Slave Girl Read online

  Honouring Lizzie Passmore my great-great-great grandmother who dared to learn and teach

  Contents

  Cover

  Dedication

  Chapter 1. March 1859

  Chapter 2. April 1859

  Chapter 3. May 1859

  Chapter 4. June 1859

  Chapter 5. July 1859

  Chapter 6. August 1859

  Chapter 7. September 1859

  Chapter 8. October 1859

  Chapter 9. November 1859

  Chapter 10. December 1859

  Chapter 11. January 1860

  Chapter 13. April 1860

  Chapter 12. March 1860

  Epilogue

  Historical note

  Back Ads

  Copyright

  Belmont Plantation

  Virginia 1859

  March 1859

  The spring blooms are comin’ and the sky is a sure blue. March never knows if it wants to be a spring month or a winter month. The heat’s come early to Virginia this year. That’s fine with me though. As long as it’s hot I have to fan young mas’ William and Miz Lilly, my mistress, during their study time. This mornin’ was the first day of my third learnin’ season. For now on three years, I been fannin’ them, liftin’ and lowerin’ the big fan made of woven Carolina sweet grass – up and down, up and down. The fan stirs the thick air – up and down, up and down – and chases away worrisome horse flies and eye gnats. It may seem like a silly job. But, I don’t mind one bit, ’cause while William is learnin’, so am I.

  Standin’ there fannin’ – up and down, up and down – I come to know my ABCs and the sounds the letters make. I teached myself how to read words. Now, I can pick through things I find to read – like throwed away newspapers, letters in the trash and books I slip off Mas’ Henley’s shelf. It scares me to know what I know sometimes.

  Slaves aine s’posed to know how to read and write, but I do. Miz Lilly would fall down in a fit if she knew I had made myself a diary like the one she’s got on her bed table. It don’t matter to me that hers is all wrapped in fine satin and got ribbons and beads on it and mine is just made up of papers I found in the trash and keeps tied together with a measure of yarn. It’s a diary just the same. Mine. And I aim to write in it whenever I get a chance.

  I got to be real particular and make sure nobody finds out though, ’cause if my mas’er finds out I would fall under the whip. Time and time again I done heard Mas’ Henley swear that if he catches his slaves with learnin’ he’ll beat the skin off us, then sell our hides to slavers from the Deep South. He got the law on his side, too. Anybody found teachin’ a slave in the state of Virginia can be sent to jail. Sure! Wonder why the white folks is so determined to keep us from knowin’ things? What are they scared of?

  Cain’t help but laugh a little bit when I think of what Mas’ Henley would think if he knew I could read better than his boy – and that it was his own wife that had teached me!

  It’s near dark. Pray Lord, don’t let nobody find my diary hid behind the loose brick in the outside chimney wall, back of the kitchen. Hope it can stay dry and safe until I can sneak away to write again.

  Next mornin’, first light

  I got up extra early and churned the butter for breakfast and helped out in the kitchen the way Aunt Tee ’spects me to every mornin’. That give me a little time to practice my writin’ at my spot by the big tree out behind the kitchen. Sunrise is a good writin’ hour – when all is still and quiet.

  I want to tell somebody ’bout all the things I done learned for the past three years. Words got magic. Every time I read or write a word it puts a picture in my head.

  Like when I write H-O-M-E I sees Belmont Plantation and all the people that live here. I sees the Big House where Mas’ Henley, Miz Lilly and William stay, livin’ easy. I sees the separate kitchen with the attic above it where I sleep along with Aunt Tee, Uncle Heb and Hince. I sees the Quarters where my friends live, and beyond their cabins, the fields and orchards where they work. I sees Aunt Tee cookin’ at the fireplace, and the stables where Hince takes care of Mas’ Henley’s prize racin’ horses, and the gardens and grounds that Uncle Heb makes pretty. Home. That one li’l word shows me all of that.

  Mas’ Henley thinks he owns everything here at Belmont, but he don’t own all of me – not really. I know, he can tell me to come and I got to come. When he say do this, I better do it or he’ll put the whip to my back. But I done learned that he cain’t tell me what to think – and feel – and know. He look at me every day but he cain’t see what’s in my head. He cain’t own what’s inside me. Nobody can.

  Few days later

  It rained all the long, long day. Everything is dampish and sticky. I wondered if my diary stayed dry in its hidin’ place. No need to worry, the stone covered it well.

