face tightened. He glanced back at the master and the missus, who were deeply engaged in conversation.
âIâm âbout done with you feeding every nigger who come through here holding sixes and sevens and nothing to their name, he said.
Sarah looked up at him calmly, the lines in her face straight with the derision and familiarity of long years of marriage. He was, she knew, a limited man.
âWhynât you carry that basket of oysters over to the house before Marse comes out here, she said. Iâll take the last one in.
Louie shot a hot glance at his wife, then glanced at the master and the missus.
âIâll thank you to risk your own neck and keep mineâs off the block, he grumbled.
âI wonder if somebody up the road didnât say that when our Drew was on the run, Sarah said evenly, still shucking oysters.
âDrewâs dead, he said.
Sarah wanted to leap to her feet and slap him where he stood, but resisted. Instead she shucked oysters and spoke at him again, calmly.
âGâwan in the house. Maybe Marseâll let you play big in there.
Louie snatched a basket and left in a huff, stomping off the pier towards the house just a few yards away. She watched him disappear inside, then called out to her youngest son, Gilbert, who was nearby cutting firewood.
The boy, a lanky lad of about ten, trotted over. Over his shoulder, she noticed the master and his wife pause to watch, then turn back to their work, out of earshot.
Sarah slid to the edge of the pier and dropped into the waist-high water. She gathered the netting that hung off the sides of the tiny fishing bungy, wrapping it up to place it inside the boat. As she did so, she spoke calmly to her son, standing above her on the pier.
âRoll up your pants leg. The left one. Nice and easy like always.
âWhy I got to do this all the time? the boy asked.
Sarah stopped rolling up the net a moment, her face hardened. She stared up at him.
âYou open your mouth that way again, Iâll roast your backside with a gummed tree switch big as my hand. You want that?
He shook his head no, fearfully.
âWatch how I tie this, she said.
She grasped the rope hanging off the boatâs bow and tied five eye-splice knots in it nonchalantly, placing a collar beneath each knot by wrapping the rope three times from right to left, in the same direction as the sun, from east to west. She did it so carelessly and nonchalantly, that to anyone watching, it looked as if she was doing it halfheartedly. Then, blocked out of sight from the shore by the boat, she carefully slipped several oysters into the boatâs bottom, looping them into the netting, leaving them scattered beneath the inner lip of the boat, so it would appear theyâd fallen there and been left by accident. She then looped the netting around into a circular pattern, tossed it into the boat, and tied the boat to the pier with the five-knotted rope, using the last eye splice, a loop, to fasten it to the pilings on the pier.
âYou see that? she asked her son.
âYesâm.
âNow help me out this water.
The boy reached up and helped pull her onto the pier. Sarah rolled down her dress and straightened her head wrap. She peered at the shore, where the master and his wife were grinding up the last of their grain. She spoke to her boy as she stared straight ahead at them. She saw them glance at her and continue to look. She picked up an oyster and held it before her son, the master watching, out of earshot. From a distance, it appeared as if she were showing him how to shuck it.
She carefully tried to pry open the oyster. It slammed shut.
âSee that? she said. Every creature under Godâs creation learns how to protect itself.
She nodded to the rope.
âFive knots, she said. North, south, east, west, and free. Button your collar and keep God on your shoulder. Your God shoulderâs your right one. Loop your rope from left to right
âIâm âbout done with you feeding every nigger who come through here holding sixes and sevens and nothing to their name, he said.
Sarah looked up at him calmly, the lines in her face straight with the derision and familiarity of long years of marriage. He was, she knew, a limited man.
âWhynât you carry that basket of oysters over to the house before Marse comes out here, she said. Iâll take the last one in.
Louie shot a hot glance at his wife, then glanced at the master and the missus.
âIâll thank you to risk your own neck and keep mineâs off the block, he grumbled.
âI wonder if somebody up the road didnât say that when our Drew was on the run, Sarah said evenly, still shucking oysters.
âDrewâs dead, he said.
Sarah wanted to leap to her feet and slap him where he stood, but resisted. Instead she shucked oysters and spoke at him again, calmly.
âGâwan in the house. Maybe Marseâll let you play big in there.
Louie snatched a basket and left in a huff, stomping off the pier towards the house just a few yards away. She watched him disappear inside, then called out to her youngest son, Gilbert, who was nearby cutting firewood.
The boy, a lanky lad of about ten, trotted over. Over his shoulder, she noticed the master and his wife pause to watch, then turn back to their work, out of earshot.
Sarah slid to the edge of the pier and dropped into the waist-high water. She gathered the netting that hung off the sides of the tiny fishing bungy, wrapping it up to place it inside the boat. As she did so, she spoke calmly to her son, standing above her on the pier.
âRoll up your pants leg. The left one. Nice and easy like always.
âWhy I got to do this all the time? the boy asked.
Sarah stopped rolling up the net a moment, her face hardened. She stared up at him.
âYou open your mouth that way again, Iâll roast your backside with a gummed tree switch big as my hand. You want that?
He shook his head no, fearfully.
âWatch how I tie this, she said.
She grasped the rope hanging off the boatâs bow and tied five eye-splice knots in it nonchalantly, placing a collar beneath each knot by wrapping the rope three times from right to left, in the same direction as the sun, from east to west. She did it so carelessly and nonchalantly, that to anyone watching, it looked as if she was doing it halfheartedly. Then, blocked out of sight from the shore by the boat, she carefully slipped several oysters into the boatâs bottom, looping them into the netting, leaving them scattered beneath the inner lip of the boat, so it would appear theyâd fallen there and been left by accident. She then looped the netting around into a circular pattern, tossed it into the boat, and tied the boat to the pier with the five-knotted rope, using the last eye splice, a loop, to fasten it to the pilings on the pier.
âYou see that? she asked her son.
âYesâm.
âNow help me out this water.
The boy reached up and helped pull her onto the pier. Sarah rolled down her dress and straightened her head wrap. She peered at the shore, where the master and his wife were grinding up the last of their grain. She spoke to her boy as she stared straight ahead at them. She saw them glance at her and continue to look. She picked up an oyster and held it before her son, the master watching, out of earshot. From a distance, it appeared as if she were showing him how to shuck it.
She carefully tried to pry open the oyster. It slammed shut.
âSee that? she said. Every creature under Godâs creation learns how to protect itself.
She nodded to the rope.
âFive knots, she said. North, south, east, west, and free. Button your collar and keep God on your shoulder. Your God shoulderâs your right one. Loop your rope from left to right
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