My Name's Not Friday (8 page)

It seems like whatever I do I’m heading for trouble. I feel trapped.

Gerald watches me lean down, take a log and put it on the stump. I lift the head of the axe to get a feel of the weight of it, then notch the log, lift the axe up above my shoulder and slam it down, splitting the wood clean down the middle
so the quick crack of it comes back at us off the trees still standing. I do it with one eye on Gerald, wondering if he’ll come and grab me, if he’ll make me stop. But he don’t. I take another log, put it on the stump and split it the same way while Gerald sits there festering. I can feel his displeasure. He has his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees and his jaw cupped in each palm. ‘This is gonna be really boring,’ he says after a little while, and then he stands and starts kicking his feet into the ground, leaving scuff marks on the polished toes of his black leather shoes. ‘What’d you do if I ordered you to come with me to the traps? You’d have to do it then, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t have no choice.’

He’s got that look in his eye that I saw at the auction, a little bit mischievous, a little bit cruel, and I can see he’s on the edge, not knowing whether to be nice to me or not. He could be a bully if he chose to, and I ain’t never liked bullies, but I know how to handle them. I learned it at the orphanage, and right now it’s probably the only choice I’ve got. So I give him a straight look. ‘You’re saying I’d have to stop work and go with you to the traps?’

‘That’s right. You’d have to come with me if I told you to.’

‘And will you have me whipped if I don’t?’ I put the head of the axe on the ground and lean against the handle. ‘Cos your mother will have me whipped if I do.’

I try to look like a teacher, try to stay calm and composed, but inside of me everything is churning.

‘I won’t whip you,’ Gerald says quickly. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘I heard she gets Hubbard to do her whipping, and he’s a big man. I sure don’t intend to be whipped by him. Not if I can help it.’

‘Hubbard don’t like to whip anyone and neither does my daddy. They try to do without it if they can.’ I’m thrilled at my daring as Gerald backs down. ‘Look, I don’t mean no harm. All I’m saying is we could be having fun. Splitting logs is hard work. Everyone knows that. Going to the traps’d be a treat for you.’

‘Like the ham was?’

‘I s’pose so. It was good ham, wasn’t it? Better than you get in your rations.’

I turn away from him, notch another log and split it. But he comes and stands at my shoulder. ‘I figured you must be hungry. Weren’t you hungry?’

‘I don’t eat from the floor,’ I tell him bluntly. ‘I ain’t never eaten from the floor.’

Gerald hadn’t thought of that. I can see it in his face. ‘All I want is for us to be friends.’

‘Friends don’t get each other in trouble. That’s a first rule, the way I see it.’

And suddenly Gerald looks like a little boy, like Joshua used to look when Father Mosely had caught him out again. He says, ‘Yes. You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean no harm by it.’

I put the head of the axe on the ground and relax against it. ‘You told your mother we’d do the logs – so we got to do the logs. There’s no two ways ’bout that, but I reckon if we work fast enough then we might have time to get to the woods as well. Why don’t you show me how things work? Then we can get it done.’

Gerald fetches the other axe and now he’s eager to show me how much he knows, pointing out this and that and telling me things I don’t need to know to do the job at hand. ‘All the trees around about us have been girdled,’ he tells me.
‘That means we cut through the bark around the trunk and then wait for ’em to die before we bring ’em down. Look!’ he points at one of the standing trees. ‘Do you see there? About a foot from the ground there’s a circular cut.’

‘Sure. I see that.’

‘I know pretty much how everything should be done around here, so you can always ask me.’ He nods at the pile of sawn-up wood. ‘We need to do about half of ’em. These are for the stove. We just split ’em and lay ’em up to rest. That’s how it works.’

So we work hard, the two of us splitting logs and taking ’em away to the barn in the barrow, and once we’re done it feels like a bond of sorts, the both of us all hot and sweaty. Gerald takes a canteen of water from his bag and offers it to me before he drinks himself. ‘You don’t talk much do you? Mother always says I talk too much. Are you always this quiet?’

‘Not always. It depends what I got to say.’

When Gerald smiles there ain’t no trace of the bully in him this time. ‘The way I see it, we’re gonna be working together for a long while to come so I’d like us to be friends as best we can.’

I take a drink of water and wipe the top of it with the palm of my hand. I hesitate again, not sure what I should say. Living here’s like walking through a swamp and not knowing where it’s safe to tread.

