On Emma's Bluff, Sara Elizabeth Rice, edited by davebccanada [buy e reader TXT] 📗

born Hattie Bell Murphy in a time when the only sure work a black woman could count on was as a maid to some white family.   She had served her time raising white kids until she got too old and too crippled to mop and clean and tote around white babies. She lost her only mode of employment at the age of fifty-seven with no pension to fall back on and no hope of making ends meet. That was when she gave in to the old ways in which she had been trained in her youth.

Her Grandmamma was a mean old woman who had been a mean child and a meaner adult. While the old woman had lived Hattie had heard many say that GG Murphy's meanness was enough to make a cow go dry and a chicken cease to lay. But still for miles around the colored folks came to her when they had nowhere else to turn.

GG Murphy had the gift of healing. Not healing like the tent revival evangelists who could lay on their hands and shout for the evil spirits to come out, but healing like something dark and raw that had come straight out of the darkness of old Africa. Her cures were always simple and direct, with never a touch of hocus pocus falderal.

Most time the old lady would sit still in her big rocker, seemingly disinterested in the tale her 'patients' told to her of their ailments and problems. Then if the situation called for it she would rise and go to the cupboard to retrieve some thick liquid or dried flakes and give them to her caller. Most of the ailments were common enough and the cures she gave could probably be attributed to the medicinal properties of her potions.

But on certain occasions a party of white folks would arrive carrying some soul who was obviously at death's door. There might be open wounds or broken bones but the old woman would never falter or send the sick away. She would dismiss the concerned on lockers and closet herself away with the patient in her back room. Often she would remain for hours coming out only to procure some herbs or poultices and then return to the sick room without ever muttering a word.

Few of her patients ever died though there were times when she advised the family to let this go on and happen, thus releasing the soul from torment. But if they insisted on a cure she would go on and perform her ritual. The sick would live but many of the worse cases bore the mark of their healing for the rest of their life. At times outright insanity would over take them. For others who survived their remaining life would be filled with a dark haunting of unexplained fear and horror and screams in the night.

While she lived no one ever tried to explain away GG's magic, in fact few even acknowledged ever going to her. But after her death, this was when Hattie was still a young woman and working at the Jenkin's place, wild talk flourished about GG being a witch and the world being well rid of her. Only when a family was confronted by a sickness that the doctors couldn't cure would her powers be sincerely missed. It was during these times that Hattie first felt the stirring in her bones. She would wake up bathed in sweat, an aching in her hands and she would know that there was something inside her that was fighting to get out.

It was a crisp, cool Wednesday evening and Hattie sat huddled at her single table in front of the stove. The winter chill had already taken a hold of her pleurisy and her bones throbbed and moaned beneath the surface of her dark flesh. Hattie was oblivious to her pain though for her mind had skirted it's worldly boundaries and was carrying her back to a time when she could still skip and she could still sing.

"Hattie, girl, bring that thread and needle over here to me."

"Yes, Grandmamma," the young girl who would have at that time preferred to be called Bell, answered. She was in her Grandmamma's house on the site where her own present day home now stood. It was a hot summer night.

"What you looking at, girl?" the old woman asked sternly. Hattie had frozen in her tracks in front of her Grandmamma, the thread and needle still in her hand. She was looking at the unsuspecting kitten that sat curled in the old lady's lap. "You go on with your play, now you hear."

"What you going to do, Grandmamma?" the child braved to ask. The old woman tilted her head back and peered through her glasses at Hattie. With eyes as cold and hard as river rocks she took in her grand daughter. Hattie's mother had never married; she had just gotten pregnant in her teens. After giving birth to Hattie she had left town with the man who had knocked her up, leaving the infant in the care of her aging mother. It was a common enough occurrence and Hattie had never grieved over it much. It was not exactly a warm and cheery life with her Grandmamma, but it was the only life she had ever known.

"You axs too many questions, girl." came her reply.

"You is not gonna hurt Suzie Q, is ya?"

"What's it to you if I do?" the old woman asked harshly but with patience.

This was a question that Hattie could not bring herself to answer because if she admitted her affection for the kitten her Grandmamma would only lecture her on the waste of foolish emotions. GG Murphy was not one to waste strong feelings.   She lad little use for sentimentality. So Hattie only said, "Nothing, Grandmamma."

"Then get back to what you were doing." She dismissed the child. Hattie scooted back to the old couch and was covered with the ancient quilt and took up her picture book. She tried to keep her eyes off her Grandmamma.

She heard the kitten mewl and then scream outright in her Grand mamma's grasp. Hattie covered her face with her book.

