I believe in God not because my parents told me, not because the Church told me, but because I’ve experienced His goodness and mercy for myself
Amish proverb
Tom cursed the McCleods with every curse he had ever heard. They had sold him like livestock, traded him for a slave they needed more.
He had been born on their farm. His daddy was born on their farm. His daddy had died of a fever at the farm when Tom was 12. All he knew was their farm. All the hard work he had done his whole life counted for nothing.
And all that Bible reading they did was for white people. It didn’t mean nothing to a slave. Tom had thought of himself as a part of the family. How could he have been so wrong!
The image of Mistress McCleod’s face pale and drawn from her labor, her baby mewing weakly with hunger tugged at his heart. Tom knew why he had been sold. The child would have surely died without the woman and her milk.
Babies dying was a part of life in these parts. Tom’s own mother had died in childbirth along with her baby. But he also knew that no man would allow that if he had a way to save them.
There had been no meanness in James’s decision. But knowing that was bitter comfort. Why must he be sold? Why couldn’t they have found another way? Why couldn’t a white woman have shared her milk? Was he no more than an animal to be traded when the need arose? Tom had known his skin meant that he would never be a real part of the family, but he had never thought of himself as property.
Tom felt pain and humiliation at the brace around his neck. He had never imagined that he would find himself in its embrace. Although Tom was a slave, he had never been chained, never been treated as if he weren’t a human being, never been harnessed like an animal. He could not stop the tears that seeped from his eyes and ran down his face. He trembled at what was happening to him. Life had changed in a moment. Yesterday he had been working in the field as he had all his life. Today he was in chains, walking to an unknown future.
“Forgot you was a nigger, did you?” the slave trader taunted him. “You ain’t nothing but a nigger now and you better not forget it. I expect to get a pretty price for you. You’re a strong young buck even with your womanish tears. You’ll soon have that whipped out of you. I’ll sell you high. You gonna make a fine field hand. You’ll work harder than that yeoman farmer ever made you work. He probably spoiled you and made you forget what you is.”
His anger apparent, the trader landed a fist into Tom’s stomach bringing him to his knees. “I ain’t gonna let you forget again.”
Then the trader smiled. “I got the better deal off’n that farmer. That baby almost white. What’s a farmer around here going to do with that, and that woman weren't gonna be sold easy with that high yeller baby. Nobody in these parts is gonna want that. If’n she hadn’t come so cheap, I wouldn’t have taken her neither. That mistress just wanted her husband’s woman and child off the place. She practically give her and that baby to me. You need to remember, boy. You ain’t nothing but a piece of property no matter what that farmer made you think. He sold you when he needed to, didn’t he? I’d give you a good whippin’ if’n it wouldn’t cut your price. ”
The trader’s words hit Tom worst than the fist in his gut. The trader was right. In the end, he had been sold. He may have worked in the fields side by side with James, but in the end, he was a slave. They cared about him the same way they did for their mule that pulled the plow. What did it matter that James had not been able to look him in the eye as the trade was made, or after. What if James had felt shame. He had sold Tom anyway. Because he could.
Tom could feel the taste of his anger in the acid at the back of his throat. But then his anger turned back to fear. His heart was pounding in his chest and each breath came short and tight. What happened now? He had never been owned by anyone but James, and he knew that James had been an easy master They worked side by side. James gave him ample food and the clothes to keep him warm.
Tom had never even been hit by anyone but his daddy. He’d certainly never been whipped. James didn’t even own a whip. Tom knew from other slaves passing through how badly a slave could be treated. He had seen men with scars from the whip that turned his stomach. He’d seen one man missing an ear. Another had been branded in the face. He had been foolishly glad that such could never happen to him. He thought so no more.
******
Tom’s salvation didn’t feel like it when it came. They had traveled all day and it was dusk dark. He never even saw the snake that bit him. He just felt a fire in his leg crumbling him to the ground. The pain was so intense that he began to vomit the little that was in his stomach.
The trader began cursing. “Damn it to hell. If you ain’t the stupidest nigger I ever seen. You done stepped on a copperhead.” While Tom was writhing in pain, the trader leaned down and cursed again, “ and damn if’n it didn’t bite you more than once. Only decent trade I’ve made this trip and all gone to hell.”
The trader started to wrap a rope tightly above Tom’s knee and then took his knife to each of the bites. “Damn if I’m gonna suck your leg, no matter how much it costs me.” he muttered under his breath. Tom lost consciousness to the sound of the trader’s profanity.
Tom awoke to searing pain throughout his body. The tourniquet was gone and all the way up his leg were big puffy red welts like huge scarlet calluses. He was alone. Tom’s neck brace and shackles had been removed and Tom knew he had been left to die.
He tried to stand but the pain was too great. He crawled his way out of the brush in the hope of seeing someone on the trail. All was silent and still. Tom sobbed for his losses, for his daddy, for the family that wasn’t his after all, for the end of his life alone and forgotten in the woods. In his desperation, he gave up a final plea to the Jesus of the McCleods to save him.
******
Tom was shivering, seeking warmth in the quilt that covered him; and then he was burning up and throwing it off. His body ached all over.
