Read Song Yet Sung Page 18


  —Don’t she know to be quiet in here? the blacksmith said.

  Amber looked at Liz sheepishly.

  —I’m sorry, Liz, he said, but you can’t talk right now.

  —Who is he to speak to me like a child? Liz sneered.

  Amber cringed in embarrassement.

  —Liz, this ain’t the time to raise the devil. It ain’t possible for you to stay with me. I’m in hot water now. I got Wiley and my sister to think of. And I owes it to Jeff Boy to go back so I can at least help find his body, if he’s dead. They can do what they want ’bout me. But Blacksmith here, he done gived his life to the colored. You responsible to him too. And his wife and children. If he gets exposed, they naked as my hand to trouble. Don’t you see what he’s offering?

  —That ain’t no cause to give yourself up to what he’s selling, Liz said firmly.

  The blacksmith frowned, his eyes on the wall, then turned his head towards the ceiling as he spoke softly.

  —You stoking trouble for this young man here, he said grimly. There’s four or five coloreds in this town right now who’ll be happy to run metal right through him on account of him giving you the code. Just about everybody you come across round here’s been hurt ’cause of you.

  —I done no wrong to nobody round here, Liz said.

  The blacksmith’s face clouded and he blew out his cheeks. Hell you ain’t, he retorted. Telling yarns and stories. Got folks all stoked up. Big Linus is dead, you know. They found him in Sitchmas Creek with near most his head blowed off. They got Sarah and Louie Hughes in the jailhouse on suspicion of helping him. That’s five years in jail plus the cost of Big Linus to whoever owned him. How’s them apples? You ain’t curried nothing but trouble.

  Liz, sitting in a ball with her hands around her knees, felt anger rising into her ears.

  —Blacksmith, you growed short in a small period of time, she said between her teeth. Much as I heard about you. About how big you was.

  The blacksmith turned his head so that it was close to Amber’s ear. Tell her don’t talk to me no more, he said.

  —I’ll talk all I want, Liz said.

  The blacksmith’s face tightened in anger. He moved away from Amber, spun, and glared at Liz for the first time, code be damned. He was surprised at her beauty, her softness of feature, and the steel-like sternness that shone behind the brown eyes, which glared brightly at him.

  —You got nerve singing your own song that way, he hissed, as much rotten business you done caused—

  —Blacksmith, please! Amber interrupted, still staring at the ceiling, the whole thing gone awry now. Finally he threw his eyes off the ceiling and faced the blacksmith: he knew who he was anyway, for most of the coloreds of Dorchester County were at least familiar with the black tradesmen. But Amber had never actually met him, for his routes and paths in town were limited. He was surprised to see a man who looked far more genteel and settled than his voice connoted. The blacksmith could have been a preacher, he thought.

  Yet the Lord’s peace was not in the blacksmith’s face. He was furious and glared at Liz, who returned his stare.

  Sarah Hughes got a ten-year-old boy, the blacksmith said. They gonna sell him first. How’s that sour bread, Dreamer? Her husband, Louie, too. Louie wouldn’t know the code from a horse’s ass. That fool can’t even button his pants hisself. He’s sadder’n a steer in a slaughterhouse. The whole family, busted apart, gone to the four winds. Because of your goddamned witchery!

  —Why you throwing dirt in my face? Liz asked. I done nothing to them! I don’t even know them!

  —You sprung Big Linus! He’s the one that pulled Sarah out in the open.

  —He sprung hisself! Liz said.

  —I known Big Linus all his life, the blacksmith said. He couldn’t lick candy off the floor by hisself!

  —The old woman told him to help us bust out.

  The blacksmith paused, surprise etched in his face. What old woman?

  —She had no name.

  —What you mean?

  Liz looked at Amber.

  —Didn’t you tell him? she said.

  —I didn’t tell him nothing, Amber said. Truth be told, this is the first time I ever actually…ever actually spoke to him.

  —What? Liz said, stunned. I thought you all knew each other.

  —Stop talking like white folks! Amber said sharply. You think every colored knows one another? We don’t know each other from Adam. We just know the code.

  —Why’d you come here, then? Liz asked.

