Waylon and I looked at each other and smiled. In a quiet voice, he said, “Do you hear that? We should go find it. I’d love to see a horse. There’s nothing else for us to observe right now.”
He was right. The hanging would eventually take place at the tree in the middle of the yard between us and the house. Nobody was there now.
Sticking to the edge of the forest that surrounded the property, we walked until we spotted a barn. Then we moved stealthily forward, trying not to make any quick movements that might attract the attention of someone looking out a window of the large plantation house.
Finally reaching the barn, we slipped in through an open door and moved into the shadows. There were men of dark brown color working in there. They were grooming horses and cleaning out the stalls.
The horses were magnificent. A man patted the muscular side of one. It whinnied and shook its long slender neck. These horses were especially beautifuclass="underline" healthy-looking with shiny coats of hair.
We crept into a corner behind machinery and listened. We’d seen the horses. We continued to watch the interaction between men and beasts.
A tan-skinned man entered the barn and shouted, “Is she ready?”
One of the men who had been placing a saddle on the back of a horse said, “Yes, suh,” and trotted out the animal. The man who had made the request climbed onto the horse’s back. He grabbed the reins, squeezed the sides of the animal with his legs and leaned forward. The animal started walking. When they were out of the barn, it picked up speed. I decided that if it were ever safe for me to do it without getting caught, I’d love to try riding a horse.
The dark-skinned man walked over to another. He said, “How bad she hurt dis time?”
I thought they were referring to the horse. I knew people weren’t supposed to ride horses when they’d been injured. Horses sometimes had to be killed in order to put them out of their misery. If they were talking about the horse that just left the barn, however, it looked fine.
I soon realized they were talking about a person. We listened to their conversation.
“We can’ leave now.”
“We gotta leave tuhnigh’. Dey comin’ tuhnigh’. She be bettuh off leavin’ when she hurt dan not leavin’ at all. I don’t know when we get a chance like dis again. You know massuh never gonna set us free, don’t matter tuh him what da gov’ment says.”
“Go see her. Talk tuh her. Do it fas’, bafuh massuh come back or his wife go check on her.”
“Missus ain’t gonna check on her. Mary his property, not hers. And you know she want Mary dead. She jus’ as soon leave her tuh bleed tuh death. She gots tuh be sick o’ him sneakin’ off ev’ry night tuh go find Mary, comin’ back smellin’ o’ her. And now wid duh baby on duh way…”
“Aw right. I go talk tuh her…”
We snuck through the shadows to a side door and let ourselves out. Then we watched to see where the man was going.
He walked down a hill and into a small building made from logs. After he came back out and returned to the barn, we made our way down to the log cabin. On this mission, we were to figure out who we could trust to reveal ourselves to. We thought it sounded like a slave had been hurt. It also sounded like her owner had been having sex with her and she was pregnant. This was right after the Civil War when slaves had technically been made free people by the U.S. government. Not all slaves had a way to leave the plantations, however, or a job to go to. And many owners made it difficult for them to leave.
We figured this woman might be willing to talk with us. And if she reported us to the plantation owner, he’d never believe her. He’d think she was crazy.
Waylon peeked through a small dusty window in the back of the cabin. He said, “There’s definitely a woman in there.”
I asked, “Do you see anyone else?”
He said, “No. What should we do? Just go inside?”
I said, “Yes. I sense that she needs help, but won’t open the door herself.”
Without another word, Waylon tried the doorknob. It turned easily. He pushed the door open and we both stepped inside. Quietly, he closed it behind us and placed a chair against it to keep people out until we were done.
The woman didn’t notice us. She was lying in bed, facing away from us. She was moaning loudly and crying.
She had dark brown skin, the color of the slaves in that space-time. We’d guessed that correctly.
The room smelled of blood and sex and something else I couldn’t identify.
I approached the bed. The woman was wearing a white nightgown soiled with blood. It had soaked through from her back. There was so much blood, I’d wondered if she’d been shot. From what I knew of the time period, however, I assumed she’d been whipped. The cloth appeared stuck to her skin.
I looked at Waylon. There was concern in his eyes. He nodded at me. I interpreted that as agreement that I should address the woman.
In as soft and gentle a voice as I could manage, I said, “Mary?”
The woman rolled over, pushing against all the pain that sudden motion must have caused her. Her knee caught in her gown and pulled against the cloth on her back. It must have ripped away skin as she did that. There was complete terror in her eyes.
I felt badly that we had frightened her.
It soon became apparent, however, that she wasn’t afraid of us. She must have expected another woman. Perhaps the wife of the plantation owner. I wondered if this woman had at different times been whipped by both of them.
In a hoarse voice, she said, “Mah prayers been answered. I prayed fuh you tuh come.”
I asked, “Who did you pray for, Mary?”
“Fuh mah guardian angel. God sent two angels. I prayed and prayed and prayed.”
I wondered how she saw us. Their pictures of guardian angels looked nothing like us. They had light tan skin. Ours was green. They had regular eyes. With our contact lenses in, we looked like beings with enormous black eyes. Angels were depicted with beautiful white wings. We had no wings and were unable to fly. Angels usually had golden hair. We were bald with green scalps. And we certainly didn’t have a golden glow surrounding us.
Unless Mary was suffering from fever or delirious from pain. I wanted to ask how she perceived us, but then was not the time. It seemed best to go along with her interpretation and pretend to be angels. No one would go looking around for angels, even if people did believe they had appeared to her.
I said, “Mary, you’re hurt…”
She said, “Help me. Please. I wid child. It prob’ly massuh’s child. I had two by him bafouh and dey was ripped from mah arms soon as dey weaned, and sold as slaves. I want dis baby tuh have a bettuh fate.”
I asked, “How are you hurt? What’s wrong exactly?”
Mary said, “I’m sick tuh mah stomach an’ throwin’ up from bein’ pregnant. But I been whipped, too, and I think it’s infected. I’m hot, den cold. I had a fever since yestuhday.”
I said, “May I see your back?”
She said, “Yes.”
I nodded to Waylon to give us some privacy. He walked behind a wardrobe and busied himself with something. I heard him moving objects around, probably studying them.
Mary tried to lift her nightgown up, but started crying. She said, “I cain’t do it mahself. Da pain’s too much.”
I said, “I can help you. Just tell me if I need to stop.”
Mary lifted the nightgown above her knees and knelt on the bed. She said, “Go on den.”
I took the bottom edge of her nightgown in my hands. Slowly, I lifted it up to her shoulders. She winced a number of times, but let me do it.