huge hearth. She stepped down into it. On either side of the hearth were long bread ovens cut into the stone. With an efficient crew, Ernie could keep the bread ovens humming enough to feed over one hundred guests on special occasions, such as Geneva’s wedding. The floor of the hearth Ernie kept in hot ashes. One of her secrets was burying vegetables in the hot ash and then hours later retrieving them. A small, new iron stove also functioned. Ernie thought this wood-burning stove good for coffee, but to her way of thinking, no great cook would dream of roasting meats in such an oven. The griddle was an improvement over the old method, yes, she would admit that, but meats needed an open fire, the flavor controlled by the wood chips and spicesmixed into the fire. Ernie passed these practices on to Boyd as though administering holy sacraments. Boyd, plump already, displayed her mother’s appetite for culinary distinguishment.
Ambition coursed through Ernie June. As cook of an important estate, she too had power, but not enough. One obstacle blocked Ernie’s ascension: Sin-Sin. As long as Sin-Sin lived, Ernie couldn’t get around her, she could only hold firmly to her number-two spot. Sin-Sin owned Lutie as much as Lutie owned Sin-Sin. The fact that Sin-Sin bore a child that died drew the two even closer together. Hearing the little girl’s pitiful whimpers as she tossed on her straw pallet was the only time Ernie felt pity for Sin-Sin. When the child finally left this earth, relieved of its terrible suffering, Sin-Sin smeared white ash on her face, made pots, and refused to cry. For one week she kept to her cabin, firing her kiln like a woman on fire herself. Ernie June lost no time in taking over Sin-Sin’s duties. Sheer ugliness drove Sin-Sin back to life. She washed her face, walked in the back door of the house, and took over. Sin-Sin’s husband died of the same suffering some seven years before the little girl. It was a tiredness, an evil in the blood. Ernie wished Sin-Sin would get it. But Ernie would outmaneuver Sin-Sin in the long run. She knew that, because she had two children and Sin-Sin had none. Boyd would inherit both her mother’s cooking ability and position. Braxton, her oldest son at twenty-two, marked sums when he wasn’t at the stables. Henley perceived the young man was good with numbers and taught him to keep books.
With both her children in the house or stable and not in the fields, Ernie expanded slowly. She’d worked too hard to hang back. She ate the same food the master did and so did her children. She never stood in line on Saturdays for the rations: four pounds of wheat flour, one pound of sugar, one pound of coffee, a peck of corn meal, four or five pounds of pork, a quart of blackstrap molasses, tobacco, and all the potatoes and vegetables one could grow in his own garden. Ernie June would never, ever bend over a patch behind her cottage. That was for field niggers. If the master ate quail, so did Ernie June. Not one carrot passed through the kitchen but what Ernie June did not decide its fate. She was consulted each time a pig, sheep, or cow was slaughtered.
Yet her greatest power, her left-handed authority, came when she distributed riches from her kitchen to the otherservants. Ernie June was courted hotly by every black soul, save Sin-Sin and Di-Peachy, on that property, all four thousand acres of it. Sin-Sin knew what Ernie did, but she couldn’t cross her on this. Sin-Sin had sense enough to turn a blind eye. However, after such distributions, Sin-Sin would wear Lutie’s keys around her waist to remind everyone that she, Sin-Sin, held ultimate power. Ernie hated the jingle of those keys. Like a sixth sense she knew when Sin-Sin was wearing them instead of Lutie. Lutie’s gait, light and skipping, rang down the hall. Sin-Sin walked like Napoleon. Someday, someday before she died, Ernie would wear those keys on her belt. And when the mistress designated her, no one, no one would
Ambition coursed through Ernie June. As cook of an important estate, she too had power, but not enough. One obstacle blocked Ernie’s ascension: Sin-Sin. As long as Sin-Sin lived, Ernie couldn’t get around her, she could only hold firmly to her number-two spot. Sin-Sin owned Lutie as much as Lutie owned Sin-Sin. The fact that Sin-Sin bore a child that died drew the two even closer together. Hearing the little girl’s pitiful whimpers as she tossed on her straw pallet was the only time Ernie felt pity for Sin-Sin. When the child finally left this earth, relieved of its terrible suffering, Sin-Sin smeared white ash on her face, made pots, and refused to cry. For one week she kept to her cabin, firing her kiln like a woman on fire herself. Ernie June lost no time in taking over Sin-Sin’s duties. Sheer ugliness drove Sin-Sin back to life. She washed her face, walked in the back door of the house, and took over. Sin-Sin’s husband died of the same suffering some seven years before the little girl. It was a tiredness, an evil in the blood. Ernie wished Sin-Sin would get it. But Ernie would outmaneuver Sin-Sin in the long run. She knew that, because she had two children and Sin-Sin had none. Boyd would inherit both her mother’s cooking ability and position. Braxton, her oldest son at twenty-two, marked sums when he wasn’t at the stables. Henley perceived the young man was good with numbers and taught him to keep books.
With both her children in the house or stable and not in the fields, Ernie expanded slowly. She’d worked too hard to hang back. She ate the same food the master did and so did her children. She never stood in line on Saturdays for the rations: four pounds of wheat flour, one pound of sugar, one pound of coffee, a peck of corn meal, four or five pounds of pork, a quart of blackstrap molasses, tobacco, and all the potatoes and vegetables one could grow in his own garden. Ernie June would never, ever bend over a patch behind her cottage. That was for field niggers. If the master ate quail, so did Ernie June. Not one carrot passed through the kitchen but what Ernie June did not decide its fate. She was consulted each time a pig, sheep, or cow was slaughtered.
Yet her greatest power, her left-handed authority, came when she distributed riches from her kitchen to the otherservants. Ernie June was courted hotly by every black soul, save Sin-Sin and Di-Peachy, on that property, all four thousand acres of it. Sin-Sin knew what Ernie did, but she couldn’t cross her on this. Sin-Sin had sense enough to turn a blind eye. However, after such distributions, Sin-Sin would wear Lutie’s keys around her waist to remind everyone that she, Sin-Sin, held ultimate power. Ernie hated the jingle of those keys. Like a sixth sense she knew when Sin-Sin was wearing them instead of Lutie. Lutie’s gait, light and skipping, rang down the hall. Sin-Sin walked like Napoleon. Someday, someday before she died, Ernie would wear those keys on her belt. And when the mistress designated her, no one, no one would
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