I read it two times—Charlotte, my mauma, her age, what she did, what she sells for—and I felt the pride of a confused girl, pride mauma was worth so much, more than Aunt-Sister.
Binah, 41 yrs. Nursery Servant . . . 425.
Cindie, 45 yrs. Lady’s Maid . . . 400.
Sabe, 29 yrs. Coachman, House Servant . . . 600.
Eli, 50 yrs. House Servant . . . 550.
Mariah, 34 yrs. Plain Washer, Ironer, Clear Starcher . . . 400.
Lucy, 20 yrs. Lady’s Maid . . . 400.
Hetty, 16 yrs. Lady’s Maid, Seamstress . . . 500.
My breath hung high in my chest. Five hundred dollars! I ran my finger over the figure, over the dregs of dried ink. I marveled how they’d left off apprentice, how it said seamstress full and clear, how I was worth more than every female slave they had, beside mauma. Five hundred dollars. I was good on figures and I added me and mauma together. We were a thousand fifty dollars’ worth of slaves. I was blinkered like a horse and I smiled like this made us somebody and read on to see what the rest were valued.
Phoebe, 17 yrs. Kitchen Servant . . . 400.
Prince, 26 yrs. Yard Servant . . . 500.
Goodis, 21 yrs. Footman, Stable Mucker, Yard Servant. . . 500.
Rosetta, 73 yrs. Useless . . . 1.
I put the book back, then went out and told mauma what I found out. A thousand fifty dollars. She sank on the bottom step of the stairs and held on to the bannister. She said, “How I gon raise all that much money?”
It would take ten years to come up with that much. “I don’t know,” I told her. “Some things can’t be done—that’s all.”
She got up and headed for the basement, talking with her back to me. “Don’t be telling me—can’t be done. That’s some god damney white talk, that’s what that is.”
I lugged myself up the stairs and went straight for the alcove. Next to the tree out back, this was my chosen spot, up here where I could see the water. With the house empty, I was the only one upstairs, and I stayed by the window till all the light bled from the sky and the water turned black. Cross the water, cross the sea, let them fishes carry me. The songs I used to sing back when I first belonged to Miss Sarah still came to me, but I didn’t feel like the water would take me much of anywhere.
I said under my breath, Five hundred dollars.
Goods and chattel. The words from the leather book came into my head. We were like the gold leaf mirror and the horse saddle. Not full-fledge people. I didn’t believe this, never had believed it a day of my life, but if you listen to white folks long enough, some sad, beat-down part of you starts to wonder.O All that pride about what we were worth left me then. For the first time, I felt the hurt and shame of just being who I was.
After a while, I went down to the cellar. When mauma saw my raw eyes, she said, “Ain’t nobody can write down in a book what you worth.”
Sarah
Our caravan of two carriages, two wagons, and seventeen people returned to Charleston in May on the high crest of spring. Rains had left the city rinsed and clean, scented with newly flowering myrtle, privet, and Chinese tallow. The bougainvillea had advanced en masse over garden gates, and the sky was bright and creamed with thin, swirling clouds. I felt exultant to be back.
As we lumbered through the back gate into an empty work yard, Tomfry hurried from the kitchen house at an old man’s trot, calling, “Massa, you back early.” He had a napkin stuffed at his collar and looked anxious, as if we’d caught him in the dilatory act of eating.
“Only by a day,” Father said, climbing from the Barouche. “You should let the others know we’re here.”