Mr. Derby grasped the handle, drew his arm back, and fiercely brought the braided lash of it across Amari’s back. She screamed, twisting with pain at his feet. Again he beat her. And again. Seven times he thrashed her. Ten. Twelve. The back of her new housemaid uniform was ripped to shreds, stained with her blood.
Polly clenched her hands into fists, furious at being so helpless and angry at her own selfishness as well. Because even though she flinched every time Amari was hit, she couldn’t help but realize that this incident would forever ruin her chances of working in the main house.
Lena quietly murmured words of prayer. Horror distorted Mrs. Derby’s face. Clay looked surprisingly uncomfortable and agitated. Only Noah never changed his stance or facial expression.
Finally, Isabelle Derby got up from the table and walked over to her husband. Noticeably trembling, she grabbed his hand as he lifted it to strike Amari again. “Enough,” she said quietly. “The girl has learned her lesson. Make her clean up the mess and let her be. It is distressing to me to see such a scene. It might mar our child.”
Mr. Derby, as if returning from another place, shook his head and coiled the whip. “You are right, my dear,” he told his wife. He took a deep breath. To Polly he said, “I put you in charge of this ignorant African. You have failed me. It is your fault she made such a fool of herself tonight. Clean the floor, then tend to her wounds. As soon as she’s healed, she goes to the rice fields to replace Hildy.”
Polly bowed her head and murmured apologies that she knew Mr. Derby would not hear. She dared to look at Amari, who lay deathly still, and at the carpet, stained with both blood and pie. Polly wasn’t sure what to do first. She had never been so scared in her life.
Mr. Derby escorted his wife out of the room then. Clay, looking quite distressed, gazed at the bleeding and unconscious Amari for a long time before following after them.
Noah slowly left the room as well, as his job was protector of the master and his wife. “Vinegar,” he whispered as he headed out of the door. “Vinegar will remove the stains from the carpet.”
PART FIVE
AMARI
23. FLERY PAIN AND HEALING HANDS
HER BACK WAS ON FIRE. AMARI DIDN’T REMEMBER being brought back to the cabin, didn’t hear Teenie’s shouts or see Polly’s tears. All she knew was that every breath made the pain intensify, every movement made her gasp and scream. She was dimly aware of voices above her, of hands carefully washing the bleeding, sliced skin on her back, of cooling salves being applied. Then, mercifully, she slept.
For three days she hovered between the darkness and the light. She dreamed of her parents, of her little brother, of the belly of the slave ship. And of the flames that devoured her flesh. On the third morning Amari felt gentle hands and cool water on her face. She opened her eyes and saw Polly.
“Welcome back,” Polly said softly.
“Water,” Amari whispered. Polly lifted Amari’s head and gave her small sips of water from a cup.
“Hurt so bad,” Amari said next. She groaned as she tried to move.
“Yes, I know. Let me put some more of Teenie’s salve on your back. I don’t know what’s in it, but already the welts are starting to heal a little. At least the bleeding has stopped.”
“So sorry,” Amari said.
“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. Mr. Derby needs to have somebody give him a stiff lashing to let him know how it feels!” She stomped back and forth in their cabin. Amari, even in her dazed state, could feel that Polly’s anger was too big for the small room.
“It be better soon,” Amari said, trying to calm Polly a bit.
Polly picked up an empty wooden bucket and threw it across the floor. “Mr. Derby is horribly cruel. He probably tripped you on purpose! How could he beat you like that? It was just a spilled pie!”
“Must clean stain,” Amari whispered, trying to move.
Polly placed her hand on Amari’s arm. “Be still. Me and Lena cleaned it up so you would never know it was there. His precious carpet is unharmed.”
“Thank you,” Amari breathed out.
“All you have to worry about is getting better. I never thought I’d say this, but I miss having you around.”
Amari blinked with surprise. She knew how much Polly yearned to escape from the kitchen—her desire to move on and her distaste for the work of slaves were very apparent. Amari grimaced as she moved her head. She looked at Polly with remorse. “Now you never get chance to go to big house. So sorry.”
