12.
The entirety of my possessions include a pebble, a head wrap, a few items of clothing and a pair of sandals that are too small for me.
I found the pebble on the side of a road. It looked pretty so I decided to keep it. Its just a stone but it's become special to me. It means something.
The sandals were made by Sadie back at Master Walter's home, when I was ten. They squeeze my toes and cause blisters. I don't wear them anymore.
Mama has more things than I do because she's been living for longer than me. She keeps them all under her bed. There are around seven objects all together. That's a lot. Most slaves have nothing at all.
The other objects in our cabin are there because they are essential. An iron kettle. A bucket. Several wooden bowls. Pots and pans. Spare head wraps.
Mama isn't at the cabin that evening. I make some stew and eat my dinner without her. She still hasn't returned when I fall asleep. But when I wake the next morning, she is already up and gathering food for breakfast.
"Where were you?" I ask.
"I got held up." She breaks a hunk of bread into pieces. She doesn't look at me.
"Oh," I say, "By what?"
"Nothing important," she says, "Did you have enough to eat last night?"
"Yes, Mama," I say.
Her hands move rhythmically, tearing the bread apart and putting the pieces into a bowl one by one.
She offers the bowl to me. I take a piece and watch her pass the bowl around so the other women can have some food. She sets it down on the table.
"Don't you want none?" I ask her.
She shakes her head. "I'm not hungry."
I frown, studying her face, but I can't detect any signs of illness.
"Mama, you gotta eat," I say, "to build up your strength."
"Cass, I'm fine. I'm as healthy as ever. Go and have a drink from the well. It's hot today."
I smile at her with hope to lift her spirits. Her eyes glitter, framed by deep creases in her skin. She looks tired, but then, we are all tired.
I go outside and am hit by the stifling heat. Mama was right; it's scorching.
The water is warm even though the well is partially shaded by a tree. I gulp down as much water as I can, knowing that what I told Mama applies for me, too. I need to build up my strength. A strong woman is a healthy women and the stronger I am, the more easily I will be able to cope with the work.
Minutes later Noah arrives to order Mama and a few others up to the house.
Mama leans her mouth down to my ear as she passes me. "I think I'll be working in the kitchen all day." She whispers, "When everyone else has fallen asleep, meet me at the pond."
I stare at her blankly. "The pond?" What I mean to say is 'our pond? The one where I go with Amos?'
She has passed me now and is walking quickly at the edge of the group. She turns around and nods. Her eyes twinkle. Maybe she smiles.
I look away, confused. I only know of one pond at Master Ramier's planation. But it can't be the one she meant. How would she know about it? How does she know that I know about it?
I have so many questions that are yearning for answers but all I can do is watch her leave, and wait.
I go into the cabin and sit down on my bed until Noah turns up to order me out to the fields.
I ease into the repetitive task of cotton-picking and am surprised when the break for lunch arrives quicker than I expected.
The back of my neck is slick with sweat. My throat aches for water.
I see Jack on my way to the well outside my cabin. He is stuffing a sack with cotton buds. His hair is plastered across his forehead, dampened by his sweat.
"You look tired," he says.
"You does, too," I say. I don't stop walking.
When I reach the well I drink more water than I need to. I go into the cabin and retrieve my cornmeal. I eat a small portion of it and go back outside, where I notice Hannah walking towards me. Her upper lip is trembling and her face is drained of colour.
"Come. Follow me," she gasps. She grabs my hand and pulls me into a run.
"What's happened?" I say.
We reach her cabin and she pushes the door open.
"It's my brother. He's sick."
My eyes scan the cabin and instantly fall upon the skinny boy curled up on a bed in the middle of the room.
Hannah's mama and papa stand over him, stroking him, talking to him.
Her mama looks up when I enter. Her eyes are red and watery. "We think he got cholera. It's been so hot recently. He's real sick."
I nod. I walk over to him and crouch down so that my face is level with his.
"He been sick for two days," Hannah croaks, "an' he ain't gettin' better."
I watch his chest rise and fall. His breaths are shallow but he is alive.
"Don't worry. He's gonna get well again soon," I tell Hannah, but my voice is unconvincing.
A tear slides away from her eyelids.
"Why does this have to happen?" She says quietly, and it's a question I have asked myself many times before.
Somewhere inside of me something shatters when I see the desperation on her face. I squeeze her shoulder. "He will get better," I say, with as much confidence as I can muster. "You'll see."
She nods vigorously, blinking back her tears.
I think that her family probably want to be alone, but when I turn to leave, Hannah tugs gently on my arm.
"Can I ask you somethin'?" she says in a squashed voice that is almost inaudible.
"Sure," I say. We go outside, round the back of the hut.
She sits down on the grass, with her back against the wall of the cabin. I sit next to her.
"Remember how you told me that you thought the Union was maybe gone win the war? That maybe slavery gone be goin' away sometime?"
"Yes," I say.
"Tell me 'gain," she says.
Our arms are touching and I can feel her bony shoulder pressing into my skin.
I look at her carefully. I see that the old hope in her eyes has returned. I see it like it's a precious golden flame, and I want to do anything I can to keep it burning.
"Is it true?" As she stares back at me, the flame fades. Her hopes fail.
"I...don't know," I say.
She starts to cry. I put my arms around her and hold her for a long time.
