Yellow Crocus: A Novel (15 page)
Mattie wedged herself into a corner of the shanty and leaned into the walls. Her mind reeled. He had not even asked her a question. Reaching to her shoulder, she touched the moisture on her back with her finger. She examined the crimson drops shimmering on her skin before she wiped it on the wall in front of her. In the dark she could barely make out the mark, but she knew it had stained the board. She worked steadily to complete her undertaking before her blood stopped flowing. Dipping into her blood more than a dozen times, going over the marks again and again, she added her name to the wall of pain: M-A-T-T-I-E. She had found a use for her lettering after all.
The morning after Mattie’s return, a disoriented Lisbeth found herself in bed with Mattie deeply asleep next to her. Lisbeth gazed intently at the still form. Curled up on her left side, her head wrapped in a cotton scarf, Mattie’s cheek rested against her arm protruding from a white gown. Lisbeth laid her pale arm alongside Mattie’s dark one. The smooth skin on her young limb was in sharp contrast to the strong muscles, puckered scars, and rough calluses of Mattie’s arm. Lisbeth’s eyes followed the trail of Mattie’s arm up to the white material of her gown bunched up near the shoulder. Spots of dried blood, dark and round, peppered the light fabric. Lisbeth shuddered in fear and anger.
Lisbeth sighed and carefully slipped out of bed. She was accustomed to being woken up by Mattie after a fire had been lit, the warm wash water fetched, and her clothes prepared. But today she decided to take care of these duties for herself.
She passed through the door that led to the backstairs, an unusual passageway, to fetch warmed water from the kitchen. Despite the fear running through her body, she approached Cook, the imposing, stern woman who scared Lisbeth.
“May I have the wash water please?” Lisbeth requested.
Cook scowled silently at Lisbeth without making a move.
“Mattie is sleeping,” Lisbeth explained timidly. “I am fetching the water today.”
Cook gave a quick nod and brought Lisbeth a bucket filled with warm water. She patted Lisbeth’s hand after she passed over the bucket.
“May I have some salve too?”
After another silent nod, Cook found the salve. Tears glistened in her eyes as she handed Lisbeth a remedy of pokeweed and lard.
Lisbeth tiptoed quietly up the creaky stairs, but Mattie was already awake. A tired smile passed over her face when she saw the salve in Lisbeth’s hand. Mattie reached out to take it, but Lisbeth shook her head.
“Let me put it on.”
Mattie sat on the edge of her bed with her gown around her waist. Tenderly Lisbeth spread the soothing balm on Mattie’s wounds. With the index finger on her right hand Lisbeth slowly traced each mark from top to bottom across Mattie’s back: nine neat slices in all, three from each night she had been gone. Despite her care, Lisbeth broke open the scabs in some places. Bright red blood stood in contrast to the dark brown crust, pale finger, and coffee brown back. When all the wounds had been covered, Lisbeth had blood on her hands. As she stood to examine her work, she wiped it into the fabric of her dress.
M
attie was still exhausted two weeks later. She went about her chores as best as she could, but she lagged behind on her duties. Cook, Emily, and the other household workers picked up the slack in the laundry and kitchen. They all knew better than to let Mrs. Gray find out Mattie was not taking care of her responsibilities. In the evenings Lisbeth prepared herself for bed and in the mornings she left Mattie to sleep while she fetched wash water, lit the fire, and dressed herself.
Days passed into weeks before it dawned on Mattie that her exhaustion was not from her ordeal. Her monthly bleeding hadn’t come for a while and her breasts were very tender. She was with child. It must have took during her last time with Emmanuel. She considered ending it. But then she realized: she wanted this child. Mattie wasn’t going to give up this new life. She was going to have this baby and then, in a few years, take it to join Samuel and Emmanuel.
She waited as long as possible to share her news. Lisbeth was the first person she told out loud. As they were preparing for bed, Mattie said, “Lisbeth, I got some news. You know how I been so tired, well, it ’cus I gonna have a baby.”
“A baby? You are too old!” Lisbeth laughed.
“Old?” Mattie exclaimed with feigned outrage. “Thirty ain’t so old to be havin’ a baby!”
