A Wave From Mama

Chapter 3: Crow’s Hill

Chapter 3

Crow’s Hill

“MOSES, HERE HE comes. This is our chance, he’s important. Do what I do,” Ezra whispered to his brother as he put his right foot on a crate and his left hand in the pocket of his pants—the proper pose to greet an important person. Moses did his best to imitate his brother’s movements, but when he put his foot on the crate, he pressed too hard and it collapsed into pieces. Ezra stared at his fool of a brother, but didn’t take the time to point out his clumsiness, because Junius Morel was approaching their spot.

“Good mornin’, Mr. Morel. My name is Ezra and this here is my brother Moses. We came across the river Tuesday night. Almost got strung up in New York—had to leave. This town, Weeksville, sure seems like the place to be. People say you the man in charge and we’re hope’n we can stay. We’re good Colored Americans, like you.”

Junius Morel, the principal of the local school and one of the leaders in Weeksville, extended his hand to greet each of the brothers before he responded, “We welcome you to Weeksville, but I must correct you, we are not Colored Americans, we are simply Americans, and I’m not in charge—just concerned about the welfare of our town.”

Ezra didn’t understand the point, but nodded his head anyway. Moses offered a blank stare.

The principal continued, “We are always looking for additions to our community, especially those in a position to buy land.” A strong wind whipped up the dry dirt in the camp and blew some particles into the principal’s eye, which interrupted his thoughts, “So sorry, gentlemen, give me a moment.”

Moses handed the principal a spotless white handkerchief and it did the job in clearing the dirt from his eye. “Thank you, Moses. As I was saying, property ownership enables Blacks to vote in New York, and we need the political power. Also, the Long Island Rail Road makes Weeksville a short ten-minute ride from downtown Brooklyn or the ferries to New York. What kind of work do you do?”

Moses cleared his throat to answer the question, but Ezra jumped in before he could respond. “Me ’n Moses work on the docks.”

“Brooklyn has plenty of docks, but I’m sure you don’t want more problems with the Irish. Perhaps you should consider some other kind of work. Good luck to both of you.”

Junius Morel continued his tour of the camp and came upon a handsome young man addressing a small crowd of perhaps four or five young girls, who followed his every word and movement. The principal drew closer and realized the man was reciting poetry.

“Please, one more, Mr. Heath. We love your fancy talk,” one of the young ladies exclaimed. Another suggested, “A love poem!” as she tracked the movement of the charming young man’s eyes. Once they settled in her general direction, she was certain he acknowledged her smile. Three other girls developed the same conclusion when his eyes drifted their way.

“Of course, ladies, just one more. Happy to oblige. What would be suitable for such an attractive group of young women?” His pause gave the girls a chance to swoon once more, which delighted Edward Heath, who appeared to have experience both as an orator as well as a ladies’ man. “Ah, I have it, a Shakespeare sonnet.” He cleared his throat and straightened his posture before beginning.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed,

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed:

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,

Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st,

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

The girls were satisfied after the first two lines—handsome Edward Heath told them they were more lovely than a summer’s day. The poem could have ended at that point.

Junius Morel interrupted, “Bravo, Bravo. Quite a performance and what an attentive audience!” The girls scampered away as they argued over which of them was Edward’s favorite.

“I am Junius Morel, the principal of the local school, and who might you be?”

“My name is Edward Heath. I just graduated college in upstate New York and came to the city to seek employment, but it appears I came at an inopportune time.”

“To be sure. Can I assume literature is your specialty?”

“I am an avid reader and I must admit, Mr. Morel, I have read several of your articles.”

The young man impressed Junius, and received an invitation to a meeting for potential new residents, which the principal planned to host in a few weeks at his school. A man such as Edward Heath would be a fine addition to the Weeksville community as a teacher. Junius laughed as he thought, I’m not sure if he’ll be more popular with the ladies in town or the students in class. Either way, however, the charming and educated Mr. Heath was certain to add value to the community.

Ezra and Moses also caught the end of Edward Heath’s performance, but it all sounded like a foreign language to them. Fancy talk was not common on the docks, and both brothers thought it fitting such elevated speech would be used in a city literally built on a hill. The brothers gazed out toward the horizon, and Moses turned to Ezra, put his arm around his brother, and said, “This whole thing may be for the best, Ezra. We on top of the world in Weeksville!”

“You right, Moses. Top of the world!”

The brothers continued their scan of the scenery and Moses asked, “Why they call this Crow’s Hill?”

“Moses, sometimes your questions are so stupid.” Ezra pointed to the sky and asked, “What do you call those?”

