Yellow Crocus: A Novel by Laila Ibrahim
When Mattie’s eyes adjusted to the dark she noticed carvings and dark brown images on the walls. They were covered in stick figures, stars, animals, and abstract patterns. Mattie’s eyes snaked over a particularly compeling pattern of five circles surrounding a center circle that bordered the entire room snaking up and down across the boards. The artist must have taken days to complete it. She moved in closer to examine the image. A slow, painful realization crept over Mattie: fingers and blood had made these patterns. Images of cut flesh and severed limbs filled her mind. Fear washed through her body.
Mattie sank down onto the ground, curled up her body, pressed her eyes hard into her knees, and struggled to breathe. She rocked back and forth, mumbling a quiet prayer, asking for strength and faith. Hours later her prayers and dreams were interrupted by the kick of a well-worn black boot.
“Stand up.”
The light of the moon came through the open door, throwing Jeb Martin into silhouette. He towered over her as she struggled to awareness. Before she managed to get herself up, he grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her up.
“Unbutton your dress.”
The acrid taste of fear filled Mattie’s mouth, a cold sweat sprang from her pores, and her heart pounded so loudly she could hear the swish, swish, swish of her own blood. She willed her arms to move, to do as the man staring at her asked, but they were frozen by her side.
“DO IT NOW!” he raged at her.
Large and imposing, his gaze bored into Mattie. She could not see, but rather felt the intensity of his stare. Reaching toward her neck with shaking hands, she clumsily unbound the buttons along her gown. An eternity passed getting each button to loosen from its noose. Jeb focused harder as she exposed more of her dark, shiny flesh in the moonlight. She heard the sounds of his deep breath and felt his exhalations on her clammy skin.
“Stop!” he yelled suddenly when she finished unbinding the button at her navel. “Turn around.”
She turned slowly. The instant Mattie faced the wall Jeb grabbed the neck of her gown and jerked it off her shoulders. Without a pause he quickly and proficiently lashed her three times, cutting into the skin at her shoulder blades. She cried out in pain. Tensing her shoulders in preparation for the next blows, frozen in fear in the dark room, she waited for what would come next. Her ears were filled with the frantic beating of her own heart so that no other sounds penetrated. The sweat ran down her back, stinging the freshly made cuts. She took in a shaky breath, steeling herself for his next attack.
Listening carefully for the sound of his breathing, she willed her heart to slow down to hear beyond it. She stood frozen. She dared a slight turn of her head. Nothing. She turned her head farther. Nothing. She turned around completely and saw that the room was empty She was alone. A gasp of relief rushed from her body. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall to steady herself. Sharp pain forced her to jerk away from the boards. Turning to face the wall, she pressed her forehead against the boards as tears of relief and pain fell from her eyes.
Jeb walked away from the hut feeling proud. Though he wanted that nigger as much as he wanted anything in his life, he had walked away. Mr. Anderson had made it quite clear that she was to go home with no more than a few whip marks and certainly not with a child. This nigger was not his to do with as he pleased. He had controlled himself; he had done his job well. He looked forward to telling his father about it at Sunday supper. But for now he was making his way to the slave shanties to get a field hand to deal with his erection.
Mattie wedged herself into a corner of the shanty and leaned into the walls. Her mind reeled. He had not even asked her a question. Reaching to her shoulder, she touched the moisture on her back with her finger. She examined the crimson drops shimmering on her skin before she wiped it on the wall in front of her. In the dark she could barely make out the mark, but she knew it had stained the board. She worked steadily to complete her undertaking before her blood stopped flowing. Dipping into her blood more than a dozen times, going over the marks again and again, she added her name to the wall of pain: M-A-T-T-I-E. She had found a use for her lettering after all.
