I Thought My Soul Would Rise and Fly, page 5
Friend, I had to tell you Mister Joe’s history because it makes me feel strong to write about brave people like Mister Joe and his wife and Cook. They could’ve been whipped and jailed for what they did. But they wouldn’t let anyone rule them. I will try to be like them. I feel sorry for every bad thought I ever had about Cook.
Friday, May 26, 1865
Dear Friend,
Mister Joe ate with us again this evening, and I was glad. After supper, Ruth and I were cleaning the dishes, and I heard Mister Joe tell Luke a wonderful story. He said his mother had told it to him and her mother had told it to her. Now I will tell it to you.
Once upon a time in Africa there was people who knew how to fly. Magic men showed them. One day, some of those same Africans was captured and stuffed into slave ships. They took sick and their great black wings wilted like dead flowers. The white men who’d stolen them didn’t see the people’s dying wings.
The people kept their magic secret when they reached a plantation right here in South Carolina. And one day, years later, when the heat was unbearable and the overseer’s whip bit into their legs and backs, an old man who remembered, spoke the magic words.
The people gathered strength from his words. They repeated them and felt a pulling and a wrenching on their backs as their dead wings sprouted to life. Such a flapping and a swooshing you never did hear as the people got their power back. One by one, they raised their arms and flew away from the fields and the overseer’s whip. They flew right back to their homes in Africa.
I love this story and am writing it down so that I will always remember it. Ruth laughed at it though. Said that Mister Joe needs to stop telling those slavery-time stories. “We have our wings now, Mister Joe. We can fly away whenever we want to.”
I wanted to say to her, Why are we still here then? I wish I could ask Mister Joe about his daughter and the school she goes to, but I am not supposed to know his secret.
Saturday, May 27, 1865
Dear Friend,
I think Ruth was wrong when she said we had our wings. Today a terrible thing happened. Douglass’s friend Richard was brought back by a Yankee soldier, the same one who had first told us we were free. Sir called all of the hands out of the fields to the front lawn. Ruth and I went also.
The soldier said that a contract must be honored and could not be broken. Then he turned to Richard and said if he tried to break the contract again he would be put on a chain gang and made to work for nothing. Douglass put his arms around Richard and spoke quietly to him.
Brother Solomon and the rest of the hands looked angry. I kept thinking that it was too bad the young man couldn’t fly. Then Brother Solomon’s wife, Violet, and some of the others reminded the soldier that a school was part of the contract, too.
The soldier said that a missionary society would be sending teachers to the various plantation schools and promised that Davis Hall would have a school.
Finally! We will have a school, and I will be able to read and write for all to see. Friend, I cannot write too much tonight for now I really must think up a suitable name for myself. I’ll need it for school!
Sunday, May 28, 1865
Dear Friend,
You will not imagine what happened today. I went to the bush arbor again!
The family did not go to church because the Wild One was ill, and Sarah and Ma’am had to tend to him. I know they miss Cook because she’d have brewed one of her teas for him and he’d have been his wild self again.
Nancy was minding Nellie, and after I finished helping serve the family breakfast, Ruth and I — with Luke running ahead of us — walked to the arbor. I didn’t sneak or even tell Ma’am that I was going there. I just went.
I am going to try to remember every word and tell it to you just how it happened.
Brother Solomon introduced a man I’d never seen before. “Sisters and brothers,” he said, with a smile as wide as the front lawn. “This be a special morning. The Reverend Chaplain Henry McNeal, the first black chaplain in the United States Army, and now doing important work with the Freedmen’s Bureau is here to …”
Violet said, “Let the man speak, then.” People laughed. The Reverend Henry McNeal looked as tall and strong as one of the largest oaks in the woods behind us. He smiled only slightly and his face seemed as if it had been carved out of the rough bark of oak trees.
I had never before seen a black man dressed as he was. He wore a minister’s white collar like Father Holmes, and his jacket, vest, and pants were of a fine broadcloth, not the rough homespun that we wear. His black shoes shone like the sun.
I had never before heard anyone speak like him either. Oh, the wonderful things he told us. And the words he used sounded like the words I’ve seen in books and newspapers. He doesn’t talk the way we do.
He said we should not be ashamed because we had once been enslaved. He said there were black people who had done great things. And then he talked about his own life.
He has always been free, but he worked in the cotton fields, too. I suppose he had that same kind of freedom like Mister Joe had.
He said so many wonderful things, I cannot forget them. He spoke about the American flag and said, “Every star is against us, every stripe against us. We want power, and it can only come through organization.”
He talked about white people like Sir and Ma’am, and he said we should not remain angry with them because the past is done. “Let us show we can be a people, respectable, virtuous, honest, and industrious, and soon their prejudice will melt away. And with God for our Father, we will all be brothers. I hold that we are a very great people.”
God in His heaven must have heard the shout when Reverend McNeal finished. He raised his arms and I believe that the Reverend McNeal has the power to fly, that his powerful arms could turn into great black wings. He has the magic and can give it to us.
