Glory over Everything: Beyond The Kitchen House(6)

If he had been stolen, he must be retrieved. And since I was traveling south for my work, could I not do so? Yet, the thought of it—the idea of deliberately exposing myself to people who bought and sold Negroes—terrified me. I had worked hard for the last fifteen years to move away from my past toward safety, and now the leaden ball of fear, one that had receded but had never truly left me, began again to grow.





CHAPTER TWO


1825


Pan


AFTER MY MAMA PASS, my daddy got no place for me to go, so one Sunday he brings me to Mr. Burton’s house. How my daddy knows this white man, he never say, he just tell me to keep my mouth shut while he do the talkin’. We go ’round to the back door, where a black man, dressed slick, name’s Robert, comes to the kitchen and takes us to what he calls the study. That place—I never seen nothing like it—is full of books and dead birds. While we’s waitin’, I take hold my daddy’s hand to stop it from shakin’, but I know him good enough not to say nothin’.

Soon as Mr. Burton walks in, I see he don’t want nothin’ to do with us.

My daddy push me ahead. “Mr. Burton,” my daddy say, “this here Pan.”

Mr. Burton looks down at me, then looks back up at my daddy like he don’t know what to say.

“I never ask you for nothin’, but now I’s askin’ you to take in my boy,” says my daddy.

“Henry, you know I am indebted to you, but he’s too young, and I don’t have need of more help. I would be happy to give you a purse, if that would help you out.”

“I’m not here for no money! I’m here ’cause my boy need work and a place to stay. His mama die las’ week and now she gone, he got nobody . . .” My daddy’s voice start to shake and I grab hold a his hand. He still can’t talk about my mama leavin’ us without cryin’. He holds tight to my hand and starts talkin’ again. “My boy can’t stay in town by hisself, and I’s still working outta town like before, so he can’t stay with me.”

Mr. Burton looks down at me. “How old are you?”

I’m guessin’ this man only got one good eye, ’cause he got a black patch coverin’ up the other one, but with the look he gives me, he only need the one.

“Tell him, boy,” Daddy says, bumpin’ my shoulder.

“I’s eight years old,” I say loud, knowin’ my daddy count on me to speak up.

“You appear small for eight years,” Mr. Burton says.

I don’t wait for Daddy to poke me again. “Not too small to carry in wood,” I say. “Carry in water, too, you needs it.”

Mr. Burton look up at my daddy. “Isn’t he too young to stay here on his own?”

My daddy talks quick. “He old enough to stay. He work hard, don’ need nothin’ but a place to sleep, somethin’ to eat, and somebody to show him what to do. I come get him every Sunday mornin’, see he get back by Sunday evenin’, no need for me to come in the house.” Then he looks down at me. “You ready to stay here an’ work, isn’t you, Pan?”

“I is,” I say real loud, makin’ my daddy nod to Mr. Burton.

Nobody say nothin’ for a while, then Mr. Burton say, “Henry, I owe you. We’ll give it a try, but if by next Sunday the boy doesn’t work out, you must take him back with you, and I will give you a purse.”

My daddy don’ t say nothing but turns and goes and leaves me standin’ there. Him goin’ like that makes it look like he don’t care, but I know better. He jus’ no good at sayin’ goodbye.

Mr. Burton calls Robert in. They both stand there looking my way, like they’s tryin’ to figure me out.

I don’t like it that quiet. “Where’s the work?” I say. They look at each other, then Mr. Burton smile, like I say something funny.

“Can you find some simple tasks to keep him occupied?” Mr. Burton asks Robert.

“I’ll have to give it some thought,” says Robert, the slick man. “He’s too young to be capable of much.”

What he know! I been takin’ care a my mama right through the week, till when my daddy gets back in town every Sunday. “My mama say I’s real handy to have around,” I say.

“But don’t you want to stay with your father?” Mr. Burton asked.

“He try takin’ me with him to the tavern, but they say he got to get rid a me or he’s out a job,” I say.

“And won’t you miss him?” Mr. Burton asked.

“He come see me every Sunday, jus’ like he do when Mama still here.”

“Your mother recently died?”

“No, she don’t die, she jus’ release herself from her earthly body, jus’ like she keep tellin’ me she got to do. But she with me right now. We jus’ can’t see her.”

The two men look at each other again. Mr. Burton take in air and let it out real slow. “Robert, take him in to Molly. Ask her to give him a room and set him up with a few light chores.”

“I suppose you could learn to polish silver?” the slick man says, takin’ hold a my shoulder and steerin’ me downstairs.


THIS HOUSE SO big, I don’t know how I ever gon’ find my way ’round. The room off the kitchen that Molly puts me in to sleep is bigger than the room that I was livin’ in with my mama. After Molly says to get to sleep and then closes the door on me, I start cryin’. I miss my daddy, but most, I miss the way my mama always kiss my face good night—smoochin’ on me until I tell her to stop. I just want to feel her kissin’ me one more time. I’m scared here by myself. This big house is too quiet. I’s used to hearin’ noise at night, those my age out runnin’ the streets shoutin’ each other down, men drinkin’, gamblin’, laughin’ with each other, and women, too, that fool with the mens. Some nights they get to fightin’ an’ I get afraid they’re comin’ in, so after Mama throws the bolt she takes her chair an’ sits in front of the door, tellin’ me that anybody come in, they got to first get past her. Then I can sleep. My mama never was too big, but she got plenty of fight in her when it comes to lookin’ out for me.