“Where will you put her?” I asked Rufus. “In the attic?”
He lifted her gently, carefully, and carried her up to his bedroom. Nigel and I followed him up, saw him place the girl on his bed. Then
he looked up at me questioningly.
“Tell Sarah to boil some water,” I told Nigel. “And tell her to send some clean cloth for bandages. Clean cloth.” How clean would it be? Not sterile, of course, but I had just spent the day cooking clothes in lye soap and water. That surely got them clean.
“Rufe, get me something to cut these rags off her.”
Rufus hurried out, came back with a pair of his mother’s scissors. Most of Alice’s wounds were new, and the cloth came away from them
easily. Those that had dried and stuck to the cloth, I left alone. Warm water would soften them.
“Rufe, have you got any kind of antiseptic?” “Anti- what?”
I looked at him. “You’ve never heard of it?” “No. What is it?”
“Never mind. I could use a salt solution, I guess.” “Brine? You want to use that on her back?”
“I want to use it wherever she’s hurt.”
“Don’t you have anything in your bag better than that?”
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“Just soap, which I intend to use. Find it for me, will you? Then …
hell, I shouldn’t be doing this. Why didn’t you take her to the doctor?” He shook his head. “The judge wanted her sold South—for spite, I
guess. I had to pay near twice what she’s worth to get her. That’s all the money I had, and Daddy won’t pay for a doctor to fix niggers. Doc knows that.”
“You mean your father just lets people die when maybe they could be helped?”
“Die or get well. Aunt Mary—you know, the one who watches the kids?”
“Yes.” Aunt Mary didn’t watch the kids. Old and crippled, she sat in the shade with a switch and threatened them with gory murder if they happened to misbehave right in front of her. Otherwise, she ignored them and spent her time sewing and mumbling to herself, contentedly senile. The children cared for each other.
“Aunt Mary does some doctoring,” said Rufus. “She knows herbs. But
I thought you’d know more.”
I turned to look at him in disbelief. Sometimes the poor woman barely knew her name. Finally I shrugged. “Get me some brine.”
“But … that’s what Daddy uses on field hands,” he said. “It hurts them worse than the beating sometimes.”
“It won’t hurt her as badly as an infection would later.”
He frowned, came to stand protectively close to the girl. “Who fixed up your back?”
“I did. No one else was around.” “What did you do?”
“I washed it with plenty of soap and water, and I put medicine on it. Here, brine will have to be my medicine. It should be just as good.” Please, heaven, let it be as good. I only half knew what I was doing. Maybe old Mary and her herbs weren’t such a bad idea after all—if I could be sure of catching her in one of her saner moments. But no. Igno- rant as I knew I was, I trusted myself more than I trusted her. Even if I couldn’t do any more good than she could, I was at least less likely to do harm.
“Let me see your back,” said Rufus.
I hesitated, swallowed a few indignant words. He spoke out of love for the girl—a destructive love, but a love, nevertheless. He needed to know that it was necessary to hurt her more and that I had some idea what I was
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doing. I turned my back to him and raised my shirt a little. My cuts were healed or nearly healed.
He didn’t speak or touch me. After a moment, I put my shirt down. “You didn’t get the big thick scars some of the hands get,” he
observed.
“Keloids. No, thank God, I’m not subject to them. What I’ve got is bad enough.”
“Not as bad as she’ll have.” “Get the salt, Rufe.”
He nodded and went away.
8
I did my best for Alice, hurt her as little as possible, got her clean and bandaged the worst of her injuries—the dog bites.
“Looks like they just let the dogs chew on her,” said Rufus angrily. He had to hold her for me while I cleaned the bites, gave them special atten- tion. She struggled and wept and called for Isaac, until I was almost sick at having to cause her more pain. I swallowed and clenched my teeth against threatening nausea. When I spoke to Rufus, it was more to calm myself than to get information.
“What did they do with Isaac, Rufe? Give him back to the judge?” “Sold him to a trader—fellow taking slaves overland to Mississippi.” “Oh God.”
“He’d be dead if I’d spoken up.”
I shook my head, located another bite. I wanted Kevin. I wanted des- perately to go home and be out of this. “Did you mail my letter, Rufe?”
“Yeah.”
Good. Now if only Kevin would come quickly.
I finished with Alice and gave her, not aspirins, but sleeping pills. She needed rest after days of running, after the dogs and the whipping. After Isaac.
Rufus left her in his bed. He simply climbed in beside her. “Rufe, for Godsake!”
He looked at me, then at her. “Don’t talk foolishness. I’m not going to
put her on the floor.” “But …”
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“And I’m sure not going to bother her while she’s hurt like this.” “Good,” I said relieved, believing him. “Don’t even touch her if you
can help it.” “All right.”
I cleaned up the mess I had made and left them. Finally, I made my way to my pallet in the attic, and lay down wearily.
But tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep. I thought of Alice, and then of Rufus, and I realized that Rufus had done exactly what I had said he would do: Gotten possession of the woman without having to bother with her husband. Now, somehow, Alice would have to accept not only the loss of her husband, but her own enslavement. Rufus had caused her trouble, and now he had been rewarded for it. It made no sense. No mat- ter how kindly he treated her now that he had destroyed her, it made no sense.
I lay turning, twisting, holding my eyes closed and trying first to think, then not to think. I was tempted to squander two more of my sleeping pills to buy myself relief.
Then Sarah came in. I could see her vaguely outlined in the moonlight that came through the window. I whispered her name, trying not to awaken anyone.
She stepped over the two children who slept nearest to me and made her way over to my corner. “How’s Alice?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know. She’ll probably be all right. Her body will anyway.” Sarah sat down on the end of my pallet. “I’d have come in to see her,”
she said, “but then I’d have to see Marse Rufe too. Don’t want to see him for a while.”
“Yeah.”
“They cut off the boy’s ears.” I jumped. “Isaac?”
“Yeah. Cut them both off. He fought. Strong boy, even if he didn’t show much sense. The judge’s son hit him, and he struck back. And he said some things he shouldn’t have said.”
“Rufus said they sold him to a Mississippi trader.”
“Did. After they got through with him. Nigel told me ’bout it— how they cut him, beat him. He’ll have to do some healing ’fore he can go to Mississippi or anywhere else.”
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“Oh God. All because our little jackass here drank too much and decided to rape somebody!”
She hushed me with a sharp hiss. “You got to learn to watch what you say! Don’t you know there’s folks in this house who love to carry tales?”
I sighed. “Yes.”
“You ain’t no field nigger, but you still a nigger. Marse Rufe can get mad and make things mighty hard for you.”
“I know. All right.” Luke’s being sold must have frightened her badly. He used to be the one who hushed her.
“Marse Rufe keeping Alice in his room?” “Yes.”
“Lord, I hope