The morning after Mattie’s return, a disoriented Lisbeth found herself in bed with Mattie deeply asleep next to her. Lisbeth gazed intently at the still form. Curled up on her left side, her head wrapped in a cotton scarf, Mattie’s cheek rested against her arm protruding from a white gown. Lisbeth laid her pale arm alongside Mattie’s dark one. The smooth skin on her young limb was in sharp contrast to the strong muscles, puckered scars, and rough calluses of Mattie’s arm. Lisbeth’s eyes followed the trail of Mattie’s arm up to the white material of her gown bunched up near the shoulder. Spots of dried blood, dark and round, peppered the light fabric. Lisbeth shuddered in fear and anger.
Lisbeth sighed and carefully slipped out of bed. She was accustomed to being woken up by Mattie after a fire had been lit, the warm wash water fetched, and her clothes prepared. But today she decided to take care of these duties for herself.
She passed through the door that led to the backstairs, an unusual passageway, to fetch warmed water from the kitchen. Despite the fear running through her body, she approached Cook, the imposing, stern woman who scared Lisbeth.
“May I have the wash water please?” Lisbeth requested.
Cook scowled silently at Lisbeth without making a move.
“Mattie is sleeping,” Lisbeth explained timidly. “I am fetching the water today.”
Cook gave a quick nod and brought Lisbeth a bucket filled with warm water. She patted Lisbeth’s hand after she passed over the bucket.
“May I have some salve too?”
After another silent nod, Cook found the salve. Tears glistened in her eyes as she handed Lisbeth a remedy of pokeweed and lard.
Lisbeth tiptoed quietly up the creaky stairs, but Mattie was already awake. A tired smile passed over her face when she saw the salve in Lisbeth’s hand. Mattie reached out to take it, but Lisbeth shook her head.
“Let me put it on.”
Mattie sat on the edge of her bed with her gown around her waist. Tenderly Lisbeth spread the soothing balm on Mattie’s wounds. With the index finger on her right hand Lisbeth slowly traced each mark from top to bottom across Mattie’s back: nine neat slices in all, three from each night she had been gone. Despite her care, Lisbeth broke open the scabs in some places. Bright red blood stood in contrast to the dark brown crust, pale finger, and coffee brown back. When all the wounds had been covered, Lisbeth had blood on her hands. As she stood to examine her work, she wiped it into the fabric of her dress.
Chapter 13
Mattie was still exhausted two weeks later. She went about her chores as best as she could, but she lagged behind on her duties. Cook, Emily, and the other household workers picked up the slack in the laundry and kitchen. They all knew better than to let Mrs. Gray find out Mattie was not taking care of her responsibilities. In the evenings Lisbeth prepared herself for bed and in the mornings she left Mattie to sleep while she fetched wash water, lit the fire, and dressed herself.
Days passed into weeks before it dawned on Mattie that her exhaustion was not from her ordeal. Her monthly bleeding hadn’t come for a while and her breasts were very tender. She was with child. It must have took during her last time with Emmanuel. She considered ending it. But then she realized: she wanted this child. Mattie wasn’t going to give up this new life. She was going to have this baby and then, in a few years, take it to join Samuel and Emmanuel.
She waited as long as possible to share her news. Lisbeth was the first person she told out loud. As they were preparing for bed, Mattie said, “Lisbeth, I got some news. You know how I been so tired, well, it ’cus I gonna have a baby.”
“A baby? You are too old!” Lisbeth laughed.
“Old?” Mattie exclaimed with feigned outrage. “Thirty ain’t so old to be havin’ a baby!”
“Do you think it will be a boy or a girl? Too bad Samuel will not get to meet the baby. I shall h
“Lisbeth honey, you know it don’ work that way.” Mattie shook her head. “Ain’t no one gonna let me stay in here with a baby of my own.”
“Where will you go? Will they sell you?” Lisbeth said, not hiding the distress in her voice.
“I ’magine they gonna send me back outside.”
Lisbeth cried; fat, warm tears slid down her face. She could not help herself though she wanted to stop. Feeling foolish, she did not look at Mattie, but gazed instead at her clenched hands. “What will I do? Who will be with me? Who will take care of me?” She looked up at Mattie, saw tears in her nurse’s eyes too, and cried harder.