“I fear for him,” came a voice from far away. “His leg is oozing green and none of our poultices have worked.”
The face of the trader appeared before Tom, laughing, cracking his whip, snapping it on his leg. As the trader used the whip to bite the skin of his leg, he screamed at Tom, telling him the whip was his family. Tom heard a sizzle as the trader began to laugh. He looked down to see his leg on fire. The flames were all around and burning trees were beginning to fall on him. He moaned and felt a cloth on his forehead before darkness overwhelmed him again.
“It will have to come off.” Doc told them. “I can’t save it and he’ll die if we don’t.”
Tom felt strong arms holding him down and listened to the terror of his own voice. They were cutting off his leg. His screams filled the room. The agony was unbearable. Once again, it was unconsciousness that gave him relief.
********
Doc knew the Mennonites lived simply and had little money. He knew how much it took for them to ask for his help. He knew how dangerous it could be if others discovered the man in their care. Memories of his recently lost wife made his decision for him. He would help. He would not betray these kind people.
“Hide him. He won’t be worth much without a leg, but they might hang you anyway for helping a runaway.”
“But we found him dying by the side of the trail,” the woman replied.
“Don’t matter,” Doc said. “Keep him hid. He ain’t yours and that means you ain’t got no right to him, no papers. He ain’t going anywhere any time soon so make it a place he won’t be seen if someone comes. Doc knew that this was unlikely but possible. “And when he’s better, send him away.”
“Where would he go, and how would he live?
These people were like his wife. They made no distinction between a black man and a white.
“Then you’ll need to find a way to hide him all the time, and keep the wound clean. You don’t want the infection to return.”
Unlike most practicing doctors, Doc knew how to fight infection by washing the wound and using clean tools. It was a new concept he gained from his medical training up North.
“Any good hickory will do to support him. Once his wound is healed, make sure you find another place for him to hide. One he can get to quickly. You mustn’t neglect to do this. It’s a matter of life and death for you, for this man, and possibly for me as well.”
Doc sighed. He knew he had done all he could. It gave him pleasure to know how pleased Rachael would have been with what he had done. If only she were at home to tell.
He left knowing he would tell no one of this visit and praying that no one would discover what he or they had done.
******
Tom awoke to the pain in his leg. A woman waited beside him with a cup in her hand. “Thou must drink now, and soon I will bring thee some broth.”
“My ankle hurt so bad.” Tom told her. “ A snake bit me.”
“I’m sorry thou art in pain,” she said gently. “Thy leg had to be removed or Thou would have died.”
“But it hurt. It hurt something terrible.”
“It is hard to understand. Perhaps Thy body is remembering the pain from before. I believe the pain will cease with time. We will pray for God’s mercy.”
Tom let her put the cup to his mouth and swallowed as much as he could. It was warm and tasty, both sweet and spicy.
“It is ginger tea with honey. It will help thee.”
“Thank you, missus” he said and drifted off to sleep once more.
******
The Mennonite family moved Tom to their cellar where they saw to his needs with the morning and evening chores. At night, there was always someone with him. Sometimes the woman who had given him the broth, or her husband, sometimes their son or daughter. Tom marveled that the woman and her daughter were allowed to sit with him, feeding him and helping him to sit up. He knew of no white man who would permit any of his female relatives to be alone with a slave of more than seven or eight. Whoever came to be by his side would sing hymns as they sat with him. On occasion, mother and daughter, or father and son, would sing in this wonderful harmony. Tom could not imagine any angels singing better. But only one or two would stay with him at a time. Someone had to be on watch.
Slowly Tom gained strength. During the day he would practice with the hickory stick until he could go back and forth across the cellar floor. At night, his spirit was restored by harmonious song. He knew what he must do. When the man of the house came for his turn to sit with Tom, Tom told him that he was ready to go.
“But where would thou go?” he asked him.
“I go North. Y’all been so good to me, but I get you in trouble. I only be free in de North.”
Even as Tom said it, he knew that he didn’t have a chance. Those who made it were in border states, or Virginia. To make it from the Carolinas would take a miracle. “Y’all treat me good. Y’all’s the best I ever knowed. But you could hang for me being here. Not gonna do dat.”
“But thou are part of our family” the man solemnly told him. “The Lord sent thee to us. Thou will always be at home with us, and with our community. I have already talked to the other families. Thou will be protected as anyone in our community would be. We are all the same in God’s sight. We will all protect thee. Thou need never leave us. Thou will be as a free man among us. The will of God is greater than the will of man.”
Tom wept.
Where mercy, love, and pity dwell, there God is dwelling too.
William Blake
Addy put one foot in front of the other. She could manage no more. She held by her side a girl who had still not shared her name. The girl’s mother had died giving birth to the girl's brother. He had been given to another woman in milk. The girl had been sold. She now clung to Addy for what comfort Addy could give her. Her small legs often stumbled and she cried silently, the tears almost forgotten as they trailed down her cheeks. Addy held her whenever she could, but her eyes were ever on her son, Pete. She could tell that he, too, was so tired and hungry that he could barely walk; but unlike Addy, whose stride matched those of the other women, Pete was a boy following men. He had to work that much harder to keep up. If it weren’t for the old man slowing the pace, he could not have done it.
