Free Listen to the Mockingbird by Penny Rudolph

returned from quilting with the other wives, and thinking myself alone, I burst into the bedroom eager to see my new creation on the bed. I was unfolding the quilt when from behind two hands gripped my arms just above the elbows and slammed me onto the bed.
    “You told him, didn’t you?” Andrew snarled.
    “Told who what?” I gasped.
    “Told the colonel I killed old man Peters in St. Louis and took his goddam stash of coins.”
    “How could I,” I faltered, bringing my hands up to protect my head from the blow I knew was coming. “I never knew anyone named Peters in St. Louis.”
    He took hold of my bodice and ripped it chin to waist. “Don’t lie to me, bitch!”
    An odd, exceeding calmness came over me. It was as if all that I am retreated deep inside. I suspect much of it still resides there. At that moment, I fell silent as a piece of wood. Andrew stripped my torn clothing from me and shook me. I let nothing show on my face. Even when he fell upon me and rammed himself into me I didn’t resist. Even when the pain was blinding, I just closed my eyes, hung on to the bed and thought of the mountains. His rampage didn’t last long; he was too drunk.
    “Oh, God, I’m sorry.” He laid his head on my breast like a lost child and sobbed. “Don’t leave me, Matty. I am lost. Only you can save me.”
    Dry-eyed, I patted his shoulder.
    999
    “Who is old man Peters?” I asked Andrew the next morning at breakfast. I felt safe because Winona was there, setting biscuits and honey on the table. She had not disguised her silent inspection of the bruises on my cheek.
    Andrew’s eyes flicked to Winona, then back to me. “A greengrocer in St. Louis. Why?”
    “Just idle curiosity,” I said, amazed there was no tremor in my voice.
    “Where did you hear that name?”
    “Someone mentioned him yesterday,” I lied. “At the quilting.”
    Andrew stood up peremptorily, and the conversation veered in a direction odder still. “You know voodoo, don’t you, Winona?”
    She looked down at the floor. “No, sir.”
    “I thought all darkies practice voodoo.”
    “No, sir. That ain’t true.”
    “Whatever are you getting at?” I asked.
    He ignored me. “I wager you could put a hex on someone if you had a mind to,” he said to Winona, who did not raise her eyes.
    “Andrew, surely you don’t believe that nonsense?”
    His eyes became small and hard. “Do not belittle what you do not know,” he said slyly. “I saw a woman once, when I was a lad. A chicken got loose from the pen. A dozen people were chasing it. The darky woman just stood there holding a knife. When the others had tuckered themselves out to no avail she raised that knife and pointed it at the chicken—only pointed it, mind you—and that bird fell over dead. Yes, indeed, I do believe in voodoo.”
    He turned back to Winona. “I may one day tell you to put a spell on someone for me, and you’ll do it, you hear?”
    Winona nodded stoically and backed through the doorway.
    Andrew waited until he heard the door open and close and Winona’s footsteps returning to the cabin she shared with other slaves and servants. Then he leaned over me so close his nose almost touched my forehead.
    “You are not to go there again,” he said. A little puff of stale, hot breath hit my face with each word.
    I leaned away. “Not go where?”
    He grabbed both my arms above the elbows and yanked me to my feet. “Anywhere! You are not to leave this house!”
    I weakly mouthed the first words that came into my head: “But…Fanny. I must see to Fanny.”
    Andrew was at the front door. “If you value living in this world, you will not leave the house.” He left, slamming the door behind him.
    And for the first time, the reality of my situation roared through my consciousness like a silent scream.
    I think now that Andrew’s truly dangerous side was not the cruel side but the endearing one. He could tease, his pale blue eyes sparkling with laughter. And sometimes my