Providence

It’s hard to find peace at the end of the day, staring down a sunset that, unlike most days, was a bright pink rather than a pale, waning yellow. But today, as I watched the sun drop below the horizon, I knew that nothing was going to be the same.

The day started off the same as most do, before sunrise, arising to an aching back, sore arms and scabbing wounds on my hands.  I tended my very small plot of plants that gave the rumble in my stomach some ease, some water for my parched mouth, some water on this summer day for my parched crops.  I grabbed my sack and walked to the fields with the others- a family connected by fate, by plight, but frail and easily torn apart.  The lack of stability kept us from tying ourselves to anyone with strong bonds.

Once down in the field, I could tell that this day was not going to be the same as a normal day.  The air felt different, wrong. And the overseers, who were gruff and unforgiving on a good day seemed positively angry this morning. I knew to keep my head down on a day like today.  There was nothing but trouble ahead and it was painful to stand out on a day like today.  The only outcome could be a touch of the end of a whip, or worse. I had seen more than one of my kind brought down quickly for nothing more than taking a rest on a day like today.

As we walked in, I saw a slave, Jacob, stumble and accidentally bump into Smith, one of the most violent and hated and hateful of the overseers.  There was an audible gasp from us slaves as the pair went down in a heap, Jacob trying to get up, then Smith also attempting to get up, both falling over each other once again.  

In mere seconds, the look on Smith’s face went from passive distaste to blood lust as I heard words exchanged. He pulled out his rifle.  He swung at the slave with all of his force, repeatedly landing blows and Jacob slumped into a heap at the overseer’s feet.  Smith arose, a beast of fat and muscle, fear and fury, face contorted, cocked his loaded gun, and fired. Slave twitched in the throes of death.

With a shot fired, we knew what was coming- whites with guns and other weapons, ready to put down a rebellion. It was the fear of the tasked that brought them.  We had heard rumors of our kind in other parts of the state- counties away, who had overthrown their owners and taken control of the plantation, leaving the fields fallow and the work untended.  They had won their freedom with hard-fought battle and got their reward.

One by one, we quickly went back to our work and picked and stuffed, silently praying for nothing else to happen, for peace to once again befall our small portion of this red earth.

But life is unpredictable and our luck was not going to hold.  I don’t even know how it happened, but across the field, we heard screaming and upon looking up, saw a scuffle ensuing. The crack of whipping stung the air and I could tell that things were getting worse and not likely to get better.  Another shot rang out and my heart jumped.  Twice in one day was bad, very bad.  Another shot, then more screaming. I finally looked up.

What I saw was not at all expected.  A small mob of black had congregated and I could see whites running toward the melee.  I looked around and saw that the people around me had a variety of looks on their faces.  Horror, shock, delight, fear, nothing.  I knew that this was it.  There were three responses that I could take to this turn of events. Join in and get the revenge that I felt was deserved, then, when the whites settled us down, get hanged or shot. Keep my head down and work, attempting to avoid any sort of connection to the incident. Or run.

No matter what, I was a dead man.  Working, I would toil myself away until I died.  There wasn’t much hope for this life.  If I joined in, my death would be swift.  If not today, then tomorrow.  I didn’t, couldn’t believe the stories of rebellion and uprising resulting in freedom.  I had seen too many times death for death’s sake at the hands of the white. If I ran, perhaps I could make it to safety.  I had heard of those that helped escaped slaves reach the north, although I knew that was another risk. 

I turned and ran.  What else could I do? When a man has a taste of possible freedom, of course he must try.  I know there are places on this earth that see a black man not under the thumb of a white man.  I know that if he can, he must find that place.  

My legs burned from running.  I knew that I only had minutes before they would realize I was gone and come to find me.  So I ran, my feet both light and heavy, my breath, thunderclaps in my ears.  I knew I was making a great amount of noise, but I had no choice.  I had to keep ahead of the dogs, get myself into water to help hide my scent.  Had to try to keep going.

****

Miles had passed behind me.  I knew that I had summoned all of my strength.  I had crossed streams and hid in the trees and avoided people all of the afternoon, knowing that with one mishap, I would be sent back to pay for my attempt.  But I could not let that happen.  I ran for my life. I ran for freedom, for the chance of something better than what I had grown with.  It was God’s providence that afforded me the opportunity and I would meet him as a free man, or fall down dead trying.

In the late afternoon, I came upon a creek that was wide and slow.  I waded in to clear my tired, sweltering mind and sate my thirst.  I drank deeply, rested in the water for a minute, then waded upstream for a few hundred paces, finding a sheltered spot with a steep embankment on one side.  I climbed up it and laid down, closing my eyes for a minute, listening to the chirp of birds and the rustling of the creek as it flowed past me.  Peace, for a minute, was mine to be cherished.

But I could not rest as long as my body needed.  I heard dogs and that was enough to get me back to my feet and off on the far side of the river.  I needed to keep distance between us, as much as I could.  My pace quickened, for I knew that they would not relent.  I was valuable property, not to be lost, and there had been enough property lost that day.  

*****

I don’t know how far I had run by the time the sun sank to the horizon line, but from my perch at the top of a small hill, I knew that whatever had happened that day was providence and that I was to move forward, away from my past and into my future.  I was not going back to that plantation.  I was done with that life.  And even if I got caught, my life would be different, I would be different.  I watched the pink sky fade to violet, to a deep blue, to black, and started off down the other side of the hill to meet my fate under the blanket of stars that the good lord had provided me.