Gerald can see I’m struggling. ‘I’m just saying it’d make sense.’

‘It might be difficult.’

‘Do you mean cos you’re a darkie?’

‘Because I’m a slave, yes. Anyway, your mother don’t like it.’

Gerald takes a deep gulp of water. He wipes a hand across his mouth. ‘Listen, I’ve grown up playing at the cabins. George was my best friend till he went into the fields, and the way I always seen it, we’re the same. Black or white – it makes no difference. I know that might surprise you, but I mean it. It’s what my daddy taught me, see, cos he’s got a lot of new ideas about the way things should be done. So, for instance, he don’t like to call you boys slaves. He calls you workers instead. Do you see the difference? He says there’ll come a day when you get paid to work, so we’d all better get used to it. He said there’s people done the math of it and that planters like us will make more money working with free men. Can you believe that? Well, it’s true. It’s got to do with the rise in production that happens when people work for themselves and have a vested interest. That’s what he told me anyway. It’s all about the vested interest.’

I tell him I don’t know nothing about that and I glance down at my bare feet, my big toe pointing at his black leather shoes. I know we ain’t the same. I don’t say it, but I know it.

‘So how come your daddy’s gone to war? I mean, if he believes the things you say he does.’

‘Why’s he gone to war? Because he don’t like being pushed around by Yankee politicians who don’t know our business. This war’s about freedom, Friday, and we got to stand up for ourselves. My daddy’s as patriotic as the next man, and so am I, come to that.’

‘But if he says he wants to set us free, then why don’t he just do it?’

‘He can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Cos
he
don’t own you.
I
do.’ He gives me a little bow and he’s smiling so wide I can see his teeth. ‘After my mother
died I inherited all of our slaves direct from my grandmother, but I don’t come into my inheritance till I’m twenty-one, so my daddy manages the estate for me.’

I don’t know what to say about that.

‘Come on,’ he says, taking my arm and making for the path that winds deeper into the wood. ‘Let’s go check on some traps.’

We find a snare with a rabbit in it. The poor thing’s all tangled up in the wire, and when it sees us it goes tense with the fear and its eyes are wide and bright as we edge closer. Gerald kneels beside it. ‘You can have it if you want it,’ he whispers in my ear, ‘but you’d have to kill it yourself. I don’t like to do it.’ He strokes the rabbit, untangling its legs from the wire, and he’s ever so gentle with it.

I kneel beside him, putting my hands in its fur. ‘I don’t know how.’

‘You hold it either side of its neck.’ He shows me where he means. ‘And then you pull till it snaps. I’ve seen it done, but I ain’t never done it myself.’

Both of us look at the poor thing, too scared to even move. ‘Do you want to do it?’ Gerald asks me again. ‘Lizzie would know how to skin and cook it. I’m sure she would.’

But even though I’d have liked to make a present of it to Lizzie, I don’t have the nerve to do it either and I take my hands away from its throat. ‘I don’t think it’s big enough. Be better to let it go and wait till it’s full size.’

Gerald nods solemnly.

He puts the rabbit on the ground and lets it go, but the animal can’t walk straight – it can hardly walk at all – and we watch it crawl away under a bush. I can’t see how the little thing will survive, not if it can’t run away. It’ll get caught by a fox. Perhaps something worse.

Over supper I tell Lizzie what Gerald said about Mr Allen and how he wants to set all the slaves free. ‘Do you think he will, Lizzie? Do you think he’d actually do it?’

‘Talking don’t cost nothing,’ she says.

‘It don’t do to gossip about who says what in the house,’ Sicily warns us with her nose in the air.

‘Ain’t that the truth,’ Lizzie says, giving her daughter a very straight look.

Later that night, when I’m settled on my mattress, I pray for the Lord to look after that rabbit and I pray for Joshua too, listing all the good things that I’ve done to keep him safe and out of trouble.

Today I worked hard for Mrs Allen.

Today I was nice to Gerald and I helped keep him on the straight and narrow.

Yes. Those are the good things I have done today to keep my brother safe.

On the second Sunday of the next month, when Mr Chepstow arrives to preach the word of the Lord, he does not come alone. He brings three men with him, all of ’em on horseback, and he leads ’em down the driveway at a steady pace, with him in his little black buggy, being pulled by the white mare.

