Chapter 10: Carpentry

1852

When Massa Swithin fell sick, Young Massa Billy was away at school, the beginning of his last year. He was called home, and he got there two days before his daddy died.

Young Massa had the funeral in the big house. Later, Sally stood in the crowd of slaves in back of the guests while they lowered Massa into the ground. Later yet, she helped serve supper to the guests.

She was in the cookhouse washing dishes when Old Tom came for her.

“Massa wants you in the big house,” he said.

At first, she thought he had seen a ghost. “Oh, you mean Young Massa.”

“He the only massa we got, now.”

He might be the massa now, but he was still in his old room.

“Old Tom said you wanted me, Massa.”

“Oh. I do,” he said. “Help me off with my clothes.” That wasn’t her job, but if he was the massa, he decided what her job was. Besides, it was cooler than washing dishes on a hot day.

Massa had promised her to him when he graduated. “You’re going to belong to him someday, Sally,” Massa had said. “You all will. It’s only right that you belong to him that way sooner.”

Sometimes, young massa teased himself with her. Maybe that was what he was doing now

She had often cleaned his room, putting his washed clothes away. She had never hung up his coat, but she knew where it went in the wardrobe. She hung up his shirt, too. When she turned around, he was sitting down. She knew how boots were removed, though she had never done it.

He straightened one leg, and she straddled it, facing away from him. She pushed the boot off while he pushed against her ass with the other boot. When she repeated the process, his bare foot felt softer against her ass. but somehow it was disturbing.

With his boots and stockings off, he stood up. She had a little trouble with his belt, but he only smiled.

As she unbuttoned his trousers, she felt him hard against her fingers. When the trousers opened, his cock sprang out. She knew what that meant.

“Massa said when you finish school.”

“I’m massa now. I say tonight. I say shuck down.” He was Massa now. He said it; Old Tom said it; even Massa had said it, though he’d said “someday.”

She pulled the dress over her head; she was moving slowly but young massa didn’t object. His hands were all over her, her teats, her ass. He held her between her legs, and she had to move her foot to make enough room for his hand.

“Now get on the bed,” he said.

She lay down. He knelt on the bed beside her, pulled up her knees, and pushed them apart. He lay down on top of her, turning a little on his side so his hand could go between them. He fumbled with her down there and then parted those lips. She could feel him between them and then pressure there.

“It hurts, Massa,” she said.

“Always hurts the first time.” But he eased off.

Then he rammed into her, and she screamed in pain. He went deep inside her.

Before the pain eased much, he was moving in and out of her. The motions hurt less than the first one, but they still hurt. Soon, if not soon enough, he grunted, shoved into her, and then stopped moving. She felt him twitch down there. He fell on her, and he was heavy.

“Haven’t you forgotten something?” he asked when he finally moved to her side.

“Thank you, Massa.”

“You sleep on the floor. Tomorrow, they’ll move a pallet in here.”

The floor was no harder than where she usually slept, and it was probably cooler than the feather bed. The house staff moved the pallet into the master bedroom, instead. The next night, he had her there, and it only hurt a little.

When she bled, she returned to her cabin, but he had her come back when she dried out. That time, it didn’t hurt at all.

She kept returning to his bed.

Afterwards, and sometimes before, he began to talk to her. She didn’t have to answer.; she didn’t even have to understand.

At first, he had grudges against several people he called Mister, maybe former teachers. As time went on, he talked more about the plantation. The place grew tobacco, but it got more money from selling slaves. The tobacco grew in a year, but the slaves took time. A bad season of sickness could slash profits for years to come. Massa talked about his worries to her just like he would to a dog, but she understood more about the place than he thought she did.

During her later monthlies, Massa would break in a younger girl while she was gone. After he was done, the girls were put into the regular breeding program. He talked about them, too.

“That Tillie wench is not like you. Has almost no teats at all.” He grabbed her to show what he preferred.

“Tillie is awfully young, Massa.”

“You think she’ll grow out?” He went from grabbing her teat to grabbing her between the legs. Then he rolled over on her and used her.

She hadn’t meant that Tillie would grow out, although she probably would, she thought when she was back on the pallet. She had meant that Tillie was awfully young to be breeding. Old Massa had scheduled Sally to start a couple of months from now -- she was no longer certain when graduation was. Tillie must have been two years younger than she was.

