“I think it’s time for my baby ta come.” Ida panted softly, grunting as she stood back up. Ida wobbled a bit, but straightened up after that. Her slender hands resumed their rhythmic motion. She plucked at the cotton with mindless practice. Perspiration poured down her face, more than from just the heat of the day and the exertion of picking the cotton.
“Gal, you betta hold on. I’m scared old Clark will kill that child, if it comes out here.” Liza warned, her eyes darting around. Hearing hoof beats, both women quieted, their hands flying skillfully over the cotton. Ida could feel Mr. Clark’s eyes boring into their backs. She didn’t look up, knowing if she did; it would be to invite the overseer’s wrath down upon them.
Lester Clark didn’t like slaves looking at him. He told anyone who would listen, “Pickaninnies ain’t nothin’ but stupid animals, and they better never look me in the eye like real human beings.”
The overseer moved the large bay closer to Ida, nudging her with his riding crop. Ida stopped immediately and turned toward the overseer, her hands motionless, her gaze down. She didn’t dare look up; he gave her the willies. Clark had greasy red hair, watery blue eyes and a mouth full of rotten teeth. The man perpetually licked his thin lips, which reminded Ida of a putrid reptile.
“Ida, why ain’t you got near enough cotton in your bag? You bein’ a lazy gal today?” Clark asked lazily.
“Naw, suh, I ain’t lazy. I’m just feelin’ a bit poorly. I’ll work harder.” Ida assured him, she knew he wouldn’t care if she were sick or not. She also had to watch how she replied, one never knew when the bastard would take offence.
“You don’t get your amount; you know I’ll have to beat you. You betta get movin’ licketly split.” Clark told her, enjoying her misery, she noticed.
“Yes suh, I do just that.” Ida said, not moving until she was given permission to go back to work. Clark turned the horse around and Ida let out a soft breath and turned back to her work. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Liza watch the overseer head down the track of land to look for another victim to torment. Reaching slyly into her bag, Liza pulled out a large quantity of picked cotton. Quick as she could, Liza stuffed it into Ida’s bag. Bethy walked by and silently did the same as she passed Ida’s bag. The women knew what it was like to be light on a load. Each had felt Lester’s whip at some time in their lives. The women would take a beating in Ida’s place if necessary; it was hard carrying a baby, but harder still getting whipped while pregnant.
Ida remembered a woman, long ago, named Suelie. She had been beaten while she’d been pregnant. Ida had been a child of nine. It had been the old master, Terrance Anderson, who ran the farm. Two slaves had held Suelie up as she was whipped. Suelie had been in her eighth month of pregnancy when she had been caught taking food from the larder. Master Terrance had been incensed, ignoring her pleas of hunger. He had taken the whip himself, shoving Barker, the previous overseer, out of the way. Suelie had been given her twenty lashes with the short whip. Suelie’s back was crisscrossed with welts, blood drizzling down her body, pooling at her feet.
Her screams had diminished into whimpers, her legs long ago buckled. The two slaves holding her up were sweating profusely, her dead weight pulling at them. When the lashing stopped, old Terrance Anderson came around to chastise her further. Suelie gave a hair-raising shriek, from between her legs came her baby, falling in a bloody mass to the ground. So startled, the two slaves holding her up let go of her arms and jumped back.
Their master jumped back as well, shocked at the bloody mass that had so unceremoniously plopped down before him. Suelie fell to her knees without the support of the other men. Seeing her child laying before her, she scooped it up, moaning. She pulled off the membrane clinging to the baby, it was pale and bluish hued. It was a little girl and she wasn’t breathing. The newborn was tiny, her body curled into a ball. Sitting in her own puddle of blood, Suelie rubbed the baby frantically, eliciting a feeble wail.
The master and overseer stood watching dumbfound as Suelie brought her baby to life. Barker shouted orders for the baby to be taken by one of the lactating slaves and to try to keep the baby girl alive. Barker then ordered the two male slaves who had held Suelie up earlier, to take her to her cabin and bind her wounds. Their master was still silent and flabbergasted, he watched helplessly as the woman and child were carried off. Both survived, though Suelie was never the same, she never had another child. Ida shivered at the long-ago memory.
Ida was grateful for the women’s help, whispering her thanks. Her hands moved over the cotton, as small tremors shook them. Another contraction was coming on and kept coming on throughout the afternoon. The hot sun beat down on the women and men, bent to their tasks. Warm dust filled Ida’s nostrils and she wiped at her face with her arm. Bird songs filled the air around her, along with the constant hum of insects. One man was allowed to sing out loudly, to make the work go quickly, and his tenor voice lilted over the warm breeze.
“O Lord at my side. Send me the breeze, as I work in the fields and sit ‘neath the trees. O Lord at my side. Send me some victuals, nice chicken dumplins and cool
