Two

The cornbread in my mouth becomes as thick as glue when I see my father take his place on the porch, next to the new arrival of white people who, I’ve quickly gleaned, are a family. Jed Kaiser’s feet are firmly rooted to the ground, like those sycamore trees in the yard that have been around for hundreds of years. Like the trees, the Kaisers have lived on this land for centuries. Jed grew up watching his father and grandfather treat slaves like animals -- worse than animals, because God knows the Kaisers love their dogs. While the Saint Bernards ran freely around the plantation, gorging on bacon fat and peanut butter, Jed grew up watching the slaves get beaten till they were purple if they ever dared to sneak an extra biscuit at supper. My father, with his green eyes and pale skin and quick temper, was taught to hate black people from the very beginning. Even now, as he squints at us from the porch, I can tell he thinks of us as nothing more than the dirt beneath his boots.

While we wait for him to speak, I wonder (as I do every day) how then he managed to fall in love with my mother. My mother, with her soft, round eyes and charcoal skin. My mother, with her coarse hair and flat nose. My mother, a black woman through and through. I know he loved her because Suzette tells me so. One night, as she sat braiding my hair after supper, Suzette said, “Now let me tell you about your daddy. Your daddy is a mean man, mean as can be, but he couldn’t help being nice around your mama. He would leave his study ten, fifteen times a day to check up on us”, she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “He would walk down to the water in his house-clothes, all fancy-like, and watch us. One day, your mama, she bent a little too far into the water.” I felt Suzette’s hands stop braiding my hair as she grew more animated. “See, you know as well as I do that you can’t reach down too far in, otherwise you’se fixing to fall over. And your mama did just that. She went face into the water, and I ain’t never seen something so funny in all my life. But before I could go over to help her, your daddy Jed, well he ran into the water, even with those expensive boots! He ran right in and grabbed her by the arm, to steady her. She looked up at him nervous-like, in case she was gonna get in trouble. But he just smiled at her. Didn’t say nothing, just smiled. Then she said, ‘My hair. I can’t believe I got my hair wet! And my damn hat is ruined!’ -- her hat got all wet, you see?” 

I was all ears, and couldn’t wait for the rest of the story to spill out from Suzette’s mouth. She continued, “Then she started laughing! She was laughing at everything -- at her fall, at her hair being wet (I woulda cried if it was me), at God himself for making her a slave. She laughed at it all. And your daddy musta loved hearing that sweet laugh because he started laughing along with her! All my years here and I ain’t never hear your daddy laugh, baby. They laughed and laughed, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t wish your daddy Jed wasn’t holding my arm and laughing with me too.”

I gazed up at the empty sky, imagining this scene that seemed impossible. How could that have been my father, the same man who I once saw kick poor Ed in the stomach when he accidentally tracked mud into the shed? No, it couldn’t be. So I asked Suzette, “Are you sure?” She stopped braiding again, holding my hair gently in one fist while she turned my head to face her. “Yes, baby, I’m sure.”

“Well, what happened next?”

“Next? The next day your mama went in the house when your daddy asked her to. And a long spell later, you were born.”

I couldn’t make sense of this story. I grew frustrated and yanked my head away from Suzette’s hands. The braid she was working on loosened immediately, leaving my long, wavy hair wild and free, nothing like Suzette’s thick curls. “But if Jed loved my mama then why did he send her away? Why did he separate us?”

Suzette’s eyes grew soft and teary. In that moment, she saw me for what I was, a young, naive girl. A girl whose heart was broken because she missed her Mama and whose daddy didn’t want nothing to do with her. She pulled my hand up from my lap, held it, and squeezed. “Darling, your daddy loved your mama but he ain’t want no one to know it. It’s one thing to rape a black woman, but love her? No, that can’t be. If his daddy woulda found out, he woulda been killed. So he sent her away. At first it was to Alabama but God knows where she is now.  And you? He kept you because you are the closest thing to your mama, and if he can’t see her every day at least he can get a glimpse of you. No matter how mean he may be to you, ain’t nothing in this big wide world would make him get rid of you. Now sit back and let me finish this braid."

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On the porch, my father prepares to speak. He is steady, unmoving, and makes everyone nervous before he’s even opened his mouth. I look down at my quivering hands and realize I am still stupidly holding onto my piece of cornbread. I toss it onto the ground for the birds to feast on later; I have no stomach for food anymore.