“Do you think it will be a boy or a girl? Too bad Samuel will not get to meet the baby. I shall help you take care of it,” Lisbeth exclaimed.
“Lisbeth honey, you know it don’ work that way.” Mattie shook her head. “Ain’t no one gonna let me stay in here with a baby of my own.”
“Where will you go? Will they sell you?” Lisbeth said, not hiding the distress in her voice.
“I ’magine they gonna send me back outside.”
Lisbeth cried; fat, warm tears slid down her face. She could not help herself though she wanted to stop. Feeling foolish, she did not look at Mattie, but gazed instead at her clenched hands. “What will I do? Who will be with me? Who will take care of me?” She looked up at Mattie, saw tears in her nurse’s eyes too, and cried harder.
“You gonna be fine, Lisbeth. You can come see me in the afternoons. Remember how I always have my momma’s love in my heart. Well, you gonna always have my love in your heart to guide you. You a good person, Lisbeth. You gonna be all right.”
The next morning Mattie told Mrs. Gray of her condition. By noon, Mrs. Gray had moved Mattie out to the Quarters and moved Skinny Emily into the room adjacent to Lisbeth’s.
At supper, Mother commented on Lisbeth’s puffy, red eyes. “Have you been crying, Elizabeth dear?” she inquired, genuinely concerned.
“No, Mother, I am fine, only tired, that is all,” Lisbeth replied politely.
In bed that night, Lisbeth sang herself to sleep.
Go to sleepy little baby
Go to sleepy little baby
Everybody’s gone in the cotton and the corn
Didn’t leave nobody but the baby
In the early evening, the time tucked between tea and supper, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Lisbeth snuck in visits to Mattie. Like so many aspects of plantation life, these visits were a widely known secret.
On one of these visits when Mattie’s swollen belly looked ripe as a watermelon ready to burst, Mattie asked Lisbeth for a favor. She was ready for this baby to come out, except for a name. She needed to have the name set or risk the overseer choosing a name of his liking.
“I got it down to a few,” Mattie explained, “but I want to know if the name I pick is gonna be good for the eye as well as for the ear. Can you put them down for me?”
Using the end of a burnt stick, Lisbeth scratched out “Matthew”, “Jeremiah”, “Jordan”, “Naomi”, and “Aurelia” into the hearth as Mattie recited each one.
“Those are all nice names, Mattie.”
“I like the look of that letter,” Mattie pointed. “What that one called?”
“That is a ‘J.’ This one says Jeremiah. This one is Jordan.”
Mattie declared, “That good. Jeremiah if it a boy. Jordan for a girl.”
On a clear, crisp November evening in 1847, after a day of hard labor, Jordan arrived into the world. She was born in Mattie and Poppy’s small cabin on the same pallet Mattie had birthed and suckled Samuel nearly eleven years before. Rebecca caught the infant, cut her cord, and passed her to her mother’s eager arms. Mattie’s heart opened wider, making room for yet another child to love.
Mattie rested in bed with her daughter cradled in her arms, spent but so satisfied. Jordan was latched to Mattie’s breast, mastering the skills of sucking and swallowing. Whenever the infant stopped for too long, Mattie tickled Jordan’s chin to keep her going. Mattie’s heart filled with joy as she took in the beauty of this new miracle. A fierce swelling of protection rose in Mattie.
Gazing down at her daughter, she spoke quietly and clearly, “I ain’t never gonna let ’em take me away from you. Never. I promise you, I ain’t goin’ nowhere without you and you ain’t goin’ nowhere but with me. When you are big enough, baby girl, we joinin’ your father and your brother. We gonna be free.”
Mrs. Gray came into the breakfast room the next morning with an announcement. “The newest addition to the Quarters was born last night.”
“Mattie had her baby?” Lisbeth exclaimed. “What name did she choose? Is it a boy or a girl?”
Turning a disdainful gaze to Lisbeth, Mrs. Gray responded laconically, “I do not know.”
Lisbeth returned her attention to her soft-boiled egg, hiding the sting of embarrassment and fury at Mrs. Gray’s attitude.
