Liza had thirteen children, seven of which had died shortly after birth. Her oldest boy had been sold off when he was but seven. It had nearly drove Liza mad with grief and she had been beaten savagely by Barker, for trying to hold on to her son. She had been heartsick for months at the loss of her boy. That had been so long ago, but the pain was still fresh in her heart. Her oldest daughter, Lany, had been raped by Barker and then sold off when she’d gotten pregnant. Lany had only been twelve.
Liza had wanted to kill Barker, but had done nothing. If she were to raise a hand to any white, it would be her death. If she were to look at him with any kind of anger, he’d take it out of her hide. She still had three other children, ranging in age from two to sixteen. Her other babies would have been sold off if she were dead. As it was, two more children had been sold. She had only Nan left to her. Only one left to watch over. Nan was her youngest, only eight, and Liza prayed every day that Nan would never be taken away from her. Her other two were married and had given her grandbabies. They were on the next farm over, the Kilgour farm. She saw them once a year, when she was given permission to visit.
Liza sat and watched Callie nurse the baby, Callie rocked back and forth humming as she did. Liza chewed on a piece of sweet grass, enjoying the evening breeze. It was getting late and she was getting sleepy, listening to Callie hum. They were not allowed to sing often, nor loudly, but they hummed, if quietly. Master John Anderson didn’t like it when the slaves got too loud; he said it upset the missus. Sometimes on Sunday, the slaves would turn down the pot in the biggest cabin and sang hymns. One of the boys would stand watch and scratch the cabin with a stick if he saw anyone coming, especially if it were Clark. Life was lived walking on egg shells, on the farm.
Liza took the baby when Callie had finished and walked back to the cabin. Ida was still asleep and so Liza lay down beside her, holding the baby close. Nan was curled up near the fire, asleep within the folds of an old quilt. The nights could be cold and there were no heavy blankets in the summer months, only light sheets and a quilt, if you were good with a needle. Soon Liza was asleep, her snores serenading the baby to deep slumber. The crickets and frogs joined in; soon the entire slave quarters were asleep, serenaded by the creatures of the night.
Ida woke during the middle of the night; she felt more than saw Liza sleeping with the baby. The fire in the fireplace had burned low. Gingerly, she got up and felt the blood flow into the clean rags that had been stuffed between her legs. She walked with a hobble out of the cabin, her head light from the loss of blood. There was a loud buzzing in her head, it reminded her of the cicadas in late summer. The late night was moonless, the clouds completely obscuring the moon, it was dark as sackcloth. Making her way to the bushes, Ida removed the rags and urinated. She bit her lip because of the sting, as her torn flesh came into contact with the warm urine.
When she got back into the cabin, she changed the rags for clean ones and put the soiled ones in the corner of the small cabin. They would have to be washed. She heard the baby fussing and walked over to the bed. The baby had kicked off the blanket and was fretting her tiny fist in her small mouth. Ida could feel her breasts tingle and laid down in bed, pulling the baby to her. Ida squeezed her breast and put the nipple into the baby’s mouth. The baby immediately latched onto the warm nipple and began to pull. Ida sucked in her breath at the sharp pulling; she could feel her belly contract with each pull of the nipple. Her hand gently smoothed over the soft fuzz on the tiny head. She had been thinking of a name for her baby, and had decided on Mary. Ida thought about Jesus’ mother and hoped she wouldn’t be offended if she used her name.
She couldn’t see Mary’s face, but she could feel the tiny details. The baby smelled of blood and something sweet and earthy. Ida petted the delicate child, her heart turning over with love for Mary. She wondered what Big John would think of his daughter? He had two other children here, both boys. This would be his first daughter; at least she thought it would. Ida didn’t even want to think about the children on the other plantations.
She knew that Master Byron Grover used Big John for breeding at his own farm and lent him out to others. Master Grover received payment for Big John’s services. Big John told Ida that she was the only girl for him, even though he had to get with other girls. Ida wanted to believe that, but Big John had never brought up the subject of marriage. Not that he would have a choice or not or that he would even be allowed to live here. It would have been nice had he asked her though.
The fact that he hadn’t come to see her in a couple months told Ida that Big John’s interest had gone elsewhere. Now that she had Mary, Ida didn’t much care.