The slave trader ahead was cursing his fate. “What a sorry load this is. Got me a sickly old man, a sniffling gal, and a scrawny boy to sell. They ain’t none but the young buck and maybe the mulatto woman that’ll bring anything. Paid too much for the boy, too. Wouldn’t have taken him at all if it hadn’t been for that crazy farmer insisting they go together. Fool. Did he think they’d stay together? Be lucky to get anything for the boy, or the little girl.” But he knew that even little girls grew up to have babies. He continued to mutter over his fate, even though he had no listener but the slaves in his possession. Of course, he didn’t count them.
******
There was a fair crowd. Most of them were yeoman farmers with a few gentlemen scattered about. It was a small auction. Most gentlemen would go to Charleston for their needs. Few slaves of great worth were offered in this small upstate town. The two groups made no contact with each other. The farmers knew that they would only get what the gentlemen did not want.
Addy stood without moving; her eyes never left Pete. Men came and looked at her teeth like she was an animal. They felt of her breasts as they would a woman. Through it all, she never even flinched. She kept her eyes on her son and he kept his on her. Addy could see how much it hurt him to see her touched in this way but he knew better than to say a word or make any gesture that would betray his feelings. Both understood how helpless they were.
Addy was drawing more attention than any of the others and the trader felt his spirits rising. He would make a good profit on this one. Pete attracted attention, too; but it was his looks only. It was because he looked so white. No gentleman seemed much interested in Pete after one had asked if he had been trained as a house servant. The trader had to admit he had not. None of the gentlemen had any interest in him after that. The trader had no qualms about lying but this was on his regular route and he could not afford the bad feelings. After that it was mostly farmers, but Pete was small for his age and did not look strong. A farmer would need a slave that could help right away with the hard work of the fields.
Addy and Pete continued their unwavering gaze with each other as if they could keep a connection where none was possible. Both realized there was no chance of remaining together.
Addy thought bitterly of how Pete could be headed West with James and his family. She fought the tears of her disappointment. She would not let these people see her cry. Addy held her head high. They might treat her like an animal but she knew who she was. She knew who her son was. She could only hope that she could burn it into his soul with her eyes because she knew what trials awaited him to tear him down, to make him believe that he was less.
Even in her disappointment, she was grateful to the McCleods for the time she had with her son, for the opportunity to give him the strength that he would surely need now. Addy knew that it was her own mother’s love that had seen her through. She had spent every day giving that same love to her son.
A man turned Pete’s head, right and left, made a disgusted grunt, and walked away. Pete’s eyes returned to his mother. He would not waste a moment away from her face. Pete knew these were their last moments and sought to send his love to her in a wordless good-bye. He knew he would forever see her face no matter what the future held.
*****
Doc was drawn immediately to the woman standing regally among the despondent slaves. The others held their heads down, hopelessly resigned to a future they could not control. The young girl was weeping openly. Doc noticed the slight turn of the woman’s head. What was she looking at? And then he saw the boy. Their eyes were locked so intensely. The boy was obviously her son. It was also obvious that his father had been a white man, her master, of course. Neither cried. Neither slumped. They did not look to either side, their eyes a locked embrace.
The bidding began with the woman. The farmers were silent as the gentlemen began to bid. As her price increased, her head remained turned to her son. It was as if the bidding did not concern her, even though her life would be determined by the outcome.
Doc knew that he would buy her. She was the woman he needed to keep his house. But it was so much more than that. He could not let this proud woman be subject to more humiliation and abuse. He placed his bid fifty dollars higher than the last bid even though it was more than he intended or could afford.
The man who bid against Doc knew the Doc. He knew his situation. He thought he knew what attracted Doc to this slave. He smiled and tipped his hat to Doc and bid no more. When her price had been set and the bidding was over, the woman looked away from her son and took in Doc’s face and appearance.
For the first time, Addy thought she might cry. It was immediately obvious to her that this man would be kind, even if he used her as her first master had done. She knew her fate could have been so much worse. But as much as her relief was, her guilt and fear for her son was greater. She knew Pete was likely to be overworked and hungry whoever he was sold to. When the sale was made and the money exchanged, Doc only nodded at her and turned his attention back to the auction.
“So he will be buying another,” she thought to herself and looked to the others to see who he would choose. Addy’s gaze went back to her son, but with no hope. She would not torment herself. She feared Pete would not even get a bidder in this place and would continue down South, his prospects worse the further he went.
The bidding continued and her new owner made no more bids. Near the end, Pete came to the block. A mean looking farmer made a very low bid, and Addy could see from the trader’s face, that he would accept it. The pain in the pit of her stomach drew a gasp from her, her hand coming to her mouth too late.
Doc looked down at Addy. He had only meant to allow her to see what happened to her son, but the anguish of her face made him know what he needed to do. He couldn’t really afford it, but he knew he had to do it anyway. Again, Rachel’s smile came before him and he ached for her as he had since the day he died. Doc made his bid twenty dollars more than the farmer, and the gavel came down.
