The Known World - Edward P. Jones [161]
Their marriage angered Morris, and he was still angry when his son came home from Washington, D.C., for good and tried to tell Morris and his mother what the cadavers had been saying to him. The father and his son talked late into the nights, and there were many times when what the cadavers said began to make sense to the father. In the morning, though, Morris would have more clarity and he would blame many people—but especially Hope and Hillard—for all the things the dead people were putting in his son’s head. Morris told people in that part of Georgia that Hope and Hillard were to suffer alone and everyone was forbidden to help them. And that was how it was for a long time.
The Usters’ children were small and weak of bone and lung and the inherited land was left mostly to Hope and Hillard alone to try to make a living. Then, in 1855, Hillard managed to save about $53 and met a black man named Stennis and his white master, Darcy, who feared taking one last piece of property into Florida, where he had never known good luck. Hillard used the money to buy that human property from Darcy.
That day in September, Darcy and Stennis said good-bye to Augustus Townsend, who said nothing, and he watched them ride away in the wagon that had held up all the way from Virginia. They had sold Augustus’s mule back in North Carolina. Augustus stood on the edge of Hillard’s field, free of his chains for the first time since Manchester County. Hillard held a rifle. On either side of the white man was a boy. On the porch of the tiny house Hope was holding a baby. On either side of her was a little girl.
“I don’t want no trouble outa you,” Hillard said to Augustus. Darcy had said that Augustus, still new to Georgia, might be testy for a few days. “I don’t want no trouble.”
“I won’t be nothin but trouble,” Augustus said, looking around, getting his bearings.
“We got a nigger just like evbody else, Pa?” the boy on Hillard’s right said.
“Hush.”
“I just wanna go home and then I’ll be outa your way.”
Hillard raised his rifle, pointed it at Augustus. “Then you and me will have trouble.”
“We gon have trouble, Pa,” the boy on the left said.
“Hush,” Hillard said. He raised the rifle higher, up to Augustus’s face. “I just want you to work, like you suppose to.”
“I done done all the work I suppose to do.”
“I wanna feed my family and I’ll do anything to make that happen. I just wanna feed my family. Thas all there is to it.”
“I know family. I know all about family. But, mister, you can’t raise your family on my back,” and Augustus, noting where the sun was, turned and headed north.
“Our nigger goin, Pa?” the first boy said.
“Hush.”
Augustus was a few yards away when Hillard said, “You come back here. You better come here. I’m tellin you to come back here.” Augustus continued on.
“Stop, you,” the second boy hollered. “You stop.”
“Hilly?” Hope called from the porch. “Hilly, what is goin on?”
Her husband raised the rifle and fired a shot into Augustus’s left shoulder. Augustus stopped, looked at the ground, and lifted his head again. The blood took its time spreading all over the top of the shirt, then spread down and all about, down some more to the top of his pants. Augustus lowered his head and fell to the ground. Hope screamed.
Hillard and the boys ran to Augustus. The girls on the porch ran as well, and so did Hope, but with the baby in her arms she was not as fast as the girls were.
“I told you to stop. All I wanted was for you to stop.”
Augustus was on his back and he looked up at the man and at the boys. He didn’t look at the girls and the woman with the baby because by the time they got there his eyes were closed, which helped with the pain.
“I told you to stop, dammit! Nigger, all I wanted was for you to stop.”
Augustus heard him and he wanted to say that that was the biggest lie he had ever heard in his life, but he was dying and words were precious.
Hope and her family—except for the baby, who was put for the moment on the ground