It’s sad news that our neighbor to the east, Mr. Berringer, has been overrun. We’ve taken in twenty of the Negroes who lived on his land and a nasty old overseer named Duncan. I have a feeling that Duncan is not going to last here in Rose Hill. I must say that it is curious that so many of these men who subscribed wholeheartedly to the peculiar institution are turning shambler.
Chapter 27In Which I Have Had Enough
When I come to, Sheriff Snyder and Bill have me by either arm and are dragging me through the dirt of the street. I try fighting, but that punch from the sheriff has me seeing stars and I’m no match for two grown men.
I’m tied to the whipping post in front of the sheriff’s office.
I try to climb to my feet, struggling against the ropes, alarm and a powerful headache both clanging in my head, but there’s no getting free. I’m dizzy, but whether it’s from taking a hit or the combination of exhaustion and hunger there’s no telling, but I fully recognize that I am not in a very good place.
Next to me comes a low chuckle. Bill is leaning against the pole, whittling and whistling, looking like he ain’t got a care in the world.
“You think you’re smart, doncha? Told ya you were going to learn some manners here. And it looks like the sheriff is just about ready to dispatch that lesson.”
“Bill.” The voice behind me is raspy. “Go round up the flock. They’ve slept enough, and this sermon requires sinners.”
“Yessir,” Bill says. He moves off, and the preacher shuffles nearer.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking, Jane. You’re scared, and that’s natural. You’re wondering how you ended up here, if there wasn’t some kind of thing you could’ve done differently to avoid this whole mess.”
My heart pounds, loud enough that I’m sure he can hear it. I can’t see him, so when his breath tickles my ear, the scent of him filling my nose, I flinch.
“The reality is that you couldn’t do anything. This is all as God wills it to be. In the wake of the punishment laid down by the Lord are His laws laid bare. All His creations are not equal, but we are all His children, all with our place. The rapture, such as it is, is here, on earth. The white man ascends; his dark counterparts are His servants, laying the stones in the pathway to Heaven. That we ever thought otherwise, that we once entertained the notion of equality for all of God’s children on earth, that we fought and killed one another over it . . . well, we know how that turned out.”
He rests a hand on my shoulder, patting it affectionately, and his touch nauseates me. “This punishment will be brutal, my dear, but your mortal flesh will bear it, because it must. Take comfort that in reaffirming His order we give Him thanks.”
He backs away and coughs, the sound wet and phlegmy. “Trust in the Lord and He will guide you through this hardship.”
From behind me comes the sound of footsteps and murmurs. I try to twist and see who it is, but I cannot turn that far around.
Under my shirt, my penny has gone to ice.
“Oh, don’t worry, girly. You’re gonna have quite the audience,” Bill says, back from rousing the patrols. “The sheriff is a fair man, but he knows an instigator when he sees one. No different than dogs, really. And every now and then you just get a bad dog. Maybe it’s poor breeding, maybe it’s poor training. Only thing you can do is punish him and hope he learns who his master is. And if not, well . . . sometimes you’ve just got to put a bad dog down.”
His footsteps echo on the wooden boards of the walkway as they move away from me, and I test my bonds to see if there’s any way to wriggle free. Panic digs its broken fingernails into my soul.
I remember the day I’d asked Auntie Aggie what it was like back before the shamblers walked, back before the war. “It was bad then, Janie. A different kind of bad, but bad all the same. I once saw a man whipped to death for stealing a loaf of bread from the mistress’s kitchen. Not your momma, mind you, but the missus that came before her. Overseer took the skin clean off of him till there wasn’t nothing but meat left. So don’t let nobody tell you any different about the old days. Life is hard now, nothing but suffering, but some kinds of suffering is easier to bear than others.”
I’d never asked her again about the bad old days, but now, with my hands secured to the whipping post, I wish I had.
Behind me the sounds of footfalls and murmuring rises, and this time when I crane my neck around I get a glimpse of the crowd, gathering in the first bit of sunlight. Right now it’s mostly Negroes, a few drovers mixed in here and there. I don’t recognize many of the faces and I figure it must be the night crews. I stop straining against the bonds securing my hands, since there ain’t no use to it and all I’m doing is giving myself a fine rope burn.
After what feels like hours but is actually only a few minutes someone exclaims, “Jane, what are you doing?” I twist as far as I can. Behind me Ida stares with wide eyes. “I told you not to get caught!” Her voice carries all the fear and panic eating at my middle, and I squeeze my eyes shut like I can somehow hide from what comes next.
But I can’t.
I’ve never been scared of death. Everyone dies, and I don’t like wasting energy fretting about certitudes, but Aunt Aggie’s words keep echoing through