The weather grew cold, and then they had Christmas. After a while, the weather grew warmer again.

The prices for slaves rose, and Massa told her. He sold many, and he told her of the prices.

She kept count of the weeks. After she had shared Massa’s room for three weeks, she was careful so she didn’t get any blood on his sheets, though she sometimes got blood on her pallet.

She expected blood one Tuesday, but it didn’t come. By the fifth week, she decided that it wouldn’t come this time. Massa didn’t say anything about her always being available to him, and she decided to keep counting the weeks until he did.

Anyway, she knew that Doris was the next girl to take her place in his bed, and Doris had only started bleeding after Massa had busted Sally.

With money at hand, Massa was talking about a trip down the Mississippi river. To get there from Virginia, we would have to go into the free state of Pennsylvania.

“You wouldn’t try to run away, would you?” he asked.

“No, Massa. I’m happy with you.” Actually, she couldn’t imagine running away. She was a house slave and, more recently, a bed slave. What would she do as a free woman?

She had never been out of the county, never even to the county seat. When a buck was stopped by the slave patrol, he had to show them a valid pass. They might take more from a pretty wench than that.

Now, Massa took her overland into another state, Maryland. They got to what he said was the Youghiogheny River, and got on a riverboat. She shared his cabin, and he treated her as he always had.

She had counted seventeen weeks when he asked, “Are you going to serve me all this trip? When is your monthly due?”

“I missed the last few, Massa. I think I might be carrying.”

“Why, that’s fine. Do you think it will be a girl?”

You told Massa what he wanted to hear. She couldn’t guess, but she would assure him it would be what he wanted. Did not men want sons, though? Old Massa had been proud of him, and there was little enough there to be proud about. “Do you want a girl, Massa?”

“Hell, yes. you’re right pretty, but you’re dark. A mulatto girl as pretty as you could fetch any price.”

“I think it will be a girl, Massa,” she said, but she had decided that it wouldn’t be a girl he could sell. He didn’t think of the child she would bear as his child; he thought of her as his property.

She couldn’t swim, and even if she could, a search for a dripping-wet girl would be likely to succeed. The next place the boat docked was Pittsburgh. Massa got a room, and he locked her in it while he went to ask about the next boat. A woman unlocked the door.

She said, “Saints preserve us. You gave me a fright. I’m here to clean.”

“Go right ahead.” Sally walked until she got out of the hotel. Everyone within sight was white, and they were all dressed differently from her. She turned left, walked to the end of the block, and turned left again. She walked until she saw a dark face.

“I am a slave, and I’m running away,” she said. “Where do I go?”

“Come here.” The man led her into what she would later learn to call an alley, and carefully set down the crate he was carrying. “The first thing to learn is that you never tell anyone that, no matter what his color. Now, you go down that street the way you were going. At the next corner, turn right until you get to ... can you read?”

“No.” She didn’t know any Negro who could, didn’t know that any Negro could. This man, however, seemed to think that some could.

“Shit! Well, turn right at that corner, and walk south. You do know your directions?”

“I do at home,” she said. All these paved streets were confusing.

“Same way you do at home. Keep the sun at your right shoulder. You’ll get to a river, the Monongahela. Before you get to the dock, turn left. Remember the name Ebenezer church. It’s safe to ask any colored man in that neighborhood how you get to Ebenezer Church. It has a sign on the building, but that doesn’t help you. When you get to the church, go to the back door and knock. I know what I told you, but tell the person who answers the door that you are an escaped slave. Do what he tells you.”

She followed his directions, except that it was a woman who answered the door. She led her inside and fed her some meat. It was Sally’s first meal without pone.

All the members of the church were Negroes, and they were all eager to help her. They gave her some clothes which would be less obvious in the city, also some shoes. All of it was used, but that would make hiding easier. She never saw the man who had given her directions again. He didn’t come to services at Ebenezer.

The preacher told her that it was too dangerous for her to go to work as a maid. Rose Wilson, a woman who belonged to the church worked washing clothes, and she hired Sally to help. She slept in a room in the basement which looked like a locked cabinet from outside.

She attended services and made friends with some of the others who did. One of these was Jeff Ralston, a journeyman carpenter and second-generation Pittsburgher. He didn’t work Sundays, and he sometimes took her walking in good weather. They sat in the back of the otherwise-empty church in bad weather. He told her about his life, and -- after a while -- she told him about hers.