  Next day

  It rained again today. When it rains hard, the field slaves don’t have to work. But our work in the kitchen goes on all the time – no days off.

  Aunt Tee say I’m lucky, gettin’ picked to work in the Big House. I aine so sure. Livin’ right under Mas’ Henley and Miz Lilly aine so easy to me. We got to do their biddin’ all hours of the night and day. But field work is hard – hard on your back, and in the summer, the heat is smothery. I guess what it comes to is bein’ a slave aine no good no matter where they got you workin’.

  Next day

  I just wrote T-R-E-E. I see my tree – the live oak behind the kitchen where I come to write whenever I can slip away. I put a “s” on tree and now the word is trees. The picture in my head turns to the apple orchards. In spring, the apple trees are filled with bright, white blossoms. I close my eyes and see the same trees in the green of summer and full of good-tastin’ apples in the fall. I love playin’ with words – puttin’ letters in and takin’ letters out and lettin’ the pictures change.

  Monday

  I know it’s Monday, ’cause Miz Lilly comes to the kitchen every Monday mornin’ to pass out the flour, sugar and meal.

  It’s so hard keepin’ secrets from the people I live with. Sometimes when I’m helpin’ Aunt Tee in the kitchen, I want to tell her ’bout my learnin’ so bad. But I cain’t, even though she’s ’bout the closest thing to a mama I got since my own mama died five years ago. I don’t think she’d do a thing to hurt me, but she been real close with Mas’ Henley all his life. Been his cook – since before he got married to Miz Lilly. Cain’t take the chance.

  I want to tell Uncle Heb how I used his whittlin’ knife to make a writin’ pen out of a turkey quill. He’d be right proud of his Sunflower Girl, that’s what he calls me. But he’s old now, forgetful. He might just slip up and tell the wrong person, who’d tell Mas’ Henley on me just to win a favour.

  What I wouldn’t give to tell Hince how, whilst I’m dustin’, I slip ink out of Mas’ Henley’s study in a glass bottle. I can see him laughin’ so his eyes would water up. I’d come more close to tellin’ Hince my secret than anybody – him bein’ like a big brother to me, always teasin’ and funnin’. Hince say I study on things all the time – off by myself too much. He don’t understand I aine off to myself ’cause I want to be. I’m just bein’ careful-like, not wantin’ to be caught practisin’ my writin’ and readin’.

  If Mama was alive I could tell her. But Mama is gone, gone forever. Dead. So there’s nobody I trust enough to tell.

  Two days later

  It aine even summer yet, and William is fussin’ ’bout the heat. I am twelve and he is, too. But he seems so much younger. Maybe it’s ’cause William is forever whinin’ ’bout something – ’specially at study time. I just stay quiet and listen, fannin’ – up and down, up and down. Aunt Tee say William is spoiled to a stink. Mas’ Henley thinks his son is a little piece of heave
n here on earth. ’Course, nobody else shares that notion, not even the boy’s mama.

  Next day

  There’s goin’ to be a dinner party in the Big House tonight. Aunt Tee sent me down to the Quarters to get Aggie and Eva Mae to help out in the kitchen. Whenever I write F-R-I-E-N-D, I always put a “s” on it, ’cause I have two friends – Eva Mae’s daughter, Missy. She’s fifteen. And Aggie’s daughter, Wook. She’s sixteen. They all growed up now, but we still be friends. Known them all my life. Cain’t even remember a time when I didn’t know them.

  I’ve always been a little jealous ’cause Wook and Missy be closer to each other than they’s to me. And they each got their mamas with them. Missy’s daddy was Mas’ Henley’s best jockey, but he was throwed from his horse and killed a year or so back. Now Hince do all the ridin’. Eva Mae is still grievin’ and Missy misses her daddy much as I miss my mama.

  Wook is lucky to have a daddy like Rufus. Anybody who knows Rufus and Aggie likes them. Rufus came to Belmont ’bout two years ago from over in Hampton. He’s a strong man, big, but not fat – not tall either. Uncle Heb say he’s a God-fearin’ man. Mas’ must have seen that Rufus was a natural-born leader, so he made Rufus the field boss.

  A lot of women had their eyes on Rufus when he came, but he married Aggie, a big fine woman who had a daughter, but Rufus took Wook to be his very own daughter.

