Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House(19)

The only time we see Skinner is when he brings us food and empties our slop pail, but I don’t ask him no more questions.

It’s hard to tell how many days go by, because after a while one day is like the next. I keep telling Randall not to worry, that as soon as I write to Mr. Burton, he’ll come for us, and probably in his big carriage, too.

When Randall’s cold, I tell him about the fur rugs that Mr. Burton keeps in his carriage and how we will use them to get warm on the ride home. He likes to have me talk, so I tell him about the house I live in and how it’s my home and how good Mr. Burton is to me. I tell him about all the food I get to eat and how I take care of Malcolm and how Mr. Burton says that when I’m ready, he’s going to send me to a school in New York.

I don’t tell him about my daddy being a slave and how, every day we’re on the water, I keep thinking of how Mr. Burton just got to come find us, because if Skinner’s a slave catcher I don’t want to be no slave. I think of what they did to my daddy’s hands, and my fingers hurt just thinking about it, and when I feel Randall’s hand in mine, I know for sure they can’t cut nothin’ off of Randall ’cause he’s way too little to lose no fingers.

By the time the boat ties up, we both got a bad cough, and even though I try to get Randall to eat, he’s too sick.


“THE TWO A you shut up or you get my boot,” Skinner warns when he brings us up out of the hold. It’s warmer here, and someone at the dock says we’re in Virginia. Right away I feel better, ’cause I remember from a map Mr. Burton showed me that Virginia is right close to North Carolina, and that is where he’s comin’ to paint his birds, and I’ll bet he can find us easy!

The sharp sun hurts my eyes, but I make them stay open so I can see where we are when they load us on a wagon. There aren’t as many docks as Philadelphia, but it seems like the same kinda men are yellin’ and fussin’, and there’s bunches of them workin’ the boats, but none of them look at me and Randall, and I can’t call out anyway because Skinner’s hand is squeezing tight at the back of my neck. He throws us up on the wagon, and when the wagon moves out, he starts cussin’ at the driver because he only got one horse and it don’t move too good. When the driver starts cussin’ back, Randall takes my hand.

It’s a while before we’re away from the docks because we got to work our way past all the other horses and wagons coming and going. Most are piled so high with stacks of wood and barrels that you can’t see over them. We finally get on a road, and after we travel out some, we take a turn that cuts through the trees, which is already greening up, but I don’t look around much because we’re bumpin’ along so hard that I got to work on keepin’ Randall and me in the wagon. Skinner is cussin’ all the way until we get to a couple of small barns. When the wagon stops, Skinner pulls us down, but it’s hard to stand after the boat.

The driver comes ’round to look at us. “This the best you can do? Together they ain’t worth nothin’. One’s too little and the other’s too scrawny.”

“The bigger one’s got educatin’, so he’ll bring somethin’,” Skinner says.

“That’s not where the money is. They want ’em for the fields!”

“You know they’re watchin’ those docks in Philly real close now! Those niggas up there is gettin’ a little too set up, organizin’ with them Quakers. We had a better one, strong-built, but he went down too hard. Fish food now.”

“You musta roughed him up too much again! I told you, they ’s like handlin’ money. When you gonna learn?”

I hold tight to Randall’s hand and hope he don’t understand what they say about his brother.

Just when I’m thinking of making a run for it, Skinner grabs us both by the neck and pushes us into a room at back of a small barn. They lock us in, and when the wagon thumps away, the two of them are still cussin’ at each other.

“Now can you write to your man?” Randall asks when he sits down beside me on the dirt floor.

“I don’t have no paper,” I say.

“But you got to write to him to get us outta here,” he says, his voice high and the next thing to crying.

“Shhhh,” I say, looking back over my shoulder, “somebody might be listenin’.”

He looks ’round and moves closer to me, but after a coughing fit, he quiets down. Then, as though he’s got nothin’ left in him, he lays down and puts his head in my lap. “My head’s hurtin’,” he says, “an’ I’s cold.”

“You sleep some while I figure this out,” I say, and I rub across his bony little shoulders and wonder why he says he’s cold when he feels so hot. I wait till he’s sleepin’ before I move, careful not to wake him. Then I go over to the window and try jumpin’ up, but it’s too high, and besides, it got some boards across it. I try the door, but it’s locked tight, like I figured. I kick at it some until I hurt my foot, and when I limp around I start crying. Finally, I go back and sit next to Randall, ’cause he’s coughin’ so bad and shakin’ in his sleep.


THAT NIGHT SKINNER shows up with the driver and another man. I jump up as soon as they come in the door, and it don’t take a minute before Randall is up beside me and got a hold of me. “What they gon’ do?” he asks me.