Polly placed another cool rag on Amari’s head. “You continue to surprise me, Amari. I had no idea my desires were so obvious. You watch and you learn. That is very wise.”
Amari tried to nod her head, but it hurt too much. After a few moments she asked with a slight smile, “Teenie work you too much?”
Polly replied. “All I have to help me is Tidbit, and that’s about as much help as a rabbit in the rice field!”
“You sound like Teenie,” Amari remarked quietly.
At that Polly almost laughed out loud.
Amari was remembering what Mr. Derby had threatened, however. “Rice,” she said bleakly. “He gonna send me to rice field.” She couldn’t stop the tears that began to trickle down her face.
Polly’s face fell. “Yes, he threatened to send you to the rice fields. We just have to think of something to get him to change his mind. In the meantime, he won’t do anything until you are well, so let’s make sure your recovery is very, very slow!”
Amari knew, however, that it was just a matter of time before she would be toiling in the hot sun, up to her knees in water, planting the rice, one kernel after another. “Rice field come soon,” she mumbled.
“I have to get up to the kitchen to help Teenie. I’ll be back to check on you. You’ll be all right for now?” Polly asked Amari, real concern in her voice.
Polly’s voice faded as Amari drifted in and out of reality. Dreams of sunny days with Besa and the fiery sun over the rice fields floated above her. In her haze her mother was alive and laughing, dancing in front of her cooking fire. And, strangely, she dreamed of Mrs. Derby, whose face sometimes replaced her mother’s in her dreams.
When she awoke, it was dark outside and Amari could smell a hint of a pleasant, flowery scent. “Try to sip this tea, child,” Mrs. Derby’s voice whispered.
Startled, Amari almost knocked the cup over as she felt her head being lifted. What is Mrs. Derby doing here? Amari wondered. She felt instantly embarrassed because she hadn’t bathed in days, she knew her wounds and salves probably stank, and she had proved herself incapable in the master’s home. The tea, which tasted faintly like peppermint, she sipped slowly. “So sorry,” Amari whispered.
“No, dear. I am the one who must apologize. I am so full of remorse for how badly my husband hurt you,” Mrs. Derby replied. She continued to help Amari drink the tea until Amari felt herself drifting back to sleep.
Slowly, Amari returned to the world, sipping mugs of hot liquid, eating a little of the special foods that Teenie made for her, and staying awake for several hours at a time. Tidbit hovered, trying to make Amari feel better by making little jokes and silly faces.
One evening during the second week following the beating, after an exhausted Polly had returned to their cabin, Amari felt well enough to sit up. She did not let her back touch anything, but it felt good to breathe deeply and not lie prone for the moment. She tried to stand up next, but she found she wasn’t quite strong enough yet. She groaned softly as she sat back down.
“Is the pain very bad?” Polly asked gently.
“Hurt much. Big much,” Amari admitted. “But it be better.”
“Is there anything you want me to do?” Polly asked.
Amari shook her head. There was nothing that anyone could do.
“You know Mrs. Derby came to see you every day, don’t you?”
Amari nodded. “She smell like flowers.”
“She always looks so sad,” Polly commented.
“Baby come soon and she be happy,” Amari said.
Polly smiled. “She deserves someone to love.”
The wounds on Amari’s back healed slowly, with the help of Teenie’s ointment and Mrs. Derby’s tea. Within another week, Amari was back to work with Polly in the kitchen. They had heard nothing more about Amari being transferred to the rice fields, so she worked as hard as she could and tried to make herself invisible to anyone in authority.
Clay had not called for her since the beating, and for that she was grateful. He had, however, ordered Tidbit to deliver a bag of sweets to Amari. They had obviously been purchased in town. Why would he do this? she asked herself with a shudder. She gave the treats to Tidbit, who ate them with delight.
“You feelin’ all right today?” Teenie asked her one morning. “You still lookin’ like a bird that done fell out the nest.”
“Some better today.” Amari lifted her arm up and touched one of the welts on her back. She winced. “Hurt to touch,” she said.
“The pain gonna go after ’while, but them scars gonna be there forever,” Teenie told her honestly.
Amari took a deep breath. “I know,” she replied.
