Chapter 23 #2
Our interactions were limited to Sundays and the marketplace, which we didn’t leave to chance but arranged so that we marketed on Wednesdays.
Sadly, most times it was without Ella, whose belly was swelling with her second child.
Miss Norene kept her exceptionally busy at the homestead as punishment.
She’d behaved the same toward me and Lovie, calling us whores and striking us because of her husband’s moral misdeeds.
What neither Tolliver knew was Ella had taken up with a man named Purvis and her child could be his.
Not Master Ryland’s. Thankfully, today was Sunday and Ella was present and far from Norene Tolliver’s ceaseless torment.
“You ain’t troubling us, Miss Coraline.” Ella managed the breadbasket in one hand, and a pitcher of lemonade with the other. “It’s always a joy here. Plus, it’s the twins’ birthday and you needed extra help.”
“That it is and that I did. It’s warm out. Let’s leave the cake indoors until after supper. Zinnie, you mind bringing the potato salad?” she asked while balancing a giant platter of fried chicken.
“I got it and the green beans.” I glanced around the kitchen before following the others outdoors, dreaming one day I’d have a home of my own where meals were made with love and seasoned with freedom.
Miss Coraline claimed the Allens weren’t rich.
Even if they ain’t they close to it.
Seated on their vast acreage with members of our Negro community about long tables loaded with delicious food felt rich to me.
Yes, today was extra special, a celebration for Beltram and Bayard, but these Sunday-after-service fellowships had become a delightful reprieve from toiling, suffering.
Everyone contributed to the meal typically.
Coraline had refused all contributions today and insisted on providing the complete birthday meal.
It required other sisters to help cart all the food we’d prepared to the tables, but we were soon assembled, hands clasped, heads bowed in prayer.
Bayard Sr., Coraline’s husband, blessed the food, ending with, “And keep our sons strong and healthy because I’m ready to sit down somewhere. I’ve had enough working.”
The “amen” was bubbled in laughter as brothers about the table teased Mr. Bayard for getting ancient when in truth he wasn’t.
Formerly enslaved in Kentucky, he was quite healthy and fit after freeing himself by earning wages training and domesticating horses.
He’d bought his freedom and left Kentucky for California where he met and married Miss Coraline two decades ago.
He traded mules and horses and owned a thriving livery where he employed vaqueros, or cowboys.
He was a strong man, same as my Buck, and equally kind and generous.
“I know everyone came to eat, not to hear me sermonize. But I’d like to offer a scripture to my sons on their birthday.”
I still shivered with delight when seeing anyone within our community read or write. Listening to Mr. Bayard read from the Book of Jeremiah was no less thrilling.
For I know the plans I have for you. Plans to prosper and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.
“Don’t take one day for granted. Live life to the fullest and stand like men. Now, let’s eat this good food prepared by my lovely wife with the kind assistance of Miss Ella and Miss Zinnie.”
I ducked my head shyly, accepting compliments as Mr. Bayard’s scripture reading still poured through my spirit.
Miss Coraline wanted to teach me to read and write the same as she had her husband, but I was enslaved and it came with too many risks.
I didn’t want anyone in our community suffering if the Tollivers caught wind of it.
Maybe the children will one day.
Gratitude filled my heart as I observed our brood at the far end of the extended table. July. Juniper. Annabelle. Abigail. Lovie’s middle two. Ella’s Nero. Hattie was in her favorite place: square in the center of Buck’s lap, seated beside me. We were family. God’s grace had kept us together.
Lord, am I losing one soon? Maybe two?
I glanced back and forth from Juniper and Annabelle and the birthday twins tossing glances or outright stares when they thought no one was looking.
My girls had the decency to blush and smile shyly; yet there was no denying their interest. I didn’t blame them.
The Allen twins were respectable, handsome, and now that they were eighteen, they were of an age to marry.
Eligible bachelors. I’d heard Beltram and Bayard be called that by other mothers with young Negro women in their households.
Decent. Educated. From a family that was if not rich, well off and free.
They were desirable prospects. My girls were young but had been in service so long they knew how to run a household.
They were sweet, intelligent, mature for their age, and attractive.
Fine yet dangerous qualities for enslaved women.
Lord, don’t matter if what I’m seeing between these young people ever becomes more, let my girls be safe with mates and never need pennyroyal.
“I miss the fireflies in Mississippi. They always made the night so pretty. Like they were dancing.”
“How ‘bout you come dance with me, sweet lady?”