just couldn't seem to pull my bones outta bed
this mornin'. Adam scolded me somethin' awful, told me to git myself over to
th' big house 'fore th' master come and whup me."
"He
wouldn't do that," I remarked, reaching for a fork to turn the ham
sizzling in the skillet.
"He
would so, Miz Marietta. Th' master treats us fair, treats us much better'n most
of th' planters treat their slaves, but he don't tol'rate no slackness. He
don't whup any of us very often, but when he takes a notion to do it, he whups
so's you ain't likely to forgit."
"He...
he hasn't beat any of the slaves since I've been here."
"No
'um, there ain't been no need. None of th' niggers uv given him a reason to
whup 'em. He ain't never used that ridin' crop on me, ain't never used it on
any of us wimmin that I know of, but me, I ain't lookin' to be th' first."
Derek
Hawke had only thirty slaves, far fewer than most of the other planters in the
area, and the majority of them were field hands. Since Mattie had been banished
to the cabins, Cassie was the only 'house nigger,' assigned to help me with my
chores. They all lived in the row of cabins behind the barn, Cassie sharing a
room with her husband, Adam, Hawke's chief hand, a powerful black who acted as
overseer to the other slaves. Adam's father had been a king in Africa, Cassie
informed me, and there was an undeniable majesty about Adam himself. Captured
by slavers when he was ten years old, Adam was magnificently built, his skin
like polished ebony. Other planters had offered Hawke a small fortune for the
buck, but Hawke adamantly refused to sell.
"I...
I'd better help you," Cassie said. "It's gettin' late. Th' master'll
be expectin' his tray."
"You
sit still, Cassie. Finish your coffee. I'll prepare his tray."
The
girl looked relieved, slumping lethargically in the wooden chair. I took the
skillet off the stove and placed the fried ham on a plate, then opened the oven
door to check on the biscuits. During the two months I had been at Shadow Oaks
I had become a pretty fair cook, an accomplishment of which I was exceedingly
proud. Mattie had taught me everything she knew. Weighing well over two hundred
pounds, slow-moving, amiable, Mattie had served as Hawke's cook-housekeeper
ever since he had purchased Shadow Oaks twelve years ago. She was well over
sixty now and delighted to be relieved of her heavy responsibilities. When she
wasn't supervising the slaves' meals out in the cookhouse, she spent most of
her time rocking on the porch of her cabin and dipping the snuff Hawke so
generously supplied.
"There,"
I said, "the tray's ready. Don't stir yourself, Cassie. I'll take it to
him."
"You...
you ain't never done it before. He might not like it, might think I'm
shirkin'—"
"Nonsense."
"I
cain't just sit here, Miz Marietta. I has to be doin' somethin'."
"You
can start peeling those peaches in the bucket over there. I'm planning to bake
a peach pie for his supper this evening."
"You's
always doin' somethin' special like that," Cassie remarked. "You
caters to him like he wuz a spoilt little boy, havin' everything just so for
'im. His things ain't never been kept so fine, the house ain't never been kept
so clean an' proper. He ain't never been fed so well, either. Mattie never
baked him no peach pies."
"It's
my job to see that he's pleased, Cassie."
"An'
he treats you just like one of us niggers. When he brung you to Shadow Oaks and
gave you his wife's old room, we all reckoned you was goin' to be his woman as
well as takin' over Mattie's chores. He ain't never even tried you."
"That's
none of your concern, Cassie," I retorted, my voice much sharper than I
had intended. "It's not your place to gossip about the master's—the
master's business."
"I'm
sorry, Miz Marietta. I wuzn't meanin' to be uppity, but... well, it's just that
you's a white lady and beautiful as sin and it don't seem natural-like, him
havin' you in th' house an' not wantin' you. 'Ticularly when you're hankerin'
for
this mornin'. Adam scolded me somethin' awful, told me to git myself over to
th' big house 'fore th' master come and whup me."
"He
wouldn't do that," I remarked, reaching for a fork to turn the ham
sizzling in the skillet.
"He
would so, Miz Marietta. Th' master treats us fair, treats us much better'n most
of th' planters treat their slaves, but he don't tol'rate no slackness. He
don't whup any of us very often, but when he takes a notion to do it, he whups
so's you ain't likely to forgit."
"He...
he hasn't beat any of the slaves since I've been here."
"No
'um, there ain't been no need. None of th' niggers uv given him a reason to
whup 'em. He ain't never used that ridin' crop on me, ain't never used it on
any of us wimmin that I know of, but me, I ain't lookin' to be th' first."
Derek
Hawke had only thirty slaves, far fewer than most of the other planters in the
area, and the majority of them were field hands. Since Mattie had been banished
to the cabins, Cassie was the only 'house nigger,' assigned to help me with my
chores. They all lived in the row of cabins behind the barn, Cassie sharing a
room with her husband, Adam, Hawke's chief hand, a powerful black who acted as
overseer to the other slaves. Adam's father had been a king in Africa, Cassie
informed me, and there was an undeniable majesty about Adam himself. Captured
by slavers when he was ten years old, Adam was magnificently built, his skin
like polished ebony. Other planters had offered Hawke a small fortune for the
buck, but Hawke adamantly refused to sell.
"I...
I'd better help you," Cassie said. "It's gettin' late. Th' master'll
be expectin' his tray."
"You
sit still, Cassie. Finish your coffee. I'll prepare his tray."
The
girl looked relieved, slumping lethargically in the wooden chair. I took the
skillet off the stove and placed the fried ham on a plate, then opened the oven
door to check on the biscuits. During the two months I had been at Shadow Oaks
I had become a pretty fair cook, an accomplishment of which I was exceedingly
proud. Mattie had taught me everything she knew. Weighing well over two hundred
pounds, slow-moving, amiable, Mattie had served as Hawke's cook-housekeeper
ever since he had purchased Shadow Oaks twelve years ago. She was well over
sixty now and delighted to be relieved of her heavy responsibilities. When she
wasn't supervising the slaves' meals out in the cookhouse, she spent most of
her time rocking on the porch of her cabin and dipping the snuff Hawke so
generously supplied.
"There,"
I said, "the tray's ready. Don't stir yourself, Cassie. I'll take it to
him."
"You...
you ain't never done it before. He might not like it, might think I'm
shirkin'—"
"Nonsense."
"I
cain't just sit here, Miz Marietta. I has to be doin' somethin'."
"You
can start peeling those peaches in the bucket over there. I'm planning to bake
a peach pie for his supper this evening."
"You's
always doin' somethin' special like that," Cassie remarked. "You
caters to him like he wuz a spoilt little boy, havin' everything just so for
'im. His things ain't never been kept so fine, the house ain't never been kept
so clean an' proper. He ain't never been fed so well, either. Mattie never
baked him no peach pies."
"It's
my job to see that he's pleased, Cassie."
"An'
he treats you just like one of us niggers. When he brung you to Shadow Oaks and
gave you his wife's old room, we all reckoned you was goin' to be his woman as
well as takin' over Mattie's chores. He ain't never even tried you."
"That's
none of your concern, Cassie," I retorted, my voice much sharper than I
had intended. "It's not your place to gossip about the master's—the
master's business."
"I'm
sorry, Miz Marietta. I wuzn't meanin' to be uppity, but... well, it's just that
you's a white lady and beautiful as sin and it don't seem natural-like, him
havin' you in th' house an' not wantin' you. 'Ticularly when you're hankerin'
for
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