12
The baby was a girl, born in the second month of the new year. She was her mother's daughter, born darker skinned than Joe would probably ever be.
"'Bout time I had a baby to look like me," said Alice when she saw her.
"You could have at least tried for red hair," said Rufus. He was there too, peering at the baby's wrinkled little face, peering with even more concern at Alice's face, sweat-streaked and weary.
For the first and only time, I saw her smile at him—a real smile. No sarcasm, no ridicule. It silenced him for several seconds.
Carrie and I had helped with the birth. Now, we left quietly, both of us probably thinking the same thing. That if Alice and Rufus were going to make peace, finally, neither of us wanted to break their mood.
They called the baby Hagar. Rufus said that was the ugliest name he had ever heard, but it was Alice's choice, and he let it stand. I thought it was the most beautiful name I had ever heard. I felt almost free, half-free if such a thing was possible, half-way home. I was gleeful at first—secretly elated. I even kidded Alice about the names she chose for her children. Joseph and Hagar. And the two others whose names I thought silently—Miriam and Aaron. I said, "Someday Rufus is going to get religion and read enough of the Bible to wonder about those children's names."
Alice shrugged. "If Hagar had been a boy, I would have called her Ishmael. In the Bible, people might be slaves for a while, but they didn't have to stay slaves."
My mood was so good, I almost laughed. But she wouldn't have understood that, and I couldn't have explained. I kept it all in somehow, and congratulated myself that the Bible wasn't the only place where slaves broke free. Her names were only symbolic, but I had more than symbols to remind me that freedom was possible—probable—and for me, very near.
Or was it?
Slowly, I began to calm down. The danger to my family was past, yes. Hagar had been born. But the danger to me personally … the danger to me personally still walked and talked and sometimes sat with Alice in her cabin in the evening as she nursed Hagar. I was there with them a couple of times, and I felt like an intruder.
I was not free. Not any more than Alice was, or her children with their names. In fact, it looked as though Alice might get free before I did. She caught me alone one evening and pulled me into her cabin. It was empty except for the sleeping Hagar. Joe was out collecting cuts and bruises from sturdier children.
"Did you get the laudanum?" she demanded.
I peered at her through the semidarkness. Rufus kept her well supplied with candles, but at the moment, the only light in the room came from the window and from a low fire over which two pots simmered. "Alice, are you sure you still want it?"
I saw her frown. "Sure I want it! 'Course I want it! What's the matter with you?"
I hedged a little. "It's so soon … The baby's only a few weeks old."
"You get me that stuff so I can leave when I want to!"
"I've got it."
"Give it to me!"
"Goddamnit, Alice, will you slow down! Look, you keep working on him the way you have been, and you can get whatever you want and live to enjoy it."
To my surprise, her stony expression crumbled, and she began to cry. "He'll never let any of us go," she said. "The more you give him, the more he wants." She paused, wiped her eyes, then added softly, "I got to go while I still can—before I turn into just what people call me." She looked at me and did the thing that made her so much like Rufus, though neither of them recognized it. "I got to go before I turn into what you are!" she said bitterly.
Sarah had cornered me once and said, "What you let her talk to you like that for? She can't get away with it with nobody else."
I didn't know. Guilt, maybe. In spite of everything, my life was easier than hers. Maybe I tried to make up for that by taking her abuse. Everything had its limits, though.
"You want my help, Alice, you watch your mouth!"
"Watch yours," she mocked.
I stared at her in astonishment, remembering, knowing exactly what she had overheard.
"If I talked to him the way you do, he'd have me hangin' in the barn," she said.
"If you go on talking to me the way you do, I won't care what he does to you."
She looked at me for a long time without saying anything. Finally, she smiled. "You'll care. And you'll help me. Else, you'd have to see yourself for the white nigger you are, and you couldn't stand that."
Rufus never called my bluff. Alice did it automatically—and because I was bluffing, she got away with it. I got up and walked away from her. Behind me, I thought I heard her laugh.
Some days later, I gave her the laudanum. Later that same day, Rufus began talking about sending Joe to school up North when he was a little older.
"Do you mean to free the boy, Rufe?"
He nodded.
"Good. Tell Alice."
"When I get around to it."
I didn't argue with him; I told her myself.
"It don't matter what he says," she told me. "Did he show you any free papers?"
"No."
"When he does, and you read them to me, maybe I'll believe him. I'm tellin' you, he uses those children just the way you use a bit on a horse. I'm tired of havin' a bit in my mouth."
I didn't blame her. But still, I didn't want her to go, didn't want her to risk Joe and Hagar. Hell, I didn't even want her to risk herself. Elsewhere, under other circumstances, I would probably have disliked her. But here, we had a common enemy to unite us.