  —I come to him ’cause I had no place else to go. I come to him for you!

  Liz felt as if someone had tossed a dipper of water in her face. Seeing the blacksmith glaring at her angrily, she pursed her lips and bit back tears of frustration.

  —I met the Woman with No Name in Patty’s house, Liz said. She said every truth she had been told was lies. Every lie she was told was truth. She said the coach wrench turns the wagon wheel. Said chance is God’s instrument. She said to use double wedding rings and sing the song of the second part. And to find you. She sung that tune to every soul in there. Sing the song of the second part, she said.

  The blacksmith stared down at the floor, his face troubled.

  —Whyn’t you tell me that first? he said.

  —You flew hot as the Devil and wasn’t asking, Liz said.

  The blacksmith stood for a long minute, staring at the floor, obviously trying to decide something. Finally he stepped away from Amber and strode to a far corner of the room. He slid a large tool cabinet away from a wall and proceeded to brush away piles of dirt and leaves from the dirt floor beneath it. Beneath it were two giant iron rings. He nodded at the rings: Double wedding rings, he said.

  The rings were connected to a wooden trapdoor. He lifted the door, walked back to the center of the room, and stood with his back to Amber again. His decorum was back.

  —All right, then, he said. We stick to the code. Amber, tell the Dreamer there’s food and water down there enough for three days. A waste bucket and some candles. Tell her Old Clarence from the general store and his wife, they’ll check on her in a day or two if something happens to me. They’re the only ones round here who know about it. I’m sorry for the insult to her person. You g’wan back home and face the music.

  —Blacksmith, Amber said, maybe I ought to run.

  —Just be calm and sit tight for a day or two. The Woman with No Name weren’t never wrong. Ain’t no reason not to trust her word now. If you done nothing wrong, your missus’ll believe you. Miss Kathleen’s a fair woman. You get that straightened out, and I’ll hold the Dreamer. But I cut her loose in two days. Put her on the gospel train, if she’ll go.

  —Two days! I can’t get my rags together in two days, Amber said.

  —That’s the best I can do.

  —I already said I’m not going on the train, Liz said.

  —You’ll go, the blacksmith said dryly. ’Cause if you don’t, his life ain’t worth a penny or the wedge it’s hid in. There’s four or five colored right now ready to blow out his spark for bringing you into the code. Code’s more important than you. Than him. Than anybody. You got to die or get out this country. One way or the other, we’ll help you out.

  Liz stared at Amber intently as he made ready to leave.

  —She ain’t gonna need help leaving here, he said. I’ll be back in two days.

  He stepped towards the door, stopped, and leaned down to kiss Liz, who sat on the floor, but she turned her face away. He placed a hand on her face, and as he did she felt the energy from his hand flow into her face and felt an awful premonition, and lifted her face to him. She grabbed his hand and kissed it, her tears wetting his empty palm.

  —Go on, then, she said. I’ll see you soon, God willing.

  —In two days? Amber said. He was asking, not telling, for she was the one who knew tomorrow, not he.

  —Yes, I’ll see you in two days, she said, grasping his hand, and she knew it to be true. But there was more to it t
han she could bear to tell him, or even bring herself to think about, for tomorrow held so much wonder and so much sorrow, it seemed impossible to tell it all or even comprehend it all; the events of the next two days seemed unimaginably important, and it seemed impossible that something that important could happen to them, at that moment in time, as poor as they were and as innocuous as they were: herself, the blacksmith, Amber, even the Woman with No Name. They were small people, and what she dreamed of was big, another world beyond imagination that reached far, far beyond the world they all knew, or even dreamed of…And all of it held in a song she had not yet heard and might never hear.

  —Seeing tomorrow, she said thinly, grasping Amber’s hand tightly, is more than a soul can bear.

  catching money

  In a rented room above the Tin Teacup, Joe Johnson sat atop a rancid mattress, shirtless and bootless, writing a letter to his brother in Tennessee. The room, which he shared with Stanton Davis, reeked of foot odor and cigar smoke. Stanton couldn’t stand it and left Joe on his own, which was fine with Joe. He needed all his concentration to write. He was nearly done with the letter when Eb ran into the room grinning and excited.