Moses laughed, as he strained his head and shielded his eyes from the bright sun. “Right! Crows ’r all over the place! Must be the fertilizer farm with all those dead carcasses.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Do you think they might need some help at the farm from two strong New York men?”

“Not so sure how strong you are, Ezra. I do most of the lifting.”

“Only when it just you and I, ’cause I the older brother. Otherwise, I lift as good as you.”

“Don’t know ’bout that, older brother. You might be showin’ your age.”

Ezra chuckled. “Yeah, twenty-nine, pretty old age. I better start slowin’ down and let youngen’s like you take over.”

“Not yet old man, let’s go find us a job.”

The brothers walked the outskirts of the town as a first pass and started down Hunterfly Road. Ezra pointed to his left as he said, “There’s another Black town called Carrsville down that way. If things don’t work out here, we can try Carrsville next.”

“Two Colored towns side by side…hard to believe. I know this got to work out. Make a right here onto Park and we’ll start coming back around.”

Clusters of houses sprinkled the bucolic setting. Shops were attached to many of the dwellings, and the brothers took note of shoemakers, tailors, butchers, and other tradesmen. After a short while, Ezra and Moses realized the businesses were run by skilled artisans who had little need of help, which led to the conclusion—Weeksville might be an excellent place to live, but they would need to find work elsewhere.

Moses smiled as they walked by an amalgamation house, and noted a few of the pretty ladies peeking out the window. One of the girls blew a kiss in their direction and Ezra cautioned his brother, “Moses, we ain’t got money for girls. What we need is work, not playin’ round.” The smile vanished from Moses’s face, but then another kiss came his way. Ezra pulled his younger brother by the back of his collar as he said, “I done told you, Moses, wipe that dumb smile off your face. Sometimes you so stupid.”

The end of their walk around the perimeter of the town brought them back onto Atlantic Avenue. Moses was the first to take note of the commotion.

“Come back here, you little criminal!”

“Stop him!”

The married proprietors of a small general store continued screaming as they chased a young boy who sped past the Brown brothers with his hands full of fruit and tomatoes. After about twenty feet, the wife called off the chase. “Honey, let him go. The child probably hasn’t eaten in days. We would have given it to him if he’d asked.” The husband nodded and the couple returned to their store.

Ezra called out to Moses, “There’s the boy who almost took my toes and a chunk out of your arm. Get ’em.” Moses, the recipient of all instructions, assumed the chase.

After wandering through the woods on such a hot day, Moses’s shirt was soaked with perspiration. Broken twigs marked the spot where the boy entered the wooded area, but after one hundred feet, the trail stopped at a large oak tree. Almost forty-five minutes later, Moses wound up at the same large oak where he started, and thought, Damn boy, it’s hotter than s**t out here and I’m doing all of this runnin’ round. Ezra’s nowhere to be found. Always got to be Moses—Moses do this—Moses do that. Damn Ezra, he probably at the ’malgamation house havin’ some fun. Yeah, he snuck a peek. He calls me stupid, but I ain’t no fool.

Moses stopped his solitary rant as he sat down to rest under the shade of the oak. The first rock hit him in the leg. The next struck him in the chest and he scrambled behind the other side of the tree for protection. There he is, that little s**t. The boy, perched high up in another oak about twenty feet away, alternated between taking bites of his tomato, and waiting for the next opportunity to hit his target.

“Come down here, boy, and stop all the rock throwin’. You want me to give you a whippin’? Come down right now!”

The sound of a rock whizzing by his head greeted Moses as he stepped out from the protection of the tree. Damn, what kind of young boy can throw like that? The boy scrambled in the tree as he searched for more rocks—Moses smiled as he thought, Doesn’t have enough ’munition.

The boy climbed through the branches like a squirrel, and jumped from tree to tree—Moses followed and screamed, “What kind of five-year-old boy can climb like that? What the hell are you?” The answer: a sneer, followed by another leap. The length of the boy’s jumps and the way he swung from branch to branch amazed Moses as he followed from below. Another sneer from the boy preceded an extraordinary jump to a higher branch, perhaps twenty feet in the air. Moses couldn’t tell if the child’s movements were evidence of confidence or stupidity, but one thing was certain—he was fearless. At the sixth tree, he missed his mark for the first time, but Moses caught him and broke his fall. The man overpowered the child and pinned him to the ground.

“What’s your name, boy?”

No answer. The child squirmed his head to avoid eye contact with his attacker.

“What’s your name? Not letting you up ’til you say it.”

The boy squirmed some more, but the larger man immobilized him. He strained his neck to attempt a bite, but Moses kept his distance. After each of his efforts failed, he finally spoke. “My name is Venture and I told you I would get you. I’m going to get all of you, and I’m not five years old…I’m twelve! Let me up!”