Darkness

Natchez

Edith

It is a strange Monday at the mercantile. Everyone in town skirts around the edge of the area where the whipping post looms horrifyingly nearby, moving down the street a ways to avoid it, then edging into the door of our shop. Nobody wants to go anywhere close to it, after the madness that unfolded Saturday. The militia got some slaves out there to clean up all the blood, but it almost feels like it is still lingering, horribly, like there is a stain that can never be erased no matter what. It feels like the area is cursed, or haunted. It brings terrible memories, and the wretched post has only been there a few days.

I still can’t understand any of it. Not why poor Moses was targeted in the first place, not why my crazy son-in-law volunteered to take his place, not why the slave patrol was so bent on punishing anyone for such an innocent pastime. I learned how to read right alongside Moses, joining the reading groups at Gregor’s house, and it feels horrible to know that it is something that Moses could be punished for, while nobody would blink an eye to know that I was doing the same thing.

I miss Zadoc. He’d have something to say about all of this that would help me understand, I know. On the other hand I’m almost glad he’s gone, so that he missed it. He would have hated watching what happened to Gregor.

We all hated it, though. I think that even that dratted patrolman hated it by the end. Everyone in the crowd was completely discombobulated. I don’t think there was anybody there who wasn’t crying, or panicking, or praying. Or all three. It was absolutely the strangest moment of my life. It felt like a bizarre nightmare. I’m just grateful that the children were still at school for the Saturday morning half day of classes.

I sigh, just at the same time that I hear Henry sigh. I look over and we meet each other’s eyes, but we don’t laugh. It’s hard to feel that anything is funny any more. The door opens and another customer slips in sort of sideways, obviously also avoiding the post. Henry goes to help her.

I’ll stop by to see Rosy on the way home again, I decide, see if there is anything I can do to help with Gregor. She assured me this morning when I went by on my way to work that he is doing all right, but I still worry about him. I think everyone in town thought that he had died at the end, that we were being visited by the Angel of Death. It felt like that must be it, some powerful spirit swooping over us to get to Gregor. Rosy is lucky that he’s still alive.

Jack

When my sisters and I get home from school, pretty soon Jake is heading across the street like usual. He always waits for me to get home, and is usually able to get away from his chores for a while before dinner so we can spend time together. Mama is still at work at the mercantile and the girls are old enough to be alone, so we have plans for the afternoon.

I make sure that Grace and Emily are settled in all right in our house, then Jake and I head to the end of the street and start clambering down the hill on the other side. It’s a steep climb, but we’ve done it about a thousand times so it’s getting pretty easy for us.

We get to the bottom quickly and look around. This is the spot of dirt that we used to draw letters in, while I was teaching Jake to read, before Gregor started his reading groups. We don’t need it for spelling practice any more, but we have started building a fort here. We have drug some castoff wood up here from Under-the-Hill, and have used that and a bunch of sticks and mud from the river to build a crude lean-to, using a big tree for one side. It’s a rough little shack that can’t even keep rain out and has nothing but bare dirt for a floor, but it feels like our own, and so we love it.

We sit down on some logs that we found and rolled in here, and Jake pulls something wrapped up in a handkerchief out of the knapsack he is carrying. “Here,” he says, handing me a round loaf of bread. It still feels warm. “Nadine sent this for us.” She always sends something. She knows that we have someplace that we like to go every afternoon, and she told Jake that we might as well have something to eat to keep our strength up through whatever adventures we are having.

I tear the loaf in half with my hands, and pass one of the pieces back to him. It is soft and light and delicious. I’ll have to remember to thank Nadine.

While we’re eating, I ask, “Have you talked to him? Is he all right?”

He knows I mean Gregor. I haven’t had the chance to see any of them since before it all happened on Saturday. Moses went straight back to Homochitto. Everyone at Gregor’s house just stayed inside all night Saturday and all day Sunday, then this morning I didn’t see anyone before I left for school. I think the last time I actually talked to Jake was Friday at the reading group. Even that seemed weird, with Gregor seeming sort of cranky.

It’s been a troubling few days.

Everyone at school today was talking about what happened. Not many of the other children were there when Gregor was whipped, but everyone’s parents have been talking about it. I guess the pastor at church was even lecturing about it yesterday.

“He’s all right,” Jake assures me. “I didn’t think he would be, but he is. He’s supposed to stay inside for a few days to get better, though. Doctor Duncan told him to.”

I sigh. “I wish I had been there. I don’t really understand what even happened. Everyone at school today was gossiping about it, but the stuff they were saying sounded crazy. My mother won’t say a single thing about it, and I know she saw it. I wish I could talk to someone who was actually there.”

He says, very quietly, “I was.”

“What?”

“Rosy told me to stay at home and help Nadine, but I was too worried about Moses, so I snuck down there.”

I am staring at him with my mouth hanging open, holding the bread cooling in my fingers. “So what happened? They said at school that Gregor made them whip him instead of Moses? Why?”

“Because Moses was in trouble for reading. I guess black people aren’t supposed to know how. Gregor told them that it was his fault for teaching him, so he should be the one whipped. He just stood there and let them do it. He had to take off his shirt and stuff, and I thought that after it was over I could at least pick his things up and bring them home for him since they’re such nice clothes, but the men in the slave patrol had already gotten them. I think they were planning to sell them, or maybe take them Under-the-Hill and use them for bets at cards.”

He shrugs, and is trying to sound casual about it, but I can hear it in his voice. He feels terrible about it, not just losing Gregor’s clothes, but the whole thing.

I whisper, “Was it… was it really bad?”

He looks down at our dirt floor and nods. “It was so bad. He was…” he can’t even make himself describe it, and I am almost glad. I don’t think I really want to hear the details. “Then you know Tiger came running up, it looked like he was going to try to save Gregor, and one of the patrolmen shot him.”

“That really happened? A kid at school said that but I didn’t believe him!”

“It really did. Tiger was laying there next to Gregor, and the whipping just kept going forever. By the time it was over Gregor was passed out. They had to drag him down the street to the doctor’s office.”

I’m staring at him. “Is Tiger all right?”

“Yes, I guess it wasn’t that bad. He was fine when they got home Saturday.”

“And you’re sure Gregor is too? I mean, how is that possible? If he was so hurt that they had to drag him to the doctor?”

He looks up from the bread he’s still holding. “Your sister told me what she thinks happened, and I think she’s right.”

“What did she say?” I ask eagerly. Rosy is probably right about it, whatever she thinks.

“She thinks that an angel came to help him.”

My eyes go wide but I can’t think of anything to say. Rosy thinks that?

“And I think that must be what happened. Everyone there could feel the angel flying right past, like its wings were blowing the air around us.”

“Oh! That’s what they must have been talking about at school!” I say. “The kids said that something really strange happened, and one kid who was at church yesterday said the pastor told them the holy spirit had come. But Rosy said it was an angel?”

He nods seriously. “Yes. To help Gregor. I think that’s the only reason he didn’t die.”

“Woah,” I breathe. “And you felt it fly past?”

“I did,” he assures me.

And I believe him. Gregor was saved by an angel. I can’t wait to tell my mother and sisters.

We are quiet for a while, eating our bread, and watching the river through the trees, and thinking about Gregor and angels.