  Aggie is goin’ to have a baby real soon. When her time come, Aunt Tee will do the birthin’. Aunt Tee is the plantation midwife – birthed Hince, Wook, Missy and even birthed me. She look out after all the ’spectin’ women. She’s showed me the secrets to all her medicine recipes, but she will not let me go to a birthin’ with her. I want to know ’bout such things, but Aunt Tee say, it’s not for me. How do she know it’s not for me, if she aine never let me go?

  Next day

  Even though we don’t live but a short walk from each other, Wook and Missy and I don’t get to visit much durin’ the week – just on Saturday nights and Sunday. I got to ’fess, I likes Wook better than Missy. Missy always pushed and hit us when she was young. Now that she’s a big girl, she push and hit with words. Just yesterday she come sayin’ I thought I was somebody, ’cause I work in the Big House. Aggie and Wook work in the fields, hunched over all day in the hot sun. Aunt Tee say that’s enough to make a body mean.

  Friday

  Fear of another frost is over, and the moon is full. Aunt Tee said it was time to plant the house garden behind the kitchen. The family will eat out of it all summer and well into fall. Put in greens, goobers, cabbage, okra – all we could plant on that one spot. Takin’ care of the house garden is one job I don’t mind doin’. Its fun workin’ with the plants, watchin’ them grow and make food.

  Next night

  It stormed earlier tonight. Flashes of lightnin’ lit up the attic room. I tried not to be scared. Lord, I miss Mama. When I was little and it would storm, me and Mama would hug up close and I wouldn’t be scared.

  The rain has finally stopped, but it is still, hot and muggy – cain’t sleep. Besides, I woke up dreamin’ ’bout Mama again. I slipped quiet-like out of the kitchen, careful not to wake nobody, so I could come write.

  I am here at the live oak, my spot. Here I can let my tears drop like the rain and tell the moon ’bout my sadness. Writin’ ’bout my dream helps the hurt go away.

  In my dream, I touched Mama’s round, brown face. Like she used to do, she wet the tip of her apron and dabbed away the sweat over my upper lip and on my forehead. I saw myself readin’ to her. She smiled and clapped her hands. I heared her soft voice praise me the way Mas’ Henley do William when he gets the least li’l thing right.

  “I knows so much more, Mama. Let me show you.” The soft in her face changed and her eyes held a warnin’ I couldn’t understand. “What’s wrong, Mama?” She wanted to say somethin’, but she was pulled away into the dark by some powerful big hand. “Mama, wait.” She was gone, and I woke up to the cold, hurtin’ truth. Mama is dead.

  Next day

  I slipped off to visit with Missy and Wook today. I found them ’mongst the young tobacco plants, ’longside Rufus. I was so glad to see them. We used to have a great time together, playin’ games. Then Mas’ put Missy and Wook to work in the fields, and I got put to work in the Big House. Wook’s face looks tired and drawn. All Missy wanted to talk ’bout was how cute she thought Hince was. Cute? Hince? Missy got eyes for Hince? She did say somethin’ that made good sense. She say that Rufus had asked Mas’ Henley if he could hold a service at Eastertime. I’m surprised. Mas’ aine in the habit of doin’ things nice for nobody less’n it serves him.

  Easter Sunday

  After breakfast, we all gathered in the Quarters for the Easter meetin’. Most times all of us be so tired, we just fall out on Sunday. Try to rest. Be ready for sunrise bell come Monday. But Rufus lifted everybody’s spirits today.

  Mas’ Henley came to the service to see what we was doin’ – come talkin’ ’bout how he didn’t want no shoutin’ and carryin’ on ’bout fredum. He told us to pray for good weather and a big harvest. Sing ’bout joy and happiness. No sad songs. I wonder does he really believe we’ll pray for his good fortune and not our own? He say if we do like he say, then he’ll let us have more meetin’s on Sunday.

  Anyhow, Mas’ Henley sat down, and Rufus took over. Wook tol’ me once that Rufus had been the slave of a preachin’ man before bein’ sold to Mas’ Henley. Uncle Heb say Rufus had learned the Bible from cover to cover – and know all the stories by heart. One day, I want to read the Bible for myself. There’s a Bible that stays on Mas’ Henley’s readin’ table. I’ve looked at it many times, but I’ve never touched it. I think he’d know if I did.

