It rained the entire day of the funeral, but Rosemarie did not attend. She wasn’t allowed. No slave was, except for those digging Mrs. Heather’s grave. Yet, through the dreary blanket the rain put on the plantation, she could see 5 lone black figures, just smudges from the window of her Quarters, standing at attention on the top of a hill. The priest. Lydia. Sullivan. Mary. And Alice. All of them stood (except Alice, who was carried by Mary this time) like boards nailed to the ground as the priest prayed over the burial site. It was eerie. Sighing, Rosemarie turned to face her friend Lucy as the last shovel-full of dirt fell onto Mrs. Heather’s casket.
***
Monday morning was like any other scorching hot Georgia day. The plantation workers, not knowing what to do since nobody had come for the children or the farm yet, went to work for fear of somebody discovering their slacking off. Following their lead, Rosemarie and Lucy walked to the manor doors to resume their jobs asmaids. They entered through the back kitchen door and immediately noticed that, although the farmhands went to work today, the other cooks and maids obviously did not. Rosemarie started to doubt her choice of coming to the house as well.
Lucy went to the next room to see if any other slaves had come and left Rosemarie alone. In the silence, a small sob could be heard. Bewildered, she looked around for the source. She saw none, but heard the muffled cry again, only a little louder this time. It was coming from next to the table where the cooks prepared food. Tentatively, Rosemarie crept towards the sound of the sniveling and found herself upon Mary, still in her nightie.
“Mistress Mary! What you be doin’ down there yonder?” She stared down at the little girl in wonder.
“I was hungry, so I came down here for breakfast. But no one was there! I was all alone!” She wiped her nose on the white sleeve of her nightgown, staining it.
“Now don’t be doin’ somethin’ like that. Here,” Rosemarie gave her a corner of her dirty apron, and Mary accepted it gratefully and blew. “There. We don’t want ya’ll to be goin’ an’ ruinin’ your nightie now. Do we?”
The little girl gave a weak smile and broke into fresh tears. Rosemarie helped her to her feet and sat her down on a stool as Lucy walked back in, “I lookin’, but there ain’t no sign of nobody here. Seems the girls on the Quarters don’t ‘ppear to be wanton’ to work no more what with the-“ She stopped mid-sentence when she noticed Mary. The little girl looked away.
Rosemarie tried to calm the situation, “Misstress Mary, you still be wantin’ that breakfast? Right?” She nodded.
***
Alice awoke shortly after she heard her sister’s mattress creak and the patter of footfall on the wood floor. Being blind, she had incredible hearing, so she was awoken easily. She tried to get up and out of the cradle she was in, but couldn’t. So, doing what every 2 year old does in a problem, whether blind or not, she cried.
Soon she heard more footfall and lifted her hands up to be lifted by the person coming. Upon being carried out, she was shocked to find that it was Lydia who was holding her. Alice was expecting the velvet face of a nanny (although she didn’t know what a nanny was.) All she knew was that every morning when she cried, a soft velvety embrace would await her with a husky voice. Along with a sweet smell and the touch of course hair or a scarf around a head. It was strange that Lydia was holding her. It was strange to have a smooth silky embrace of a nightie-covered girl. It was strange to hear the soft, high tones of Lydia’s voice. It was strange to smell the soap used to wash her sister before the funeral. And it was strange to feel soft wavy ringlets. And, being 2 (still), she did another thing 2year olds do when encountering a strange situation. She cried.
***
Lydia was harshly awakened by Alice’s piercing cry in the early morning. Groggily getting up, she walked over to her baby sister’s crib while noticing Mary’s empty bed. As she put Alice on her hip, she looked confused. Alice starting to feel her hair and clothes, but Lydia didn’t mind. She was worried about Mary. Just as she resolved to go downstairs to search for her, Alice started to cry again. Leaving one thing to do, Lydia left her room and headed downstairs with a crying infant on her hip.
***
It was a cool morning, and the sun was not fully up. This was how Sully liked it. Calm and peaceful. Sitting on the porch. Time to think. But what to think about? Too much had happened in the past 2 days. Sighing, he looked over into a puddle not yet evaporated and stared at his reflection. Dusty blonde hair. Freckles. They were traits from his father. A father who died fighting in a silly war. He left his family to save his property. Sullivan could see what his father treasured most in his actions.
Alice’s crying interrupted his thoughts. He ignored her, knowing that one of his sister’s would attend to her. Just in case, he paused. The crying stopped, and Sully silently thanked whichever sister it was that did it. Probably Lydia.