"I wish we could do somethin'," she says after a long period of silence. "I jus' wanna do somethin' to help the Union. I wanna fight. I wouldn't mind, you know, if it gone help the Union win the war."
"Be careful, Hannah. You gotta not never let people hear you sayin' that," I say, before realising that she is probably so angry that she wouldn't care about the risks. I understand her frustration. I've felt it before.
"We could have a whole army a slaves," I add, thinking that if her imagination wanders she will forget about her brother and the unfairness of slavery, and maybe she will regain some of her hope.
She looks at me intently. "That slave who've escape..."
"Patrick?"
"Yes. Maybe now he gonna fight for the Union. He can help 'em win."
"He's brave," I say.
"Where d'you think he is now? Think he's far?"
"I don't know. Somewhere on the Ohio river, that-away. All the way in New york. I don't know."
"But Cass," she says. "Do you think us slaves could ever get real strong?"
"I thinks its possible." I smile. "I really thinks that."
"An' if slavery were wiped out forever...Then us slaves can have our own houses." She sniffs.
"Our own Plantations."
"We can make em white folk work for us."
"We gotta make 'em pay for everythin' they ever done to us," I say.
"We gone fin' a way to get even with 'em white men. I'd kill 'em, you know. If Zahhall gone die, I'm gonna do it for him."
I grasp her hand and squeeze it.
"He ain't gonna die," I say.
She doesn't respond.
She leans her head on my shoulder. There is a faraway look in her eyes which are lathered with tears.
"Your mama and papa is lookin' after him," I reassure her.
"Mama don't know how to cure him," she says, "An' nor do Papa. They gone try their best but they ain't gone be much help."
"But they are gone try their best," I say. "You knows that."
I can hear a man shouting nearby. Noah.
"We gotta go," I say, pulling her to her feet. "We don't want Noah thinkin' we is tryin' to get out a work."
We walk round to the front of the cabin. Noah is selecting slaves and ordering them to form a line. There is a stack of wheelbarrows behind him. He's picking slaves for manual labour, probably for work with the animals. The people in the line are tall and muscular. I won't be chosen.
I slip into the cabin, holding Hannah's hand behind me.
"Get your head wrap," I say. We pass Zahhall before reaching Hannah's bed. I don't look at him. She lifts her sheet and pulls her head wrap out from underneath. As we head back outside, I glance at her brother. He's still breathing. Hannah's mama and papa sit beside him. Both of them have been crying. He's been crying, too. I can tell by his puffy eyelids and quivering lips. There's a pile of vomit on the floor under him.
There's a loud knock on the door, then pounding. I go to open it and Noah yanks me outside.
"Everyone in the hut!" he barks, "Out!"
Hannah follows me through the door but her mama and papa stay behind with Zahhall.
"You, too!" Noah shouts, pointing at the remaining three.
"But the boy..." I hear Hannah's mama reply. "He sick, too sick to work."
"Too sick?" Noah yells. "He's alive, he works."
"Master Ramier weren't like that! He'd a let him rest," she cries.
There is a silence that is uncomfortably long.
I wait tensely for Noah's reaction.
He speaks slowly and quietly.
"Under my control," he hisses, "any slave whose heart beats will work. Take him outside."
His head is the first thing I see when he comes through the door in his papa's arms. His hair is tousled and shining with sweat.
"Put him down. He will work in the fields," Noah says dangerously. Hannah's papa places his little bare feet on the ground and holds him upright.
Noah looks down on Zahhall in a way that makes me want to punch him.
"Let go of him," he says. "He can work like everyone else... or there's no point in him being alive."
I feel Hannah tense up as he speaks. Her mama lets out a small cry. Her papa frowns, seeming unable to let go of his son. Zahhall moans.
I just stand still.
"Can't he do somethin' else?" I ask.
"What?" Noah spits.
"Can't he do some other work? Somethin' less deman'in'. Ain't he able to work in the kitchens or somethin' instead?" But even as I say it, I know there is no work that Zahhall will be able to do. He needs to rest. He needs medicine. Because Hannah's right- if we don't help him, he will die.
"In the kitchens?!" Noah roars. "Where he can pass on his disgusting illness to my family? Absolutely not!"
"I can work," Zahhall mumbles. I watch him step away from his papa. He walks towards Noah, slowly, with an expression of utter concentration. Then he trips. Falls. He lies in the dirt by Noah's feet. Suddenly one of his legs kicks out sideways. His body jerks. His arms thrash wildly. He starts to gasp for air.
Hannah screams. She runs towards him but Noah shoves her away.
Zahhall's mouth and throat move as if he is sucking in air but can't extract the oxygen from it. His eyes roll into his head. His limps stop thrashing around. His body slumps.
I hear another scream, and this time it's me.
Everything in my vision is a blur except for the boy, who I can see clearly. A curled up body. A motionless creature. A symbol of despair.
"Mama," he whimpers, and his groans collect as tears in my eyes.
Noah pushes his Mama away, ordering her to go to the cotton field. He tells Hannah to follow. And her Papa. And me.
We go as slowly as we can. We are all crying. We are all weak.
We can't leave Zahhall behind. We can't stay to take care of him.
We all stare ahead of us. We are all silent.
We all must go on.
But right before we turn the corner, I look back.
I can still see him, his inert body, a distant dark figure lying on the ground outside his cabin. Is he breathing? I don't know.
I want to transfer my strength to him.
I want to go back for him, to help him. But I can't. I can't.
I want him to live.