wanted.’
This time Mrs Allen turns right round in her seat to scold him. ‘Will you leave that boy alone, Gerald! I’ve told you already! Don’t you go getting ideas about him being your new plaything because he ain’t. He’s here to work, same as all our Negroes. That’s why I allowed you to buy him – just you remember that. It’s about time you took on some responsibility around the place, and you can’t do that if you’re off playing with the slaves.’
Gerald puts the ball back in his pocket, all indignant and surly. Now I’m the only one in the cart she ain’t turned on, and I won’t give her cause, not if I can help it. We cross a wooden bridge and it goes over a lazy ol’ river, where the weeping willows dip down into the water. A half-mile furtheron, Hubbard turns the wagon onto a long dirt driveway, all lined with sapling trees, and the sight of the big white house makes my heart skip a beat.
That house is made of painted white boards with doors and shutters the colour of ripened corn. It has a tall and striking roof, and although it’s not grand, it’s bigger than most of the houses in Middle Creek and set nicely in its own space. A red maple tree grows on the green lawn out in front, and that big ol’ tree must give plenty of shade from the sun on a hot day.
This ain’t what I expected. I thought I’d end up somewhere that looked like a prison, but this is, well … it’s heavenly. It really is. I didn’t ever think I’d live in a place as pretty as this one.
An old lady is out the front, sweeping leaves from the veranda, and she lays aside her broom as the wagon approaches, then reappears at the back door just as Hubbard brings the cart to a stop beside a little black buggy with a tall white mare standing upright in the harness.
Mrs Allen is all vigour and thrust and she jumps down from the wagon without assistance. ‘Winnie?’ she addresses the old girl. ‘Will you call out Harriet to occupy Gerald before he finds a bat and ball from somewhere? Take him into the house, will you? Sicely can unload the shabby. No, better let Hubbard do it. Would you do that, Hubbard? Deliver it to the parlour table and we can move it to the hallway once we have set up one of the rooms for sewing.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ says Hubbard as he secures the horse.
Winnie says, ‘The preacher’s here to see you, ma’am.’
‘Thank you, Winnie. I recognize his carriage. Have you prepared lunch for us?’
‘It’s all ready, ma’am. We were just waiting on you.’
The old lady waits for us two boys to step down into the yard and she shepherds Gerald away into the house without another word. Hubbard walks across the yard to an outhouse and returns with a man in a leather apron. He wipes his hands down the front of it, then helps Hubbard lift the cloth from the wagon and they walk it into the house, one of ’em at each end to carry the heavy load.
I’m still standing at the back of the cart like a spare piece, not knowing where to go or what to do.
‘Friday.’
I hear the name but I don’t pay no heed to it.
Mrs Allen shakes me by the shoulder. ‘I said, Friday? Come along with me, if you please.’
She walks me to the cookhouse that is situated next to the back door of the main building and the smells that reach me through the open doorway are delicious. I can make out bread and some sort of broth and all of it makes my stomach churn like it’s the Devil’s own pot.
Inside the building there’s a large kitchen. A long table runs right down the middle of the room. Its top is laid with open pots and large brown jars and there are platters of food all ready and waiting to be eaten. A big plate of breaded ham has sliced pickled cucumbers that smile up at me from around its rim and there’s a board with thick hunks of bread. A woman stands at a range and stirs a pot in the dim light, the steam rising up around her, all full of flavour and good things. Mrs Allen calls out to her. ‘Hey,
This time Mrs Allen turns right round in her seat to scold him. ‘Will you leave that boy alone, Gerald! I’ve told you already! Don’t you go getting ideas about him being your new plaything because he ain’t. He’s here to work, same as all our Negroes. That’s why I allowed you to buy him – just you remember that. It’s about time you took on some responsibility around the place, and you can’t do that if you’re off playing with the slaves.’
Gerald puts the ball back in his pocket, all indignant and surly. Now I’m the only one in the cart she ain’t turned on, and I won’t give her cause, not if I can help it. We cross a wooden bridge and it goes over a lazy ol’ river, where the weeping willows dip down into the water. A half-mile furtheron, Hubbard turns the wagon onto a long dirt driveway, all lined with sapling trees, and the sight of the big white house makes my heart skip a beat.
That house is made of painted white boards with doors and shutters the colour of ripened corn. It has a tall and striking roof, and although it’s not grand, it’s bigger than most of the houses in Middle Creek and set nicely in its own space. A red maple tree grows on the green lawn out in front, and that big ol’ tree must give plenty of shade from the sun on a hot day.
This ain’t what I expected. I thought I’d end up somewhere that looked like a prison, but this is, well … it’s heavenly. It really is. I didn’t ever think I’d live in a place as pretty as this one.
An old lady is out the front, sweeping leaves from the veranda, and she lays aside her broom as the wagon approaches, then reappears at the back door just as Hubbard brings the cart to a stop beside a little black buggy with a tall white mare standing upright in the harness.
Mrs Allen is all vigour and thrust and she jumps down from the wagon without assistance. ‘Winnie?’ she addresses the old girl. ‘Will you call out Harriet to occupy Gerald before he finds a bat and ball from somewhere? Take him into the house, will you? Sicely can unload the shabby. No, better let Hubbard do it. Would you do that, Hubbard? Deliver it to the parlour table and we can move it to the hallway once we have set up one of the rooms for sewing.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ says Hubbard as he secures the horse.
Winnie says, ‘The preacher’s here to see you, ma’am.’
‘Thank you, Winnie. I recognize his carriage. Have you prepared lunch for us?’
‘It’s all ready, ma’am. We were just waiting on you.’
The old lady waits for us two boys to step down into the yard and she shepherds Gerald away into the house without another word. Hubbard walks across the yard to an outhouse and returns with a man in a leather apron. He wipes his hands down the front of it, then helps Hubbard lift the cloth from the wagon and they walk it into the house, one of ’em at each end to carry the heavy load.
I’m still standing at the back of the cart like a spare piece, not knowing where to go or what to do.
‘Friday.’
I hear the name but I don’t pay no heed to it.
Mrs Allen shakes me by the shoulder. ‘I said, Friday? Come along with me, if you please.’
She walks me to the cookhouse that is situated next to the back door of the main building and the smells that reach me through the open doorway are delicious. I can make out bread and some sort of broth and all of it makes my stomach churn like it’s the Devil’s own pot.
Inside the building there’s a large kitchen. A long table runs right down the middle of the room. Its top is laid with open pots and large brown jars and there are platters of food all ready and waiting to be eaten. A big plate of breaded ham has sliced pickled cucumbers that smile up at me from around its rim and there’s a board with thick hunks of bread. A woman stands at a range and stirs a pot in the dim light, the steam rising up around her, all full of flavour and good things. Mrs Allen calls out to her. ‘Hey,
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