The Kitchen House Part 2

We heard children and followed the sound. It led us past a number of double cabins and several small gardens. When we rounded the final cabin, we found ourselves in a large dirt yard. Down a distance was a clapboard house, and Beattie whispered that this was where the overseer lived, away from the others. "He white," she said in my ear.

From the center of the yard, an old woman called out a greeting. "Well, well! It de f.a.n.n.y and de Beattie." She straightened up her thin rounded back as best she could and continued to stir the contents of a black kettle that bubbled over an open flame. "Yous here to eat?" she asked. A group of children stood back from her, watching carefully.

"No, Auntie. We got to go right back up," f.a.n.n.y said.

"And who dis?" The old woman's dark eyes peered at me.

"This Abinia, Auntie. Belle her new mama," f.a.n.n.y answered. I glanced at f.a.n.n.y, wondering at the t.i.tle she'd given Belle.

"Uh-huh," replied the old woman, looking me up and down before turning back to her work. She called over two of the boys to help her remove the pot from the fire and set it on the side to cool.

When she took a large wooden paddle to stir the cornmeal again, I caught a pleasant waft of the salty smell of pork, but I was surprised to see her stir up a piece of board from the bottom. She looked about carefully before removing it, then threw it quickly on the fire. I'm not sure how I knew, but I was aware that this was a piece of the board from Jimmy's smokehouse theft.

With the help of the boys, she poured the hot meal into a wooden trough not unlike the one Papa George used for his pigs. A tall girl emptied a small wooden bucketful of b.u.t.termilk over the stiffening corn mush, and the old woman used her cooking paddle to combine the two. When she nodded to the children, they rushed eagerly to their meal. A few of the babies clung to their older siblings and were settled on a lap or placed at the trough, where they all began to eat. Some of the children had thin pieces of wood to help scoop up the food, though most used nothing but unwashed hands, and the yellow mixture soon turned dark. When I saw their hunger, I was struck with a deep familiarity and turned away, my mind anxious to keep at bay memories it was not yet ready to recall. where they all began to eat. Some of the children had thin pieces of wood to help scoop up the food, though most used nothing but unwashed hands, and the yellow mixture soon turned dark. When I saw their hunger, I was struck with a deep familiarity and turned away, my mind anxious to keep at bay memories it was not yet ready to recall.

WE WERE BACK AT THE kitchen house in time for our own afternoon meal. That day our wooden bowls contained a roasted sweet potato, a generous slice of boiled ham, and an ear of sweet corn. I felt guilt as I began to eat, remembering the children we had just left, but the cause of my guilt soon changed when I heard f.a.n.n.y lie to Mama Mae about where we had spent the afternoon. kitchen house in time for our own afternoon meal. That day our wooden bowls contained a roasted sweet potato, a generous slice of boiled ham, and an ear of sweet corn. I felt guilt as I began to eat, remembering the children we had just left, but the cause of my guilt soon changed when I heard f.a.n.n.y lie to Mama Mae about where we had spent the afternoon.

AS COLD WEATHER APPROACHED, OUR responsibilities grew. The girls were taken up to the big house to learn from Mama, while I was kept down with Belle. When f.a.n.n.y balked at the housework, Mama sat her down in the kitchen house and, within earshot of Beattie and me, lectured her daughter. "What you thinkin', f.a.n.n.y? You forgettin' that you a slave? You don't know by now, anytime the cap'n want, he can sell you? Anytime Miss Martha say she want you gone, you gone." responsibilities grew. The girls were taken up to the big house to learn from Mama, while I was kept down with Belle. When f.a.n.n.y balked at the housework, Mama sat her down in the kitchen house and, within earshot of Beattie and me, lectured her daughter. "What you thinkin', f.a.n.n.y? You forgettin' that you a slave? You don't know by now, anytime the cap'n want, he can sell you? Anytime Miss Martha say she want you gone, you gone."

"I'd just say no, I'm stayin'," f.a.n.n.y sa.s.sed.