When the silence is almost unbearable, I feel Jed’s sharp green eyes rest on me. When we’re out working, my father watches me, but rarely speaks to me. When we’re out in the bog he’ll holler at Suzette, Ed, and even Mugsy, and everyone knows that Mugsy’s not too bright. Jed will shout, “Alright now, better get a move on ‘fore I go out there and do it myself! Wouldn’t all you sonabitches like to see that?” But when I was late getting out of the marsh because I dipped my head in the water at the end of the day, Jed didn’t say anything to me. Silence, too, when he caught me sipping from Wila’s cool glass of lemonade. He’ll only ever watch me with a mean glare before skulking away. But now his eyes stay glued to mine, and I know the whole community of slaves can tell. 

Finally, he spits his chewing tobacco onto the grass and says, “Alright now, listen up. I’m going to be taking a trip, and won’t be back for quite some time. While I’m gone, I’ve invited my good friend Cash Grady to stay here with his family. I steal a quick glance over at Cash, who is already looking at me. He’s tall like my father but has bright blue eyes instead of green, and a little bit of hair on his face where Jed is clean-shaven. He’s got a tan, which I know is what happens to white people when they’re out in the sun. I guess black people just get blacker, but white people get tan. 

Jed continues, “Now, while I’m gone, Cash and his family are in charge. You hear me? They’ll whip you like I do, curse you like I do, and if they hear anything about you trying to run away, they’ll kill you. Got that?”

I swallow hard and wipe a bead of sweat from my nose. I look over at Wila and her eyes are wide. The wicked grin she had five minutes ago is long gone and now she just looks plain scared.

Then Jed turns sharply to Wila and the rest of the domestic slaves to say, “House slaves, there’ll be a lot more work to get done now, as Cash is here with his wife, Sandy and his two kids, Bo who is eighteen and Greta who is thirteen.” As my father carries on about the new house rules, I let me eyes fall on the Grady family. Up until now, I’ve been too scared by the presence of my father and Cash, the new white man in charge, to take a good look at anyone else. The woman next to Cash looks like one of those sugar cookies Wila and I tried once. She stole them from the kitchen and brought them out to the shed. We each took once and I’ve never tasted anything so buttery and delicious. And just like those cookies, Miss Sandy looks soft and sweet. She has creamy white skin and blonde hair that rests just at her shoulders. Her white dress hugs her full breasts and cascades to the ground. She is beautiful, and unlike anything I have ever seen before. Oddly enough, she is smiling at us. Her bright teeth are straight and clean, nothing like Mugsy’s, who are bucked in the front from sucking his thumb over so many years. Her smile is unsettling because nothing Jed is saying is pleasant in the slightest. And when I squint my eyes at Sandy, I can just see the tension around her lips and jaw. That’s when I realize: she’s pretending.

Then my eyes move to the little girl, Greta Grady. I have never heard a name like that in all my life. Without thinking, my mouth starts to play with that sound, “Gr--”. I think to myself, “growling, grunt, Greta Grady” when Ed gives me a quick nudge in the shoulder and I realize I was whispering the words out loud. Greta is small for thirteen, both in height and build. Her thin blonde hair is almost white, and her pale white skin is almost translucent; she looks like a girl out of a ghost story. She stands next to her mother with the patience and maturity of a girl twice her age, not twirling or fidgeting whatsoever. She stares out at the lot of slaves standing on the itchy grass and seems to be saying, “Don’t mess with me. I’m in charge.”

Finally, I turn my attention to Bo, the boy who at eighteen is exactly my age. He is tall, but not quite as tall as his father or mine -- clearly he is still growing. He wears a rolled up white shirt that is tucked into his suspenders and breeches, and I find myself staring at his forearms. They look thick and strong, and I hear my father’s voice drone in the background as I let my gaze travel from his arms to his face. I have never seen a young white man’s face before, and I am absolutely mesmerized by Bo’s. His jaw is rugged, his brown hair is the color of the rusted autumn leaves, and his cheeks are flushed, giving the illusion that he is always blushing. His eyes are a deep blue, darker than his father’s and warmer too. I wonder what his voice sounds like. What about his laugh? I doubt I’ll ever get a chance to hear it but it’s a lovely thing to imagine. Then I see him look my way, and I sharply bow my head to stare at my feet: brown and naked and dirty.

I force myself to focus on my father. “And in conclusion,” he says gruffly, and pauses between each of his next words, “Remember. Your. Place.”

He looks at me, his gaze hard and enigmatic as always. I wonder if that was his way of saying goodbye. Then he swiftly turns on his heels and walks into the house to presumably make final preparations for his departure. The house slaves retreat in single file and are followed by the Grady family. First Sandy, then Greta, then Bo. The patriarch, Cash, lingers on the porch for one final beat to survey his new kingdom and us, his new subjects. I am so anxious that my stomach is in knots and my hands are in fists. It is mid-afternoon now, and the sun it at its worst. I feel my neck beginning to burn. Cash finds my eyes in the crowd, winks, then marches into the house, slamming the door behind him.