Winnie sees ’em first and she comes bowling out the back door and down the steps into the yard. ‘There’s men coming, Missus. Looks like the preacher’s with ’em.’

Most of us are in the yard, waiting for Mrs Allen to dish out our rations for the coming week. The supplies have already been brought out in sacks and laid up by the cookhouse door, with Sicely on hand to help Mrs Allen if she needs it, though she prefers to do the giving-out herself.

I watch as the men ride into the yard and tie their horses to the side of the barn. Mrs Allen comes across to meet ’em. ‘You’re early for the service, Mr Chepstow. We weren’t expecting you till after lunch.’

The preacher takes off his wide-brimmed black hat and shakes her hand weakly. ‘A little early, ma’am, yes, I am. We
had some business in the area, taking stock for the government. Do you know Mr Peighton?’

The man behind Chepstow lifts his yellowed Stetson by way of a greeting and I recognize him as the man who sold the limping slave at auction. Mrs Allen acknowledges him with a curt nod. ‘Mr Peighton.’ She turns back towards the cookhouse. ‘Sicely, would you bring these men some refreshment? Perhaps some tea. How can I help you gentlemen?’

Mr Peighton steps up and offers Mrs Allen a letter, held at arm’s length. ‘As Chepstow says, we’re here taking stock for the government. We wanted to take a look around, assess the plantation for ourselves, see if we can make some notes on its size and your workforce.’ He gives her half a smile. ‘We need to look at any equipment you might not need.’

Mrs Allen makes a point of looking around her yard. ‘You can see we don’t have much.’

‘No, I’m sure you don’t. None of us do, ma’am. But it’s all part of the war effort. I know you understand. You’ve put a lot of those soldiers into the war yourself.’

‘That’s right, I did.’ Mrs Allen folds her arms, perhaps expecting an argument. ‘If a man can shoot, he can go to war.’

‘That’s very patriotic of you to say so, ma’am. Now tell me, how many horses do you have?’

‘We have three horses and a mule,’ Mrs Allen tells him straight. ‘Though one of those horses is nothing but a nag.’

Peighton looks over his shoulder. ‘They in the barn? All right if we take a look?’ He offers the letter again but Mrs Allen ignores it. ‘I don’t need reminding of my duties, Mr Peighton.’

‘I’m sure you don’t, Mrs Allen.’

Peighton orders the two waiting men into the barn
and they swing open the tall door and go inside. After a moment they shout out that we have two decent horses as well as a nag and a mule, just like the lady said, and my heart feels a little lighter for the thought of ’em taking the mule.

Peighton asks the men to bring out the two fit horses. He stands ’em side by side in the yard and walks around each of ’em, feeling the strength in their legs and lifting their lips to check on their teeth. He points to the piebald mare. ‘We’ll take this one for now, but I can’t guarantee we won’t be back for the other one. Men gotta have horses. Ain’t that right, Mrs Allen? No use having soldiers on foot when they can ride a horse.’ He leads the mare across the yard till it stands next to his own horse, which he mounts.

Sicely emerges with a tray full of tea. She has already poured it into cups from the pot in the kitchen, and Mrs Allen says to the men, ‘Would you gentlemen like some tea?’ She picks a cup and saucer from the tray and takes it over to Peighton, handing him the tea as he sits on his horse. He drinks it all in one go and Mrs Allen takes back the cup. ‘Do you have a bill of receipt for my horse?’

Peighton nods at the preacher. ‘Chepstow does the paperwork. He’ll write you one up and he’ll take a proper look around for us, make a list of everything that might be useful in the future. You can expect to see us back here, ma’am, unless we go and win the war by Christmas, but I can’t see that happening.’

He touches his hat and leads his horse from the yard with Mrs Allen’s horse following riderless behind. Those other two men gulp their own tea, saddle up quick and ride out after him.

Mrs Allen calls me over and gives me food from the sacks to take back to Lizzie. I thought it weren’t as much as we usually had, but I can’t be sure that the sack feels lighter. ‘See
if you can find Hubbard for me,’ she asks me. ‘I need to talk with him about that horse.’

Once I’m on the path to the cabins I hear steps behind me and Gerald runs up to my side. ‘You wanna come with me to the river?’

I swing the sack of food to my other shoulder. ‘I got things to do.’

