where Tibby sat on the floor of the wagon. She had hated to think of doing without Tibby.
“Angelique,” she said. “It’s a pretty name. Is she a French Negro?”
“Oh yes. You’ll have to teach her English.”
The wagon creaked over a fallen log. Judith bounced and caught at Philip to keep from falling. He was telling her how planters brewed indigo in vats to get the dye. She wished he’d stop talking about his wretched indigo and pay some attention to her. Couldn’t he understand she was aching all over, and dreading to be left alone with a servant girl who couldn’t speak English, and scared about her baby? There was nobody to help her solve her problems but Philip and he was too merrily self-assured to know a problem when he saw one.
They drew up at the cabin and he lifted her out of the wagon. Tibby gathered up the bundle of clothes and followed.
“Now you can get a rest,” said Philip.
The cabin looked shakier than ever. It had started to lean to one side. The weeds were so thick around the door Judith had to hold up her skirts to walk. She went in and Philip after her, and then Judith caught her breath with comforting surprise.
Inside, the cabin was as tidy as such a shack could possibly be, with the rough board floor scrubbed clean and the cooking-pots set in order by the fireplace. Philip’s clothes hung neatly on pegs. The boxes were set in order against the wall and the sheets were smooth on the bed. On the table was a dish holding a bunch of scarlet flowers.
“Oh—it’s nice,” Judith exclaimed.
Philip smiled. “Angelique did it.”
The new slave-girl came forward from the corner by the fireplace and dropped a curtsey. She said something in French and Philip answered. Judith looked at her with curiosity.
Angelique was straight and slim, with coffee-colored skin and eyes like black velvet. She wore a gown of blue calico and a white apron. Her head was wrapped in a gold and scarlet tignon tied in a bow over her forehead, and on each of her cheeks a black curl bobbed as she curtseyed.
She hurried to untie Judith’s sunbonnet and kerchief and when Judith sat down Angelique knelt and took off her shoes. She brought a basin of water to wash the streaks of perspiration off Judith’s face. Judith smiled up at Philip.
“I like her.”
“I thought you would. It’s hard to get her sort up here in the wilds.” He bent and kissed Judith. “Now you tell her the names of things, will you? I have to go out to the clearing.”
Judith kissed her hand to him. Oh, he was good to her, really. You could hardly expect a man like Philip who hardly knew what physical discomfort was to understand how a girl felt when she was four months with child and had been nearly shaken to pieces in a wagon. But Angelique was a woman. She could understand, if only she could be talked to.
Tibby, who had been busy at the fireplace, set a bowl of okra and rice on the table.
“Now you get yo’sef a good meal o’ vittles, honey lamb,” said Tibby belligerently. “Don’t you pay no mind to dat air gal. She cain’t eb’m make talk.”
Angelique opened a box and took out a big palm-leaf cut to make a fan, and began to wave it, brushing the flies away from the okra-bowl and making a wind in Judith’s hair. Tibby hurried to bring a gourd of water.
“Tibby,” said Judith, “I’m sorry you have to go back to Silverwood. If you were going to be here you could help me teach Angelique to talk like us.”
“Yassum. But dem bright-skin gals, dey ain’t no count.”
Judith lifted her eyes seriously. “Why not, Tibby?”
“Causin’ if her mammy’d been right she wouldna been bright.”
Judith thrust the spoon into the bowl.
“Tibby!”
“Yassum,” said Tibby hastily. She brushed off her apron. “’Scusin’ de respeck I owe you, young miss.”
Angelique was listening with amusement. Evidently she was too well acquainted with the dislike of black slaves for bright ones to need any language to
“Angelique,” she said. “It’s a pretty name. Is she a French Negro?”
“Oh yes. You’ll have to teach her English.”
The wagon creaked over a fallen log. Judith bounced and caught at Philip to keep from falling. He was telling her how planters brewed indigo in vats to get the dye. She wished he’d stop talking about his wretched indigo and pay some attention to her. Couldn’t he understand she was aching all over, and dreading to be left alone with a servant girl who couldn’t speak English, and scared about her baby? There was nobody to help her solve her problems but Philip and he was too merrily self-assured to know a problem when he saw one.
They drew up at the cabin and he lifted her out of the wagon. Tibby gathered up the bundle of clothes and followed.
“Now you can get a rest,” said Philip.
The cabin looked shakier than ever. It had started to lean to one side. The weeds were so thick around the door Judith had to hold up her skirts to walk. She went in and Philip after her, and then Judith caught her breath with comforting surprise.
Inside, the cabin was as tidy as such a shack could possibly be, with the rough board floor scrubbed clean and the cooking-pots set in order by the fireplace. Philip’s clothes hung neatly on pegs. The boxes were set in order against the wall and the sheets were smooth on the bed. On the table was a dish holding a bunch of scarlet flowers.
“Oh—it’s nice,” Judith exclaimed.
Philip smiled. “Angelique did it.”
The new slave-girl came forward from the corner by the fireplace and dropped a curtsey. She said something in French and Philip answered. Judith looked at her with curiosity.
Angelique was straight and slim, with coffee-colored skin and eyes like black velvet. She wore a gown of blue calico and a white apron. Her head was wrapped in a gold and scarlet tignon tied in a bow over her forehead, and on each of her cheeks a black curl bobbed as she curtseyed.
She hurried to untie Judith’s sunbonnet and kerchief and when Judith sat down Angelique knelt and took off her shoes. She brought a basin of water to wash the streaks of perspiration off Judith’s face. Judith smiled up at Philip.
“I like her.”
“I thought you would. It’s hard to get her sort up here in the wilds.” He bent and kissed Judith. “Now you tell her the names of things, will you? I have to go out to the clearing.”
Judith kissed her hand to him. Oh, he was good to her, really. You could hardly expect a man like Philip who hardly knew what physical discomfort was to understand how a girl felt when she was four months with child and had been nearly shaken to pieces in a wagon. But Angelique was a woman. She could understand, if only she could be talked to.
Tibby, who had been busy at the fireplace, set a bowl of okra and rice on the table.
“Now you get yo’sef a good meal o’ vittles, honey lamb,” said Tibby belligerently. “Don’t you pay no mind to dat air gal. She cain’t eb’m make talk.”
Angelique opened a box and took out a big palm-leaf cut to make a fan, and began to wave it, brushing the flies away from the okra-bowl and making a wind in Judith’s hair. Tibby hurried to bring a gourd of water.
“Tibby,” said Judith, “I’m sorry you have to go back to Silverwood. If you were going to be here you could help me teach Angelique to talk like us.”
“Yassum. But dem bright-skin gals, dey ain’t no count.”
Judith lifted her eyes seriously. “Why not, Tibby?”
“Causin’ if her mammy’d been right she wouldna been bright.”
Judith thrust the spoon into the bowl.
“Tibby!”
“Yassum,” said Tibby hastily. She brushed off her apron. “’Scusin’ de respeck I owe you, young miss.”
Angelique was listening with amusement. Evidently she was too well acquainted with the dislike of black slaves for bright ones to need any language to
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