‘Where is Joseph going? Why can’t Joseph stay here with me, Mother? Who will play with me now?’”
Nanny rested the bridge of her nose between the braided muscles of Gabriel’s arms. She sighed, and he wished he could relieve her suffering.
Sitting there, holding Nanny, Gabriel’s boyhood days washed over him, and he let the truth rise up. I should have seen the lie long before I did, he thought. Before Thomas Henry changed. Before Thomas Henry struck me with the man’s board, I was like Joseph. A plaything, but a plaything.
A memory passed through Gabriel’s mind. In early childhood, he ate breakfast with Thomas Henry in the great house on many a morning. He slept on the floor in Thomas Henry’s bedroom on many a night, too. One morning when Gabriel and Thomas Henry got caught at the kitchen table with a plate full of cake crumbs, yet no cake before them, Kissey tore into the boys. They had eaten Mr. Prosser’s birthday cake — not just one piece between them, not just a piece for each of them, but the entire pound cake.
“What in tarnation happened here?” Kissey had asked. “And before you go tellin’ me a lie, Thomas Henry, wipe that sugar from off your chin!” Then Kissey wagged her finger at Gabriel and clucked her tongue. “You ought know better. That’s all I have to say to you. ” She yanked both children by a hand and dragged them before Mrs. Prosser.
When Kissey told the missus, Ann Prosser licked her thumb and cleaned all evidence from Gabriel’s face. First, she addressed Kissey: “Are you not feeding him quite enough?” Then she spoke to Gabriel. “Child, were you very hungry? Is that why you ate the pound cake?”
Gabriel had only followed Thomas Henry, but to Mrs. Prosser he just shrugged. He felt Thomas Henry staring at his back.
Mrs. Prosser squeezed Gabriel’s hands. “Today is Mr. Prosser’s birthday. Did you know that Kissey fixed that cake up special for your master? I asked her especially to make Mary Randolph’s pound cake, and she worked very hard to do so. What do you say for yourself, Gabriel?”
He looked over at the cook. “I liked your cake, Miss Kissey. Would you please make me one for my birthday?”
Mrs. Prosser pretended to scold him. “Now, listen to me, Mister Gabriel: if Kissey baked for everyone at Brookfield, she would hardly have time for anything else. Besides, not everyone here has a birthday. Mr. Prosser wrote yours down in his book, Gabriel, but I’m afraid none of us knows Kissey’s, because she was born someplace far away from Brookfield.” Mrs. Prosser looked at Kissey. “Do you know your own birthday?” she asked.
“No, missus,” Kissey answered, and raised her eyebrows at Gabriel, warning him to keep his mouth quiet.
“See there?” Mrs. Prosser stroked Gabriel’s cheek. “No, love, cakes are just for the family.” She gently pushed Gabriel away and nodded for Kissey to take him. “I think you and Thomas Henry have had enough playtime today. Why don’t you run out to the south field now? They might need you to bring water; it’s unmercifully hot this afternoon.”
That evening, after Mr. Prosser’s birthday dinner, Kissey fetched Gabriel from the quarter. “Young master askin’ for Gabriel. He’s scared to sleep by hisself, again,” Kissey said.
Gabriel felt relieved that Thomas Henry still wanted to be with him.
When Gabriel reached the great house and saw Thomas Henry sitting and waiting on the top porch step, he waved and ran up the stairs, glad in a way that he would sleep in the house, away from the bugs and away from Dog, who would most likely come home to the quarter with muddy legs, stinking of the marsh from her late-night hunt. But, most of all, he was glad things were good again with Thomas Henry. We are like brothers. Everyone says so.
He had a new song to teach Thomas Henry and decided to teach his friend that night. We’ll sing in the dark, like always, he had thought.
Yet Thomas Henry had run into
Nanny rested the bridge of her nose between the braided muscles of Gabriel’s arms. She sighed, and he wished he could relieve her suffering.
Sitting there, holding Nanny, Gabriel’s boyhood days washed over him, and he let the truth rise up. I should have seen the lie long before I did, he thought. Before Thomas Henry changed. Before Thomas Henry struck me with the man’s board, I was like Joseph. A plaything, but a plaything.
A memory passed through Gabriel’s mind. In early childhood, he ate breakfast with Thomas Henry in the great house on many a morning. He slept on the floor in Thomas Henry’s bedroom on many a night, too. One morning when Gabriel and Thomas Henry got caught at the kitchen table with a plate full of cake crumbs, yet no cake before them, Kissey tore into the boys. They had eaten Mr. Prosser’s birthday cake — not just one piece between them, not just a piece for each of them, but the entire pound cake.
“What in tarnation happened here?” Kissey had asked. “And before you go tellin’ me a lie, Thomas Henry, wipe that sugar from off your chin!” Then Kissey wagged her finger at Gabriel and clucked her tongue. “You ought know better. That’s all I have to say to you. ” She yanked both children by a hand and dragged them before Mrs. Prosser.
When Kissey told the missus, Ann Prosser licked her thumb and cleaned all evidence from Gabriel’s face. First, she addressed Kissey: “Are you not feeding him quite enough?” Then she spoke to Gabriel. “Child, were you very hungry? Is that why you ate the pound cake?”
Gabriel had only followed Thomas Henry, but to Mrs. Prosser he just shrugged. He felt Thomas Henry staring at his back.
Mrs. Prosser squeezed Gabriel’s hands. “Today is Mr. Prosser’s birthday. Did you know that Kissey fixed that cake up special for your master? I asked her especially to make Mary Randolph’s pound cake, and she worked very hard to do so. What do you say for yourself, Gabriel?”
He looked over at the cook. “I liked your cake, Miss Kissey. Would you please make me one for my birthday?”
Mrs. Prosser pretended to scold him. “Now, listen to me, Mister Gabriel: if Kissey baked for everyone at Brookfield, she would hardly have time for anything else. Besides, not everyone here has a birthday. Mr. Prosser wrote yours down in his book, Gabriel, but I’m afraid none of us knows Kissey’s, because she was born someplace far away from Brookfield.” Mrs. Prosser looked at Kissey. “Do you know your own birthday?” she asked.
“No, missus,” Kissey answered, and raised her eyebrows at Gabriel, warning him to keep his mouth quiet.
“See there?” Mrs. Prosser stroked Gabriel’s cheek. “No, love, cakes are just for the family.” She gently pushed Gabriel away and nodded for Kissey to take him. “I think you and Thomas Henry have had enough playtime today. Why don’t you run out to the south field now? They might need you to bring water; it’s unmercifully hot this afternoon.”
That evening, after Mr. Prosser’s birthday dinner, Kissey fetched Gabriel from the quarter. “Young master askin’ for Gabriel. He’s scared to sleep by hisself, again,” Kissey said.
Gabriel felt relieved that Thomas Henry still wanted to be with him.
When Gabriel reached the great house and saw Thomas Henry sitting and waiting on the top porch step, he waved and ran up the stairs, glad in a way that he would sleep in the house, away from the bugs and away from Dog, who would most likely come home to the quarter with muddy legs, stinking of the marsh from her late-night hunt. But, most of all, he was glad things were good again with Thomas Henry. We are like brothers. Everyone says so.
He had a new song to teach Thomas Henry and decided to teach his friend that night. We’ll sing in the dark, like always, he had thought.
Yet Thomas Henry had run into
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