discouraged by the withering stares of Sister’s mother and sisters.
Queen Marie had come, too, pretending to be a friend, but looking for further details to support the already incredible tale of Sister’s demise. It was Queen Marie who had started the story that Sister had been stricken by a demon of licentiousness, had arisen from her torpor to molest poor Prince, and attempted to seduce her own unsuspecting daddy.
But Sister seemed to pay no mind to the rumors. She moved, with grace and dignity, quietly back to her humble hut, her bewildered children in tow. And again, having failed once more to destroy her with their slander, the townsfolk said that she was vain, begrudging Sister the only refuge that she had left: her pride. They would have seen that devastated, too, if they had had their druthers.
Prince’s sisters, her own sisters, came at intervals to check in on her, and take the children to church. Sometimes, they made dinner and small talk.
“You awright?” they would ask, and smile thinly, expecting no response. They knew that Sister was not alright.
But no one knew the horror of profound loneliness that Sister felt inside, when no one saw her downturned face but her children, who grew quiet and watchful during these periods when their mother was irritable and intolerant of them. No one else knew the terrible burden of standing alone against a great torrent of fear that threatened to sweep her beneath its current; fear of failing herself and her children, who looked to her for their livelihood and nurturing, while her own internal resources seemed to dwindle yet more each day; fear of being forever alone, and frightened, in a world not fashioned for her survival, no one to lean on, even for a moment, when she sorely needed comfort; fear of the ever present spirits, some amiable, some hostile, that seemed to reign over her soul; fear of having lost the strength of her own will; of death and hell, eternal and more horrible than anything she could fathom, for hell itself, she had become sure, lay just beyond the reaches of her consciousness—just there, silent and simmering, waiting for her.
At times, these fears overcame Sister. It was at these times that she returned to wait huddled on the dirt floor of the barn in Saint James Parish, waiting for someone, anyone, to unbar the heavy door and free her from the grief of Sapphire’s sins and the consequence of her dreadful act of liberation—emancipating her child, she had heightened her own bondage.
Sister waited patiently now, knowing that what lay beyond the walls of the barn was a prison of another sort. She waited feeling the sting of the contempt of others, knowing that she could never redeem herself. Yet she returned, again and again, for certain tools of Sapphire’s survival were there imparted to Sister: an ever more haughty spirit, and a tongue sharp as a sword. These kept her enemies at bay.
And an energy drawn from Sapphire’s spring filled Sister and made her strong.
chapter 3
INEZ, NORTH CAROLINA
APRIL, 1875
After his wife had gone crazy, he had begun spilling his semen on her sheets. No, Queen Marie thought, it was not until Sister had made a public spectacle of herself, showing up at the Fields’ Good Inn, affectionately known by its faithful clientele as the Feels Good Inn. Queen Marie did dishes there, and Prince loitered or clowned, sometimes drunk, entertaining the customers and, if he had managed lately to beg, steal, or swindle enough, buying a round for the entire house.
It had been a particularly boisterous party, the whole house dancing and sweating in the darkened barroom.
But all had fallen silent when the door had opened, and Sister stood with her children, scowling as she surveyed the room. Everyone knew who she was, of course, and what had happened to Sister, and whom she was seeking. When her eyes fell upon him, she had stepped inside, yanking her children with her, holding their hands tightly. The dance had
Queen Marie had come, too, pretending to be a friend, but looking for further details to support the already incredible tale of Sister’s demise. It was Queen Marie who had started the story that Sister had been stricken by a demon of licentiousness, had arisen from her torpor to molest poor Prince, and attempted to seduce her own unsuspecting daddy.
But Sister seemed to pay no mind to the rumors. She moved, with grace and dignity, quietly back to her humble hut, her bewildered children in tow. And again, having failed once more to destroy her with their slander, the townsfolk said that she was vain, begrudging Sister the only refuge that she had left: her pride. They would have seen that devastated, too, if they had had their druthers.
Prince’s sisters, her own sisters, came at intervals to check in on her, and take the children to church. Sometimes, they made dinner and small talk.
“You awright?” they would ask, and smile thinly, expecting no response. They knew that Sister was not alright.
But no one knew the horror of profound loneliness that Sister felt inside, when no one saw her downturned face but her children, who grew quiet and watchful during these periods when their mother was irritable and intolerant of them. No one else knew the terrible burden of standing alone against a great torrent of fear that threatened to sweep her beneath its current; fear of failing herself and her children, who looked to her for their livelihood and nurturing, while her own internal resources seemed to dwindle yet more each day; fear of being forever alone, and frightened, in a world not fashioned for her survival, no one to lean on, even for a moment, when she sorely needed comfort; fear of the ever present spirits, some amiable, some hostile, that seemed to reign over her soul; fear of having lost the strength of her own will; of death and hell, eternal and more horrible than anything she could fathom, for hell itself, she had become sure, lay just beyond the reaches of her consciousness—just there, silent and simmering, waiting for her.
At times, these fears overcame Sister. It was at these times that she returned to wait huddled on the dirt floor of the barn in Saint James Parish, waiting for someone, anyone, to unbar the heavy door and free her from the grief of Sapphire’s sins and the consequence of her dreadful act of liberation—emancipating her child, she had heightened her own bondage.
Sister waited patiently now, knowing that what lay beyond the walls of the barn was a prison of another sort. She waited feeling the sting of the contempt of others, knowing that she could never redeem herself. Yet she returned, again and again, for certain tools of Sapphire’s survival were there imparted to Sister: an ever more haughty spirit, and a tongue sharp as a sword. These kept her enemies at bay.
And an energy drawn from Sapphire’s spring filled Sister and made her strong.
chapter 3
INEZ, NORTH CAROLINA
APRIL, 1875
After his wife had gone crazy, he had begun spilling his semen on her sheets. No, Queen Marie thought, it was not until Sister had made a public spectacle of herself, showing up at the Fields’ Good Inn, affectionately known by its faithful clientele as the Feels Good Inn. Queen Marie did dishes there, and Prince loitered or clowned, sometimes drunk, entertaining the customers and, if he had managed lately to beg, steal, or swindle enough, buying a round for the entire house.
It had been a particularly boisterous party, the whole house dancing and sweating in the darkened barroom.
But all had fallen silent when the door had opened, and Sister stood with her children, scowling as she surveyed the room. Everyone knew who she was, of course, and what had happened to Sister, and whom she was seeking. When her eyes fell upon him, she had stepped inside, yanking her children with her, holding their hands tightly. The dance had
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