Sundaaaaay!

So I got busy/distracted yesterday and didn't post my story. So I'm posting it now. Well part of it. I was very excited about this topic and the more I researched and thought about the direction I wanted to take it the more I realized it could not be covered in just 3 pages.

So today I'm posting the first part of the story and I will hopefully finish the second part soon and post it sometime this week.

For anyone who didn't read previous posts, this story is on the topic of the life of a slave girl in early 19th century Louisiana told from the perspective of a white observer who is neutral on the topic of slavery.

I did research the topic of slavery and this time period so everything should be pretty accurate historically. If you have any questions about that, please feel free to ask.

Anyway, here is part one:

It was a hot Louisiana morning in the middle of August.  I was awakened as usual by the rooster’s crow and wished like anything I could go back to sleep. A light breeze blew in through my open window as I rolled out of bed to get dressed. I pulled a clean white shirt over my head and tucked it into a pair of black trousers. Pulling on a pair of socks and shoes, I checked my appearance in the mirror. Mother would have a fit if I came down with my hair sticking up as it was. Using a comb I tamed it so it lay flat on my head.

  As I left my bedroom I could smell the sweet scent of breakfast wafting in from the kitchen outside. My stomach rumbled hungrily as I tumbled lazily down the stairs and into the dining room. Mother was already sitting at the long wooden table showing my five year old sister Louise how to sit properly like a lady and use her fork and knife. My older sister Emilie sat watching them and giving bits of advice when she felt it necessary.

  “Good morning, Armand,” Mother said, looking up from her lessons with Louise. She gave me the once over to insure that I was properly dressed and groomed. Ever since I turned fifteen, Mother had treated me like a grown man and insisted I dress and act as a gentleman.

 “Good morning, ladies,” I said, with the polite bow that Mother had taught me. She smiled and motioned me to my seat. Since Father had passed away at the beginning of the year I had taken his seat at the head of the table. It felt wrong to sit there, I was not the head of the house. But Mother insisted.

 “What will you be doing today, Armand?” Mother asked, her large blue eyes prominent in her small round face.

“I thought I might go for a swim in the lake after breakfast,” I said, imagining how good the cool water would feel on my already hot and sweating skin.

“Mary and I are going to ride into town today, Mother! There are rumors of a new shop with the finest fabrics around and I need a new dress for the dance next month,” Emilie interjected.

  Mother smiled.

“That sounds delightful but be sure you are back before dinner. This afternoon I would like you finish your needlepoint.”

 “Yes ma’am,” Emilie said, rolling her brown eyes. She was excellent at needlepoint but despised it. Emilie was full of energy and life and sitting still for hours at a time was torture for her.

“Mama I am hungry,” Louise’s soft childlike voice said. “When is the food coming?”

“Soon, my dear,” Mother assured her.

  And it was just then that Melinda, our cook came in followed by a young black girl who I did not recognize.

“Good mornin’, missus,” Melinda drawled, holding a steaming pot of porridge in her hands padded by several towels and her apron.

“Melinda,” Mother acknowledged with a slight inclination of her head.

“Who is this girl with you this morning?”

“This be Hannah, missus. She came here jus’ yesterday and this be her first day in the kitchen.”

  Prompted by Melinda, Hannah sank into the best curtsey she could while holding a skillet of cornbread being careful not to make eye contact with any of us at the table. She looked unhealthily thin and her hands seemed to tremble slightly as if she had never before been presented to people.

“You say she is new as of yesterday?” Mother repeated.

Melinda nodded.

“Mister Joseph bought her yesterday in the town. Paid a good price too,” Melinda told her. Mister Joseph was our neighbor who had been helping Mother tend to the plantation since Father passed on. He would often go into town to buy us slaves or ride across the plantation to ensure the field hands were working hard and our crops of cotton and tobacco were healthy and growing.

“Well I hope she was worth it,” Mother said drily, giving Hannah the up and down look that she had given me. Hannah nodded her head slightly as if to say that she was worth the price and then followed Melinda around the table serving us each a piece of fresh cornbread with our meal.

“Armand will you say the blessing?” Mother asked. It felt strange for me to say the blessing; that had always been Father’s job. I said it just the way I remembered him doing it and Mother smiled at me as we finished by crossing ourselves.

“Mother, Mary says that she and her family do not cross themselves after prayers or pray to the Blessed Virgin,” Emilie commented as we began eating.

“She is an American, she does not practice our faith,” Mother explained. “Do not let her strange practices influence you. Our territory is owned by America but our souls are not.”

  Emilie nodded and continued eating.

   When breakfast was over, Emilie hurried from the table, eager to meet up with Mary and go into town. Mother told her to be careful and then looked to me.

“Armand I want you back from the lake before noon. And stay on the path. There are unwelcome creatures in the woods.”