  —One of them niggers that helped the Dreamer is here! the boy said.

  —How do you know it? Joe asked.

  —Lady at the bakery told me, the boy announced proudly.

  —Why would she tell you?

  —Because I done what Miss Patty told me to do, Eb said. I gived her a quarter dollar.

  —A whole quarter dollar? Joe said. For that much I’d sing to a dead hog. That nigger coulda told you anything.

  —She led me to where he’s at, Eb said proudly.

  —Where’s that?

  —The blacksmith’s shop. He come out there, stopped at the general store for supplies, and now he’s heading towards the pier. Reckon he’s got a bungy there that he’s gonna put out on the Choptank.

  —He going by foot or horseback?

  —Mr. Joe, that nigger ain’t got no horse! He’s walking in broad daylight. Pushing a whole load of goods he probably picked up for his missus at the general store. I seen him. I followed him to where the road turns off at the dock before I runned in here. He’s in a hurry, Mr. Joe.

  Joe tossed the letter onto his bed, grabbed his shirt, hat, pistol, and boots. He talked as he dressed: Go get Stanton downstairs. Tell him to meet me at the stable. Don’t tarry or I’ll grease you good. We catching our money today.

  Five minutes later the three of them exited the rear stable of the Tin Teacup on horseback, galloping through the muddy back alleys filled with oyster shells and crab baskets. They thundered past the blacksmith’s shop, which was open.

  Inside, the blacksmith was applying heat to a pair of tongs while a waterman waited. Holding the hot tongs in his gloved hands over the fire, the blacksmith glanced up at the two white horsemen and the colored boy thundering past, then turned back to work silently, his customer hovering above him.

  The three riders hit Main Street, approached a turn in the road, and saw in the distance a colored figure pushing a barrel along, filled with packages and supplies.

  —That’s him, Eb said.

  Joe slowed as they approached and motioned to the others to do the same. When they were still several hundred yards off from the colored man, the horses slowed to a trot and Joe turned to Eb.

  —Where’d you say you seen that nigger coming from?

  —From the blacksmith shop behind the tavern.

  —Wait a minute, Joe said. He reined in his horse and the three stopped.

  —What’s he doing at the blacksmith shop if he ain’t got no horse or wagon? He turned to Stanton. Go by that shop and talk to the nigger owner, Joe instructed him. See what he knows. Then meet me down by the creek.

  Stanton frowned. He didn’t like it. He was afraid he was being duped. If Joe sent him to the blacksmith, that would give Joe and Eb time to follow this colored to the girl. Once they got the girl, they could head back to Seaford or, even worse, sell her off to the Trade right there in town—there were plenty of slave traders about in Cambridge City that time of year—then he’d be stuck without any chips. He decided to stay with Joe as long as he could.

  —What difference does it make? Stanton said. He’s the one dipping round with the girl. She ain’t gonna be no place but with him.

  —Maybe he got her hid over there someplace.

  —We can tote him to the blacksmith’s after we snatch him.

  —Look round you, Joe said. Niggers is everywhere. The minute we touch him they’ll pass the word among themselves. Time we get back to the blacksmith’s, he’ll have got word of us already.

  —But the money’s right there! Stanton said. He pointed to Amber, who now turned another corner and, with the pier now in full view, headed towards an old bungy moored at the dock.

  —You’ll follow my rulin’s or answer to Patty on it, Joe said grimly.

  Stanton smirked angrily, then peeled away, trotting back towards the main road that led to the blacksmith’s shop.

  Joe watched him leave. He turned to Eb.

  —Eb, you follow him. If the girl’s there, he might flip on us, turn her in for the reward money, and skedaddle. Take the back alleys that run behind Main Street—same way we came, is all. Then take the little dirt road that’ll put you behind the blacksmith’s. From there you can watch the back door and the front. If he spots you, just tell him I sent you.

  —Yes, sir.

  Eb turned and trotted towards a back alley.

