Black Angels Read Free

right. She say Yankees from the devil. They do bad things and they kill. She reckoned the ones who killed Buttercup were Yankees. But maybe they was just bad mens.
    It started raining and they said some bad words, and then they took the mules and wagon and cut out. There was no light out here. If the moon came out, Daylily would see. Buttercup was lying over there. She hoped the moon didn’t come out.
    But if the moon did come out, she could make her way to the water and not fall on Buttercup. She could see snakes too if they wasn’t asleep in the leaves. They was probably asleep. Maybe it was the wrong time of year for snakes to be out. Maybe they’d be sleep. Maybe.
    Daylily was afraid. Granny said, “Sing, can’t be afraid if you sing.” But the sickness came and got Granny. Her eyes was open too. Rolled back in her head like two glass balls. Her arm twitched.
    Granny had said, “Sing, gal. It keep you strong. Sing bout them angels in the White folks’ church. They be flyin roun. Us Black folks, we don’t fly nowhere, we just work till we die. Preacher say we gon have wings too. Well, we’ll see. You go on now, gal, you fly away. You be free for Granny.”
    Maybe Granny was right. If she would sing, maybe she wouldn’t be so afraid. She tried to make a noise come out. Then she felt the hard roots of the big tree under her behind, and that broke something she had been holding on to.
    She shifted her weight. Her body hurt everywhere. The clouds had moved too, and the moonlight finally broke into the woods. Her mouth opened just a little. She wouldn’t turn her head though. Buttercup was there. Right there.
    â€œMama, are there angels . . . ,” she tried to sing, but no sound came out.
    Daylily thought it silently in her head, the way Granny used to sing it. “Mama, are there any angels Black like . . . Black like me? I’ve been as good as any little girl can be. If I hide my face, do you think they will see? Mama, are there any angels Black like me?”
    The leaves rustled a little in the wind. Buttercup was there, right by the water. You can’t be scared if you sing. In her head she could hear the tune just a little. The song came out a tiny bit like a sick kitten she’d seen once down by the big house, mewing for its mama. And then more of it came out. She sang, “I have been as good as any little girl can be . . .”
    The moon was shining on the running creek. Maybe they’d come back. They’d stuck Buttercup with a knife like she was a pig, and left her dead. Daylily’s throat hurt. She was so thirsty. She could tell by the quiet of the woods that it would soon be morning. Soon be day. And she’d have to see her, even if she didn’t go get some water. And she’d have to remember it all.
    It was there in her head. The big men and the wagon they took. She could hear it. She could still hear the babies screaming for they mama. She started singing to cover up the sound in her head. “If I hide my face, do you think they will see . . .” But she remembered Buttercup’s face was all twisted. Buttercup tried to hide herself. She tried, but they tore off her dress anyway; the babies was dead then.
    Daylily guessed one man covered them up with his big hands so they couldn’t holler and couldn’t breathe, and they was dead, and Buttercup was all full of blood and spread open like a hog, like a brown and red hog on the ground.
    They didn’t know Daylily was hiding, right there where she still was, cause Buttercup fell to fighting so hard. When they wasn’t looking, Daylily got up from the wagon bed and stole away. But she saw it behind a bunch of blackberry bushes and honeysuckle vines all knotted up. It was getting on to dark fast, but she saw it. One had red hair. A big beard.
    When they left the home place, Buttercup was going to find her man. Two plantations to the north, she said. War done come.