Free Good Fortune (9781416998631) by Noni Carter

young Missus Jane, who continued on without me, “you all right?” He turned his head, eyes piercing me like two arrows. His glance was quick, and his nod was cordial, but the expression in his eyes turned my skin cold. There was an anger there that he immediately erased, then a lingering sadness. He turned away before I could say anything more, slyly stealing my heart as he went and setting it in his pocket.
    I walked on, talking to young Missus Jane as she wished, but my thoughts swirled around my brother. We walked a few miles to a small, white wooden house. It was here that I was ordered to take young Missus Jane and young Masta Bernard. About eight children met five days a week in this tiny schoolroom.
    Missus had decided to start them out this school year with a private instructor. She wanted to ensure the “best education possible.” I’d caught pieces of conversation between Masta and Missus about having young Missus Jane attend lessons with her brother. Females only went so far in schooling, and Masta didn’t want to invest money unnecessarily on her behalf. Missus seemed to have different plans for her daughter, however, and even though she wouldn’t make them plain, she convinced her husband to keep young Missus Jane with her brother for the time being.
    When we reached the door, young Missus Jane knockedand slipped inside before anyone had come to open it. Without another word to me, she shut me out, leaving me standing on the step.
    Heading a mile or so farther up the road, I neared a small gathering of slave children who were sitting around an older man. Seeing me approach, the old man nodded and fell straight into telling a story to the gathered crowd.
    â€œI done knowed Liza was gone. Knew it befo’ I felt de hushed silence hangin’ ’mong slave row. Knew it befo’ word was raised ’bout it. It was de way blurry images done formed in my mind’s eyes, in my dreams dat night befo’. It was de feelin’ my dream done gaved me. It was de way de wind rush thru my door, washin’ my sleepy face. It was de way de mornin’ birds sang with dat partic’lar melody. Dey knewed ha fate like I did. We alls knewed dat Liza was gone.”
    â€œWhatchya mean, ‘Gone,’ Uncle Bobby?” a small boy asked.
    â€œWell, you wait, now. You ain’t even heard ’bout da woman an’ ha life yet.”
    â€œTell us, then, Uncle Bobby!”
    I stood leaning against the side of the man’s quarters. Wrinkles covered the face and hands of this old man, Uncle Bobby. He was too old to work the land his master owned and was therefore left by his Master to do nothing more than waste away with time. The ten or so children who’d gathered about him were, on the other hand, too young to work. Most of them grasped small clay balls in their hands, signifying the play that had been suspended so they could hear Uncle Bobby’s short story of the day. I had stumbledupon them one day while waiting for the Missus’s children to finish their learning, and I’d been coming back ever since to listen to the old man’s tales.
    â€œWell, she was a tattle, she was. House hand that liked da fancy dings her Mizzuz done give ha fo’ tellin’ on folks an’ makin’ up bad stories to get dem slaves in trouble. Den on Christmas day the year she was all growed up, done walked outside wit all dem fancy stuff, even had fancy shoes! An … an …”
    â€œAn’ what?” the children squealed. Uncle Bobby put his hands on his small hips, pausing for dramatic effect.
    â€œWell,” he said, throwing his seated legs out farther, “big ole clap a’ lightnin’ came an’ strike ha!” His eyes bulged and his arms imitated heaven unleashing its wrath. The children, who had yelped with the scare, started giggling.
    â€œAin’t no such thing happen!”
    â€œSho’ did!” Uncle Bobby said