Mama’s Tree

Bet Russell as a girl - St. Mary’s on the Bay, Texas, circa 1872 While reflecting last week on the resilience of trees, I also thought about stories of resilience in my ancestry. I’m sure there are many. I had ancestors who served in many wars. Many faced uncertain futures on the frontier. Others survived the Great Depression. Some encountered the fury of natives whose land they dispossessed and whose culture they erased. But the story of resilience that leaped out to grab me is not a story of anyone related to me by blood. It’s the story of Bet Russell Morris – purchased by my third-great grandfather, Charles Arden Russell in 1864 – along with her young mother, Airy, and infant brother. 1 At emancipation in 1865, Airy left with her son, and Bet continued to live with the Russells. Indeed, Bet stayed with the family for more than 20 years – well after Charley’s death in 1878 – until Bet married Pleas Morris in 1886. Those are all documented facts. I don’t know why Bet stayed and Airy left. What follows is my imagined version of one possibility. Helena, Texas - June 26, 1865 Home of My Third-Great Grandparents, Charley & Emeline Russell A young Black woman sits on a blanket in the speckled shade of a small post oak. Thirty yards behind her, an older white woman pretends to sweep a porch, while her head points toward the Black woman and her children. A few feet from the blanket, the Black woman’s three-year-old son pokes with a stick at some bugs under the tree. A food basket sits unopened to the woman’s right. The woman’s eyes focus only on the girl across from her, whose shoulders shake quietly. Head down. Then the girl looks up. Her voice cracks. “Mama, why y’all gotta leave here?” Airy keeps her eyes locked on her five-year-old daughter. She sees the tears welling in Bet’s eyes. After a deep breath, Airy reaches out with both arms to hold her daughter’s shoulders square. “Girl, you goan’ have to be strong. Y’hear?” Bet looks down. But her mother persists. “You tell me you understand me. You goan’ be strong?” Bet looks up. A tear starts down her cheek, and she wipes it away. “Yes’m.” “What that mean? How you goan’ be strong?” Bet looks in the direction of the tree. “I goan’ to do my work. I goan’ to do what Miss Emeline and Mister Charley say. I goan’ to say my prayers. Every day.” The young woman nods, still holding Bet’s shoulders. She grips harder. “That’s right. That’s what you goan’ do.” The girl turns back to her. “But Mama, why you ain’t takin’ me with y’all?” Airy sighs, releasing her grip from Bet’s shoulders. “I ain’t got all the answers, girl.” Bet’s voice quickens. “If y’all take me, I would do all the work y’all need. I’d tend the chickens, gather the wood, build the fire, and put the wash on to boil.” Airy smiles. “I know you would, girl.” “Then why y’all ain’t takin’ me? Or stayin’ here?” “Girl, I gots to go where the Lord leads me. You goan’ be strong here. You goan’ survive here. I’mma try to keep me and your brother alive. I can’t do that here.” “Why not, Mama? I heard Miss Emeline say you and Brother could stay.” Airy glances back at the cabin. “This here place ain’t where I belong.” “But I belong with YOU.” Now, Bet’s tears come. Airy reaches her hand toward her daughter to comfort her, then stops. “Girl, I ain’t even gone yet, and this how you be strong?” “I goan’ be strong, Mama. But why you leavin’ me?” Airy opens the basket and finds a small knife, then slices it across her palm. “Look at this tree.” She crawls over the blanket to the tree’s base. Airy digs briefly at the post oak’s base with the knife. She presses her bloody palm against a root, then covers the root with dirt. “That’s my blood in that tree. Now your hand.” Bet hesitates briefly, then offers her palm. Airy cuts quickly. As the blood wells, she clutches her own bloody palm against her daughter’s. “My blood already in you. But now you seen it with your eyes and felt it in your hand. I’m here, girl. With you. Always. And in this tree, too. You can always find me when you need me.” Bet looks in her mother’s eyes. Her breath hitches, then she hugs her mother tight. Airy gives in to the embrace. But she does not allow herself to cry. From the porch, the white woman continues to stare. Helena, Texas - May 1867 Bet sits cross-legged in front of the post oak, hands resting on the roots. As often happens, she has lost track of time. In the cabin behind her, Charley’s voice rises. “Emeline, you are letting that n__ girl be lazy again!” “Bet did her chores.” Charley scoffs. “Is that so? Is next week’s pig slop ready? Has she put lime in the privy? And I suppose little Mary is going to feed herself? Emeline, you know that the work on this farm is never done. Especially if you are a n__ girl.” “What would you have me do? That tree gives her peace.” “She can look at the tree while she is doing her work. But I want you to stop this laziness of permitting her to sit idle.” “What if I tell her she can do her book studies by the tree?” “You think that makes it better? You know I do not agree with you teaching that n___ girl to read and write. Keep her away from that tree.” Emeline shakes her head. But she slowly walks in the direction of the post oak. Helena, Texas - December 1, 1868 Emeline’s voice rings out. “Child, you better get on this wagon or you will not have a family to stay with!” Bet lifts her palms from the roots of the post oak, then scoops up a small kerchief wrapped around a handful of acorns before running to the wagon. “Yes’m. I’m here!” Charley starts the horses, and the wagon starts the 80 mile trip southeast to the new Russell family home at St. Mary’s on the Bay. Bet looks down at her kerchief, and sees that it’s stained red from the cut on her palm. She smiles. She had planned only to leave her blood in her Mama’s tree. But it’s only right that her blood should also mix in Mama’s seeds – soon to be planted in her new home. Please subscribe to follow the arc: truth → healing → transformation & repair 1