Horrible Harvest

Harvest flow was when the genius of Daddy showed itself as plainly as any piano piece by Mozart. He leaned in to unique creativity and insane attention to detail. The field was flooded to a depth of six to ten inches, careful not to rise above the first rachis of the plant. Daddy had invented his own irrigation system that allowed him to change the water on the fields daily by harnessing the ebb and surge of the tidal river at our backdoor. If he could have loved his family with near the devotion he give to the paddies, he would’ve been declared a saint by his sons and adored by his wife.

From July through August, me and my brothers kept watch over the field and worked together to make sure Daddy’s preferred water level was maintained. We’d all been trained on how to drain and flood as needed, and it was a process that was about as easy as hopping on one leg while juggling an egg, a knife, and a powder keg at the same time. The worrisome nature of the task was as tiring as any of the backbreaking labor it took to grow rice.

It was smack dab in the middle of harvest flow, when Mr. Miller’s advance man appeared at the edge of the woods, escorting a carriage built for royalty. A black man, dressed in all yellow, except fer his white knee stockings, held the reins and guided the two blistering white horses along the narrow path that led to our small house. To his right, a younger black man. Dressed in a wool jacket, bowler, and crisply pressed britches.

In the back was a white man adorned with a cream-colored hat on top of a carefully pared bundle of salt and pepper hair. From the distance I held, I could see that his burgundy coat and accompanying outfit was well-fitted. A woman of peculiar beauty sat next to him holding a heavily fringed blue umbrella and wearing a dress to match. The small hat she wore atop her blonde stacked hair served no purpose that I could imagine. Next to the woman was a child, a boy, close to my age by the looks of him. He dressed same as the man. From hat to shoes. If not for the tuffs of curly blond hair snaking out past the brim of his hat, he’d been a miniature copy of the man.

Across from them. Seated on the rear facing bench. Three girls. The oldest twelve. Pregnant. The youngest eight. A recent purchase. Bright white dresses all. Their tiny hands grasped sweetgrass fans. Their task for the day. Recondition the fire-ugly Lowcountry air. Save their masters and mistress from the boiling humidity. Braving the same hell without relief.

The carriage continued towards the house while Mr. Miller’s advance man turned his spotted horse in our direction and quickened its pace.

“Your Daddy about?”

Douglas peered up at the big man with a scowl on his face. “Who wants to know?”

The advance man returned the scowl with a grin. “You there. The small one.” He said this while staring at Douglas, so we wasn’t exactly sure who he was addressing at first. There was a pause as Charles and I shared a glance.

“I asked you a question, mister,” Douglas said.

The advance man turned his gaze to me. “Your name, boy.”

“Augustus, sir.”

“Augustus, is your Daddy about?”

“Don’t answer him, Augustus,” Douglas growled.

“He’s in the barn, sir,” I said, giving not a single solitary consideration to Douglas’s commands.

The advance man turned his horse toward the house. “Run tell him his new neighbors are here. Mr. and Mrs. Miller and their boy.”

“No, sir,” Douglas said. “My little brother won’t do no such thing until you tell me your name.”

I ran to the barn as if Douglas hadn’t objected.

“Goddamn it, Augustus.”

I kicked up slush, mud, and water all the way to the barn and poked my head inside, nearing a state of nary a speck of oxygen in my lungs. “Daddy.” Drawing a breath. “Mr. Miller.” Drawing in another breath. “He’s here.”

Daddy was hammering out a piece to replace a worn-out gear in his irrigation system. “Wha-choo say, boy?”

“Mr. Miller. He and his missus, they’ve come calling.”

Daddy looked startled and intrigued all at once. He dropped the hammer and toothy metal piece he was working on and ran to the door of the barn. “Lord above. What’re they doing here?”

“His advance man didn’t say.”

“Would you look at that carriage. Cost more than half this farm.”

Daddy started beating the dirt from his clothes and kicking the mud from his boots. “Gather up your brothers. We’re all to pay our respects to Mr. Miller. You hear me? Be on your best. Tell your brothers the same. Any one of you get out of line, you’ll be fertilizer by sundown.”

“Yes, sir.” I stopped just before exiting the barn. “There’s a boy with them.” I don’t know why I felt need to tell him about the boy. In my mind, it felt as though Daddy was entitled to know that a strange child was on his property. He didn’t care for the company of his own children. S’pose I felt as though he should prepare himself before meeting up with one he didn’t know. 

