The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff Read Online Free PDF Page A

and climbed through the hatchway.
    Jeb paced amidst the trashed home, blood boiling as he listened to his wife and Bettina talking. Jeb couldn’t make out what they were saying, and wanted it that way. He couldn’t bear to think about what Bettina would say. It was foolish, thinking his daughter could be spared the evils of the world. Jeb ground his teeth. Anger swept him away like the terrible currents of the Mississippi River.
    Damn crackers! Jeb wanted revenge, to hurt those who hurt him, who would taint his daughter’s happiness. His mind raced. Shame he feared what was coming, afraid he’d have to kill again. The Klan would come looking for Crispus—and they’d come for him, too. The whippings at Ole Massa Johnson’s plantation. He’d almost been whipped to death for reading A Narrative of The Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave , but he broke Massa Johnson’s jaw. The cracker never laid a hand on him again. One line, a single line from Douglass kept Jeb from hanging himself: “Without a struggle, there can be no progress.”  
    The quote danced in Jeb’s mind as he poked his head out the front door.
    Is this struggle for progress or for nothing? How is some African trinket important to the black race? Jeb scanned the cornfield rustling in the wind. As though Nature didn’t know the hell that was coming Allenville’s way, the sun glistened over Louisiana’s landscape like a dream-world. Jeb couldn’t see anyone in the field. He turned his studious eyes toward Allenville— nothing .  
    â€œWe ready,” said Keturah as she climbed down from the attic with Bettina behind her. They both carried two heavy satchels stuffed to the brim. Wife and daughter stood side by side, wearing matching gray dresses, weighed down by the bags over their shoulders. Keturah’s face seemed calm but her eyes disagreed. Bettina, eleven years old, screwed up her face to fight back tears.
    â€œPapa, why do we need to go away?” She sniffled. “Please don’t make us go. The white people won’t hurt us. I’m friends with Mr. Wardell’s daughter, Lucinda. They won’t let any harm come our way,” she pleaded.
    She doesn’t understand—they call her Pinky cause of her fair skin, not out of love. “I just wanna make sure, okay?” Jeb kneeled before his daughter. So innocent, he’d known they raised her right—she hadn’t been tainted by bigotry yet. But Jeb hoped Bettina was right. He pulled both Keturah and Bettina into a tight embrace. The family spent a minute kissing and crying together before Jeb stepped back, wiping his eyes.  
    â€œGo on now. It ain’t safe here for y'all. Catch the train and go on up to New Orleans, then to my great uncle’s in New York. I’m coming to get y'all soon, all right?” Jeb kissed his wife one more time, hugged Bettina once more, and sent them off—perhaps forever.
    He could be lying and not even know it. After all, he was sending them to Allenville, the same town where those damn Goblins rallied for blood.

 
    Â 
    Â 
    Chapter Five

    Lafayette had put Crispus in a cabinet under some shelves. He’d been hiding there since morning. The heat roasted his already foul smelling suit, turning the cabinet into a cramped oven. His own stench mingled in a grotesque fashion with the various liquids, herbs, and other components that filled Lafayette’s badji . Crispus entertained himself by listening to the conversations of folks who came to the houngan seeking help. A few farmers sought Lafayette’s guidance on where and when to plant crops. Others came for rituals to heal physical or emotional ailments.  
    Not knowing the exact time was maddening. Crispus tried to pull out his pocket watch, but he couldn’t manage to move even a finger. Time dragged on. Each minute rolled into a day. His body tingled with numbness from lack of