Dedication
For all the colored girls. I see you. <3
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
A Prologue: In Which I Am Born and Someone Tries to Murder Me
Part One: The Civilized East
Chapter 1: In Which I Am Found Lacking
Chapter 2: In Which I Look the Fool
Chapter 3: In Which I Relate My First Encounter with a Shambler
Chapter 4: In Which I Dodge Unwanted Advances and Engage in a Bit of Blackmail
Chapter 5: In Which I Attend a Very Educational Lecture
Chapter 6: In Which All Hell Breaks Loose
Chapter 7: In Which I Receive Invitations Both Expected and Unexpected
Chapter 8: In Which I Relate the Circumstances Surrounding My Departure from Rose Hill Plantation
Chapter 9: In Which I Have an Accomplice and We Skulk in the Shadows
Chapter 10: In Which I Receive an Unwelcome Invitation and Am Forced to Accept It
Chapter 11: In Which I Remember Rose Hill and My Momma’s Sworn Enemy
Chapter 12: In Which I Become an Unwilling Co-conspirator
Chapter 13: In Which I Attend a Rather Eventful Dinner
Chapter 14: In Which I Go Snooping
Chapter 15: In Which My Fate Is Decided
Part Two: The Cruel West
Chapter 16: In Which I Have a Revelation
Chapter 17: In Which I Am Welcomed to Summerland
Chapter 18: In Which My Reputation Is Slandered
Chapter 19: In Which I Am Vaccinated and Become a Beacon of Hope
Chapter 20: In Which I Meet a Questionable Man of God and a Kind Madam
Chapter 21: In Which I Attend Church
Chapter 22: In Which I Learn a Tune I Don’t Care For
Chapter 23: In Which I Taunt the Devil
Chapter 24: In Which Some Time Passes and I Grow Restless
Chapter 25: In Which I Embrace My Recklessness
Chapter 26: In Which I Make a Terrible Mistake
Chapter 27: In Which I Have Had Enough
Chapter 28: In Which I Beg for Forgiveness
Chapter 29: In Which I Struggle to Keep from Committing Homicide
Chapter 30: In Which I Get a Visit from the Dead
Chapter 31: In Which I Have a Heartfelt Conversation
Chapter 32: In Which I Am Invited to a Battle
Chapter 33: In Which I Demonstrate My Worth
Chapter 34: In Which I Am Overcome by Dread
Chapter 35: In Which Trouble Comes to Call
Chapter 36: In Which All Hell Breaks Loose Once More
Chapter 37: In Which I Sin Yet Again
Chapter 38: In Which We Reach the End of Our Tale
Author’s Note
About the Author
Books by Justina Ireland
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Copyright
About the Publisher
A PrologueIn Which I Am Born and Someone Tries to Murder Me
The day I came squealing and squalling into the world was the first time someone tried to kill me. I guess it should have been obvious to everyone right then that I wasn’t going to have a normal life.
It was the midwife that tried to do me in. Truth be told, it wasn’t really her fault. What else is a good Christian woman going to do when a Negro comes flying out from between the legs of the richest white woman in Haller County, Kentucky?
“Is it a girl or boy, Aggie?” When my mother tells the story, this is the point where she pushed herself up on her elbows, giving the midwife’s pale, sweaty face some powerful evil eye. And then, depending what kind of mood she’s in when she’s telling it, my momma either demanded to hold me, her cooing baby, or she swooned and the villainous midwife gave me over to Auntie Aggie, who cleaned me up and put me into an ivory bassinet until one of the mammies could suckle me.
But if you ask Auntie Aggie, the woman who mostly raised me up, she would say that my mother was thrashing around on the bed, still in quite a bit of pain on account of the whole birthing thing. Aunt Aggie would say that Momma had no idea what the midwife was about, and that the realization of my near demise came much later. She was the one who, when she saw how the midwife was about to put a blanket over my face and declare me stillborn, stepped forward and held out her hands.
“Wasn’t that lady’s fault,” Aunt Aggie said as she told me the story. “Ain’t no white woman going to claim a Negro bastard, and I’m sure it wasn’t the first time the midwife seen it.” Aunt Aggie shook her head sadly, like she was thinking of all the poor little babies that didn’t make it just because they happened to come out the wrong color.
“What happened then?” I asked, because there’s nothing better than the memories of others when you’re little and have no stories of your own.
“Well, I turned right to that midwife and said, ‘I’ll take the girl and get her cleaned up right.’” That’s what Aunt Aggie says she said, and I believe her. If I close my eyes, I can imagine it, my momma’s big bedroom on the east side of the main house: the windows open to let in the evening breeze and the sounds of crickets and workers singing in the fields, the coppery stink of blood heavy in the humid summer air. The bed linens, no longer crisp and white, a crime punishable by a whipping if the mess had been caused by anyone but Momma. She would never tolerate a stain anywhere, especially not on the bedsheets of her big four-poster. I can see Aunt Aggie there, her voice calm, her dark hands outstretched, her spine straight, her gaze unwavering and stern, an island of calm amid the chaos of house girls running to and fro, bringing the midwife hot water to clean and towels to sop and a cool glass of iced tea because it’s hotter than the dickens out.
Yes, I can imagine Aunt Aggie saving me from the clutches of that well-meaning midwife. Aunt Aggie was the one that done raised me up right, despite what Momma says when she gets in one of her fits. Aunt Aggie was more my momma than my real momma, in the end.
And I suppose I might have grown up better, might have become a
