of sixty white people and sentenced to die by hanging. On the morning of November eleventh, the sentence was carried out. After the hanging, the body was skinned and left on display as a warning to others who would do harm to their masters.”
Outside in the dark, the night peepers and the crickets went quiet. Inside, it felt like some big whirlwind had sucked all the air out. Everybody went still, like in one of Mister Custis’s paintings. Even the babies, who had been fussing when they first came in, got quiet. It was the scariest news I had ever heard in my life so far, and I wondered why that man at the market gave us that paper. It didn’t seem like Nat Turner had anything to do with us.
Lawrence kept on reading. “In a cornfield Nat Turner had a vision of blood droplets on the corn and knew it was God preparing him to rise up against his oppressors.”
“What’s oppressors?” Thursday asked.
Ephraim shrugged. “The masters, I reckon. What else does it say?”
Lawrence folded the paper. “Best the women and children not hear any more.”
“Huh.” Althea folded her arms. “Seem to me like there can’t be anything worse than what you already read. Skinning out a man like he was a wild animal. I never heard of such.”
“Go on,” Billy said. “Tell us the rest.”
“It says the whites done killed more than a hundred blacks because of what Nat Turner done. It says some masters made up a new rule, and slaves are not allowed to gather no more.”
“We ought to go,” Ephraim said, “before Missus finds out we had a meeting. After news like this, she and the mister sure to keep a close watch on us. For a while, anyways.” He held out his hand. “Give me that paper.”
Lawrence handed it over. Ephraim tore it into little pieces and threw them into the fire, which just about killed me. I had counted on reading it all for myself.
People stirred and started leaving in twos and threes so as not to attract too much attention from the house. Ephraim held up his hand. “Anybody asks you if you heard of Nat Turner, you better say no.”
I sure hoped Missus wouldn’t ask me, because the Bible says not to tell a lie. But what if you had to, to hang on to whatever kind of a life you had?
Nathaniel handed Cissy to his mauma and climbed down after her. This time he didn’t stop to stick out his tongue at me or anything. I guess he was scared too.
After a while it was just Mauma and Daddy and me. Mauma took me on her lap and held me real close. “You all right?”
“Yessum.”
“You hear what Ephraim said about not telling nobody about tonight?”
“I heard.”
“It’s important, Selina. Don’t forget and let it slip. If you do, we won’t be allowed to go to the market anymore.”
Daddy got up and put on his shoes and shuffled outside to the outhouse.
“I don’t want you studyin’ on this Nat Turner business no more,” Mauma said. “It was terrible, but it’s over and done.” She took my chin in her hands. “If anybody asks, you say you don’t know anything.”
I remembered a story Althea told me one time about a man who never lied. The king tried to trick him but the man told the truth, and the king figured out that a wise man always tells the truth.
“But, Mauma, what if Missus asks me?”
Mauma didn’t answer me. Her face went smooth as stone. After a minute she said, “I got some good news. I was up to the house yesterday when Daniel come in with the mail. Missus got a letter from Miss Mary and tore it open then and there. Miss Mary and her new husband is coming home for Christmas.”
10 | M ARY
D aniel met us at the river landing with the carriage, a red scarf draped jauntily about his neck and a sprig of holly tucked into his hatband. “Miss Mary. Sho is good to have you back to home. Arlington just ain’t the same without you.”
“I’m glad to be home.” I handed him my traveling satchel. “How are you, Daniel? How is your little boy?”
“He had the croup
Sharon Kleve, Jennifer Conner, Danica Winters, Casey Dawes