Roots_ The Saga of an American Family - Alex Haley [346]
“Mammy ’Tilda say let you know massa an’ dat white man on de porch steady talkin’. Leas’ de man keep talkin’ an’ massa jes’ noddin’ an’ noddin’.”
“Awright, honey,” said Tom. “Don’ be scairt. You git on back now.” Irene fled.
Then, after about another half hour, she brought word that Cates had left, “an’ now massa an’ missis got dey heads togedder.”
But nothing happened until Matilda was serving supper to Massa and Missis Murray, whom she saw were eating in a strained silence. Finally, when she brought their dessert and coffee, Massa Murray said, in a tight voice, “Matilda, tell your husband I want to see him out on the porch right away.”
“Yassuh, Massa.”
She found Chicken George with Tom down at the blacksmith shop. Chicken George forced a laugh when he got the message. “Reckon he might want to see if I git ’im some fightin’ roosters!”
Adjusting his scarf and tilting his derby to a jauntier angle, he walked briskly toward the big house. Massa Murray was waiting there, seated in a rocker on the porch. Chicken George stopped in the yard at the foot of the stairs.
“’Tilda say you wants to see me, suh.”
“Yes, I do, George. I’ll come right to the point. Your family has brought Missis Murray and me much happiness here—”
“Yassuh,” George put in, “an’ dey sho’ speaks de highes’ of y’all, too, Massa!”
The massa firmed his voice. “But I’m afraid we’re going to have to solve a problem—concerning you.” He paused. “I understand that in Burlington yesterday you met Mr. J. D. Cates, our former county sheriff—”
“Yassa, reckon could say I met ’im, yassa.”
“Well, you probably know Mr. Cates has visited me today. He brought to my attention a North Carolina law that forbids any freed black from staying within the state for more than sixty days, or he must be re-enslaved.”
It took a moment to sink in. Chicken George stared disbelievingly at Massa Murray. He couldn’t speak.
“I’m really sorry, boy. I know it don’t seem fair to you.”
“Do it seem fair to you, Massa Murray?”
The massa hesitated. “No, to tell you the truth. But the law is the law.” He paused. “But if you would want to choose to stay here, I’ll guarantee you’ll be treated well. You have my word on that.”
“Yo’ word, Massa Murray?” George’s eyes were impassive.
That night George and Matilda lay under their quilt, hands touching, both staring up at the ceiling. “ ’Tilda,” he said after a long while, “guess ain’t nothin’ to do but stay. Seem like runnin’s all I ever done.”
“Naw, George.” She shook her head slowly back and forth. “’Cause you de firs’ one us ever free. You got to stay free, so us have somebody free in dis family. You jes’ can’t go back to bein’ a slave!”
Chicken George began to cry. And Matilda was weeping with him. Two evenings later, she was not feeling well enough to join him in having supper with Tom and Irene in their small cabin. The conversation turned to their child, which was due within two weeks, and Chicken George grew solemn.
“Be sho’ y’all tells dat chile ’bout our fam’ly, y’all hear me?”
“Pappy, ain’t none my chilluns gon’ grow up widdout knowin’.” Tom strained a smile. “I reckon if I don’ tell ’em, Gran’mammy Kizzy come back to set me straight.”
There was silence for a while as the three of them sat staring at the fire.
Finally Chicken George spoke again.
“Me an’ ’Tilda was countin’ I got forty more days fo’ I has to leave, ’cordin’ to what de law say. But I been thinkin’ ain’t no good time to go. Ain’t no point keep jes’ puttin’ off—”
He sprang up from his chair, fiercely embracing Tom and Irene. “I be back!” he rasped brokenly. “Take care one ’nother!” He bolted through the door.
CHAPTER 110
It was early in November of 1860, and Tom was hurrying to finish his last blacksmithing task before darkness fell. He made it. Then, banking the fire in his forge, he trudged wearily home to have supper with Irene, who was nursing their baby girl, Maria, now