  As I got up from the table to leave, Sarah, one of our young house slaves, came into the dining room to collect Louise. She was like a nanny to her and kept her out from under Mother’s feet as she and Mister Joseph took care of the house and plantation.

“Sarah I would like Louise to play outside today but keep her in the shade of the trees so the sun does not darken her skin.”

“Yes, missus,” Sarah said respectfully, careful as Hannah had been not to meet my mother’s eyes. Louise ran to Sarah happily, took her hand and began pulling her from the room. At that moment, Hannah walked in still looking shy and began collecting dishes from breakfast. Mother looked at her contemplatively for a moment and then said,

“Sarah, take this girl with you this morning,” as if she had already forgotten her name.

“She is new and I want her to learn all aspects of working in the house.”

Sarah nodded her head and motioned for Hannah to come join her. Hannah looked up helplessly, a pile of dirty dishes already in her hands.

“Take those to the kitchen and then send Melinda to collect the rest,” Mother said, sounding exasperated. With that last order she swept out of the kitchen, her long powder blue dress swishing back and forth on her hips.

  Relieved to no longer be under the scrutinous eye of my mother, I hurried upstairs to fetch my hat and then back downstairs and out the front door toward the lake. It was only a half hour’s walk and with it being such a nice day I decided not to take a horse. Grabbing a long stick I let it hang from my hand as I walked leaving a small weaving trail in the dirt behind me.

  I could see Sarah and Hannah watching Louise play under one of the many big trees that dotted the yard. Detouring from the path, I stooped to pick a buttercup and hurried over to my little sister. She looked up when she heard me coming and was delighted to see the beautiful yellow flower in my hand. I slid it delicately into one of her two little braids and she smiled.

“Am I pretty now, brother?” she asked, looking up at me expectantly.

“Beautiful,” I told her, with a smile as big as her own. She turned back to her playing, pausing every few moments to look at her flower.

  I turned to walk back to the path and as I went I could hear a voice singing. It was unfamiliar and so I knew it must be Hannah’s voice. The words of the song were difficult to make out but she seemed to be singing of Moses and the Promised Land. I had heard this song from other slaves singing in mournful voices as if they too were suffering a fate as horrible as the Israelites’. I wondered if they thought we, the white folk, were like the horrible slave masters in Egypt who beat and tortured the Israelites.

  I shook my head as if to convince myself that we were not. Our slaves were treated well. They all had food, clothing and shelter. Satisfied with this answer to my own question, I continued along the path eager to relax in its cool water.

 

  As mother instructed, I was home by noon and we had dinner together. Emilie babbled on and on about her trip into town and all the beautiful fabrics she had found. She had picked a dark green fabric for her new dress and Mary picked a pale yellow. Mother talked about her tasks of the morning and as she spoke, I heard Louise muttering the words of the song Hannah had been singing hours before.

  Mother heard her too just then for she stopped mid-sentence and put her fork down on the table. We all stared at Louise who was oblivious to us as she twirled her fork through her potatoes singing about Moses leading his people from Egypt.

 “Where did you learn this new song, Louise?” Mother asked, trying to sound gentle but there was still a hint of anger in her voice.

“Hannah was singing it this morning, Mother,” Louise answered innocently. “She said her mammy taught it to her when she was a girl.”

  Mother sat up and looked straight ahead, her lips pursed together. I could tell she was struggling to control herself. Turning to one of the slaves who stood in the corner to attend to us, she ordered,

“Go and fetch this new girl Hannah.”

  The slave disappeared immediately and returned moments later with Hannah in tow. The slave must have told her that Mother was upset for Hannah came in shaking even more than she had that morning and stared silently at the floor.

“Were you singing negro songs to my little girl this morning?” Mother asked succinctly.

 Hannah nodded, still refusing to look up.

“I do not want my child’s head full of your nonsense songs, understand? You will go the rest of the day without eating and if I ever hear you sing around my little girl again your punishment will be much more severe.”

 “Yes, missus,” Hannah mumbled, sinking into a deep curtsey. She scurried from the room and Mother looked down at Louise who seemed completely unaware of what had just occurred.

“You must never sing that song again, darling. It is quite bad and you must put it out of your mind. Can you do that for me?” Mother asked, in a sickeningly sweet voice. Louise looked up at her and nodded.  Mother continued eating muttering something about having words with Sarah later on.

  I stabbed at the peas on my plate and thought about what had just happened. Were the slaves in fact abused and downtrodden as the Israelites had been?  Hannah had just been told not to eat for the rest of the day which was surely a form of torture. Mother had always said the slaves were less than human and more like animals so perhaps they needed to be trained by harsh punishments and beating as one would beat a horse or a mule into submission. Sighing, I tried to put these confusing thoughts out of my mind and focus on eating my peas.