‘But it’s Sunday! You can do as you please, can’t you? So long as we’re back for the preacher then no one’ll know, and I got a great place where we can play some ball.’

Hubbard comes out of his cabin as we reach the fire pit. ‘S’cuse me, sir,’ I call over to him, ‘but the missus asked for you up at the house. They took your horse and she wants to speak to you about it.’

Hubbard is dressed all in his Sunday best with a clean white shirt and his boots newly polished. He eyes the two of us suspiciously. ‘How do you mean? Who took the horse?’

‘I don’t know. Some men, sir. From the army, I think.’

Hubbard dismisses us with a frown and goes on up to the house without another word.

‘Meet me in half an hour by the picket gate.’ Gerald says, then skips away to catch up with Hubbard.

Connie comes across to me and he leans into our sack of supplies, putting his fingers through the corn and feeling the weight of the pork that’s in there. He smiles with satisfaction. ‘I told you they’re losing the war. It’s beginning to bite.’ He moves his tongue around the front of his teeth. ‘Price of food’s going up every day and the rations are down.’ He winks at me. ‘It won’t be too long now.’

I don’t think I can survive on any less food than I been getting to eat right now, cos every day my stomach moans more than it did the one before, and when I give the sack to
Lizzie she rolls her eyes and tuts at me. ‘Just corn and bacon,’ she complains. ‘No peas or carrots. No jars of molasses.’ She sucks at her teeth, maybe hoping to find some last bit of goodness stuck somewhere in the gaps between ’em.

‘Did I do something wrong, Lizzie?’

‘Not that I know of. You got something I should know ’bout?’

I shake my head. I can’t think of anything. Then again, there’s always something you got to feel bad about.

First time I remember Joshua being caned was after a trip to the Middle Creek store. Mr Randolph was the owner and it paid to be on his good side, cos if he liked you he could be a generous man, but if he didn’t he could be mean as hell.

We all went into town with a coin in our pocket and his wife had made a pretty display of candied fruits along the front of the counter. There were cherries and orange peel and there was ginger. There was toffee and peanut brittle too, both of ’em a deep orangey brown, looking like a piece of melted sunset, and we stood there wishing we could have ’em all.

Joshua pressed his nose up against one of the glass jars. ‘Mister,’ he asked Mr Randolph, ‘can I have a taste?’

‘They’re five cents a quarter.’ The shopkeeper eyed my brother suspiciously. ‘You can taste ’em once you’ve paid for ’em.’

I loved the look of those sweets just as much as anyone, but I had my eye on other things and I was saving my coin to buy a metal toy soldier. I was a week away from being able
to afford it and I asked Mr Randolph if I might take a closer look at his collection and he obliged me, coming around from behind the counter and taking me across to the window display, where he brought some of the little metal figures out so that I could hold ’em for myself. There was a redcoat with a musket held to his face and a little drummer boy with a flag. I was about to engage Mr Randolph in conversation when we were startled by a scream from Mrs Robinson, who had arrived from the storeroom out the back.

She looked like she’d seen a rat, but it was my brother that she pointed at. ‘He licked it! I saw him lick it and he put it back!’

Mr Randolph hurried back and saw that all the jars were open, with their lids all on the counter. He put his hand inside the first and brought out a piece of toffee that was glistening and wet. ‘You did this to all of ’em?’

‘It wasn’t me!’ Joshua protested brazenly, but Mr Randolph already had a hold of him by the scruff of the neck. ‘So you’re a liar as well as a little thief.’

‘It wasn’t me! Honest it wasn’t! It was Johnny Bradshaw and the little bastard’s run off out the door!’

Mrs Randolph slapped the back of his head for his bad language, and her husband marched the both of us outside in search of Father Mosely. Joshua got a dozen strokes of the cane on a bare backside, and since Mr Randolph suspected I was his accomplice, we both lost our money for a month. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t me who did it, and I never did get my toy soldier.

Gerald flips the ball up for me to catch and I drop it. He sidles away from me, his back to the river and his bat held
up to his shoulder. ‘Pitch the ball for me, Friday. Go on, pitch it hard as you like. I bet you can’t beat me.’