“You gonna be fine, Lisbeth. You can come see me in the afternoons. Remember how I always have my momma’s love in my heart. Well, you gonna always have my love in your heart to guide you. You a good person, Lisbeth. You gonna be all right.”
The next morning Mattie told Mrs. Gray of her condition. By noon, Mrs. Gray had moved Mattie out to the Quarters and moved Skinny Emily into the room adjacent to Lisbeth’s.
At supper, Mother commented on Lisbeth’s puffy, red eyes. “Have you been crying, Elizabeth dear?” she inquired, genuinely concerned.
“No, Mother, I am fine, only tired, that is all,” Lisbeth replied politely.
In bed that night, Lisbeth sang herself to sleep.
Go to sleepy little baby
Go to sleepy little baby
Everybody’s gone in the cotton and the corn
Didn’t leave nobody but the baby
In the early evening, the time tucked between tea and supper, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Lisbeth snuck in visits to Mattie. Like so many aspects of plantation life, these visits were a widely known secret.
On one of these visits when Mattie’s swollen belly looked ripe as a watermelon ready to burst, Mattie asked Lisbeth for a favor. She was ready for this baby to come out, except for a name. She needed to have the name set or risk the overseer choosing a name of his liking.
“I got it down to a few,” Mattie explained, “but I want to know if the name I pick is gonna be good for the eye as well as for the ear. Can you put them down for me?”
Using the end of a burnt stick, Lisbeth scratched out “Matthew”, “Jeremiah”, “Jordan”, “Naomi”, and “Aurelia” into the hearth as Mattie recited each one.
“Those are all nice names, Mattie.”
“I like the look of that letter,” Mattie pointed. “What that one called?”
“That is a ‘J.’ This one says Jeremiah. This one is Jordan.”
Mattie declared, “That good. Jeremiah if it a boy. Jordan for a girl.”
On a clear, crisp November evening in 1847, after a day of hard labor, Jordan arrived into the world. She was born in Mattie and Poppy’s small cabin on the same pallet Mattie had birthed and suckled Samuel nearly eleven years before. Rebecca caught the infant, cut her cord, and passed her to her mother’s eager arms. Mattie’s heart opened wider, making room for yet another child to love.
Mattie rested in bed with her daughter cradled in her arms, spent but so satisfied. Jordan was latched to Mattie’s breast, mastering the skills of sucking and swallowing. Whenever the infant stopped for too long, Mattie tickled Jordan’s chin to keep her going. Mattie’s heart filled with joy as she took in the beauty of this new miracle. A fierce swelling of protection rose in Mattie.
Gazing down at her daughter, she spoke quietly and clearly, “I ain’t never gonna let ’em take me away from you. Never. I promise you, I ain’t goin’ nowhere without you and you ain’t goin’ nowhere but with me. When you are big enough, baby girl, we joinin’ your father and your brother. We gonna be free.”
Mrs. Gray came into the breakfast room the next morning with an announcement. “The newest addition to the Quarters was born last night.”
“Mattie had her baby?” Lisbeth exclaimed. “What name did she choose? Is it a boy or a girl?”
Turning a disdainful gaze to Lisbeth, Mrs. Gray responded laconically, “I do not know.”
Lisbeth returned her attention to her soft-boiled egg, hiding the sting of embarrassment and fury at Mrs. Gray’s attitude.
That afternoon Lisbeth ran eagerly to Mattie’s cabin but grew nervous when she got to the door. Standing in the fading sunlight, Lisbeth hesitated to knock. She thought babies slept a lot, and new mothers too. Maybe Mattie did not want her to visit. Then she heard the infant mewling and Mattie cooing. They were not asleep. Timidly she knocked.
Rebecca opened the door and welcomed Lisbeth warmly.
“You can go closer,” Rebecca directed when Lisbeth hung by the threshold. Slowly Lisbeth crossed the room, her eyes never straying from the tiny newborn. Mattie beamed at Lisbeth as the girl grinned in wonder at the small form in Mattie’s arms.
