Dolen Perkins-Valdez - Wench

This third summer, in the year 1853, Lizzie stepped down the gangway behind Philip, her ankles chained to his. Drayle had already disappeared in the coach of a carriage headed up the hill to the train depot. Lizzie and Philip were assigned to a man, a handler of sorts, who saw to it that they made it without incident from the levee to the depot. Two trains left daily headed north on morning and afternoon runs. The three arrived at the station around noon and had to wait for the train’s next departure. The sun was hot and there was not a roof under which the two slaves could stand. The handler placed iron clasps around their necks that were so tight, they left marks. They were seated backs to one another in the middle of the platform, joined together tightly enough that they could only move to scratch an itch, one body against the other. Sweat ran down them and soaked the wooden platform around them.

When the train arrived, the handler took his time loading them, waiting until all the whites boarded first. Once the slaves were settled into the hindmost train car, the man released the iron clamps from their necks and chained them by the ankles to iron bars bolted to the floor.

Lizzie preferred the train to the ship by far even if the train did reek with the odor of livestock. The loud din of it, the clucking of the chickens in the cages above her, the roar of the engine, the steady lurch as they tumbled along the iron T-rails did not bother her as much as the ship.

She slept most of the way to Xenia. Sometimes, she stayed awake long enough to hear Philip tell stories of rabbits and foxes and men with conjuring powers. Each summer, Philip had murmured these stories to her during the voyage. She would listen while she looked out the window at the Little Miami River, a tributary of the Ohio that surged along beside the rail. Other times, she retreated into her head, thinking of the women she was soon to see again. During those moments when she was jolted awake, she held on to his hand and listened for his clucking sound beneath the roar of the engine.

The rail stretched sixty-eight miles from cincinnati to Springfield, but they would disembark at Xenia, hours before the train reached the end of its line. She wondered what Drayle was doing in the forward car. She’d caught a glimpse of its interior-green fabric stretched taut and tufted over spaciously placed seats. She closed her eyes and tried to raise the voices of her children in her head over the train’s loud chuffing.

At Loveland, the train slowed to a stop and an elderly colored man boarded. He tipped his hat when he saw Lizzie and struck up a conversation with Philip. His hair was sketched with gray, and in the places where the hair had thinned, the skin shone through. He was a narrow-skulled man and reminded Lizzie vaguely of a rat. When he looked her way, Lizzie recognized the glow of his eyes as the beginnings of blindness.

“Where y’all headed?”

Philip finished sizing the man up before he spoke. “Tawawa house, suh.”

“Tawawa who? I is headed to columbus myself. I been down to Kentucky looking for my family, but the old house is run over with weeds. She ain’t there no more. Ain’t nobody there no more.” he looked down at his hands.

“You got folks in columbus?” Philip asked after a few moments.

The man shook his head. “I reckon I gots to start over.” he smiled. His teeth were crooked and brown. “But I is a young man yet. I reckon I can find me a new family. A job.”

His voice sounded unconvinced. He took a paper out of his coat pocket and waved it at them. “These here is my papers. Reeeeeal United States government papers. The man say can’t nobody take ’em away from me.”

Lizzie leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the writing on the paper. She could barely make out the curves of someone’s handwriting.

The train slowed and Lizzie braced against the seat in front of her. A chicken squawked overhead and stirred the others. Soon the car was filled with the racket of chicken clatter. As the birds struggled against one another, the car filled with a dust laced by the occasional feather.

The door to the train rattled open and a white man in a gray uniform pointed at the senior.

“You there! Off my train.”

He reached for his cane. “Why, sir? I paid my fare. I is going to columbus.”

“I don’t care what you did. I don’t want you on my train.” he pointed at Lizzie and Philip. “These two are traveling with someone. You aren’t.”

The elderly man pulled himself up and looked back at the two. Lizzie moved a foot and her chain rattled against the floor. The man looked down with a start, as if he had not realized they were slaves. Then he turned from them without another word and used the handrail to step down from the train car.

Lizzie turned her thoughts again to Drayle and the white cottage. She thought of the parlor and the stove that burned coal. She thought of her friends-the warmth of Reenie’s laughter, the squeak of Sweet’s voice, the determination of Mawu’s shoulders-and took comfort in the world that awaited her.

Lizzie wasn’t sure if Mawu forgave her for what she’d done the summer before. Everything seemed to be fine, but she knew that memory was a funny thing. It reared its head at the least expected of times. She felt as if she were holding her breath, waiting for the punishment Mawu would enact to avenge herself. They had never even said goodbye, and here they found themselves back in each other’s company at the resort again.

For Mawu’s part, she acted as if nothing had ever happened between the two women. Her tongue was its usual sharp self, but it wasn’t particularly aimed at Lizzie. Not so far.

When she saw Lizzie for the first time, Mawu offered her an even-toned “how you been” and Lizzie replied with a low-voiced “mighty fine.” The other times the two women had seen each other had been in the presence of Sweet and Reenie, so things had seemed like they were back to normal. This day was no different.

The four women were visiting the Bath of Gold, named by the Shawnee because of the shining metallic rocks that lay beneath its surface. They had seen it from the top of the ravine a few times but had never descended into it to check it out. Usually, the white guests chose this spring over the four smaller ones, both for the refreshing cool of its clear, soft water and its two spring houses divided by sex. Swimming in the pool had been Mawu’s idea, and Reenie had checked on how long the families would be gone. They weren’t expected until well after dark, so the slaves had an unusual stretch of free time.

Sweet’s belly rolled in deep waves, the skin still stretched from her last pregnancy, and the fat on her legs jiggled as she walked. She walked into the water, squealing as she went.

“Ohhhh!” she yelled out.

Mawu and Lizzie were already in the water. Mawu’s head bobbed once and then dipped beneath the surface. Lizzie could still see her. The water was so clear she could see all the way to the bottom.

“Reenie, come on and dip your feet in!” Lizzie shouted.

Reenie pulled her knees to her chest and scooted farther back from the water’s edge. “Don’t you worry none about me.” even several feet back from the edge of the water, she looked nervous.

The evening sky was a warm color. It made the stones glow more red than gold. Mawu swam over to a rock and climbed up. She stretched out like a nymph and leaned back on her hands. Water rolled down her thighs.

“Ooh, girl don’t you have no shame? What if somebody see you?” Sweet said.

“Let ’ em see.” Mawu shook her hair out.

Lizzie swam over, inspired by Mawu’s brazenness. She climbed up on the rock and blew water from her nose. She looked down at her own body and then studied Mawu’s. She couldn’t help but notice Mawu’s taut skin showed none of the sag of her own. Mawu looked unreal in the deepening shadows, like a ghost that would disappear at any moment.