a full set of cutlery and a tall cane-backed chair standing behind. Above the table hangs a large wooden fan. The room is divided into two by a closed set of sliding doors and there are voices from the other side, the preacher with Mrs Allen, and I can’t help hearing what they say.
‘Unlike some of our community, Mrs Allen, I am of the opinion that our Negroes should be delivered the word of God, particularly now that we are at war. The Yankees will have filled their heads with ideas of freedom, you can be sure of that, so we should be making sure they understand the dignity bestowed by the Lord on those that serve.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ replies Mrs Allen.
‘Did I tell you that the number of slaves running away has doubled since the war began? There isn’t a day goes by that our patrols don’t find some runaway darkie skulking in a barn, trying to make his way north of the lines. I have found ’em myself, and I can tell you, there won’t be jails that are large enough, Mrs Allen, you mark my words.’
Outside the window, the leaves of that maple ripple like a wave, all restless in the breeze.
‘I can assure you they won’t be my slaves.’ Mrs Allen exclaims. ‘As you will know, my husband has always run this plantation upon progressive ideas. We treat ’em with a firm hand and a fair measure of respect, so they’ve got no reason to run away. And yet it’s true that with Mr Allen gone they have had little instruction in the Bible of late. I suppose I could make a point of reading to ’em. Do you think that might help? We could set aside time after the evening meal. What do you think, Mr Chepstow? Does that strike you as a good idea?’
The footsteps of the preacher pace just the other side of the partition door. ‘Well, that’s right and proper, Mrs Allen,but the word of God can only be delivered of its true force through a direct link, a preacher like myself, whom He has entrusted with His wisdom and knowledge. Take, for example, the choosing of texts …’
Sicely enters the dining room again, this time carrying a platter of sliced bread and a porcelain butter dish. ‘What you doing, standing there listening?’ she hisses like a snake. She puts down the bread and butter and moves towards the double doors, pushing me to one side as she knocks, then slides ’em open. ‘S’cuse me, ma’am, but lunch is ready.’
When they come on through to the table I see Gerald is there with ’em. He’s changed into a clean shirt and his black leather shoes squeak when he walks. He looks bored as he takes a seat beside his stepmother, who places her hand upon his, indicating that he should remain silent until she has finished what she is saying.
‘Of course, you are absolutely right, Mr Chepstow. Abolition would be a disaster. If they were left to fend for themselves they would die of starvation. I’m sure of it. The best place for them is here, working beside us in our homes and in our fields as God intended, the two races working together for the good of both.’ She lifts a forkful of ham to her mouth, but leaves it poised. ‘They must surely understand that the Yankees will not win this war. They cannot. God will not allow it. And the Negroes must be made to see it is in their own interests to work hard alongside us and hope for a swift conclusion.’
Sicely meets my eye and looks down at her feet, meaning for me to come and stand beside her, which I do. She leans across and whispers in my ear, ‘You oughta be fanning.’
I don’t know what she means. I think I must be standing wrong and I move my feet apart so my toes point outward.Sicely leans across and unties a rope from where it is fastened to the wall, and I look up and see that the rope goes through a pulley and over to a big old wooden fan that hangs above the table. She puts the rope in my hand. ‘Pull it,’ she tells me quietly, and then she stands on my toe for good measure, though it could have been an accident. I tug that rope, not
‘Unlike some of our community, Mrs Allen, I am of the opinion that our Negroes should be delivered the word of God, particularly now that we are at war. The Yankees will have filled their heads with ideas of freedom, you can be sure of that, so we should be making sure they understand the dignity bestowed by the Lord on those that serve.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ replies Mrs Allen.
‘Did I tell you that the number of slaves running away has doubled since the war began? There isn’t a day goes by that our patrols don’t find some runaway darkie skulking in a barn, trying to make his way north of the lines. I have found ’em myself, and I can tell you, there won’t be jails that are large enough, Mrs Allen, you mark my words.’
Outside the window, the leaves of that maple ripple like a wave, all restless in the breeze.
‘I can assure you they won’t be my slaves.’ Mrs Allen exclaims. ‘As you will know, my husband has always run this plantation upon progressive ideas. We treat ’em with a firm hand and a fair measure of respect, so they’ve got no reason to run away. And yet it’s true that with Mr Allen gone they have had little instruction in the Bible of late. I suppose I could make a point of reading to ’em. Do you think that might help? We could set aside time after the evening meal. What do you think, Mr Chepstow? Does that strike you as a good idea?’
The footsteps of the preacher pace just the other side of the partition door. ‘Well, that’s right and proper, Mrs Allen,but the word of God can only be delivered of its true force through a direct link, a preacher like myself, whom He has entrusted with His wisdom and knowledge. Take, for example, the choosing of texts …’
Sicely enters the dining room again, this time carrying a platter of sliced bread and a porcelain butter dish. ‘What you doing, standing there listening?’ she hisses like a snake. She puts down the bread and butter and moves towards the double doors, pushing me to one side as she knocks, then slides ’em open. ‘S’cuse me, ma’am, but lunch is ready.’
When they come on through to the table I see Gerald is there with ’em. He’s changed into a clean shirt and his black leather shoes squeak when he walks. He looks bored as he takes a seat beside his stepmother, who places her hand upon his, indicating that he should remain silent until she has finished what she is saying.
‘Of course, you are absolutely right, Mr Chepstow. Abolition would be a disaster. If they were left to fend for themselves they would die of starvation. I’m sure of it. The best place for them is here, working beside us in our homes and in our fields as God intended, the two races working together for the good of both.’ She lifts a forkful of ham to her mouth, but leaves it poised. ‘They must surely understand that the Yankees will not win this war. They cannot. God will not allow it. And the Negroes must be made to see it is in their own interests to work hard alongside us and hope for a swift conclusion.’
Sicely meets my eye and looks down at her feet, meaning for me to come and stand beside her, which I do. She leans across and whispers in my ear, ‘You oughta be fanning.’
I don’t know what she means. I think I must be standing wrong and I move my feet apart so my toes point outward.Sicely leans across and unties a rope from where it is fastened to the wall, and I look up and see that the rope goes through a pulley and over to a big old wooden fan that hangs above the table. She puts the rope in my hand. ‘Pull it,’ she tells me quietly, and then she stands on my toe for good measure, though it could have been an accident. I tug that rope, not
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