Song of Slaves in the Desert - Alan Cheuse [159]
“She went out back and did not return for a long time. When she did, she wore a terribly long face. ‘There’s another man, Jason, sick out back in the cabins,’ she said. ‘The Master is sick upstairs,’ I told her. ‘You must pay attention to him.’ ‘The man in the cabins, he seen the Visitor,’ she said. ‘Please, Sally,’ I told her, ‘don’t you start a panic. Please go up to lay the poultice on the master.’
“She went up, and after a while she came part way down the stairs, the saddest look on her face. ‘You better come up, missus,’ she said to me. I could not move. I asked Rebecca to go in my stead.”
Rebecca spoke up from her chair.
“I went back upstairs and found him lying there, a feeble smile on his face. His head appeared huge to me, his skin pale and taut across the bone beneath.
“‘Has the rice come in?’ he said.
“‘Yes, my beloved uncle,’ I said, ‘the rice has come in.’
“‘I am glad,’ he said, closing his eyes. Next he whispered something so quietly I could not hear. I leaned my ear close to his lips.
“‘Free them,’ he said. His last words before he lay still, so quiet and peaceful. I tried to wake him.”
Her voice rose into the higher registers. “I could not! I tried, but I could not!”
From outside the house the voices of field hands drifted up—
Working all day
And part of the night,
And up before the morning light,
When will Jehovah hear my cry
And set a poor soul free?
They stood huddled in a corner of the veranda, shaking their heads, singing under their breath, and Isaac stood with them, singing, talking. I look around for Liza, but did not see her. My heart beat back and forth from calm to hectic, calm to hectic. All the while the slaves kept singing.
When will Jehovah hear my cry
And set a poor soul free?
Jonathan had gone up the stairs, and now he came down.
“Well, now, folks,” he announced, and he appeared to be looking directly at me, “I have seen my father, and he has passed away.” More weeping and wailing from all gathered here. Jonathan waited until the noise subsided somewhat and then said, “I suppose this means that The Oaks is now mine.”
I felt as though I had taken a blow to the face.
“I must see him,” I said and turning from my cousin—his hard jaw gleaming red in the light of the fire, I mounted the stairs, footsteps following after me. I turned with a start to see young Abraham at my heels.
“Abe,” I said, “you must not go in now. The sick room is not a good place for you to visit.”
He shook his head, and tears rolling down his cheeks he clambered past me up the stairs.
“Do not touch the…do not touch him,” I called after him as with fallen shoulders he stepped into the room where his grandfather lay.
Leaving them both to the dark, I wandered along the hall and entered my own room. It was dark inside, and a few traces of Liza’s perfumes and odors lingered in the air. I closed that door and drifted back down the hall. From the sick room came the sound of a young boy sobbing hoarsely, as for the first time in his life. From the parlor the sounds of mourning grew louder and louder.
“Cousin,” Jonathan called up the stairwell. “Come down, it is time, and I have some things to say.” It was odd how strong his voice sounded, given the loss he had just suffered. “Come down!”
The candles fluttered as a breeze stirred in the otherwise quiet hall. At the bottom of the stairs moved the shapes and shadows of the mourners and the slaves. I shook my head, my limbs, though, froze me in place, and my heart settled almost to a stand-still, either in calm or in fear.
A floorboard creaked behind me.
“Abe?” I turned around, staring into the dark.
A hand came up and touched me at the small of my back, and I turned yet again, my blood chilled with fright.
“Nate,” Liza said, “it is time. Come with me!”
Chapter Seventy-five
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The Other Way
Liza clearly knew her way down the damp dark narrow back staircase, leading me by the hand as we descended into the room behind the kitchen and stepped to the rear door of the house.
Promise stood