Teenie touched Amari gently on her head. “You got a strong spirit, Myna.”
Amari just shrugged. She could see no reason for having such a strong spirit, nor could she see any hope in her future. She just survived each day. However, she couldn’t help but think of Afi, who kept her alive during the horrors of the voyage to this place by telling her the same thing.
“Sometimes spirit die,” Amari replied quietly while she stirred the pot on the fire.
24. GATOR BAIT
CLAY SAUNTERED UNANNOUNCED INTO TEENIE’S kitchen one hot afternoon. Teenie, making crust for a pie, was shuttling back and forth, carefully watching over Polly, who was peeling apples, and Amari, who was stirring a mixture of apple juice and brown sugar over the fire. Tidbit sat on the floor, tracing the path of an ant in the dust of the floor with his finger. Hushpuppy growled softly and everyone looked up.
Amari cringed when she saw who had entered, the barely healed lashes on her back suddenly aching, but Clay did not even look at her.
“Y’all better keep that vermin dog out of the kitchen where my food is prepared,” he said without warning.
“Yassuh,” Teenie mumbled without question. “I told you to get that dog outta here,” she said softly to Tidbit. “Take him out to the barn, you hear?”
“Yes’m,” the boy replied obediently as he hurried to the door with the dog. Just as Tidbit got to the doorway, Clay grabbed the child, picked him up, and slung him over his shoulder.
Tidbit screamed with fear, while Hushpuppy barked fiercely. With one swift movement, Clay raised one heavy boot and kicked Hushpuppy, propelling the dog out the door of the kitchen and into the yard. The dog yelped and limped away.
“What you gonna do with my boy, sir?” Teenie asked fearfully. To Tidbit she said, “Hush now, chile. Massa Clay ain’t gonna hurt you. He just need your help.” Her face showed she didn’t believe a word she said, but Amari knew she had to calm the child so as not to provoke Clay’s anger.
Clay grinned. “I have some friends visiting from Charles Town. We’ve decided to go alligator hunting this afternoon, and we need some gator bait!”
Teenie clasped her hand to her mouth. Amari saw desperation in her eyes. Finally, Teenie said, her voice full of pleading, “He be too young for such, suh!”
“He’s just the right size,” Clay replied, patting the boy on his backside.
“He can’t swim, suh,” she implored.
“Then he’ll learn today,” Clay replied. He glanced at Amari then. “Hey, Myna, you ever seen a gator hunt?”
Amari glanced at Teenie before saying, “No, sir.”
“Then come and watch. I want my friends to see what I got for my birthday. Besides, I have missed your company,” Clay said boldly.
Amari wasn’t sure what was happening or what she should do, so she looked at Teenie again. The look on Teenie’s face truly frightened Amari, because for the first time since she had arrived at the plantation, Teenie looked terrified.
“Go, chile,” Teenie urged her. “I pray you bring my boy back alive.”
“You never know,” Clay said merrily. “Sometimes the gators are fast and sometimes they are slow.”
Teenie wiped her hands on her apron over and over. “Please, suh, not my baby, suh.”
Clay ignored her. “Myna will return in a couple of hours with either a boy who’s ripe to be gator bait again next week or a few of his fingers and toes left over to bury.” Then he turned on his heel, and with Tidbit still over his shoulder like a sack of flour, he headed across the yard. Amari followed, wondering what new cruelty Clay had in store.
Tidbit was only four, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut. He stopped struggling and crying out, although Amari knew he had to be petrified. His eyes searched for Hushpuppy, who lay in the yard licking his hindquarters where he had been kicked. When Tidbit saw the dog was all right, he kept his eyes on Amari as she hurried behind Clay.
Clay headed down to the river, whistling and stopping occasionally to spit. Amari had always hated that particular habit. Standing near the shore of the Ashley River ahead of them, Amari could see three young men about the same age as Clay. One, dressed all in leather, stood next to a handsome black horse that stamped its hooves on the soft grass. Another, who wore an elaborate lace collar and cuffs, looked overdressed even to Amari, who had no knowledge of the fashion of rich white youth. He gazed serenely at the water. The other young man, dressed more casually, had curly red hair like the sailor who had taught her words. He tossed rocks into the water as they waited for Clay. All four of them gave off an air of superiority and power that frightened Amari. Their presence made her even more wary of what might happen.