Mama's voice shook. "You listen, girl. I'm gonna tell you what happens when you say no to a white man. I watch my own daddy get shot when he saddle up and ride out on a mule to get help for my own sick mama. She havin' a baby, cryin' out for help. I standin' right there when that masta say to my daddy to get down from that mule. When my daddy say, 'No, I's going for help,' that old masta shoot him in the back. That night all I know to do is keep the flies away when I watch my mama die. When that old masta sell me, he say I'm good for nothin' but the fields. And that's where I grow up, workin' hard, right 'longside Ida, until old Mrs. Pyke call me up to the big house to feed Belle. It don't take long for me to see what I got to do to stay up there. I work for Mrs. Pyke like I don't know what tired mean. Nothin' that I won't do. 'Yes, Mrs. Pyke, you right, Mrs. Pyke,' that all I say. You girls watch me close. I act like I don't have no mind of my own, except how to make everybody in the big house happy. That because I mean to stay up there, and I tryin' hard to keep you girls with me. what tired mean. Nothin' that I won't do. 'Yes, Mrs. Pyke, you right, Mrs. Pyke,' that all I say. You girls watch me close. I act like I don't have no mind of my own, except how to make everybody in the big house happy. That because I mean to stay up there, and I tryin' hard to keep you girls with me.

"There's not a day go by that I don't say, 'Thank you, Lawd, for sendin' me up to the big house and for givin' me the cap'n for my masta. I know there nothin' right about being a slave, but who I gonna tell that story to?

"Now, f.a.n.n.y, you still wantin' to get yourself sold, you ask Papa how he get here. Then you get yourself ready, because he gonna cry when he tell you, and by the time he finish, you be cryin', too."

Wide-eyed, the three of us had nothing to say when Mama finished.

LATER THAT MONTH, THE TWINS told me of a new arrival, another adult, who had come to join the family. He was from England, a tutor, they said, sent by the captain to teach his children. When f.a.n.n.y declared that she didn't like him, I don't remember asking her why. told me of a new arrival, another adult, who had come to join the family. He was from England, a tutor, they said, sent by the captain to teach his children. When f.a.n.n.y declared that she didn't like him, I don't remember asking her why.

I was certainly curious about the big house and the children in it, but the girls told me that they did not often see the inhabitants. If they should, they were instructed not to initiate conversation but to nod and go about their tasks. When Beattie supported f.a.n.n.y in saying that their work, dusting and cleaning floors, was tedious and unexciting, I ceased to mind that I was kept back in the kitchen.

Belle was softening toward me, and as she did, I became even more eager to please her. It was already my responsibility to scatter the corn and wheat for the chickens, so I was doubly proud of myself the day she trusted me to go down to the chicken house to collect the eggs. When Papa George saw me leaving the hen yard, he came my way. Eager to s.h.i.+ne at my new responsibility, I painstakingly placed my full basket on the ground before carefully closing the gate behind me. "You good with the hens, Abinia," he said. "You a good girl."

His smile radiated through to my lonely heart and suddenly opened it to a new possibility. "Papa," I asked, "is Dory your girl?"

"That she is," Papa said.

"Are Beattie and f.a.n.n.y your girls?" I asked.

"They sure enough is," he said.

"Papa," I asked, "is Belle your girl?"

"Why you ask all this, chil'?" he said.

"I was wondering, Papa..." I said, then stopped and focused on my toe as it drew a line in the dirt.

"Go on, chil', what you wonderin' about?" he encouraged.

"Could I be your girl, too?" I asked quickly.

The large, broad-shouldered man looked away before he answered. "Well, now," he said, as though he had given it deep thought, "I sure do think I would like that."

"But," I said, concerned that he hadn't noticed, "I don't look like your other girls."

"You mean because you white?"

I nodded.

"Abinia," he said, pointing toward the chickens, "you look at those birds. Some of them be brown, some of them be white and black. Do you think when they little chicks, those mamas and papas care about that?"

I smiled up at him, and he rested his huge hand on my head. "I think I just got me one more baby girl," he said, tousling my hair, "and I'm gonna call her Abinia. How about that! I say, 'Thank you, Lawd!' Ain't I just the luckiest man!"

I skipped all the way back up to the house. Belle scolded me when she found a broken egg, and I promised her that I would be more careful the next time, but my singing heart wasn't apologetic in the least.

A LIGHT SNOW WAS FALLING LIGHT SNOW WAS FALLING the early December night when Mama Mae brought the shrieking baby Henry to the warm kitchen. The twins followed her, and we three sat together and watched as Belle the early December night when Mama Mae brought the shrieking baby Henry to the warm kitchen. The twins followed her, and we three sat together and watched as Belle and Mama Mae applied warm soaks to the baby's swollen feet and hands. But he would not stop his agonized screams. and Mama Mae applied warm soaks to the baby's swollen feet and hands. But he would not stop his agonized screams.

