The Sugar Planter's Daughter by Sharon Maas Page B

colony, which hardly ever admitted darkies. He had then had to leave to earn money, and had become a postboy. So I suppose there was more to him than his low status indicated. I wondered briefly if darkies had the mental capacity to become doctors, lawyers, statesmen, and if all they lacked was education and opportunity? I supposed it was all rather unfair, but that wasn’t my problem. It was the luck of the draw: some of us were born this way, some that, and who was I to question a status quo from which I profited? I knew that Winnie did – which was why she had ended up in a ramshackle cottage in Albouystown – but Winnie had a touch of the martyr to her, and I can’t stand martyrs. They all have this air of complacent self-aggrandisement that they hide behind a facade of modesty – it is all for show, and behind that facade they are just as proud of themselves as anyone else – proud of their martyrdom, their humility. Winnie didn’t fool me in the least. We all want applause, and she wanted it for her great sacrifice – giving up her privilege for the sake of the underdog. I wasn’t at all fooled. But Mama was. Winnie would always be her shining star.
    The musical discussion seemed to have come to an end, and after a rather pregnant pause – I chose that adjective deliberately – Mama said, ‘Well now Winnie, so what is this news you mentioned in your letter? You seem to be doing everything in your power to delay the announcement, but I won’t let you wriggle away again!’
    â€˜Oh Mama!’ said Winnie and turned quite scarlet.
    â€˜I think I can guess!’ said Mama, beaming, and all of a sudden the penny dropped in my brain and I knew what it was and I couldn’t help it – I dropped my knife and it clattered to the floor and there was a flurry of activity as Pansy, who had been hovering in the background, rushed forward to pick it up and I scraped back my chair to allow her room to retrieve it. But this little incident allowed me time to gather the chaos of thoughts and emotions I had been catapulted into.
    Of course! Why hadn’t I realised it right away! I was normally far more astute – I had of course noticed that Winnie had gained weight but I had put it down to the feeding-up she was getting from her mother-in-law – these people eat mountains of rice with little meat or fish to go with it, and of course everyone knows that rice settles on the hips and waist. But how perfectly idiotic of me to put two and two together and get five!
    Now Winnie seemed to have lost her tongue, and while I carefully arranged the contours of my face to disguise my true feelings and not reveal even a trace of vexation, she hemmed and hawed and simpered like the perfect fool she was. I don’t think I have ever hated Winnie more than in that moment. There. I said the word. I hated her, even before she finally put away her false coyness and said the fatal words:
    â€˜Oh Mama! You have guessed it, haven’t you? George and I are going to have a baby!’
    She glanced at me then, and I saw the triumph in her gleaming eyes. ‘I beat you to it!’ they said, though her lips stayed closed. I seethed. But I smiled.

    I wanted sons . I needed sons. Soon after Papa’s conviction I had discovered among his papers the deeds to some lands up in the Essequibo region, and more land in the Corentyne, to the east, near Skeldon. Land, lying fallow! What we could do with that land! I needed a team of strong young men to develop that land, to rule it and make this family great again.
    But I can hardly be expected to deliver a son when my husband refuses to plant one in my womb.
    Perhaps that is wrongly expressed. It was not so much that he refused to plant the son; it was more that he refused to partake of the very act of planting. It wasn’t the son he didn’t want – he didn’t want me. It seemed, in that respect, that any little coolie