The young man with the ruffled collar held about a hundred-foot length of rope in his hands. Four muskets leaned against a tree, the branches of which hung over the water. Two other horses grazed nearby.
Clay called out to his friends as he got close, “Hullo! Feeling like a little gator stew tonight?”
“If we’re lucky!” one of them replied. Evidently, the three young men thought that was so funny, they laughed uproariously. Amari understood enough English to know that Tidbit was in real trouble.
“I told you I knew where to find the best gator bait in the world!” he boasted as he lowered Tidbit to the ground. It seemed to Amari that Clay was trying a little too hard, talking a little too loudly, showing off for his friends.
“Just the right size,” the owner of the black horse said as he poked Tidbit with his toe. Tidbit cringed. Amari wanted to reach out and comfort Tidbit, but she dared not.
The boy looked from Clay to each of the young men, and though his little body shook with fear, he didn’t make a sound.
Taking the rope from his overdressed friend, Clay gave it to Amari and ordered, “Tie the rope around him, Myna.”
“So who is this delicious slice of slave girl?” asked the young man dressed in leather. He reached over and patted Amari on her backside.
With sudden fierceness, Clay jumped between Amari and the young man who had touched her. “Keep your hands off her!” he snarled. “She is mine! That is why I named her Myna.”
Amari was so surprised, she dropped the rope. The leatherclad friend backed away and held up his hand. “I have the pick of the women on my father’s plantation,” he said. “I was just asking who this one was.”
Clay, seemingly calmer, replied, “She was my birthday gift this year. I wanted the three of you to see her.” Again Amari couldn’t understand why Clay acted as if he was proud of her, showing her off to his friends. She felt like an animal on display, almost as bad as the day she was sold at the market. She hung her head and wished she could disappear into the waters of that river.
To Amari, Clay repeated, “Tie the boy with the rope. Make sure it is secure.”
/> Amari nodded and hugged the trembling child as she knotted the rope. She whispered into Tidbit’s ear, “Be brave, little one, and hold your breath.” She stood up and reluctantly handed the rope to Clay.
In control of the situation once more, Clay stooped down and said to Tidbit. “All you must do is swim, little nigger. You hear? If you can swim faster than those gators, you get to go home to your mama, understand?”
Tidbit quivered and nodded. He looked at Amari one last time before Clay picked him up and abruptly tossed him into the river. Clay held the rope while his friends laughed and cheered as the little boy swam for his life.
“Now, would you look at that,” the tallest one called out, pointing to Tidbit struggling in the water. “The little nigger boy can swim!” Tidbit thrashed about hysterically, his tiny face wild with fear.
“I’ve never seen anyone move his arms and legs so fast!” Clay said, laughing.
“All that splashing ought to attract a gator soon,” another one remarked.
As Amari watched Tidbit bobble in the water, for the first time since she had been captured, she felt angry enough to lash out and kill. She was sick of tears, of submission, of putting up with inhumane treatment. She knew if she couldn’t do something to save Tidbit, she might explode. Finally, she could hold it in no longer. “Stop!” she cried hysterically. “Please stop! Bring Tidbit back. Please.” She broke down, sobbing.
Clay’s three friends stopped their cheering and stared in astonishment at this slave girl who had nerve enough to try to interrupt an afternoon’s sport. Clay, with surprising calm, told Amari, “If you don’t let us continue, your little friend is likely to get eaten. Now shut up!” He did not hit her as she expected him to.
Amari, defeated, looked from Clay to his friends in utter disbelief. This was beyond her grasp, to torture a child like this. What kind of people are they? And then she saw it—the dark figure of an alligator appeared in the water near Tidbit’s splashing feet. She held her breath.
“Oh, look, here comes the first gator!” called out Clay’s friend with the red curly hair. Instantly, their attention turned from Amari to the river again. In one smooth motion the lace-collared fellow snatched up his musket, cocked it, and fired.