  Joe spurred his horse now towards the docks, where Amber was hastily hoisting sacks and barrels onto his bungy. Joe swung wide off the dock, then rode up close, angling the horse so that Amber and the bungy were on his left, allowing his free hand to reach for the pistol that hung off his right hip should he need it.

  —Howdy, boy.

  The Negro looked up and smiled.

  —Morning, sir.

  Joe saw the colored was, up close, a good specimen: tall, rangy, thin, and well proportioned—which meant if he ran, he’d be quick afoot. Joe kept a good ten feet away from him. After greeting him, the Negro looked down again and busied himself with hoisting the goods on board.

  —Where you going? Joe asked breezily.

  —Taking supplies to my missus, sir.

  —What’s your hurry?

  —She been waiting two days on me. Couldn’t go out ’cause of the storm last night.

  —Who’s your missus?

  —Missus Kathleen Sullivan. Out on Big Blackwater Creek, Joya’s Neck.

  —Your missus know you out this long?

  —Well, sir, I waited out the storm.

  —Where’d you wait?

  Joe followed the Negro’s eyes with his own, watching the Negro glance towards the water.

  —Oh, I slept out behind the blacksmith’s, he said casually.

  —You seen anyone back there last night? Joe asked.

  The Negro smiled. Naw, sir. Just a few chickens he got running round.

  Amber had finished piling his goods into the boat and stood before Joe, the smile pasted onto his face, his heart feeling like a piece of pounded cotton. He had planned to bring back a pile of goods to Missus, explain he’d been caught in the storm, and beg her to forgive him and let him search for Jeff Boy. The whole thing sounded lame. Now, staring at the gun in Joe’s saddle, he felt as if the world were collapsing around him.

  Joe guided his horse a bit closer. He glanced up and down the dock. What he saw made him uneasy. There were several Negro watermen close by, building boats, caulking, painting, digging out hulls, unloading small sailing dories and scows; there was even a big oyster sloop with at least three Negroes on deck. It would not do, Joe decided, to make a scene.

  —What’s your name, boy?

  —Amber, sir.

  —Your missus got many Negroes?

  —Just three, sir. Me, my nephew, and my sister.

  Amber slowly knelt to undo the rope that tied the bungy to th
e dock. Joe grabbed the rope.

  —No more than three, you said?

  —Yes, sir.

  —I hear there’s more. I hear she’s got an extra one out there. A runaway.

  Joe scrutinized the colored’s face. It was blank.

  —Don’t know of one on the missus’ land, sir.

  His denial was measured. Cool. To Joe’s taste, too cool.

  —If you lying, you in deep water.

  —Sir, ain’t many folks out that way, period. If there was a runaway tipping through the Neck, somebody would’ve spotted him surely.

  Joe realized this was a devilishly clever Negro, which made him even more suspect.

  —Why was you coming out the blacksmith shop just now? You ain’t got no horse.

  The Negro’s eyes glanced uneasily past Joe towards the other bungies at the dock. The busy cluster of men unloading oysters, shellfish, and crabs slowed, noticing a hank in the brewing.

  —Like I said, sir, I slept back there. I then bid thank you to the blacksmith. Being that he allowed me to sleep in the back.

  —How did he know you were sleeping in the back last night if you didn’t see nobody? Joe asked.

  —I don’t know how he knew it, Amber said. I reckon I asked him.

  —Did you ask him or not ask?

  —I reckon I did.

  —You can’t remember?

  —Well, sir, I was tired, Amber said. And it was late.

  —I think you’re lying, Joe said. Put the rest of your things in that boat and come with me.

  An anxious tension worked its way up the Negro’s shoulders and into his face. He pointed out towards the Choptank River and the Chesapeake beyond it.

  —Sir, I got to go. I got the missus’ stuff here. You can check with her on it.

  —I will. But first we going back to the blacksmith’s.

  —If you don’t mind my asking, is you a deputy, sir?

  Joe, glaring down from atop the horse, reddened. I ain’t got to give you chapter and verse on who I am, he said. There’s nigger trouble in these parts and I think you got a hand in it.

  Nearby, Joe noticed several hands, white and colored, stop their work completely to observe them now. The Negro before him, however, still did not move, which made him even more sore.