"f.a.n.n.y, you go up to get Dory. Miss Martha takin' the black drops all day, and for sure she sleepin' by now. Uncle Jacob keep an eye on her till Dory get back."

f.a.n.n.y turned to run, and Mama called after her, "Tell Dory to bring the black drops with her."

When Dory arrived, she tried to comfort her baby by nursing him. In his pain, he refused the solace, tossing his head back and forth. Dory herself began to cry. "Mama, what can I do?"

"He not good, baby," Mama Mae said to her oldest daughter. "I see this before, down the quarters. We give the drops to ease him."

Mama held the little brown bottle Dory had brought from the house and mixed some of the dark liquid with warm water. Dory held the suffering child while Belle opened his mouth and Mama carefully dripped the mixture in. Baby Henry coughed when he swallowed, but to our great relief, he soon fell into a deep sleep. Later, there was a light knock, and Uncle Jacob entered.

"Miss Martha callin' for you, Dory," he said. "She want you now."

Mama Mae took baby Henry from a reluctant Dory. "Go on," she said, "he gonna sleep now."

After Dory left, Mama showed Uncle Jacob the baby's swollen hands and feet. He shook his head. "He not gonna be here long," he said.

"This be hard on Dory," said Mama Mae.

"Hard on Jimmy, too," Belle added. "Don't forget, he's the daddy. Every day all he wants to see is his Dory and his baby boy, but he's got to stay away. The overseer warned Jimmy that if he finds him close to Dory again, he'll sell him. He says Jimmy's a field-worker, so he's got to go with a field woman, and he's not supposed to have nothing to do with a big-house girl."

"Don't n.o.body ask the cap'n if Dory can jump the broom with Jimmy?" Uncle Jacob asked.

"Rankin say he the overseer. That mean he the boss, and he say who marry who," answered Mama Mae. "That Rankin just wantin' to be ugly." who marry who," answered Mama Mae. "That Rankin just wantin' to be ugly."

When Mama Mae took notice of the three of us, the twins were sent home, and I was sent upstairs to sleep. After Uncle left, Mama Mae stayed with the baby and sat beside the fire to talk with Belle. I fell asleep, comforted by their soft, low voices.

BABY H HENRY DIED THAT NIGHT. In the early morning Papa George came with a small board over which Mama and Belle fas.h.i.+oned a small pallet. Dory stood near the door, holding her now quiet baby. Mama went to her. "Give him to me," she said softly, reaching for baby Henry. In the early morning Papa George came with a small board over which Mama and Belle fas.h.i.+oned a small pallet. Dory stood near the door, holding her now quiet baby. Mama went to her. "Give him to me," she said softly, reaching for baby Henry.

"Mama, no." Dory turned away with her bundle.

Papa George came over and put his arm around the thin shoulders of his firstborn daughter. "Dory, he okay now, he with the Lawd. You give him to Mama."

Slowly, Dory held baby Henry out. "Mama, you fix him? You always so good with him, Mama," she pleaded.

Belle took Dory's arm and led her outside. I watched from the door as they walked down past the barn and into the woods. Snow was falling, draping a clean sheet of silent white. Mama Mae watched them leave before she came back to Papa George. She placed baby Henry on the pallet, and together, using a long brown cloth, they bound his small body to the wooden board. As they finished wrapping, Mama Mae looked up at Papa. Tears dripped down her round face. "It best for this chil' that he go, I knows this," she said, "but I afraid he take Dory's heart with him."

"Our girl gonna be all right," Papa said, and wiped Mama's face dry with his fingers.

The twins were there, and they were crying, too; I was not. I felt empty, and when they all left for the burial, I stayed back until, terrified of the isolation, I ran after them, down to the cemetery by the quarters.

