13.
I work in the shade that afternoon, with Hannah and her Mama, separating the cotton from their plants. There are six other women and three young boys.
We sit very near to the house, in a circle on the ground, with a big basket in the middle. The dirt beneath me is damp and soft.
Nobody talks much.
A long time later, I catch sight of a tall woman leaving the house. I squint and notice that she is white. She walks with long, confident strides, her head tilted back.
So that is Master Ramier's wife. She looks elegant and graceful. She looks cruel and manipulative.
She looks at me. I am sure of it. Her eyes narrow, like Julia's do. The corners of her mouth curl.
I stare back at her.
The expression on her face is interesting. Its like she has eaten something sour, but also as if she has seen something disgusting.
Both of us wait.
Then her eyes flick away from mine. She turns and retreats to the house, vanishing through the door she emerged from.
I shiver.
I feel sorry for Julia. It must be awful to have a Mama like her.
And suddenly I remember what my own Mama told me. To meet her by the pond. I still haven't been able to make sense of her words. Why would she want to see me there? What does she need to tell me? And why does it need to be said in private?
We don't leave the fields until the sun has gone down. I walk back to the cabins with Hannah and her parents. We reach her cabin first. I look around for Zahhall. He isn't outside where we left him.
"Where is he?" Hannah mumbles, and I don't answer because I don't know.
Instead, I hold her hand and we walk into the hut. Zahhall is lying on his bed, surrounded by other slave-women. Hannah's mama rushes over to him, saying his name comfortingly, saying soothing words, saying "Zahhall, it's ok. Mama's here."
Zahhall thin face turns toward us when he hears his name.
"Mama," he croaks. "Mama, is I gonna die?"
His mama crouches down beside him. A loud sob bursts from her throat.
"No," she gulps, "No, you're not."
Then she turns to Hannah. "He ain't goin' to die," she says. Hannah nods. I nod, too.
I hope she's right.
"I gotta go," I tell Hannah, "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Ok," she says in a small voice.
I leave the cabin and walk along the edge of the field. I pass Jack and he smiles at me. I smile back but I don't stop to talk. I'm not in the mood for conversation. There are barely any slaves left working in the fields. Most are gathering vegetables outside their cabins or washing their clothes.
When I arrive at my own cabin, there are still people bustling around, clanging pans and scuffling along the dirt floor. I eat some vegetables and pork and a slice of stale bread. Then I lie down on my bed, as if prepared to sleep, but I keep my eyes open.
I wait impatiently for everyone to go to bed. Then I wait for another half hour to make sure that no one is still awake. I get up and walk to the door, feeling smothered by the darkness. I open it a crack. The cool air hits me immediately. I slip outside and begin to walk in the direction of the woods.
"Cass?"
I swing round to see Beckey standing staring at me.
"Beckey," I say, "What are you doin'?"
"Thought I saw you from my window. What is you doin'?"
"I'm... goin' for a walk, that's what."
"Cass, it's late. You gotta rest, gotta be strong for a new day."
"You too," I say. "You's up late jus' like me."
She parks her hands on her hips and sighs. "You gotta be more cautious than your Mama, Cass"-
"My Mama?"
"You've got longer to live. I know she do a real good thing for all a us but you is young and innocent an' you can't let her drag you into it. An'... you ain't got a choice, do ya?"
I stare at Beckey, open-mouthed. Her words seem to float around my head without entering my ears, because I am suddenly so confused. I don't understand what she is saying. Am I dreaming? I close my eyes, and when I open them, she stands exactly where she was, her elbows sticking out sideways, her eyes boring into me. Her figure is sharp and defined in my sight, and I know that she is very present, very real. "You gotta live the way she lives," she says sofly, "At least for now, 'cause you ain't got a choice."
"Beckey...what"-
"I ain't tryna scare you, girl. I'm sorry but I jus' feel I gotta warn you."
About what?! I want to ask but an adamant substance from my own imagination glues my lips together.
"You gone find out some time," she says, "Be patient. An' trust me 'cause one day maybe you gonna need me for answers."
"Answers?" I ask, finally recovering my voice enough to push out that one word.
"Answers your Mama ain't give you, 'cause she jus' can't tell you all a it."
Hundreds of questions spin around and around in my mind, but I say nothing. Instead I look at her closely. I study her. I stare as hard as I can, but it is too dark to be able to make sense of what she is saying.
"Be careful," she says then. She nods curtly and then she turns and walks away.
I start walking again, more quickly than before. I feel angry. Why won't Mama tell me her secrets. I thought she trusted me. I thought we told each other everything. I think of when we first came to Master Ramier's. I remember her asking me how I felt about the new home. She decided to trust my judgement. She used to confide in me, and now I feel so distant from her...and so so alone.
And why would Beckey, and Jack, know something about her that I don't?
When I get to the edge of the woods I begin to run. I lift my chin and spread my arms out wide. Despite my worries, I feel free.
I hear Beckey's words in my head. Be careful.
I hear myself telling Hannah to be careful.
I remember Mr Willoughby hissing "be careful" at the auction.
I remember the old man watching me draw in the dirt. He mouthed "be careful" when the other slaves' backs were turned.
I think of how many times I have pleaded with Amos in my mind to be careful at war.
Be careful, be careful, be careful.
Throughout my life, those words have been drilled into my head like screws. It seems as though I am always having to be cautious, to think about each of my actions. It's unfair that I am consistently forced to think so carefully about everything, so that I barely have any freedom at all. Why do people have to constantly order me to 'be careful'. Why does my life have to be so dangerous?
Minutes later I realise that I have passed the pond. The hard ground has turned into a green marshy area. Tongues of murky grey water lap at my ankles. I stop walking at the edge of a creek. Shiny mud lathers my bare feet, sucking them into the swamp with invisible tentacles. I wrench my feet free and sit down on a clump of grass near the stream, after noticing that the wood ahead is made up only of looming trees and impenetrable marshland. Spots of light dance on the surface of the water. I look up and see a full moon in the sky, casting patterns of white light through the canopy of trees.
I decide to head back towards the pond before it gets too dark. The moon lights up my path just enough for me to be able to see where I'm going. I don't know where I am, or how long it will take me to get back to the pond. I start to walk more quickly, hoping that I am headed in vaguely the right direction.
Half of the forest is covered in darkness, until the clouds shift and I can see something glinting ahead of me. I hurry closer. The glinting object doubles. Two round circles, reflecting the moon's light. As I get nearer, I notice that the circles are attached to a larger object which is suspended from a tree.
I start to shake but I have to keep walking, to confirm that what I can see is real, that I'm not imagining it. I stop several yards away from the tree. The shaking turns into vigorous trembling.
The circles are eyes, and the large shape is a human, a man, hanging by his neck from the tree.
And he's a man I have seen before.
Patrick.