back. Her neck and her arm were on fire.

  “Now, I’ve dampened the broom ever so slightly. It will keep the dust from flying into the air. Sweep the rug and the floor first, so you’ll give the dust time to settle before dusting the furniture.”

  Minty swept the rug and then the wood floor. The dampness of the broom caused the dust to clump instead of fly.

  “Now, sweep the pile into the dustpan and go out and dump it in the dustbin. Put the pan back where you found it.”

  Minty did it and returned.

  “Now, see the air?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “The dust has settled so it’s time to dust the furniture.”

  After Minty dusted and put away the feather duster, Miss Emily looked around the room. “There. Let that headstrong sister of mine find anything wrong with this room.” She put her hand on Minty’s good shoulder. “Have you ever cared for a baby?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Lucinda is the fussiest baby I’ve ever seen. You will have your hands full, child.” She paused for a moment. “Do your best to stay out of my sister’s way. As beautiful as Susan is, she is angry and unhappy. We all feel the lash of her temper.”

  Minty looked up to see Miss Susan standing just inside the library door.

  Oh,

  Freedom!

  Minty was sorry to see Miss Emily leave. In the first weeks of Minty’s hire, Miss Emily taught her many household tasks, although caring for the baby took up most of Minty’s time.

  Miss Emily hadn’t exaggerated when she called Baby Lucinda fussy. The baby cried much of each night. At first Minty slept too soundly to hear the baby, but each time Miss Susan was awakened by the baby, she reached for the little whip she kept on a shelf by the bed and slashed it across Minty’s neck.

  “Wake up, girl.” Miss Susan’s voice whined at night. It was as if she couldn’t be bothered to keep the sweet musical quality of her daytime voice. “I need my sleep to run a household this size and entertain guests for my husband. You must keep that child quiet.”

  Minty soon learned to sleep lightly. She woke at the first sounds of stirring in the cradle to push on the rocker. The movement usually soothed the baby. Not always.

  “Keep that child quiet!” Miss Susan never used Lucinda’s name. She was always “that child.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Minty sat on the floor with the baby on her lap. When Miss Lucinda had a restless night, nothing would help other than holding her. Annie would have called her spoiled. Lately the baby screamed if Minty didn’t walk her. Minty was getting more and more tired each day.

  Sometimes during the day, Miss Lucinda would sleep in her pram, but mostly she wanted to be held all the time. Minty was glad that she was strong and could walk the baby for hours.

  The days and nights seemed to all run together. Sometimes Minty dozed as she held the baby. Once she dreamed she held Nicey in her arms, but instead of those pudgy hands that would pet Minty’s cheeks, Minty woke to flailing arms and a screaming baby.

  Several times each day, Minty carried the baby outside to the kitchen where Sadie would prepare a bottle.

  “Not natural, that’s what I say,” Sadie would mutter.

  “What’s not natural?”

  “That woman. Having me fixing bottles of cow milk for that colicky baby.” Sadie had a way of talking half to herself as she moved around the kitchen. “If she don’t want to feed her own baby, ’least she could get a wet nurse to do it.”

  “What’s colicky, Sadie?” Minty took the warm bottle and gave it to the baby.

  “Baby’s stomach is sour all the time. Jes’ can’t get that milk to go down right.” Sadie turned the dough out of the bowl onto the floured table. Her brown fists punched the risen dough down. “Jes’ not natural.” She began kneading the dough. “If that woman would just think about anyone’sides herself…”

  “Is there anything I can do to help Miss Lucinda?”

  “Not with her colic, but jigglin’ her around don’t help her none. She needs to be patted until the gas bubble comes up and then left alone to settle down.”

  “But I must not allow her to disturb Miss Susan during the day, and when she cries at night, I get whipped.”

  “Jes’ not natural, that’s what I say.” Sadie turned the kneaded dough back into the bowl to rise again. “Let me see your neck, Minty.”

  “It’s healin’ except for this one I got last night.”

  “Are you usin’ that grease I gave you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Still no help for it.” Sadie fingered the welts on Minty’s neck. “You‘ll carry scars for the rest of your life.”

  “Do they look bad?” Minty lifted the baby up to pat her back, bringing up a loud belch. “There you go, Miss Lucinda.”

  “One good thing ’bout those scars is they’ll keep you from the slave block.”

