Yellow Crocus: A Novel by Laila Ibrahim Page A

away from Berkeley as well. They may have gotten quite far by now. They had a pass.”
    “Where did they get such a thing?” exclaimed Mrs. Cunningham.
    “Looks like some fool is teaching the niggers how to write!”
    Fear rushed through Lisbeth. Her heart beat hard. She started to reach for her water, but her hand noticeably shook. Quickly she hid her hand in her skirt, looking around to see if anyone had noticed her nerves, but no one was paying any attention to her. Her parents did not suspect that she had taught Samuel to write. She could only imagine Father’s fury if he learned that she was responsible for Emmanuel and Samuel’s escape.
    “It is such a shame,” Mother broke in. “We made certain he went to a good family and this is what happens. Mr. Anderson will never buy one of our darkies again.”
    Grandmother Wainwright spoke up, “You know you are too lenient with them. Before you know it we will have lost them all.”
    “Who have they got looking for them?” asked Mr. Cunningham.
    “Ron Reynolds and Geoff Bloom. We want them returned alive and able to work.”
    Alive. The word cut through Lisbeth. Alive! Father wanted them back alive . She considered the alternative. Samuel might be dead? Suddenly Lisbeth understood Mattie’s distress. She listened carefully to the adult conversation. Discussions about escaped slaves were as much a part of the ritual of Saturday dinner as grace, and she generally paid it about the same attention. It never seemed important before, but this mattered to her.

     
    In the middle of the night, Lisbeth woke from a dream in a rush. Father had been pushing a whip into her hand, repeating, “It is for the best. It is for the best. You will see.” As she lay in the dark, frightened and alone, her heart beat fast while tears seeped from the edges of her eyes. Then she did something she had not done since she was young: she sought out Mattie. Climbing out of her warm bed, she made her way to the small anteroom.
    “Mattie?” Lisbeth whispered as she shivered over her nurse’s form.
    Half asleep, Mattie stirred and shifted to make room for Lisbeth. Her arms spread open to allow Lisbeth to snuggle in close. Lisbeth lay in the dark, held in Mattie’s arms, rubbing the center shell in the hollow of Mattie’s neck just as she had as a little girl. The warmth of Mattie’s bed and body enveloped Lisbeth, driving away her demons. The familiar smell and feel worked their magic and lulled Lisbeth to sleep.

Chapter 12
     
    Three days earlier
    M attie was terrified but didn’t show it. Mr. Wainwright said only one thing on the ride over to the Andersons’. “Tell them what you know, Mattie. It will go easier for you… and for Samuel.”
    As soon as they arrived at the Anderson plantation, the overseer, a dark-haired white man, led Mattie away while Mr. Wainwright went in to speak with Mr. Anderson. He led her away from the grand house to an isolated cabin near the slave dwellings.
    Pointing to a bench outside the lonely hut, the overseer growled, “I’ll deal with you later.”
    Jeb Martin had been at the Anderson plantation for less than a year. He had learned what he knew of working with slaves from his father, who worked at the Williams plantation just seven miles east. The planters considered Mr. Martin to be the best overseer in the county because he got the most work out of his slaves without undue force. They encouraged their overseers to take after Mr. Martin, thus reinforcing their self-delusion that they were morally superior to the brutal owners in Georgia, Mississippi, and Alabama. As Jeb was growing up, Mr. Martin instructed him, “Treat your niggers halfway like a man and halfway like a beast and you’ll do all right.”
    Jeb Martin desired to impress his father with his own skills, but now he had trouble. He hadn’t wanted to take the Samuel boy in the first place. He didn’t need a young buck, he needed a few more full-grown ones. But Mr. Anderson had