Lydia. She thought she could replace his mother-her mother-easily. Not that it would be hard. He only saw his mother- and rarely that – when she needed him and his siblings to dress up for one of her parties. He never interacted with her beyond that. Yes. Lydia, at 16, probably could replace his mother and do a better job at it, but that wasn’t why he blew up at her when she tried to step in. He was scared. He was scared for himself. If Lydia had to become the mother, would that make him the father? Sullivan didn’t want to have to take that responsibility. He was only 14!
Another cry from Alice broke his thoughts. He waited for one of his sisters to pacify her. She still cried. Sullivan sighed, stood up, stretched, and went inside towards the crying child.
***
Lydia walked around the house in search of somebody. A maid. A cook. A nanny. Anybody. She knew nobody besides Mary would be in the house, but pretending she had someone to turn to made her feel better. As she passed by the kitchen, she noticed the lights were on. Assuming it was just Mary inside, she walked in.
She almost gasped aloud and Alice stopped crying momentarily when they learned that they and their siblings weren’t alone. Two Negro women were in their dirty aprons. One of them was cracking eggs into a pan, and the other was showing Mary how to mix pancake batter. When Mary looked up and saw Lydia gaping at her, she put down her mixing spoon and, red-faced, went on the other side of the table, a safe distance from Rosemarie and Lucy.
“Good mornin’, Mistress Lydia. You be wantin’ breakf’st this mornin’? Shall I go’n wake up Mister Sullivan?” Rosemarie tried to be friendly. “I didn’t want to wake up nobody this mornin’ so I let y’all sleep in. Wha’do ya say, Mistress Lydia? Shall I be wakin’ up Master-“
“I’m here,” Sully walked into the kitchen, “and I see that Alice has been taken car-“
This time his baby sister screamed at full volume. She was holding out her hands in the directions of the slaves. The tall one came over to pick her up, but Lydia hugged her sister away from her. Lydia was determined that a Negro was not going tohelp her out, but another violent wave of tears from Alice changed her mind. She tentatively gave Alice to the slave.
“Shh shh. Dontcha be cryin’, babe. Dontcha be cryin’. You alright.” Lydia watched in fascination as Alice stopped crying, touched the slave’s velvety face, fingered the scarf around her head, and cooed. Rosemarie caressed the baby’s pale face and stroked her shiny caramel hair.
“Ya see? You good, Mistress Alice. There no need to be cryin’.” Alice buried her head in her shoulder.
***
Monday morning was like any other scorching hot Georgia day. The plantation workers, not knowing what to do since nobody had come for the children or the farm yet, went to work for fear of somebody discovering their slacking off. Following their lead, Rosemarie and Lucy walked to the manor doors to resume their jobs asmaids. They entered through the back kitchen door and immediately noticed that, although the farmhands went to work today, the other cooks and maids obviously did not. Rosemarie started to doubt her choice of coming to the house as well.
Lucy went to the next room to see if any other slaves had come and left Rosemarie alone. In the silence, a small sob could be heard. Bewildered, she looked around for the source. She saw none, but heard the muffled cry again, only a little louder this time. It was coming from next to the table where the cooks prepared food. Tentatively, Rosemarie crept towards the sound of the sniveling and found herself upon Mary, still in her nightie.
“Mistress Mary! What you be doin’ down there yonder?” She stared down at the little girl in wonder.
“I was hungry, so I came down here for breakfast. But no one was there! I was all alone!” She wiped her nose on the white sleeve of her nightgown, staining it.
“Now don’t be doin’ somethin’ like that. Here,” Rosemarie gave her a corner of her dirty apron, and Mary accepted it gratefully and blew. “There. We don’t want ya’ll to be goin’ an’ ruinin’ your nightie now. Do we?”
The little girl gave a weak smile and broke into fresh tears. Rosemarie helped her to her feet and sat her down on a stool as Lucy walked back in, “I lookin’, but there ain’t no sign of nobody here. Seems the girls on the Quarters don’t ‘ppear to be wanton’ to work no more what with the-“ She stopped mid-sentence when she noticed Mary. The little girl looked away.
Rosemarie tried to calm the situation, “Misstress Mary, you still be wantin’ that breakfast? Right?” She nodded.