As soon as the Reverend McNeal finished his talk and left the arbor, Ruth, Violet, and the other women began to talk about cleaning the spinning house and filling the chinks in the walls with clay. Mister Joe and the other men said that they will make benches for the schoolroom.
Friend, I will help the women, too. We must have everything just right for the teacher, otherwise she might not stay. Ruth seems as happy as I am. She wants to go to the school as well!
Monday, May 29, 1865
Sunrise
Dear Friend,
The horn has not even blown yet, but I am already awake. The Reverend McNeal’s words still sound in my ears. When will we begin to clean the spinning house, and when will the men make the benches? I wonder. If I am able to complete the wash early today, I will go to the spinning house myself and begin. The teacher will probably be here any day. We must be ready when she comes.
Tuesday, May 30, 1865
Dear Friend,
I didn’t go to the spinning house. Ruth said that since everyone is so busy during the week, we would begin to clean on Saturday or Sunday.
Sir and Ma’am seemed very happy today, and Sarah wasn’t crying about her land. As I served breakfast, I heard Sir say, “The government has canceled our war debt. They’ve given us an amnesty.” I’m wondering what amnesty means.
Sir is beginning to look almost like his old self again. Mister Joe’s been shaving him and cutting his hair. But I know that Sir misses James.
I heard some bad news today. Sir found out from another farmer about Reverend McNeal and his meetings with the freed people on the farms in the neighborhood. He told Brother Solomon that he doesn’t want outsiders on his land. He doesn’t know that the outsider has already been here.
Sir invited the hands to worship at St. Philip’s. I don’t think they will go, and I don’t think anyone can stop Reverend McNeal from speaking.
Wednesday, May 31, 1865
Dear Friend,
My hands are raw from all of the washing, especially Nellie’s dirty linens. It seems as if Sunday will never come. I hope the Reverend McNeal returns.
Thursday, June 1, 1865
Dear Friend,
This morning, after Luke and I left the dairy, we walked to the spinning house. We peeked in. There is so much cleaning to do.
“It look nasty in there, Patsy.”
I tried to answer, but couldn’t help stammering.
“What’s the matter, Patsy?” he said, tilting his little head and looking up in my mouth. “Is the word stuck?”
He always says that and it always makes me laugh. He’s only a child and doesn’t mean any harm.
“When’s the teacher coming, Patsy?”
“Soon,” I said, without stuttering!
Friday, June 2, 1865
Dear Friend,
The fields are green with young cotton plants and potato and corn plants. Each day I watch the road and wonder whether Nancy’s mother, Mary Ella, will return, and whether anyone else will leave. I wonder when the teacher will arrive. What will she be like? I hope she is kind and patient like Charles and Annie’s teacher was.
Saturday, June 3, 1865
Dear Friend,
Today I completed the ironing and then Luke and I picked peaches and ate almost as many as we picked. After supper, me and Ruth carried water into The House so that everyone could bathe. When we finished toting water for the family, we hauled water for ourselves so that we could take turns bathing in the tin tub in the storeroom. (Of course, you were well hidden under my pallet.) Ruth hung the old sheet we always used for privacy around one corner of the shed.
I have been in the storeroom all evening, but I was finally able to read the one page I kept from the newspapers that Ma’am told me to throw away.
I like to read about the things you can buy like Redding’s Russia Salve for the cure of burns, cuts, flesh wounds, boils, chilblains, blisters, bruises, warts, old sores, ringworm, and frostbitten parts. It reminds me of Cook and her teas.
I am glad that tomorrow is Sunday. Will the people go to St. Philip’s? I wonder. I won’t. And Ruth said that she won’t go either. If there is no worship in the arbor, I will stay in the storeroom until everyone is gone and then I will go to The House and into Sir’s library to read.
Sunday, June 4, 1865
Dear Friend,
I was happy when I saw Ma’am and the rest of the family, including Sir, climb into the carriage to go to church. I don’t make believe I am going to St. Philip’s anymore. I will worship as I please.
I will try to remember it all for you. When Ruth and I arrived at the arbor I was glad to see that no one accepted Sir’s invitation to go to St. Philip’s. Best of all, the Reverend McNeal was there. He gave us his magic words again. He tells us to be strong and fear only God and not our former masters and mistresses. “My life has been threatened for the work I do, but I will not let anyone stop me from doing God’s work for God’s people.”
He seemed to look at each and every one of us. “You can do great things. You can get the land you desire and you can educate your children.” He tapped his forehead. “All you need is the will and the determination.” He tapped his forehead again. “The determination is here. It is the most powerful tool you have. God bless you.”
Brother Solomon stood up like he had found his wings and began to sing “Free at Last.” Everyone joined him.
After the service, people had a chance to speak. Ruth was the first one to stand up. “Reverend Sir,” she said, “it’s June, and they’s still no school for these young ones.”
The Reverend said he talked to the people at the Freedmen’s Bureau and told them we need schools out here. He said that his own African Methodist Episcopal Church is looking for young men to send to school in Baltimore to train for the ministry.
“Amen,” Douglass called out. Does the Reverend’s church have a school for girls? I wonder.