A stifled cry escaped her young mouth when she found the small eyeball in the sink later that afternoon. She shot a look-see at the kitten and could not miss the heavy thick thread that laced up its right eye. Her Grandmamma stepped in from the back porch, an empty mayonnaise jar in her hand.

"That cat's lucky, child. They could have demanded its whole head. I'd a had a hard time stitching that back up." She snickered at her own humor. Hattie just wondered who 'they' were.

The aged Hattie Murphy shook her great weight away from the small table and attempted to rise. A hot cup of tea would warm her some and ease her shivers. She had not thought often of her childhood in the last ten years.   GG Murphy had died for her years ago. Remembering her Grandmamma was one thing, but thinking about the consequences of the 'power' was not something she tried to consider. "Power?" she laughed to herself, extending one feeble veined hand.

An eleven-year old Hattie sat cross-legged, her back to the planked wall beside the stove. Unawares her fingers traced the contours of the dark wood floor beneath her. A family of four sat rigidly, on the sofa. The father, a solid built man, too large for the close quarters supported the narrow shoulders of his wife. She held in her arms a child of probably no more than three who had not moved since their arrival. An infant just learning to stand grasped first the mother's and then the father's knees as she made her way up and down the couch length. The child in the mother's arm was clearly the ailing party.

When Hattie had first encountered the family, on the sagging porch when she arrived home from school, she had explained that her Grandmamma was away until late, but the man had insisted that they be allowed to wait.   Hattie had hesitantly admitted them into the house and offered them a seat. They had watched dispassionately as she built an adequate fire in the old cast iron stove. When the pot of water on top boiled she offered them some tea.   They declined. She felt uncomfortable as she took out a small wedge of cheese to eat for her supper, but none of the waiting appeared to mind.

"Yawl from around hereabouts?" she asked to break the fierce silence.

"Fraid not," was all the man answered.

So now two hours later and with darkness approaching Hattie sat speechless with these strangers.

She was awakened by her Grandmamma coming through the front door.

"Hattie girl," the woman began before the family on the couch had yet caught her attention. "What's this?" was all she could get out of her mouth before the tall man stood up.

"Miz GG" the name came out like a single word in a foreign language. What he said after that was impossible for Hattie to make out. "Yumba taah," was what it sounded like to the girl. The effect on her Grandmamma was startling. The old woman took a solid step back towards the door. Her chin tucked itself down between the folds of her neck and her arms came up to her chest like protracted wings.

"Grandmamma?" Hattie rose from her hard pallet. "Grandmamma?"

"Not now girl. Get outside." Hattie looked at the old woman in doubt. It was freezing outside. "Now." the Grandmamma ordered.

"No." It was the man who stepped in front of her to block her path to the front door. "How do you know..." he began to say to GG.

"This child is bless," she interrupted him. But he did not step aside. He looked toward his own toddler beneath her mother's back. GG caught his meaning. "Your baby," she nodded toward the child, "she does not yet speak?"

"Only small words, baby gibberish. And she is so young."

"She may be spared. Hattie," her grandmamma clipped out her name, "Hattie take the child and as many blankets as you can and go to the front porch. Carry a lantern and if it goes out you must call me immediately."

Hattie opened the wooden chest in the corner and grabbed an armful of blankets from the top. She also snatched up her worn coat from the chair. She walked around the man to the front door. The mother rose slowly from the couch resting her older child in the folds of the ancient quilt. She pulled the baby into her arms. Hattie moved aside to let both women through the door.

At first the wind that caught Hattie seemed intent on propelling her back into the house, but one step past the doorway it died to a chilly breeze. The woman stepped out followed by GG. Hattie lay the blankets down and strapped on her coat. Hattie saw goblets of tears rim the mother's eye as she gave the baby over. The little girl had to be pried from her mother's neck, but it did not cry out when it was finally in Hattie's arms.

"Sit down," GG instructed. Hattie did as she was told. GG then opened a blanket and draped it across and around, Indian style, the babe until all but a semicircle of it's face was buried in the covers.

"Grandmamma," Hattie felt suddenly very afraid. "What’s I s'pose to do?"

"Nothing, girl, just watch this lamp. You yell real loud if it goes out, you hear?"

"Yes, ma’am," Now Hattie wanted to cry. She saw in her Grandmamma's face something as close as to warmth as she had ever seen. And Grandmamma was looking right at her. "Don't pay no attention to what you hear inside," the old woman instructed her. Then both adults turned together and stepped back inside the door. Hattie was alone with the baby.

"Get her in the back room." she heard her Grandmamma say through the thin walls.

"Can she be saved?" It must have