***
Alice awoke shortly after she heard her sister’s mattress creak and the patter of footfall on the wood floor. Being blind, she had incredible hearing, so she was awoken easily. She tried to get up and out of the cradle she was in, but couldn’t. So, doing what every 2 year old does in a problem, whether blind or not, she cried.
Soon she heard more footfall and lifted her hands up to be lifted by the person coming. Upon being carried out, she was shocked to find that it was Lydia who was holding her. Alice was expecting the velvet face of a nanny (although she didn’t know what a nanny was.) All she knew was that every morning when she cried, a soft velvety embrace would await her with a husky voice. Along with a sweet smell and the touch of course hair or a scarf around a head. It was strange that Lydia was holding her. It was strange to have a smooth silky embrace of a nightie-covered girl. It was strange to hear the soft, high tones of Lydia’s voice. It was strange to smell the soap used to wash her sister before the funeral. And it was strange to feel soft wavy ringlets. And, being 2 (still), she did another thing 2year olds do when encountering a strange situation. She cried.
***
Lydia was harshly awakened by Alice’s piercing cry in the early morning. Groggily getting up, she walked over to her baby sister’s crib while noticing Mary’s empty bed. As she put Alice on her hip, she looked confused. Alice starting to feel her hair and clothes, but Lydia didn’t mind. She was worried about Mary. Just as she resolved to go downstairs to search for her, Alice started to cry again. Leaving one thing to do, Lydia left her room and headed downstairs with a crying infant on her hip.
***
It was a cool morning, and the sun was not fully up. This was how Sully liked it. Calm and peaceful. Sitting on the porch. Time to think. But what to think about? Too much had happened in the past 2 days. Sighing, he looked over into a puddle not yet evaporated and stared at his reflection. Dusty blonde hair. Freckles. They were traits from his father. A father who died fighting in a silly war. He left his family to save his property. Sullivan could see what his father treasured most in his actions.
Alice’s crying interrupted his thoughts. He ignored her, knowing that one of his sister’s would attend to her. Just in case, he paused. The crying stopped, and Sully silently thanked whichever sister it was that did it. Probably Lydia.
Lydia. She thought she could replace his mother-her mother-easily. Not that it would be hard. He only saw his mother- and rarely that – when she needed him and his siblings to dress up for one of her parties. He never interacted with her beyond that. Yes. Lydia, at 16, probably could replace his mother and do a better job at it, but that wasn’t why he blew up at her when she tried to step in. He was scared. He was scared for himself. If Lydia had to become the mother, would that make him the father? Sullivan didn’t want to have to take that responsibility. He was only 14!
Another cry from Alice broke his thoughts. He waited for one of his sisters to pacify her. She still cried. Sullivan sighed, stood up, stretched, and went inside towards the crying child.
***
Lydia walked around the house in search of somebody. A maid. A cook. A nanny. Anybody. She knew nobody besides Mary would be in the house, but pretending she had someone to turn to made her feel better. As she passed by the kitchen, she noticed the lights were on. Assuming it was just Mary inside, she walked in.
She almost gasped aloud and Alice stopped crying momentarily when they learned that they and their siblings weren’t alone. Two Negro women were in their dirty aprons. One of them was cracking eggs into a pan, and the other was showing Mary how to mix pancake batter. When Mary looked up and saw Lydia gaping at her, she put down her mixing spoon and, red-faced, went on the other side of the table, a safe distance from Rosemarie and Lucy.
“Good mornin’, Mistress Lydia. You be wantin’ breakf’st this mornin’? Shall I go’n wake up Mister Sullivan?” Rosemarie tried to be friendly. “I didn’t want to wake up nobody this mornin’ so I let y’all sleep in. Wha’do ya say, Mistress Lydia? Shall I be wakin’ up Master-“
“I’m here,” Sully walked into the kitchen, “and I see that Alice has been taken car-“
This time his baby sister screamed at full volume. She was holding out her hands in the directions of the slaves. The tall one came over to pick her up, but Lydia hugged her sister away from her. Lydia was determined that a Negro was not going tohelp her out, but another violent wave of tears from Alice changed her mind. She tentatively gave Alice to the slave.
“Shh shh. Dontcha be cryin’, babe. Dontcha be cryin’. You alright.” Lydia watched in fascination as Alice stopped crying, touched the slave’s velvety face, fingered the scarf around her head, and cooed. Rosemarie caressed the baby’s pale face and stroked her shiny caramel hair.
“Ya see? You good, Mistress Alice. There no need to be cryin’.” Alice buried her head in her shoulder.
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