I stood in the shelter of the trees to watch. Ben was standing beside a small grave he had dug next to other small graves that were marked by jutting stones. When they lowered baby Henry into the earth, Dory loosed a series of long, wrenching wails. My mind, caught in the rush of her grief, tunneled away. It was as though a veil had been torn back and I'd left this place of sorrow to enter a deeper one, one that held the other me, which had been lost until this day. I was back again on board s.h.i.+p, unable to stand its violent rocking and the desperate nausea of my own sickness. were marked by jutting stones. When they lowered baby Henry into the earth, Dory loosed a series of long, wrenching wails. My mind, caught in the rush of her grief, tunneled away. It was as though a veil had been torn back and I'd left this place of sorrow to enter a deeper one, one that held the other me, which had been lost until this day. I was back again on board s.h.i.+p, unable to stand its violent rocking and the desperate nausea of my own sickness.

The shrouded body had become my mother's. I watched again as they lowered it, deep and away, into the wild water. Days before, my father had led the way; he went in the water, too. I looked around me through the snow for my brother, Cardigan. Certain I heard him calling, I left to find him.

JIMMY, BABY H HENRY'S FATHER, FOUND me and brought me to the kitchen house. I had been missing all of that day. In the evening after dark, when Jimmy had gone alone to mourn his son, he had stumbled upon me in the woods. me and brought me to the kitchen house. I had been missing all of that day. In the evening after dark, when Jimmy had gone alone to mourn his son, he had stumbled upon me in the woods.

They say I rocked silently for almost two days. Finally, Mama Mae came. She sat down next to me on my pallet, then she told Belle and the twins to leave. "Abinia," she said firmly, "why you rockin' like this?"

I rocked wildly as I clung to the memory of pain, to the memory of my mother. I couldn't release it; I would lose her again.

"Abinia," she said, trying to hold me still, "you tell Mama Mae why you rockin' like this." She held my face and forced my eyes to meet hers. "You talk to Mama. Abinia, you got to talk. Don't you go away like this. You talk to Mama. You tell her what the trouble is."

I tried to pull away, needing the force of motion to still the nausea, but Mama took my rocking self to her lap. Pressing me to her strong bosom, she slowed my rhythm to match her own. "Mama gonna take this pain from you," she said. Rocking back, she breathed deeply, pulling me in to herself, and as we rocked forward, she exhaled in deep guttural moans the sorrow I was holding.

Back and forth she rocked, bringing to the surface the festering poison of the nightmare I had been hiding. I tried to breathe with her, but my breath came in short rasps, and I felt as though I were drowning. poison of the nightmare I had been hiding. I tried to breathe with her, but my breath came in short rasps, and I felt as though I were drowning.

"Now," she said. "You tell Mama."

I whispered the horror. "Baby Henry is in the water."

"Baby Henry not in the water," she said, "that baby is with the Lawd. He in a good place. He laughin' and playin' with other children of the Lawd. He not hurtin' no more! He in a good place."

"My ma is in the water," I whispered again.

"Abinia, your mama is with the Lawd, just like baby Henry. Matter of fact, she be holdin' baby Henry, and they playin' together right now. Listen, you can almost hear them laughin'. This world is not the only home. This world is for practice to get things right. Times, the Lawd say, 'Nope, that mama, that baby Henry, they too sweet to stay away from Me no more. I brings them home.' I knows this, Abinia," she said, her solid arms and words of conviction anchoring me. "Mama sayin' there are times we got to trust the Lawd."

Somehow I heard Mama Mae's truth, and my heart believed her. Having found my past, I clung to this mother who now gave me my future. " Ma!" I keened. "Ma!" and my cries finally released the tears I had stored since my arrival.

"Mama's here," I was rea.s.sured. "Mama's here."

CHAPTER FOUR

Belle

TO TELL THE TRUTH, WHEN baby Henry pa.s.ses, he's suffering so much, it's the best thing that he goes. Poor Dory's wanting to save him, but Mama says she sees this before in the quarters and it always ends bad. Now Dory's eyes look like Miss Martha's after she loses her babies. baby Henry pa.s.ses, he's suffering so much, it's the best thing that he goes. Poor Dory's wanting to save him, but Mama says she sees this before in the quarters and it always ends bad. Now Dory's eyes look like Miss Martha's after she loses her babies.

When Lavinia sees baby Henry going in the ground, she goes off her head. When Jimmy brings her back, I can't do nothing with her, but Mama knows what to do. Then Lavinia remembers being on the s.h.i.+p and seeing her mama and papa dying and them being dropped in the water. What are those men thinking, letting a little one see that?

Now she knows where she comes from, Ireland, but she says that her mama and papa had nothing there and come here looking to work. She says she has a brother, Cardigan.

