through the backyards in my bare feet in the rain. The Negroes weeping in the street. Annie promising she'd stay in touch. Marietta saying "Don't pry." Inside me my feelings were all crossed, like cavalry sabers clashing. I struggled to wake from this sleep, which was more disturbed than restful. But I could not rouse myself.
Then something else roused me. "Little missy." It was a whisper. "Little missy."
I opened my eyes. An old hag of a nigra woman was bending over me. Her hair hung about her, gray and disheveled. She had two teeth missing in front. Her breath smelled like that of a hedgehog. I screamed.
She touched my arm lightly. "Hush, little missy. Please."
I froze more than I hushed.
"My, you're a pretty one. Did they just bring you in?"
"I just came, yes."
"What ails you? The Wasting Disease? Like me? Oh no, I see the bandage on your foot. Do it hurt?"
"Yes, but I've taken a powder. It dulls the pain."
"You cain't be a prisoner. They doan keep prisoners here but on the third floor."
"I'm visiting." This must be Addie, then. I looked at her. Her clothing was clean, though her breathing seemed to be a difficult business. She took great breaths between sentences. Of course, that could be from her weight. She was very fat. And she smelled of some kind of medicine. "My uncle Valentine doesn't keep prisoners," I told her.
"Your uncle, is he? He be a good man. But I needs to get away. They keep me prisoner here. Locks me in my room days. And locks the house up nights. Would you help me get away?"
"You're Addie Bassett."
She took my measure with eyes so old they made me shiver. "What did they tell you of me, then?"
"That you're sick, and he's taking care of you."
"Hmmph," she said. Then she nodded. "Yes. He's takin' care o' me. Like my old master's son would care for birds with broken wings he catched. Those birds always wanna get away even if just to die free in the woods. I'm gonna die anyways. So I wanna die free." Then she cocked her head and listened. "What are the bells for? What are people yelling in the streets?"
"The president had died."
"Linkum?"
"Yes."
A great cry of dismay escaped her throat. And she raised her arms to heaven. Tears rolled down her face like on the Negroes' in the streets. She wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. "Linkum, my Lord, Linkum." Then she said something strange. "My fault," she said.
"Your fault?"
She nodded. "He set me free. Gave me my freedom. A gift. Then I went an' lost it. He musta heard 'bout that. Addie Bassett lost the gift he give her. Musta killed him, poor man."
"No," I said, "you didn't kill him. Someone else did. He was shot. They're looking, now, for the person who did it."
"I did it. Me, an' all my kind who take this gift from this man and wander in the streets an' doan work an' earn our keep. But wait fer the white man to lead us. I did it." She sobbed and walked away from me, across the floorboards that creaked under her heavy weight. She stood looking out the window, wiping her eyes and quieting herself. Her great bulk cast a shadow across the room. "What do that mean? My freedom gone now?"
"No, your freedom isn't gone. President Lincoln gave it to you for always."
"I still gots it?"
"Yes."
She turned, unbelieving. She held out her hands to me. "Then it's more 'portant that I get outta here. Help me get outta here, please. I gotta use my freedom right."
I shook my head, no. "I can't do that. You're sick."
"I'se better now. As better as I ever be. Gonna die anyways. I jus' wants a chance to do somethin' wif this freedom Mr. Linkum give me, before I die. Please. I kin do things. I jus' had a spell o' bad luck. I wanna go out there an' help my people."
"How?"
"I was workin' fer the Relief Society. I got sick. They found me in the streets and brought me here."
"But you said you weren't working and that's why you killed President Lincoln."
She bowed her head. "I wuz workin', but I wuz drinkin', too. I doan drink no more. Tha's one
Then something else roused me. "Little missy." It was a whisper. "Little missy."
I opened my eyes. An old hag of a nigra woman was bending over me. Her hair hung about her, gray and disheveled. She had two teeth missing in front. Her breath smelled like that of a hedgehog. I screamed.
She touched my arm lightly. "Hush, little missy. Please."
I froze more than I hushed.
"My, you're a pretty one. Did they just bring you in?"
"I just came, yes."
"What ails you? The Wasting Disease? Like me? Oh no, I see the bandage on your foot. Do it hurt?"
"Yes, but I've taken a powder. It dulls the pain."
"You cain't be a prisoner. They doan keep prisoners here but on the third floor."
"I'm visiting." This must be Addie, then. I looked at her. Her clothing was clean, though her breathing seemed to be a difficult business. She took great breaths between sentences. Of course, that could be from her weight. She was very fat. And she smelled of some kind of medicine. "My uncle Valentine doesn't keep prisoners," I told her.
"Your uncle, is he? He be a good man. But I needs to get away. They keep me prisoner here. Locks me in my room days. And locks the house up nights. Would you help me get away?"
"You're Addie Bassett."
She took my measure with eyes so old they made me shiver. "What did they tell you of me, then?"
"That you're sick, and he's taking care of you."
"Hmmph," she said. Then she nodded. "Yes. He's takin' care o' me. Like my old master's son would care for birds with broken wings he catched. Those birds always wanna get away even if just to die free in the woods. I'm gonna die anyways. So I wanna die free." Then she cocked her head and listened. "What are the bells for? What are people yelling in the streets?"
"The president had died."
"Linkum?"
"Yes."
A great cry of dismay escaped her throat. And she raised her arms to heaven. Tears rolled down her face like on the Negroes' in the streets. She wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. "Linkum, my Lord, Linkum." Then she said something strange. "My fault," she said.
"Your fault?"
She nodded. "He set me free. Gave me my freedom. A gift. Then I went an' lost it. He musta heard 'bout that. Addie Bassett lost the gift he give her. Musta killed him, poor man."
"No," I said, "you didn't kill him. Someone else did. He was shot. They're looking, now, for the person who did it."
"I did it. Me, an' all my kind who take this gift from this man and wander in the streets an' doan work an' earn our keep. But wait fer the white man to lead us. I did it." She sobbed and walked away from me, across the floorboards that creaked under her heavy weight. She stood looking out the window, wiping her eyes and quieting herself. Her great bulk cast a shadow across the room. "What do that mean? My freedom gone now?"
"No, your freedom isn't gone. President Lincoln gave it to you for always."
"I still gots it?"
"Yes."
She turned, unbelieving. She held out her hands to me. "Then it's more 'portant that I get outta here. Help me get outta here, please. I gotta use my freedom right."
I shook my head, no. "I can't do that. You're sick."
"I'se better now. As better as I ever be. Gonna die anyways. I jus' wants a chance to do somethin' wif this freedom Mr. Linkum give me, before I die. Please. I kin do things. I jus' had a spell o' bad luck. I wanna go out there an' help my people."
"How?"
"I was workin' fer the Relief Society. I got sick. They found me in the streets and brought me here."
"But you said you weren't working and that's why you killed President Lincoln."
She bowed her head. "I wuz workin', but I wuz drinkin', too. I doan drink no more. Tha's one
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