a game to him, for now Gabriel believed.
WHEN GABRIEL returned to Henrico, the harvest was all picked and winter nearly arrived. The tobacco at Young’s and at Brookfield was being pressed into the hogsheads, good separated from bad, and readied for the market. An early snow had come and gone already. Trace mounds of white clung to the shady hollows around the brook, but as was often wont to occur in a Virginia December, the sun interrupted the dead season to mimic springtime for a day or two.
So on Saturday afternoon, Gabriel went to meet the folks under the apple tree at Brookfield. They would make their way to Brook Bridge to meet up with the kin of blood and the kin of spirit — kin from all around the neighboring farms. Such a warm winter Saturday stirred people from all around the countryside. The time permitted them to leave their work was short, so all the people made haste to Young’s spring.
Once gathered, the little children would go and sneak their feet into the ice-cold creek. The elders would be there, counting among themselves who still lived and lamenting together what they had been left to endure. Yet, despite the burdens laden on each, on this day, the people would make praise.
Gabriel reached the meeting place by his tree early. He could hardly keep up with the anxieties swirling through his mind. Will Nanny want me? What if she fell in love with Jupiter while I was in Richmond? What if the old colonel sold her south? Or hired her out to Johnson?
Gabriel took the pamphlet from Charles Quersey out of his pocket. He sat beneath the apple tree, reading, awash in the liberation of Saint Domingue. For a time, he set his own yoke down. President Adams’s recognition of Toussaint’s leadership swelled a new kind of belief in Gabriel — the kind of hope for himself and his kin that could not be bought, even with all the money he might make for the rest of his life.
They broke free! Liberty prevails on Saint Domingue. A man like me — Toussaint! Toussaint saved his people with a heart and a sword for freedom, and now America protects Toussaint! Ma would invoke the Lord God if she were here with me, Gabriel thought. For the first time in his twenty-three years, Gabriel now asked something of God, too.
If you be the true God, Gabriel prayed, then tell me, who will save me and my people?
It was Nanny’s voice, not God’s, that answered. His beautiful woman came running up the hill, waving her arms and calling his name. “Gabriel! Gabriel, it’s you!”
Solomon and Martin could not keep up with her, and Jupiter could not keep up with any of them. Nanny slid under Gabriel’s shoulder. “It’s you they’re askin’ for at the spring; we’ve been lookin’ all over for you. Come, join us!” Nanny took up his hand and kissed the mark of the cross, only recently seared into his palm. “Come! We’re all waitin’ for you.”
Wearing her best dress, one she had made herself from the handed-down wedding gifts of sky-blue cotton fabric and yellowing old lace, Nanny hooked her arm through his and led him down the hill. “We are way late jumpin’ the broom. I waited for you, Gabriel. We all waited for you; no more waitin’ now.”
He let Nanny pull him down the hill a few steps, then he stopped her. “Toussaint won, Nan.” He held the worn article out to her. “Have you heard?”
Nanny covered up Gabriel’s hand with hers. “Come to my house tonight as my husband and read this story to me by the fire.”
They had no hog, no calf or great feast of any kind. Gabriel did not even have time to run get his own handed-down gift of Jacob’s old velvet overcoat. In his soiled, graying work shirt, he married Nanny by the creek on a May Saturday in December, so common to Virginia.
He returned to the countryside with a cross burned into his hand and having barely escaped the gallows. He had relinquished all of Nanny’s freedom money and more to Thomas Henry and so had no wedding gift to offer. No way
WHEN GABRIEL returned to Henrico, the harvest was all picked and winter nearly arrived. The tobacco at Young’s and at Brookfield was being pressed into the hogsheads, good separated from bad, and readied for the market. An early snow had come and gone already. Trace mounds of white clung to the shady hollows around the brook, but as was often wont to occur in a Virginia December, the sun interrupted the dead season to mimic springtime for a day or two.
So on Saturday afternoon, Gabriel went to meet the folks under the apple tree at Brookfield. They would make their way to Brook Bridge to meet up with the kin of blood and the kin of spirit — kin from all around the neighboring farms. Such a warm winter Saturday stirred people from all around the countryside. The time permitted them to leave their work was short, so all the people made haste to Young’s spring.
Once gathered, the little children would go and sneak their feet into the ice-cold creek. The elders would be there, counting among themselves who still lived and lamenting together what they had been left to endure. Yet, despite the burdens laden on each, on this day, the people would make praise.
Gabriel reached the meeting place by his tree early. He could hardly keep up with the anxieties swirling through his mind. Will Nanny want me? What if she fell in love with Jupiter while I was in Richmond? What if the old colonel sold her south? Or hired her out to Johnson?
Gabriel took the pamphlet from Charles Quersey out of his pocket. He sat beneath the apple tree, reading, awash in the liberation of Saint Domingue. For a time, he set his own yoke down. President Adams’s recognition of Toussaint’s leadership swelled a new kind of belief in Gabriel — the kind of hope for himself and his kin that could not be bought, even with all the money he might make for the rest of his life.
They broke free! Liberty prevails on Saint Domingue. A man like me — Toussaint! Toussaint saved his people with a heart and a sword for freedom, and now America protects Toussaint! Ma would invoke the Lord God if she were here with me, Gabriel thought. For the first time in his twenty-three years, Gabriel now asked something of God, too.
If you be the true God, Gabriel prayed, then tell me, who will save me and my people?
It was Nanny’s voice, not God’s, that answered. His beautiful woman came running up the hill, waving her arms and calling his name. “Gabriel! Gabriel, it’s you!”
Solomon and Martin could not keep up with her, and Jupiter could not keep up with any of them. Nanny slid under Gabriel’s shoulder. “It’s you they’re askin’ for at the spring; we’ve been lookin’ all over for you. Come, join us!” Nanny took up his hand and kissed the mark of the cross, only recently seared into his palm. “Come! We’re all waitin’ for you.”
Wearing her best dress, one she had made herself from the handed-down wedding gifts of sky-blue cotton fabric and yellowing old lace, Nanny hooked her arm through his and led him down the hill. “We are way late jumpin’ the broom. I waited for you, Gabriel. We all waited for you; no more waitin’ now.”
He let Nanny pull him down the hill a few steps, then he stopped her. “Toussaint won, Nan.” He held the worn article out to her. “Have you heard?”
Nanny covered up Gabriel’s hand with hers. “Come to my house tonight as my husband and read this story to me by the fire.”
They had no hog, no calf or great feast of any kind. Gabriel did not even have time to run get his own handed-down gift of Jacob’s old velvet overcoat. In his soiled, graying work shirt, he married Nanny by the creek on a May Saturday in December, so common to Virginia.
He returned to the countryside with a cross burned into his hand and having barely escaped the gallows. He had relinquished all of Nanny’s freedom money and more to Thomas Henry and so had no wedding gift to offer. No way
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