Dolen Perkins-Valdez - Wench

Lizzie patted at the milk stains above their lips with the tail of her apron. “Well stay out of the way, y’all hear? We’ve got to serve this dinner. If y’all want to play, go on back in the storeroom. Go on now.”

Dessie stirred a big pot of onion soup, bringing up slivers of the red and white bulbs to the surface. That would be followed by fried frog legs, Fran’s favorite. The rest of the meal had been planned by Drayle who insisted the only thing Fran cared about were the frog legs. So he’d ordered up his favorites: pork roast, mashed potatoes, collard greens. Dessie had made soda biscuits from scratch, the same kind she made for breakfast. Mrs. Butterfield’s husband still remembered Dessie’s soda biscuits from his previous visit, years before.

During dinner, Lizzie tried not to concentrate on the conversation. Serving dinner when there were guests present, whether a special occasion or no, was always a serious affair in the Drayle household. Nothing could be spilled on Fran’s hand-tatted tablecloth. Plates had to be taken at exactly the right time. Lizzie and Dessie had to distinguish between when a guest was actually finished and when they were merely taking a break. On days when there was no company Fran played games with them by pretending she was done-nudging her empty plate away from her and then picking up her spoon as soon as one of them approached. Whenever they made a mistake, she shouted at them so loudly that whenever they did have guests, the memory of her criticism was strong enough to make them nervous.

The dinner went off without any major slip-ups, and Lizzie offered dessert-a blackberry pie. Everyone declined except Mr. Butterfield who looked pleased with everything that had been served so far.

The others asked for coffee and Dessie instructed Lizzie to pour the coffee while she spooned up some dessert for Mr. Butterfield. Lizzie hated pouring coffee because the slightest mistake could cause it to spill into the saucer. She was convinced Dessie had assigned the task to her on purpose. But the head cook was older, and among slaves that meant something.

Lizzie managed to pour all of the coffee without any mistakes, but as she moved to go back through the kitchen door, the door swung back toward her. The coffee pot hit her chest and the hot brown liquid soaked the front of her dress.

“I didn’t mean to do it!” Nate’s voice was shrill and scared.

Dessie grabbed Nate’s shoulder and pushed him into the kitchen. Lizzie rushed through the kitchen to the well outside to pour cold water over her dress.

When she returned to the dining room, she found Rabbit on Yancy’s lap. Nate stood behind the woman’s chair watching his sister. His thick eyebrows came together between his eyes. Lizzie tried to think of something to say. The room was dead silent. Surely everyone at the table knew these were Drayle’s children, especially the boy who looked just like him.

Yancy kissed and hugged May. “She’s like a little white doll!” she murmured. Rabbit fingered the woman’s bracelets and stared at her earrings.

“You didn’t tell me you had such lovely new slave children, Fran.”

“Well, they’re not that lovely.”

Drayle cleared his throat. “If you’re done with that dessert, we could have another drink in the library.”

“Sure thing,” said Mr. Butterfield, following Drayle’s lead.

The two men left their cooled coffee on the table.

Yancy reached for Nate to pull him onto her lap, but he stepped back. He didn’t appear to be as enthralled with her as his sister was.

“Boy, go to Mrs. Butterfield. She asked for you. Now go on,” Fran said.

Nate shook his head. Lizzie looked helplessly from one to the other. She wanted to entice her children back to the kitchen with the promise of more milk, but Fran was giving a different order.

Yancy reached out to touch Nate’s hair. This time, he didn’t retreat.

“Such lovely children,” Yancy said.

“I suppose,” Fran said.

Yancy waved her hand. “Now you know I would give anything to have some little colored children in my house. Now that we live in town, Mr. Butterfield only allows us to keep that old couple we’ve had for so long. I tried to convince him to buy me a girl-especially after our own children grew up-but he wouldn’t have it. Said he didn’t want a nigger child living in our house. Do these live in the house with you?” She tilted her face down, as if smelling Nate’s hair.

“No,” Fran said, watching Yancy. Then she did something that surprised Lizzie. She reached out for Rabbit and brought her close. The child leaned back between Fran’s legs. “It’s too bad you don’t have children in your house, Yancy. I’ll have to speak to Mr. Butterfield and convince him to buy you a new slave.”

“Lizzie, have these children eaten?” Fran said without looking up.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, bring them some dessert. Do you like blackberries, boy?”

Nate was unable to resist the offer. “Yes, missus.”

Lizzie didn’t move.

“That’s a great idea!” Yancy said. “Let’s take it in the parlor. Let’s take the children with us and fill them with sweets.”

Lizzie stood there for a moment after the women and children had left the room.

When she returned to the kitchen, Dessie hissed at her: “Your childrens don’t do what they told. You told them to stay out the way. Even you won’t be able to save them this time. And they gone deserve whatever they get.”

“You leave me and my children alone,” Lizzie said.

Lizzie stood outside the parlor door listening with the plates of pie in her hands. Yancy Butterfield was laughing.

Lizzie pushed open the door with her foot and found the two women sitting with a child perched in each lap. Nate was telling them about Brother Rabbit and Brother Partridge. He was telling them how both Rabbit and Partridge liked the same girl. Partridge pretended his head was cut off by tucking it in his feathers, and convinced Rabbit that he should do the same because it was a noble thing. So Brother Rabbit went around trying to find someone to cut off his head. When no one agreed to do it, Partridge obliged him. After Partridge cut off Rabbit’s head, he untucked his own and went down to the dance where he could have the girl all to himself.

Lizzie had not known Nate knew the story well enough to tell someone else. His speech came in short, excited bursts. The women laughed hard, as if they had never heard such a story.

Lizzie backed into the kitchen.

“What’s wrong now?” Dessie asked when she saw Lizzie.

That night Drayle slept beside Lizzie while Rabbit and Nate slept beside Fran in her bed.

And Lizzie didn’t sleep at all.

After Yancy Butterfield’s visit, things changed. Lizzie had not thought Fran’s momentary change of heart would last. She had been fully convinced Fran was only acting that way to impress her wealthier friend. But after Yancy’s visit, Fran continued to spoil the children.

Never mind that Nate’s skin was unmistakably brown and that he continued to wrestle with the decision of whether or not to trust her. Never mind that Rabbit was unnaturally pale with kinky blond hair. Fran was smitten and it showed.

Since Fran’s love was expressed in short gusts of affection, the children still spent part of the day with Big Mama. But they stayed in the quarters under the strict instructions they were not to work. Fran ignored the fact that all of the slave children on the plantation had chores. The general belief among a southern slaveholder was that slaves must be introduced to work early so they would know no other way of being.

The children were now sleeping in Fran’s bed regularly. It worried Lizzie at first, but Drayle assured her it was good for both Fran and the children. Lizzie suspected he liked it because Fran no longer expressed an interest in his nighttime activities. If she had been uninterested before, she was now almost impatient for him to clear the room so the two freshly scrubbed children could climb into her bed and bury themselves beneath the covers.