paid a price for my
rebellion.
When morning dawned and I awoke to lick the wounds of my
beating, I was the only woman left in the house—and Jock was packing furiously
to flee his creditors.
“Pack all yer things, Red,” he hissed. “Put all yer whorin’
clothes in thet trunk.” He pointed to a small case.
When I hesitated, Jock grabbed me by the arm. “I would do ya
in right now, Red,” he snarled, “fer th’ damage ya done me las’ night, but I
need th’ cash you’ll bring too much. I’ll take ya with me t’ Denver and sell ya
off there. Nobody knows ya there.”
He leaned into my aching, battered face, his boozy breath
hot on my cheek. “An’ if’n ya pull them same tricks in Denver? I’ll wring yer neck
fer certain, an’ I ain’t foolin’ none.”
Tabitha swallowed. “Jock had me put on a faded cotton dress
and told me to hide my red hair under a bonnet. He loaded our things into a
wagon and made me sit beside him on the wagon’s bench. Then he locked a chain
about my ankle—the kind used in jails—and I was too weak to fight him. He had
bolted the other end of the chain under the seat of his wagon.
“We traveled a circuitous route to Denver. Jock was agitated
and fearful that his creditors were chasing after him, so we took little-used
back roads. He often pulled off the track into dense trees or brush. We would
spend hours in hiding until Jock felt assured that no one was following close
behind us.
“To the casual eye, he and I probably appeared to be a poor
married couple hauling all of our worldly goods from one place to another. No
one could see the shackle upon my ankle.”
She shook her head. “These sordid details are not necessary,
and I could have skipped them. I only bring them out because of what happened
on the fourth afternoon of our journey.”
We were far out into the country when we came upon a
gathering of mostly colored folk.They were huddled up close to a tall
black man dressed in a shiny black suit. He was a fine looking gentleman. He
stood upon a packing crate, but he would have towered over the crowd without
standing upon anything!
As it was, with the added height of the crate and the
resplendent figure he cut, he reminded me of a war hero’s statue rising up from
the center of a city square.
The man was speaking and gesturing. We could not hear him
yet—but the crowd was attentive. More people were coming. They drew near and
then pressed in closer as he spoke.
I so wanted to stop to listen to what the man was saying. I
even asked Jock if we could pull aside for a few minutes to hear the man. Jock,
however, cursed under his breath and kept the horses moving.
The dusty trace our wagon followed ran directly behind the
man in the black suit. No one in the crowd paid us any mind as we trundled by,
but I began to hear the man’s words.
“The Bible say God so loved that he give his one an’
only Son. God so loved! YAY-ess! I say it again, God so loved !”
He broke for a second to wipe his face with a handkerchief.
“Well, sir, what did God love? The Bible say he loved the world. The world , folks! YAY-ess! The whole, wide world! The world —it mean’
peoples. The world —it mean’ all peoples. All peoples mean’ ever’ kind o’ people!” he thundered.
The crowd was riveted—and I was, too. The preacher’s voice
was deep and melodic, rhythmic and enthralling. After each sentence he paused,
just a bit. Each pause made me want to beg him, Please do not stop! And
he did not.
He shouted,
“God give his Son fo’ the rich, and God give his Son fo’ the
poor.
“God give his Son fo’ the high, and God give his Son fo’ the
low.
“God give his Son fo’ the black man, and God give his Son
fo’ the white.
“God give his Son fo’ all men—we’s all equal in his
sight!
“Yea, an’ I say!
“God give his Son fo’ the drunks. God give his Son fo’ the
thieves.
“God give his Son fo’ you, and God give his Son fo’
rebellion.
When morning dawned and I awoke to lick the wounds of my
beating, I was the only woman left in the house—and Jock was packing furiously
to flee his creditors.
“Pack all yer things, Red,” he hissed. “Put all yer whorin’
clothes in thet trunk.” He pointed to a small case.
When I hesitated, Jock grabbed me by the arm. “I would do ya
in right now, Red,” he snarled, “fer th’ damage ya done me las’ night, but I
need th’ cash you’ll bring too much. I’ll take ya with me t’ Denver and sell ya
off there. Nobody knows ya there.”
He leaned into my aching, battered face, his boozy breath
hot on my cheek. “An’ if’n ya pull them same tricks in Denver? I’ll wring yer neck
fer certain, an’ I ain’t foolin’ none.”
Tabitha swallowed. “Jock had me put on a faded cotton dress
and told me to hide my red hair under a bonnet. He loaded our things into a
wagon and made me sit beside him on the wagon’s bench. Then he locked a chain
about my ankle—the kind used in jails—and I was too weak to fight him. He had
bolted the other end of the chain under the seat of his wagon.
“We traveled a circuitous route to Denver. Jock was agitated
and fearful that his creditors were chasing after him, so we took little-used
back roads. He often pulled off the track into dense trees or brush. We would
spend hours in hiding until Jock felt assured that no one was following close
behind us.
“To the casual eye, he and I probably appeared to be a poor
married couple hauling all of our worldly goods from one place to another. No
one could see the shackle upon my ankle.”
She shook her head. “These sordid details are not necessary,
and I could have skipped them. I only bring them out because of what happened
on the fourth afternoon of our journey.”
We were far out into the country when we came upon a
gathering of mostly colored folk.They were huddled up close to a tall
black man dressed in a shiny black suit. He was a fine looking gentleman. He
stood upon a packing crate, but he would have towered over the crowd without
standing upon anything!
As it was, with the added height of the crate and the
resplendent figure he cut, he reminded me of a war hero’s statue rising up from
the center of a city square.
The man was speaking and gesturing. We could not hear him
yet—but the crowd was attentive. More people were coming. They drew near and
then pressed in closer as he spoke.
I so wanted to stop to listen to what the man was saying. I
even asked Jock if we could pull aside for a few minutes to hear the man. Jock,
however, cursed under his breath and kept the horses moving.
The dusty trace our wagon followed ran directly behind the
man in the black suit. No one in the crowd paid us any mind as we trundled by,
but I began to hear the man’s words.
“The Bible say God so loved that he give his one an’
only Son. God so loved! YAY-ess! I say it again, God so loved !”
He broke for a second to wipe his face with a handkerchief.
“Well, sir, what did God love? The Bible say he loved the world. The world , folks! YAY-ess! The whole, wide world! The world —it mean’
peoples. The world —it mean’ all peoples. All peoples mean’ ever’ kind o’ people!” he thundered.
The crowd was riveted—and I was, too. The preacher’s voice
was deep and melodic, rhythmic and enthralling. After each sentence he paused,
just a bit. Each pause made me want to beg him, Please do not stop! And
he did not.
He shouted,
“God give his Son fo’ the rich, and God give his Son fo’ the
poor.
“God give his Son fo’ the high, and God give his Son fo’ the
low.
“God give his Son fo’ the black man, and God give his Son
fo’ the white.
“God give his Son fo’ all men—we’s all equal in his
sight!
“Yea, an’ I say!
“God give his Son fo’ the drunks. God give his Son fo’ the
thieves.
“God give his Son fo’ you, and God give his Son fo’
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