  Rufus began the meetin’ by askin’ Uncle Heb to speak a prayer. Then he called on Aggie to sing. Then Rufus told us a story ’bout a brave man named Daniel who stood down lions with just his faith.

  When we find ourselves in the lion’s den, Rufus say that we should be like Daniel and believe that God will deliver us from all harm. Everybody shouted Amen to that, even me. But, I’m not so sure ’bout facin’ a lion. What a scary thing facin’ a lion.

  Monday evenin’

  The last meal of the day is over and all the dishes is washed. I’m so tired! “You don’t know what tired is,” Aunt Tee told me. “Be glad you aine got to work the fields.” I cain’t demagine bein’ tireder than I am now. I wondered did Wook and Aggie go to bed feelin’ sick-tired like me?

  Day or two later

  There’s just enough light to practice my writin’.

  Freedom is one of the first words I teached myself to write. Down in the Quarters people pray for freedom – they sing ’bout freedom, but to keep Mas’ Henley from knowin’ their true feelings, they call freedom “heaven.” Everybody’s mind is on freedom.

  But it is a word that aine never showed me no picture. While fannin’ this afternoon, my eyes fell on “freedom” in a book William was readin’. No wonder I don’t see nothin’. I been spellin’ it f-r-e-d-u-m.

  I put the right letters in my head to make sure I remembered their place. F-R-E-E-D-O-M. I just now wrote it. Still no picture. Nothin’. The letters just sit there on the page. Spelled right or wrong, freedom got no picture, no magic. Freedom is just a word.

  Friday

  Whenever I dust Mas’ Henley’s study I look at his calendar and get the date. Today is Friday, April 1, 1859.

  First Sunday in April

  ’Round here, they don’t work the field hands on Sunday, but us who works in the kitchen and Big House, don’t get but a few hours off on Sunday mornin’ and in the evenin’ after the last meal is served. We didn’t even get that much time off today.

  A new girl named Spicy come to the kitchen today. She’s got ’bout fifteen years. Miz Lilly bought her from the Ambrose Plantation. S’posed to help Aunt Tee and me with the cookin’ and cleanin’. I’m glad she’s here. We need all the help we can get. But Aunt Tee aine so happy. She thinks Sp
icy is a spy for Miz Lilly.

  “Clotee, make sure you don’t give Spicy no bones to take to the Big House.”

  It’s a fair warnin’. Mas’ Henley and Miz Lilly promise us extra clothin’ and sweets if we tell them things. The Missus promised to give me a handkerchief with yellow and purple pansies at each corner if I told her things ’bout what went on here in the kitchen. I wouldn’t tell her nothin’ if she promised me a box full of handkerchief. None of us in the kitchen are tattlers. I hope Spicy aine one either.

  Later the same day

  Spicy seems nice enough. Quiet though. We got her settled in and ready to start work come daybreak Monday, here in Aunt Tee’s kitchen.

  “Our day starts when the roosters crow,” say Aunt Tee.

  It made me dizzy listenin’ to her put to words all the things we do ’round here. We fix three meals every day – take the food up to the Big House and serve it. Miz Lilly likes her food served on time. First meal is on the table at 8 o’clock. Midday meal is served up at noon. Dinner is at 6.30 o’clock. Then we clean up and get ready for the next day. In between, we do general house cleanin’ – dustin’. Miz Lilly wants a clean house, but she aine willin’ to help keep it clean – throw stuff all ’round in her room, dresser all messy. We wash on Monday and iron on Tuesday. Eva Mae and Aggie come up from the Quarters to help out on those days.

  “William don’t eat at the table with his folks,” Aunt Tee say. “He eats at a smaller table to the side an hour ’fore his folks. You’ll serve him. You understand, girl?”

  Spicy shook her head yes. I aine never seen nobody with eyes that look like big pools of sorryness. I wonder what’s done happened to Spicy to make her look so sad?

  Monday

  It’s Monday again. Miz Lilly come swishin’ to the kitchen first thing this mornin’, measurin’ out the flour, sugar and so on. Actin’ like she know what’s goin’ on. “That woman don’t know salt from sugar,” Aunt Tee chuckled under her breath, “let alone how to cook with it.” But the Missus likes to pr’tend that she’s in charge of the kitchen, but we all know better. Ask anybody and they’ll tell you Aunt Tee is the mistress of Belmont’s kitchen.