I throw the ball but it falls short of him. ‘That’s no good,’ he tells me. ‘Try again.’ He scurries forward, picks it up and throws it back, but then I throw the ball so high and wide he ain’t got a hope of hitting it. It’s closer to going in the river than it is to him and he shakes his head as he runs to picks it up. ‘You sure ain’t no pitcher like I thought.’ He throws the ball for himself, straight up in the air, hitting it hard and high so it flies over my head and out across the field behind.

‘Well, go on then. Go and get it.’

I run and fetch the ball, then I pitch again and Gerald hits it again and off I go, backwards and forwards, like a dog after a stick. I don’t know why someone would want to spend their day doing this, but it makes Gerald as happy as it makes me miserable. Each time I return with the ball, he’s ready and waiting, the bat already slung across his shoulder. He’s good at sport and he knows it. He’s got a kind of confidence in the way he stands and pushes the cap back onto his head, so it’s clear of his face. ‘You want a go with the bat?’

‘No. I’m fine.’ I wipe an arm across my forehead to take away the sweat. ‘I could do with some water though.’ I come across to him and we stand by the river as I swig from the canteen. Gerald looks up into the bright blue sky. ‘There’s only one way to cool off properly on a day like today.’ He takes off his cap and shirt, steps out of his shoes and drops his trousers too. He really does – stands there without a stitch on him, all lilywhite clean and bright, like a scrubbed potato. Then he runs and jumps, hitting the water with a splash. He screams so loud I think he’s been bitten by a big fish. ‘It’s so cold!’ he says, ducking his head under the surface
and popping up like he’s about to feed on a fly. ‘Come on in! Come on!’

But I won’t do it. I ain’t even tempted. It’s just another thing he can do that I can’t. I roll up the legs of my trousers and sit on the edge of the bank till Gerald stops his nonsense and comes across to me. ‘Why won’t you come in?’ He splashes water at me. ‘You ain’t scared, are you?’

‘Sure I’m scared.’

‘What of? The fish ain’t gonna hurt you.’

‘It ain’t the fish. I’m scared of drowning.’

Gerald looks like he don’t believe his own ears. ‘You telling me you can’t swim?’

‘Nope. Never had the opportunity. Where I lived before, there weren’t no rivers, at least not close by.’

Gerald suddenly becomes all serious. ‘Come on in and I’ll teach you.’

‘No. Thank you.’

‘You can trust me. I’ll look after you.’

‘I’m sure you will, but I’m happiest with my feet on dry land.’

Gerald shakes his head solemnly. ‘Everyone should know how to swim, Friday. What’ll you do if you fall in a river?’

‘I wouldn’t be that stupid.’

‘You might. Accidents happen. People make mistakes.

It happens all the time.’ Gerald becomes the grown-up and he does it well. He’s all earnest and calm. ‘See where I’m standing now? That’ll still be in your depth. So long as you stand here you can’t drown and I won’t make you go any deeper, I promise you. Not till you’re ready.’

‘You ever taught anyone before?’

‘Never. But my daddy taught me and I can still remember how he did it. First thing you got to do is float. You got to
get used to the water so you ain’t scared and then you won’t panic. That’s half the problem. If you panic, you start to sink.’ He opens his arms out to me. ‘C’mon, Friday. You can do it. I know you can.’

I put my foot in the water and it feels cool on my skin when I move it in a circle, stirring up the mud below the surface. ‘OK. I’ll do it!’ I jump up, taking off my breeches and shirt so I’m naked on the river bank. Gerald takes hold of my hand to steady me as I step down into the river. ‘There’s a branch there,’ he points out. ‘Do you feel it with your foot? That’s right, step on that and you’re halfway in.’

Another step and the wet mud squelches up between my toes as Gerald walks in front of me, showing me the depth before I take my next step. I go in up to my waist.

‘Now watch what I do.’ He lets go of my fingers and falls slowly back till he’s floating on the surface, his arms and legs stretched out at his sides, with the water calm around him and his golden hair fanned out around his head like a halo. He stays like that for a little while before kicking out and coming to stand upright again. He wipes the water from his eyes. ‘That’s what I want you to do.’

‘I can’t do that!’

‘Yes, you can, cos I’m gonna help you.’ He comes behind me and takes hold of my shoulders. ‘Put your weight back on me and bend your knees. Go on, do it.’

I want to do it, I really do, and I feel like I can trust him. So I lean back slowly and the water creeps up my chest till it’s over my nipples and all up in my armpits.