“Fine. That’s just fine. You and Charles will make friends with him. Keep Douglas away from him. He’s not to mix-malley things about for me with his bullheadedness. He’s to keep his mouth shut, and his hands in his pockets. You tell him exactly that. You tell him Daddy won’t have it any other way. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, sounding a tad amused. I’d never seen Daddy outright nervous before. It was as if he was about to meet a king and his queen.

I give Douglas Daddy’s message, and he responded by slapping me on the back of my head and telling me to mind my business, and that he’d do whatever the hell he wanted. Daddy’s threats only worked when they shot out of Daddy’s mouth. Bouncing off the tongue of young’un like me didn’t carry no scare to it.

We waited for Daddy on the edge of the paddy nearest the house and watched Momma step off the porch and greet the footman. He said something to her in return and then turned to help the Miller’s deboard the carriage. The other black fella stood straight-backed next to the horses. Mr Stockton remained on his mount.

Daddy fast-walked it past us, and we all took notice that he hadn’t so much removed the dirt from his hands and face as he’d polished it. He had a sheen of spit on every inch of exposed skin.

Cameron Miller stood up from the bench and stepped to the ground. He brushed dust from his jacket and took the hand of Mistress Miller, helping her find purchase on the uneven grass below. The boy followed. Unassisted. He looked both near dead-bored and dog tired.

Daddy reached Momma and awkwardly put his arm around her shoulder. She twitched at his touch and placed her hand over chest to push back the beat of her startled heart. Me and my brothers lined up next to Daddy.

Mr. Miller stepped forward, held out his arms wide and give a small bow. “The Tennysons. Our neighbors. Our friends. We greet thee with the warmest of regards, and greatest of gratitude for allowing us to visit this, your fine, humble estate.” He give his chin a tilt downward.

The whole lot of we Tennysons was confused all to hell by his dramatics.

He peered up. “Too much?”

“Yes, dear. Far too much. Pay no attention to my husband, Mr. and Mrs. Tennyson. He worries so much about first impressions that he delivers them like a bad actor rattling off lines from a poorly written play.” She extended her hand. “It is lovely to meet you. I am Isabelle Miller. The bad actor’s wife. He is Cameron, and our handsome young companion is Kenneth Miller. Heir to my husband’s startling good looks, and my deep sense of propriety.”

A snort of laughter come from Daddy. “That was a fine introduction. We enjoyed the show. Didn’t we, Grace?”

Momma was a bundle of unease, but she held it together and accepted Mrs. Miller’s hand. “Very much. Grace. My husband Horace. The boys. Step forward, boys. Augustus.”

I found my footing forward and give a nod. “Missus.”

“Charles.”

A nod. “Ma’am.”

“Douglas.”

“You always travel with this many slaves?”

“Douglas.” Daddy give him a whack to the back of the head. “Sorry for my boy. He ain’t altogether right.”

“No. It’s a reasonable question.” Mr. Miller approached. Hat now in hand. “We do not. This heat. It is something special. I’m afraid we haven’t become acclimated to it yet. So, we needed a team of attendants to swat away the sizzle of the day, and the strapping buck in the dark jacket, he’s extra cargo for a whole other matter. One I should like to discuss with your father.”

“Matter?”

“Indeed. I must confess that this is not just a social visit.”

Mrs. Miller lay a gentle hand on her husband’s lapel. “But it is our primary interest on this day.”

He covered her silken hand with his. “Of course, my love.”

The advance man remained atop his horse. He seemed to be extra duty bound. Like he was fixed to anticipating dangers and opportunities before they was observed as such by others. Hence his title.

Momma was all the way unnerved by his calloused glare. “Your man. Will he dismount and join us?”

The hard stare of the advance man turnt towards the farmer’s wife.

“His name is Stockton, my dear Mrs. Tennyson. My aide for many years now. He’s been with me for so long I often forget he is there. And yes, with your permission he will be joining us. He sees and hears what I cannot.”

Momma give a grin. “I would think that would be a duty for Mrs. Miller.”

A haze of silence come before Mr. Miller let loose a laugh. “She says and does the things I frequently forget to say and do. After all, at the end of the day, I am still a man geared toward bad manners and tomfoolery. No amount of treasure can leak from me all my bad habits.”

Momma holds to her grin. “And your attendants. They are in need of sundries and shelter while we visit. They are welcome inside. We’ve not much room, but we’ll make do.”

The first of us, Douglas, come undone by the suggestion slaves had been invited inside his home. “They ain’t welcome nowheres near inside.”

“Boy.” Daddy cut him to pieces with the tone of his voice. What was said without being said – A beating is in the offing. Even though Daddy is in agreement with his son.

