Golden's Rule. C. E. Edmonson
and the horses trusted him. He was the one groomed em and tended to their ailments.
Masta, he did have himself a vetranarian name of Doctor manville. He was a nervous little fella, kep all his medicines in a buckboard he rode out to the farms. I rememba one time he tried to examine a horse name of Greenback. Now Greenback was ornery as all git out and he bit Doctor manville hard in the shoulder one day. Tore out a big ol chunk of flesh. After that, Doctor manville grew mighty careful. He reglar stood outside the stall, tellin my pa, do this and do that.
I was allowed to stay with my pa on Saturday nights. The way Pa tole it, Mistriss Sarah started lettin me go to him back when I was grievin for my mama. I don’t rememba nothin bout that, but bein with Pa on Saturday was bout the onliest thing I looked forward to. That’s cause missy Ann growed into a treacherous child. She was mean in her spirit and I wasn’t allowed to do nothin to oppose her, which only made her meaner. I swear that gal was born without no conscience a’tall.
Sometimes, when she was in a temper, she’d slap me. The first time, I was only three and didn’t know better, so I slapped her back. Missy Ann, she run out cryin to Mistriss Sarah and Mistriss Sarah switched me good. Didn’t ask me what happened, or say nothin. Jus come into the room, grabbed me up by the hair and whacked my legs with a hickory switch. Then she walked out the room like I wasn’t no more than a dog she found chewin on the rug.
Course, I didn’t hit missy Ann no more. I wasn’t a fool altogether. But Mistriss Sarah had herself a bigger story to tell and I was slow to git the message. Fact, I wasn’t allowed to frustrate that child in any way. Fact, I was some kinda way responsible for her happiness, all day and all night, too. I slep on a pallet at the foot of her bed and Lord have mercy if she cried in the night.
How I was sposed to care for missy Ann every hour of the day or night was a mystery I didn’t git. Like I could never figure why Mista Sewell and Masta Harris blamed a hungry slave for pickin a few melons. But I understands much better now. I was trainin to be a slave, like Pa trained them two-year-old horses to the saddle. I would live my whole life at the foot of missy Ann’s bed. I would care for her chirrens. I would serve her till one of us died.
Over time, specially when she was young, missy Ann and me would play together. She didn’t have no choice, since there weren’t no other chirrens to play with. But her kinda play was to use me like she was usin her dolls when she held her tea parties at the little table in her room. I’d line up between her dolls like I was a doll myself. Then she’d tell me what to say and how to act. Sometimes I was the bad doll and I had to be punished. Course, I didn’t like takin punishment from a girl who couldn’t lace up her own shoes. But it was a heap better than gettin switched.
Ceptin for visitin Pa on Saturday nights, the other thing I looked forward to was church on Sunday mornins. Mosly, Masta Harris didn’t want his slaves gatherin together, even if they was gatherin to worship the Lord. Masta Harris figured they was gonna make some kinda uprisin. I don’t know what he thought they was gonna rise up with, sticks and stones? But him and all the slaveholders was scared to death bout slave rebellions that took place further east. That’s why they organized the patrollers.
The patrollers—mos slaves called em patterollers—rode every night, lookin for slaves who was off their plantations without a pass signed by their Masta. When the patrollers caught one, they would give em a good whippin and bring em back to the farm they come from. Then, the Masta mos likely whipped em again. Still, some slaves, they had wives or chirrens livin on other farms and they would sneak off to be with em, whippin or no.
The house slaves was the ception to this rule. Masta and Mistriss and missy Ann couldn’t no way be without their personal slaves. Masta had ol Isaiah, who tended Masta wherever he went. And Mistriss Sarah, she pretty near couldn’t dress herself without Winnie. And missy Ann? Why she’d pitch a fit if I was left behind. So, when the family went to church, we all went with em. Course, we had to sit up in the gallery and not downstairs with the white folks, but we didn’t mind that none. Fact, we mosly didn’t wanna be round white folks no way.
Reverend Crutchfield preached long and hard on Sunday mornins, holdin up his Bible, dancin round like ants was bitin him all over his body. Us in the gallery, we didn’t git too rambunctious, didn’t sing too loud or nothin. Partly that was cause Reverend Crutchfield would preach to the slaves at the end of the service. He’d tell us that Jesus wanted us to always mind our Mastas and never steal nothin and never run away. He’d say if we do jus like Masta tells us, we gonna go up to some kinda slave heaven.
Natrally, we all wasn’t no way prayin to git into slave heaven. No, sir. We was prayin for a moses to lead us outta slavery. Far as we was concerned, Masta and all his like was little Pharaohs, holdin God’s peoples in bondage. Even to this day, I sometimes think the Good Lord has got Himself a mighty fine sense of humor. That’s cause our moses turned out to be a white man name of Abraham Lincoln.
But that there is another story than the one I’m after tellin, so I believes I’ll jus save it for another day. Meanwhiles, I got beans need snappin and a chicken I gotta pluck and a fire to make if my family’s gonna have dinner this evenin. Ophelia be comin back from work pretty soon, and she is one gal who appreciates havin her dinner on time.
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