Funny name, Cardigan. I don't ask more because I see she still have a hard time talking about him.

Since her day of remembering, it's hard to believe the change in that chil', though she's still like a mouse, skittery and scared of the world. She makes a big thing of doing her ch.o.r.es, and when she's done, she always comes for me to look. When I say "good job," her little face has a smile to light up the kitchen house.

I got to say, when the twins tell me that she's bringing food to Ben, that little girl warms my heart. She don't know why I give her extra to take down, but I got to laugh when I think that we both got our eye on the same man.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lavinia

AFTER I I REMEMBERED THE DEATH REMEMBERED THE DEATH of my parents, other memories began to surface. Of course, at that tender age, I had few years to draw from, but when a sound or a scent brought forth another image, it was often enough to leave me devastated. Overcome by loss, I could do nothing but grieve. I had kind parents, though both were under strain at the time we boarded the s.h.i.+p. My ma did not want to leave Castlebar, the city in Ireland where both of her parents still lived. But my da, with no relations that I could recall, was determined to provide a better life for his family. I had memories of the two often arguing, but I could not forget my ma's terrible grief when my da died. And then I lost her. For the rest of the voyage, I clung desperately to my brother. My last recall of Cardigan was his helplessness to respond to my imploring screams as the captain took me from him. of my parents, other memories began to surface. Of course, at that tender age, I had few years to draw from, but when a sound or a scent brought forth another image, it was often enough to leave me devastated. Overcome by loss, I could do nothing but grieve. I had kind parents, though both were under strain at the time we boarded the s.h.i.+p. My ma did not want to leave Castlebar, the city in Ireland where both of her parents still lived. But my da, with no relations that I could recall, was determined to provide a better life for his family. I had memories of the two often arguing, but I could not forget my ma's terrible grief when my da died. And then I lost her. For the rest of the voyage, I clung desperately to my brother. My last recall of Cardigan was his helplessness to respond to my imploring screams as the captain took me from him.

I eased the pain of these memories by making a promise to myself: One day I would find my brother.

My health was returning, and though I was now deeply attached to Mama, I also was beginning to look to Belle for comfort. Her att.i.tude toward me had changed since baby Henry's death-so much so that one night, when she heard me crying, she brought me into her own bed. There she put her arms around me and stroked my back until I slept. From then on I was often granted permission to climb into her bed at night.

WHEN THE CAPTAIN ARRIVED HOME in time for Christmas, we in the kitchen were told how Miss Martha had once again come to life. These past months, while the captain had been away, the mistress in time for Christmas, we in the kitchen were told how Miss Martha had once again come to life. These past months, while the captain had been away, the mistress had her meals served in the upper sitting room adjoining her bedroom. The children were there with her for dinner, but for other meals they ate with the tutor in the study. Since the captain's arrival, and with the approach of the holidays, meals had taken on a festive air and were served once again in the dining room. had her meals served in the upper sitting room adjoining her bedroom. The children were there with her for dinner, but for other meals they ate with the tutor in the study. Since the captain's arrival, and with the approach of the holidays, meals had taken on a festive air and were served once again in the dining room.

With extra help needed in the kitchen, to my delight, Beattie was brought down to the kitchen house, while f.a.n.n.y stayed up to work alongside Dory. Everyone was kept busy baking for the holidays, and even Ben came up from the barns to help. He chopped the wood that kept the kitchen fires burning hot, as well as supplying fuel for the fireplaces in the big house. Beattie and I were thrilled when we were given the ch.o.r.e to help Ben carry wood. We ran outdoors to greet him, eager to please.

"You too little for work," he teased both of us.

"No, we're not," we a.s.sured him.

He gave each of us a small piece of kindling. "More," we begged, "more," until he packed our arms. We stumbled from the woodpile, determined to show our strength, but when we arrived in the kitchen, Mama Mae called out to him, "Ben! Ben, you come here!"

Ben stood so tall that he had to lean forward when he came through the kitchen door. He straightened and smiled. "You call me, Mama?" he asked.

Belle turned to look, and Ben acknowledged her with a nod. Belle, whose face had taken on a pink glow, returned the nod, then turned quickly back to measuring a pound of sugar. Belle was thin, but I noticed that when she leaned forward to cut from the sugar block, her waist curved up to show a generous bosom, giving her a graceful shape. Glancing at Ben, I saw that he was noticing, too.