“No. No. No reason for scolding. I’ve need for only the young buck to accompany me. He holds relevance to the business I wish to discuss. Ferguson and the girls will take shelter in the barn. If that is amenable to you, of course, Mr. Tennyson. They will make use of themselves while there. Ferguson is a fine farrier. He can tend to those two stout draft horses I noticed near the pigpen out back.

Daddy give the matter thought. He didn’t need to owe no rich man a favor. “They can take up in the barn. Horses was shoed not long back. They’re in fine condition.”

“Even so. It wouldn’t hurt to look. Ferguson, you’ll make an assessment. Service the horses if needed.”

“Yes, sir.” The footman climbed back on the bench, give a click of the tongue, a tug of the reins. Then come the clatter of the wheels. Dust and dirt gathered in the carriage’s wake.

“Tate. Boy. Step forward.”

The man referred to as a boy lumbered forward. He was lean where the advance man was broad, but he matched him in size otherwise.

“Tennyson family, I present to you Fable Jack Tatum. A gift. From Kenneth to you. Son, step forward. Make your presentation. Back straight. Chin up.”

The boy referred to as son rambled forward and chewed up some air before beginning a recitation he’d committed to memory. “My dear. Tennysons. Mr., and Mrs. Tennyson. I wish. I am for you. I have for you this gift of. This gift of. From my heart. The bottom of my heart. I am happy. Excited to be the. To have the opportunity to be your neighbor, and I wish the warmest of regards for you and your boys. Your sons. All of whom I hope to call my friends.” He stepped back and stopped mid-turn. “Oh, and I have named him Fable Jack Tatum, but he is known to all as just Tate. He is diligent in his duties. He is smart in his manner, and he is quiet in his obedience. Thank you.”

Silence.

I could hear Momma’s belly turn. “I am confused.”

Daddy’s mind launched toward a muddled state. “You gifted us a slave?”

“We did. Or rather, Kenneth did. Tate is his attendant. Was his attendant.”

Kenneth’s cheeks glowed red.

Momma’s belly done another flip. “I don’t understand.”

“We’ve overstepped. I told you it was too grand a gesture, Cameron. Mrs. Tennyson, please accept our apologies.”

“No. There ain’t a need fer no apologies. Grace just ain’t never had experience with such things. I mean outside what we lease from Judge Gadsden come harvest time.”

Momma’s legs wobbled at the knees. “What are we to do with him?”

A laugh. “He’s well trained in all manner of work, Mrs. Tennyson. He’s worked the fields. Kitchen. Stables. He’s even assisted me with a business deal or two. The boy knows his numbers. He’s a wiz at arithmetic. He’s even helped Kenneth with his studies.”

“How’d he go and learn a thing like that?”

“Leased him to a sailing vessel in Mobile years ago. Sailed around the cape and back a dozen times. He did. More maybe. Captain gave him lessons in numbers and various other things to pass the time. It stuck with him. He can recite poems and equations. Some may say he knows too much about such things, but I can’t unteach what he’s been taught.”

“I am sure we cannot accept such a gift.”

Daddy’s ears give off heat he was so mad Momma had spoken out of turn. “You’ll have to excuse my wife. It is a thoughtful gift, and I will decide if we accept it or not.”

“Would it make you feel better, Mrs. Tennyson, if I clarified one point. Tate is not a permanent gift.”

Daddy’s confusion turned to disappointment.

Relief. “No?”

“No. I’m sorry to have misled you. May we enter the house? I have so much I’d like to discuss with you and your husband. Mr. Tennyson, would that be alright with you? I do hate to invite myself inside, but I feel I’ve sidetracked your hospitality with our grandstanding.”

Daddy groaned. He’d failed to offer up regards to the rich man. This’ll cost him. In whatever business is to be discussed, this’ll cost him. “Where is my head? I was just plain thrown by the handsome presentation of your family. I have forgotten my manners. Please.” He scurried like a squirrel up the steps and pushed the door open. “You’re in luck Mrs. Tennyson has baked her best today.”

Me and my brothers stepped inside the house. The Millers passed through next. Kenneth and me give one another a glance. It amounted to an invisible smile between us. I ain’t never known a child my age. Not on a name-knowing basis. I’d seen plenty. In passing. At the market in Charleston – The fishmonger’s son, the haberdasher’s daughter, the beggar’s boy. Never a word spoke between us. Never offered so much as a grin in one another’s direction. We all just shared silent phantoms of misery. It was the closest I was to anyone outside my own family to that point.