“Can’t you go talk to this Yankee man by yourself, Otis?”
“I could, but I want you to hear what he has to say, too. Anything we decide, we need to decide together, you and me.”
“Saul says he’s a white man. You trust white men?”
“I don’t exactly trust them . . . but I do trust Jesus.”
“Dolly says that Jesus was a white man, too.”
“Dolly’s wrong. He’s the Son of God, and He ain’t no color at all. He was born a poor slave, just like us. He knows just how we feel.”
“That don’t make sense to me. Doesn’t God own the whole world, Otis? Why would He let His Son grow up poor?”
“I can’t explain it exactly. Besides, we better hush up the rest of the way home. Voices travel a long way at night, and if Massa Daniel wakes up, he might think we’re thieves and get out his shotgun.”
Two days later, Otis told Lizzie to be ready to walk to the village as soon as she finished feeding the white folks their supper. She had all day to think about it and didn’t know if she was scared or excited. Probably both. All her life, people would come and go from White Oak to Fairmont and back again, but Lizzie had never once stepped foot off the plantation or seen a town for herself.
She was still fretting about it late that afternoon when Roselle came running into the kitchen, shouting, “Mama, come quick! I want to show you something.”
“Not now,” Lizzie sighed. “I got too much to do, and I need your help with it.” Roselle was such a fanciful girl that if it poured down rain she’d want to go look for a rainbow and the pot of gold at the end of it. “Just tell me what it is, honey. I got work to do.”
“Well, Rufus and Jack and me were taking a shortcut past the stables and all of a sudden this great big bird flies up right in front of us, flapping its wings and making an awful racket. It liked to scare me half to death! I started to run, but then I realized it was a duck. A duck, Mama! I looked a little closer and saw it had a nest full of eggs. Eight of them.”
“Did you get them for me? They’ll taste real good for our breakfast tomorrow.”
“Mama, no! There might be baby ducks inside those eggs.”
“Well, there might be baby chickens inside hens’ eggs, too, and we eat those every morning. Duck eggs taste real good.”
“Mama! Now I’m glad I didn’t show you!” Roselle was outraged,standing with her fists clenched as if ready to defend her nest. “I’m not letting anybody eat those eggs, Mama. I hid behind the bushes and watched for a while, and there’s a mama and a papa duck guarding the eggs, keeping them warm and safe until they hatch.”
Her daughter’s soft heart amused Lizzie. “Do whatever you want. But don’t be surprised if a raccoon or a fox gets them first. Now wash your hands and help me fix dinner.”
Lizzie and Otis left for the village right after supper. “How far is it?” she asked as they reached the main road at the end of the lane.
“Only a few minutes by carriage,” Otis said. “It’ll probably take us close to an hour to walk there.” Before long they passed the woods where the Negro shantytown was, then came to a white plantation house that looked a lot like White Oak—only smaller, with tall pillars and a wide front porch.
“That’s where Miz Eugenia goes visiting with her friend, Miz Blake,” Otis said. “When we start seeing houses that are real close together, you’ll know we’re in the village.” And sure enough, pretty soon there were houses on both sides of the road, and they were nearly as close to each other as the cabins on Slave Row. Otis pointed to a pretty white building with a tall, pointy tower on top. “That there is the church where the Weatherlys go on Sunday.”
Lizzie saw more and more houses, and then a long row of shops with big windows out front. White people and Negroes were walking around or riding in carriages, but she drew to a halt when she saw a group of Yankee soldiers
“I could, but I want you to hear what he has to say, too. Anything we decide, we need to decide together, you and me.”
“Saul says he’s a white man. You trust white men?”
“I don’t exactly trust them . . . but I do trust Jesus.”
“Dolly says that Jesus was a white man, too.”
“Dolly’s wrong. He’s the Son of God, and He ain’t no color at all. He was born a poor slave, just like us. He knows just how we feel.”
“That don’t make sense to me. Doesn’t God own the whole world, Otis? Why would He let His Son grow up poor?”
“I can’t explain it exactly. Besides, we better hush up the rest of the way home. Voices travel a long way at night, and if Massa Daniel wakes up, he might think we’re thieves and get out his shotgun.”
Two days later, Otis told Lizzie to be ready to walk to the village as soon as she finished feeding the white folks their supper. She had all day to think about it and didn’t know if she was scared or excited. Probably both. All her life, people would come and go from White Oak to Fairmont and back again, but Lizzie had never once stepped foot off the plantation or seen a town for herself.
She was still fretting about it late that afternoon when Roselle came running into the kitchen, shouting, “Mama, come quick! I want to show you something.”
“Not now,” Lizzie sighed. “I got too much to do, and I need your help with it.” Roselle was such a fanciful girl that if it poured down rain she’d want to go look for a rainbow and the pot of gold at the end of it. “Just tell me what it is, honey. I got work to do.”
“Well, Rufus and Jack and me were taking a shortcut past the stables and all of a sudden this great big bird flies up right in front of us, flapping its wings and making an awful racket. It liked to scare me half to death! I started to run, but then I realized it was a duck. A duck, Mama! I looked a little closer and saw it had a nest full of eggs. Eight of them.”
“Did you get them for me? They’ll taste real good for our breakfast tomorrow.”
“Mama, no! There might be baby ducks inside those eggs.”
“Well, there might be baby chickens inside hens’ eggs, too, and we eat those every morning. Duck eggs taste real good.”
“Mama! Now I’m glad I didn’t show you!” Roselle was outraged,standing with her fists clenched as if ready to defend her nest. “I’m not letting anybody eat those eggs, Mama. I hid behind the bushes and watched for a while, and there’s a mama and a papa duck guarding the eggs, keeping them warm and safe until they hatch.”
Her daughter’s soft heart amused Lizzie. “Do whatever you want. But don’t be surprised if a raccoon or a fox gets them first. Now wash your hands and help me fix dinner.”
Lizzie and Otis left for the village right after supper. “How far is it?” she asked as they reached the main road at the end of the lane.
“Only a few minutes by carriage,” Otis said. “It’ll probably take us close to an hour to walk there.” Before long they passed the woods where the Negro shantytown was, then came to a white plantation house that looked a lot like White Oak—only smaller, with tall pillars and a wide front porch.
“That’s where Miz Eugenia goes visiting with her friend, Miz Blake,” Otis said. “When we start seeing houses that are real close together, you’ll know we’re in the village.” And sure enough, pretty soon there were houses on both sides of the road, and they were nearly as close to each other as the cabins on Slave Row. Otis pointed to a pretty white building with a tall, pointy tower on top. “That there is the church where the Weatherlys go on Sunday.”
Lizzie saw more and more houses, and then a long row of shops with big windows out front. White people and Negroes were walking around or riding in carriages, but she drew to a halt when she saw a group of Yankee soldiers
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