Then one of the members brought a newspaper to service. It had an advertisement describing her. That wasn’t too bad, as “pretty” was a matter of opinion. So, for that matter, was “dark.”; there were women in the congregation darker than she was. But it also said, “May be pregnant.” By this time she was showing, and while there were many women with child in Pittsburgh, there were only a few dark, pretty negresses with a coming baby and no obvious husband.

“She must be Mrs. Somebody,” said Mrs. Wilson, “and away from here.”

“I live more than a mile east of here,” Jeff Ralston said. “She could be my wife.”

The preacher thought this was a good idea. Sally went along with it. The preacher would give them a marriage certificate dated 1851 instead of 1853.

“And what name should be on the certificate?” he asked. “Anything will do except Sally.”

“Do you want to be Victoria?” Jeff asked. “I have always liked that name.”

So Jeffery Ralston and Victoria Ross were married the next afternoon in Ebenezer Church. Very few attended because most of the congregation worked Mondays.

Jeff’s house surprised her. For one thing, it was on a hillside. You had to walk upstairs from the street to the front door. Then, it was a two-story house in front. There was a parlor built into the ground in back and above it in front. The second floor had a kitchen and a bedroom in the back which were on the level of the ground. It had two bedrooms over the parlor.

He cooked them supper after they got there. She washed the dishes and he dried. There didn’t seem to be anything to say or anything to do.

“Look,” Jeff said. “I sort of cheated you into this, I have been admiring you for some time, and then the advertisement came along, and what I had wanted looked like a solution. If all you want is my name, that is fair, and you will have it as long as you need it. What I would like is for us to be married in every sense of the word.”

“I would like that, too,” she said without really knowing what he meant. She had visited other plantations where the owner was married, and many people in the Ebenezer congregation were married, but she had no clear idea what that meant. On the plantation, bucks could fuck wenches unless Massa said that they couldn’t. Mostly, they should because that was how Massa got more slaves to sell.

He led her into the bedroom, and they undressed separately. He had said that they would sleep in the same bed, and there was only one bed there. She got into it. She saw his cock jutting out, and that confirmed her suspicion that their conversation had been about fucking. Well, he had already done more for her than Massa ever had; by drying the dishes, he had done more for her than Massa ever had.

“May I call you Vickie? We probably shouldn’t use the name ‘Sally’ even in private.” Jeff could see her indecision, but he couldn’t imagine the reason. He had asked her to let him make love to her, and she was hesitant. Well, he had at least one chance, and he would use it to overcome her uncertainty.

“That would be fine.” She didn’t want to be Sally if Sally might be found. She really wanted to leave all that had been Sally behind.

Jeff got into bed and covered them both to the waist. If Vickie / Sally was nervous, looking at his erection wouldn’t appease that nervousness. He leaned over and kissed her gently; then, he licked her lips. He kissed all over her face and then kissed down to her marvelous breasts. As he stroked down her body, he felt the rise of her belly. He left her breast for a minute to kiss hello to the child within the belly.

Sally, who had just received the first kisses since her mother had died, recognized the gesture for what it was. Massa wanted to sell her daughter; Jeff wanted to kiss her. The position prevented it, but she wanted to hug Jeff.

Jeff, unaware of the conquest he had made, kissed a line down the mound of the belly and up the underside of Vickie’s breast. He stroked down the other side of the mound until he reached the hair at her groin. She spread her legs, and he stroked those folds and parted them.

Jeff licked Vickie’s nipple at almost the same time that he lightly fingered the button at the top of her slit. Vickie moaned and stiffened.

At one end, he licked and sucked her nipple; at the other, he stroked her moisture -- quite copious moisture -- up to her button. Vickie seemed to take a long time coming to a climax, but she shook and moaned when she reached it.

“Darling,” he said. He desperately wanted to be in her; he had been suppressing his desire for what felt like hours. The baby seemed in the way. If they lay on their sides, his weight wouldn’t crush the baby. He tugged her to her side and lifted her leg.

Something had happened to Vickie which had never happened to Sally. She couldn’t name it. but she would be happy to feel it again. Now Jeff was moving her. She couldn’t understand what he wanted; so she merely stayed where he put her. Then, he entered her smoothly. Fucking had never been this easy, and she felt the excitement she had first experienced from his mouth and fingers begin again. Then, he throbbed inside her, and she felt him relax to her side. His weight was on her leg, but not on her.

