The women would share their dreams and hopes, though most of the times they knew there were only dreams. There wasn’t much hope for them, for they had no control over their own lives, let alone their children’s lives. They could only hope for the best.
When Mary was three, she began to work alongside the other children. She was given the chores of feeding the chickens and pulling weeds out of her mother’s garden and the Mistress Victoria’s flower garden. Mary’s little fingers were nimble and quick. Mary learned quickly what to pull and what to leave. She enjoyed the smell of the garden flowers.
Mary was taught how to fan the flies away from her mistress, when Mistress Anderson was resting. One of the older children helped her learn, it was Dark Henry. He seemed to love Mary best and always watched over her.
On warm sunny days, Mistress Anderson came out to the garden to cut flowers. Victoria smiled down at Mary and watched the child from the corner of her eye. She knew Mary was a quiet and shy child. Victoria hummed softly as she cut her flowers. She spoke gently to the child.
“What’s your name child?” Victoria asked, holding up a pale pink rose. She sniffed it and looked over to the girl.
“My name is Mary.” The child responded quietly.
“What a lovely name. Here Mary, smell this wonderful rose. It’s pretty, just like you.” Victoria said, taken with the child. She was a pretty little girl, tiny just like a doll. Mary had large beautiful eyes that seemed to fill her face, they were a golden honey brown with long lashes.
Mary watched the woman, wary. Mary took her cues from her mother and the others, all were careful around white people, especially Clark. All children learned at an early age to hide their true feelings. To keep their faces blank of any emotion. But this woman seemed kind and Mary smiled shyly at her. The mistress requested Mary more and more, wanting the little girl near her. Mistress Victoria fed Mary treats, such as raisins or bits of corn muffin. Mary sat quietly with the mistress and listened to the woman talk. Mary answered in monosyllable responses.
During the winter, was the most difficult, because Mary, had no shoes, as did many of the slaves. Their clothing and outer wear were worn and patched. Shoes were rare and precious. Ida wrapped Mary’s feet in rags and put grease on the bottom of the rag shoes, to protect Mary’s feet from the cold damp ground. From time to time Mary was given old shoes, but once she grew out of them, the shoes were passed along to another child when the shoes no longer fit. The shoes were uncomfortable and Mary preferred the rag shoes.
Ida played many games with Mary during the long winters and taught her daughter songs. One evening, Liza brought her hidden stash of dried corn kernels and put them into a pan on the fire. Nan, Patina and Mary squealed with glee, and grabbed at the popping corn. Patina was a mulatto, her mother, Matilda, had come from the Kilgour farm, where it was thought that the eldest son, Ethan, had gotten the woman pregnant. Patina had dark chestnut hair and hazel eyes. She would be a beauty when she grew to womanhood. She and Mary were nearly inseparable. The girls blew the dirt off the corn and promptly popped the puffed corn into their mouths. Mary wasn’t all that concerned about the dirt and didn’t blow the corn off as often. Ida laughed at her daughter, who ended up with mud crusted around her greedy mouth.
“Daughter, you’re gonna poop out mud bricks.” Ida snorted with laughter and Liza joined in. Ida took a rag and cleaned her daughter’s face.
Mary was growing rapidly and outgrew her shoes and clothes quickly. Mary took on more and more chores, helping her mother both out in the field and around the cabin. Mary was quick, smart and intuitive. Mary was seven when her mother came down with the coughing sickness. Mary fretted and hovered around her mother. Liza made a homemade remedy that smelled terrible, but Liza swore by it.
“This’ll fix your momma up right, honey. Don’t you fret none.” Liza said, a gentle smile on her broad face. Mary love Liza like a second mother. There were no doctors for the slaves, if they could not heal themselves, they died. Every winter there were deaths, usually the very old and the very young. Mary sat with her mother when she could, giving her mother the medicine.
“Momma, you need ta take this. Liza says you do.” Mary coaxed.
“Child, that is wretched stuff.” Ida smiled grimly, but drank the concoction. Three field slaves had died that winter of what her mother called consumption. Mary feared her mother would die as well. But the angels were watching and her mother pulled through. Ida was very weak and so Mary took on more and more of her mother’s chores. Mary was afraid Clark would whip her mother, should she fall behind.
Mary had witnessed Clark’s handy work on many occasions. The slaves were called to watch one of the house slaves receive a beating for eating a pie that had been left to cool on the kitchen window sill. The young man had been stripped naked and tied to a pole at the side of the barn. Clark had taken great pleasure doling out the lashes. Mary’s body had jerked with each stroke.
Mary didn’t know how to count, but she knew that the number of lashes for stealing was great. At a tender age, she had seen too much. Mary felt sick and afraid as she watched the young man buck
