Read Online The Story of Land and Sea: A Novel by Katy Simpson Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Katy Simpson Smith
Ads: Link
Cook asked for a few extra dollars for salt and flour so we needs sell a keg. He doesn’t keep accounts. But I wished you’d have let me have the extra.”
A day later in Charleston, a bristle-bearded sailor rolls a barrel, lighter than its kin, off the Fanny and Betsy while his mates search out the taverns. He barters with a few merchants in the dock markets and then slips into an alley alongside a churchyard, where he passes his burden to a taller man, still young in the face. The second man hires a cart and horse with what’s left of his purse and hoists and secures the barrel with the aid of the hostler. It’s a warm day for October, and both men sweat. The hostler thinks he’ll be offered a pull from the keg, but the man drives off in silence. In five or six days, he will reach Beaufort, where he will make a hole beside his wife to lay the cask of his daughter. There he will wait to see how God scripts the rest.
3
F or her tenth birthday, she is given a girl named Moll, who stands in the corner with blue ribbons in her hair. After her father leaves them, Helen stares at the child and wishes she had been given the ribbons instead. Helen had asked her father for a silver brush with boar bristles and a hand mirror. She has no sense of what to do with a negro girl other than to make her fetch things. She advances slowly, and when the girl doesn’t flinch, Helen reaches out and unties the satin loops.
“Those mine,” Moll says.
Helen winds them between her fingers. “I’ll tell my daddy.”
Moll throws out an arm, grabbing at Helen, who twists around to protect her plunder. Moll scrambles onto the other girl’s back, and within moments of the bedroom door closing, the two are scuffling on the ground, pulling at each other’s ears. Their struggle is silent, governed by the prideful solidarity of childhood. Moll, taller by an inch, prevails, and the girls lie on the floor breathing heavily while the slave twines the satin ribbons around the short puffs of her hair.
“You try again, I’ll kill you,” she says.
At dinner, Helen makes a point of being sullen. Her father hands her the knife to cut the cinnamon cake Mrs. Randolph baked, saying, “You’re the lady of the house now,” and Helen folds her arms across her chest. Moll stands again in the corner, in the shadowy space between the falling light from two windows, her ribbons glinting. After Asa has served Helen a slice of cake with a sigh, she glares at the slave, stuffing her mouth in revenge.
The girls sleep in the same room that night, one on a mattress stuffed with goose feathers, the other on the floor. When Helen wakes in tears, Moll climbs into the bed and lets the smaller girl curl up against her shoulder. Even in September, the floor gets cold without sun.
In the morning, Helen drags Moll to the neighboring plantation owned by Mr. Cogdell, to the cabin that has been set aside for meetings and church. A handful of older slaves gathers on the first few benches, their hands in their laps. Helen stands before them.
“This is Moll, and she was given me for my birthday yesterday, which makes me ten. She’s a teacher too. Any questions, you may ask her.”
“Who’s her people?”
Helen looks at the gray-haired woman on the front row and turns to Moll, who shakes her head. “She hasn’t any but me,” Helen says. “It may be she comes from Virginia.” She leads the group first in the alphabet, and then in catechism. Moll stumbles along with her, mimicking her authority. No one asks her any questions.
After her lesson is done, Helen takes Moll back to her father’s land and down to the river that elbows in from the sound and still carries a salt taste. Helen is a poor swimmer, but she is hot and feels a certain responsibility as a host to show Moll the charms of Long Ridge. The girls strip down to their shifts and float.
“Next time, you may lead them in ABCs,” Helen says. Above her are only a few thin streaks of clouds.
“I
A day later in Charleston, a bristle-bearded sailor rolls a barrel, lighter than its kin, off the Fanny and Betsy while his mates search out the taverns. He barters with a few merchants in the dock markets and then slips into an alley alongside a churchyard, where he passes his burden to a taller man, still young in the face. The second man hires a cart and horse with what’s left of his purse and hoists and secures the barrel with the aid of the hostler. It’s a warm day for October, and both men sweat. The hostler thinks he’ll be offered a pull from the keg, but the man drives off in silence. In five or six days, he will reach Beaufort, where he will make a hole beside his wife to lay the cask of his daughter. There he will wait to see how God scripts the rest.
3
F or her tenth birthday, she is given a girl named Moll, who stands in the corner with blue ribbons in her hair. After her father leaves them, Helen stares at the child and wishes she had been given the ribbons instead. Helen had asked her father for a silver brush with boar bristles and a hand mirror. She has no sense of what to do with a negro girl other than to make her fetch things. She advances slowly, and when the girl doesn’t flinch, Helen reaches out and unties the satin loops.
“Those mine,” Moll says.
Helen winds them between her fingers. “I’ll tell my daddy.”
Moll throws out an arm, grabbing at Helen, who twists around to protect her plunder. Moll scrambles onto the other girl’s back, and within moments of the bedroom door closing, the two are scuffling on the ground, pulling at each other’s ears. Their struggle is silent, governed by the prideful solidarity of childhood. Moll, taller by an inch, prevails, and the girls lie on the floor breathing heavily while the slave twines the satin ribbons around the short puffs of her hair.
“You try again, I’ll kill you,” she says.
At dinner, Helen makes a point of being sullen. Her father hands her the knife to cut the cinnamon cake Mrs. Randolph baked, saying, “You’re the lady of the house now,” and Helen folds her arms across her chest. Moll stands again in the corner, in the shadowy space between the falling light from two windows, her ribbons glinting. After Asa has served Helen a slice of cake with a sigh, she glares at the slave, stuffing her mouth in revenge.
The girls sleep in the same room that night, one on a mattress stuffed with goose feathers, the other on the floor. When Helen wakes in tears, Moll climbs into the bed and lets the smaller girl curl up against her shoulder. Even in September, the floor gets cold without sun.
In the morning, Helen drags Moll to the neighboring plantation owned by Mr. Cogdell, to the cabin that has been set aside for meetings and church. A handful of older slaves gathers on the first few benches, their hands in their laps. Helen stands before them.
“This is Moll, and she was given me for my birthday yesterday, which makes me ten. She’s a teacher too. Any questions, you may ask her.”
“Who’s her people?”
Helen looks at the gray-haired woman on the front row and turns to Moll, who shakes her head. “She hasn’t any but me,” Helen says. “It may be she comes from Virginia.” She leads the group first in the alphabet, and then in catechism. Moll stumbles along with her, mimicking her authority. No one asks her any questions.
After her lesson is done, Helen takes Moll back to her father’s land and down to the river that elbows in from the sound and still carries a salt taste. Helen is a poor swimmer, but she is hot and feels a certain responsibility as a host to show Moll the charms of Long Ridge. The girls strip down to their shifts and float.
“Next time, you may lead them in ABCs,” Helen says. Above her are only a few thin streaks of clouds.
“I
Similar Books