“I love you,” Jeff said. Vickie Those words were something else she remembered from her mother and not since. It came with caring for her, and he certainly had.

Jeff expected someone to answer those words with the same ones, especially right after making love. He supposed that he should appreciate her honesty, but the emotion he felt was disappointment. Vickie had reached a climax, but she hadn’t reached one while he was inside her. Did she expect that?

They had had a long and stressful day, and each had reached an orgasm. They soon fell asleep.

Vickie, who had never before actually slept in a feather bed and who had a fetus pressing against her bladder, woke first. She dressed and found the outhouse. The kitchen was strange to her, but she investigated. She had the fire lit and the pone ready to cook when Jeff woke.

“Good morning, Vickie,” he said on his way out the back door, “I love you.”

Vicki expected him to crash to the ground. Then, she thought that he had to know what he was doing; this was his house. She opened the door and looked out. Although there were several steps up to the front porch downstairs, the kitchen door opened inward at ground level. She went back to cook the pone.

Jeff felt that having the wife cook breakfast the first morning of a new marriage was appropriate. He might be disappointed that it was simply pone, but he wasn’t going to express disappointment to this beautiful woman.

By the time he fixed the lunch he took to work, he was running late. He looked in dismay around the kitchen.

“I’m leaving a mess; Can you clean it up?”

“Of course,” Vickie said.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

That was a strange answer, but Jeff didn’t have time to deal with it. He couldn’t be late on the job after taking the previous half day off to get married.

He was, although only by a few minutes. The boss only made a point of taking his watch out of his pocket and looking at it, but the other carpenters had fun with suggesting what activities the night before had made him sleep late.

Vickie cleaned the dishes and the pan she had used to cook. Then, she gave the kitchen a thorough cleaning. She wasn’t sure whether Jeff had meant the kitchen or the house; so she started on the rest of the house. Two of the rooms upstairs were empty except for a wardrobe in each. One of those wardrobes was also empty, the other contained warm outer wear. She only swept and dusted those, and they certainly had needed the sweeping.

The bedroom wardrobe contained everything that Jeff had worn the previous day and some other clothes, too. She wondered whether she should wash these, but she hadn’t seen a wash tub in the kitchen.

As it grew dark, she thought about when she should start supper. Jeff surprised her by coming home before it was full dark.

“I didn’t know you would be home so soon,” she said. “I will start supper.”

That’s all right. I cooked for myself, after all.” Jeff came into the kitchen to watch his wife cook. She started mixing corn meal for pone. “What can you cook?”

She listed dishes of which he had barely heard. “But I only helped when there were guests in the big house. I cleaned rooms usually.”

“So you cooked for the big house, and you fixed pone for yourself. Is that what you had for lunch?” She looked puzzled. “What did you eat for dinner today?”

“I didn’t take anything?” she said.

Well, no. You couldn’t take anything. Do you remember yesterday afternoon?” She nodded. “Well, one of the things that we said was that this is your house and the food in it is yours. Now, we are in charge of different things, and I would be quite angry if you sold my tools. But the food and the kitchen are your domain -- you are especially in charge of those.”

“I am?” Sally had never been in charge of anything since she had been taken away from her younger brother.

“You are. Now, we have to talk about the meals I expect from you, but I certainly expect that you feed yourself. Even if you don’t care, you have to keep the baby fed.”

At that reminder that Jeff cared about her daughter, Vickie walked around the kitchen table and hugged him from in back. Jeff, liking the response even if he didn’t understand it, hugged the arms that hugged him.

“Now,” he said when they had broken the hugs. “Let’s see what you can cook by yourself. Let me get pencil and paper.”

He made a list of what she thought she could cook and what ingredients that took. They -- really, he -- decided on fried ham, pone, and spinach for supper. He went out to pick the spinach, and they had a late supper by lantern light.

After supper, they laid out menus for the next few days, suppers, a standard menu for breakfast, lunches for him to carry, and the same for her to eat at home. To prepare more, she would need more food. They would go grocery shopping the next evening.

After they went to bed, she asked, “Are you going to fuck me tonight?”

“We didn’t fuck last night. I made love to you.”

“Oh! Is that why it felt so different?”