  “The slave block?”

  “When slave traders and buyers see those scars they think ‘pure trouble ’—a stubborn slave.” Sadie chuckled. “Won’t nobody want to buy you.”

  “Then I’ll wear my scars proudly if they help me stay near my family.” Minty didn’t mind being thought stubborn. No one knew how frightened she was most of the time. She handed the bottle back to Sadie. ”Thank you for tellin’ me ’bout Miss Lucinda’s colic. I’ll try not to jiggle her so much.”

  After that, Minty did a little better with the baby when Miss Susan wasn’t around. As Miss Lucinda grew, she loved to hear Minty’s deep voice. When she told the baby a story, it seemed to quiet her, and when Minty broke into song the baby liked it even better.

  “Ch, ch, ch,” Minty began.

  “Ch, ch, ch,” the baby mimicked.

  “Ch, ch, ch, ch.” Minty speeded up. “Ch, ch, ch, ch.” It was the sound of a train gaining speed. Miss Lucinda was fascinated by the sound.

  “Train’s a comin’, woo-o, woo.”

  The baby clapped her hands as Minty began to sing in her deep voice:

  Git on board, little chillen,

  Git on board, little chillen,

  Git on board, little chillen,

  There’s room for many a-more.

  Minty leaned her face close to the baby and sang in a quieter voice:

  The gospel train is a-comin’,

  I hear it jus’ at hand.

  I hear the car wheels movin’,

  And rumblin’ through the land.

  When Minty burst out with the “git on board” part again, the baby laughed out loud.

  Git on board, little chillen,

  Git on board, little chillen,

  Git on board, little chillen,

  There’s room for many a-more.

  Quiet and secretive-like again, Minty sang:

  The fare is cheap an’ all can go,

  The rich an’ poor are there.

  No second class aboard this train,

  No difference in the fare.

  When she finished the chorus one last time, Minty drew Miss Lucinda into her lap. In a quiet, soothing voice, Minty began to string words together in her deep voice. She knew if she kept her words smooth, Miss Lucinda would fall asleep in time for Minty to finish some chores.

  “That gospel train runs on a secret track, Miss Lucinda. Not on a trestle. Not over the mountain. Not across open fields.” Mi
nty took the baby’s hands and made motions of trestles, mountains, and fields as she talked. The baby leaned into Minty as she became sleepy. “The gospel train don’t go clackety-clack over iron tracks or chug-a, chug-a up steep hills. Do you know where that ol’ gospel train goes, Miss Lucinda?”

  She could tell by the way the baby’s body slumped that Miss Lucinda slept at last. “It’s a secret, baby, but that train disappears right into a hole in the ground where a body can’t find it. Nobody but Jesus knows where that train goes.”

  She lifted the sleeping child into her crib. Why didn’t I ask Annie more questions about this Underground Railroad? I just know it’s more than make-believe stories. But what?

  “Araminta.” It was Miss Susan calling.

  “Coming.” Minty lifted her quilt off the trunk and opened the lid to take out a freshly starched apron. Didn’t do to risk Miss Susan’s temper with a soiled apron. As Minty carefully put her quilt back on the lid, she ran her hand over the patchwork. It always made her think of home.

  “Come here, girl. Let me look at you.” Miss Susan tilted her head to the side as she looked hard at Minty. “Where’s Miss Lucinda?”

  “I just got her down for nap, ma’am.”

  “Run and tell Sadie to ask if Liddie’s girl will sit with her. I need you to wait table for tea.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  As Minty ran to tell Sadie, she felt that familiar stab of fear. Whenever Miss Susan was near, Minty never did anything right. As she thought about waiting table, the room seemed to get smaller and Minty felt her chest tighten. Why can’t I just go outside? I hate being indoors all day long under the quick-tempered eye of Miss Susan.

  Minty gave Sadie Miss Susan’s message. The old cook just shook her head and clucked her tongue, but Minty understood. She didn’t know the first thing about serving white folk. If only I knew where to catch that train….

  “Araminta!” Impatience colored Miss Susan’s voice.

  “Coming, ma’am.”

  “Now, I want you to bring the plates of scones and clotted cream first, y’heah? Are your hands clean, girl?” She grabbed one of Minty’s hands, flipping it from palm to back. She seemed disappointed to find it clean. “I hope you’ve not been wasting my soap.”