“Look at the little fingernails. They are so sweet.” Lisbeth pointed. “Is it a girl? Mother did not know.”
“Uh huh,” Mattie confirmed.
Lisbeth asked, “Did you pick Jordan for a name?”
Mattie nodded. “I really like the look of that one.”
“Hello, Jordan, I am Lisbeth. It is nice to meet you.”
“She glad to meet you too,” Mattie smiled. “You can touch her.”
Lisbeth gently felt the smooth skin on Jordan’s hand, and she carefully stroked each tiny nail. “She is so soft.”
“Uh huh. They got special cream in there that keep ’em so soft.”
“Look,” Lisbeth said. She showed Mattie the fabric clutched in her hand. “Mother said I may give this to you. It is my first quilt. I made it baby size. It is not so good, but Mother says I am getting better at my stitches.”
“Thank you, Lisbeth.” Mattie gave Lisbeth a careful hug with Jordan sandwiched between them, then she spread the quilt over the baby. “This gonna keep her nice and warm when it get cold out here. We gonna treasure this for always.” Mattie continued, “What fine stitches you made. This some corn?”
“Yes! I wanted you to be able to tell. Mother thought the stitches were too sloppy. It is from the song. You know, Everybody’s gone in the cotton and the corn,” Lisbeth sang. Showing off other parts of the quilt, she pointed out, “Here is the cotton. And over here is a shoe. I could not make it red, though.”
Mattie hummed the familiar lullaby.
Go to sleepy little baby
Go to sleepy little baby
Lisbeth joined in with the words…
Your momma’s gone away and your daddy’s gone to stay
Didn’t leave nobody but the baby
followed by Rebecca…
Go to sleepy little baby
Go to sleepy little baby
Everybody’s gone in the cotton and the corn
Didn’t leave nobody but the baby
The three of them gathered around the new baby, singing loud and clear to welcome her to their world.
You’re a sweet little baby
You’re a sweet little baby
Honey in the rock and the sugar don’t stop
Gonna bring a bottle to the baby
Don’t you weep pretty baby
Don’t you weep pretty baby
She’s long gone with the red shoes on
Gonna meet another lovin baby
Go to sleepy little baby
Go to sleepy little baby
You and me and the devil makes three
Don’t need no other lovin baby
Go to sleepy little baby
Go to sleepy little baby
Come and lay your bones on the alabaster stones
And be my ever lovin bab
Standing around this new life, singing with Mattie and Rebecca, Lisbeth felt as if she belonged.
Throughout the winter and into spring Lisbeth slipped away to visit Mattie and Jordan many times a week. Instead of reading under the willow tree she headed down to the edge of the fields in the afternoons. There she often found Grandma Washington tending to Jordan while Mattie worked the fie
Grandma Washington had been born on an unknown date at Fair Oaks before the turn of the century. Although all the slaves called her Grandma Washington, she was not an actual grandmother. None of the babies that had come from her body had lived long enough to bear children of their own. The three children she had carried, Marie, Bernadette, and William, had been dead for decades. Marie died before she even took her first breath. Sweet, silly Bernadette succumbed to the high fever just before her fourth birthday. Her last child, headstrong William, died from a broken heart. When he was sixteen his love, Rachel, was sold to a nearby plantation. They ran away together with grand plans for a better life far away, but they did not get far. Their bodies were recovered downriver four days after they left.
Perched on Grandma Washington’s lap, Jordan broke out in a grin and reached her arms out eagerly as soon as Lisbeth arrived. Lisbeth beamed back at the baby. Spending time with Jordan, caring for this little girl, was the best part of Lisbeth’s life.
The old woman watched as the young woman held the baby close. Jordan’s small hand patted Lisbeth’s back.
“I declare. I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that,” the old woman said with a shake of her gray-haired head. “A white girl huggin’ on and carin’ for a negro baby.”
Chapter 14