Violet asked about land. Reverend McNeal said that the freed men and women are getting land that the former slave owners abandoned on the sea islands and the coast when the Yankees captured the islands. I suppose that’s how Miss Sarah’s slaves got her land.
The Yankee General Sherman is granting land to the freed men and their families. But Reverend McNeal advised everyone to stay here for now and work out their contract. He said that the military government has given the freed people land, but the military can also take it away.
When Reverend McNeal left, Ruth and I joined Violet and the other women in the spinning house. Luke and the older children helped, too. Violet gave Luke and I straw brooms to sweep the dirt floor. Some of the women began daubing the chinks in the walls with clay. A couple of older girls began to wipe down the walls. I don’t mind cleaning when it’s for a school.
Douglass and Richard hauled in a tin tub full of water. As soon as the girls saw them their voices got higher and louder. I don’t suppose Douglass saw me, with the way those girls flounced up in his face.
I enjoyed getting the room ready for the teacher though. I imagined myself in school, sitting on a bench and learning everything. By the time we finished, the room was sparkling clean. All that we needed was a desk for the teacher and benches for the students.
Even though Ruth is excited about the school, she says that she doesn’t know how much longer she can stay at Davis Hall, waiting for John. She wants better wages so she can have her own little home.
“I don’t care if it be a tiny cabin, long as it’s mine.”
I don’t like to hear Ruth talking about leaving, so I forced myself to speak about going to school and tried mightily not to stammer. I became so excited the word “school” stuck in my mouth. Ruth had to pull it out for me. Then she smiled at me and told me that school mightn’t be right for me, but she said that I do tasks good when someone shows me how. She said I was getting better at ironing. “You try to do your best.”
Friend, I know Ruth means no harm, because she is my only friend besides you, but she thinks I’m a dunce, too.
I wonder what she’d say if I told her I could read and write. She’d probably think I was lying.
When we walked into the kitchen, Ruth let out a long sigh. She took the skillet off the fireplace, and I started the cooking fire. “Cook was right. As long as we stay here, we never free,” Ruth said.
I know Ruth is not my mother and she has her own child to care about, but I will be lonely and miserable here if she and Luke leave. And how can I leave Davis Hall? Where would I go? How would I get there?
Monday, June 5, 1865
Dear Friend,
It rained all day and I ironed all day. Mister Joe ate dinner with us again. He says he thinks that some of the hands and their families will leave Davis Hall and go to the coast because they want land more than anything, and they say Sir already broke the contract. They are not taking the Reverend’s advice. They say they can’t wait till next year for land. And Richard left again.
This time he went through the woods, instead of walking out of the front gate for all to see. But the woods are dangerous. Mister Joe says Confederate soldiers returning from the War are starving, poor, and angry. They blame us for their problems. Some of them call themselves Regulators. They patrol the woods. They say they are keeping the neighborhood safe from the wild black men who have been set free. Black bodies are being found all the time — hanging from trees, drowned in the creeks. Mister Joe says these are some dangerous times.
Ruth asked what would happen to the families who were leaving. Would they be returned to the plantation or killed by the Regulators? But Mister Joe didn’t have an answer.
Tonight I will pray for Richard’s safety, and I will pray for the families who plan to leave. Maybe some of them have the magic and can fly away.
Wednesday, June 7, 1865
Dear Friend,
Last night Ruth asked me to stay in the cottage with Luke while she went to the cabins. The room seems larger since Cook and Miriam are gone. Two homespun dresses hang on one hook and Luke’s Sunday homespun trousers hang on another. A large basket holding several patchwork quilts stands in the corner and a small milking stool sits by the fireplace.
Luke was lying on his pallet and, Friend, I wished I had a book and a real oil lamp so I could read. Maybe read him a story. My Friend, you know I don’t stammer when I read.
Leaning on his elbow with his hand under his chin, Luke looked up at me, his bright eyes dancing. He asked me whether the teacher would be here tomorrow. I told him I didn’t know when exactly, but soon. He asked me to tell him a story like Mister Joe does. Then he said that his mother told him when he goes to school he will learn how to read book stories.
I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. I could see every word of Little Goody Two-Shoes in my mind’s eye. I began to say the words as I saw them. I tried mightily not to stammer.
“This is the history of Little Goody Two-Shoes, otherwise called Missus Margery Two-Shoes …”
I heard a tiny snort. Luke was fast asleep. Finally, I speak without stammering and no one hears me.
As I watched Luke sleeping peacefully and listened to his little snores, I suddenly wanted to wake him up and tell him, I’ll show you how to read, Luke. I can teach you all of your letters. And perhaps then Ruth won’t want to leave Davis Hall.
You see, Friend, I keep wondering why Ruth went to the cabins last night. I worry that she’s making plans to leave. I have to tell her my secret.
Thursday, June 8, 1865
Dear Friend,
When Mister Joe stopped by the kitchen for his morning glass of milk, he told Ruth about the meeting of the Union League next Tuesday. What is a Union League? I wonder. A church? And why are they meeting? Are they making plans to leave? I don’t know what it all means. There are times when I am so very frightened because everything is changing, yet I am still Patsy who belongs to Ma’am and Sir.
