Dolen Perkins-Valdez - Wench

Lizzie had never been allowed to sleep with her children. They had always slept in the quarters with Big Mama while Lizzie stayed in the house with Drayle at night. So it was with bittersweet tenderness that she prepared them for Fran’s bed each evening. She bathed them in the quarters, in the big tub that sat behind a hanging quilt in the workyard. First, she heated the cast-iron kettle on the open fire. As she waited for the water to cool, she watched as they ran around naked and wrestled in the dirt. When everything was ready, she picked each of them up and set them down into the tub together. There wasn’t much time for them to soak, so she started right in wiping and scrubbing the dirt from them. She took care to wipe behind their ears and scrub the creases of their necks. Each leaned forward as she scrubbed their backs. Then they stood while she washed between their legs.

Afterwards, she delivered them to Fran’s room with a playful shove through the door that masked her real feelings. She stood outside in the hallway, her hands shaking, listening to Fran read a bedtime story.

When she returned to the room she shared with Drayle, he said she should be grateful that at least the children would learn to read. Lizzie tried to focus on this thought.

“One more time. And then I promise to leave you alone,” he said.

She had determined she was not going to allow him to force her to do that again. Since the children had been born, he only asked her to do it every so often, usually when she was bleeding. As much as she hated it, her children were receiving special treatment, and she knew Drayle could stop it if he wanted to. She was living in a bedroom in the big house, wearing finer clothes than any of the other slaves. Her children drank milk and ate the best cuts of meat. She knew she had to weigh her answer carefully.

When he saw her indecision, he said: “I’ll write you a pass to see your sister. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Lizzie frowned. She hadn’t seen her sister in almost a year of Sundays. She had asked Drayle for a pass, but he had put her off. Polly’s master never wrote passes for his slaves. He would beat a slave for even asking for one, according to Polly. She had sneaked off to see Lizzie a couple of times, but Lizzie discouraged her from doing it, afraid of what would happen if she were caught. It hurt to have blood kin so close but be unable to see her. If allowed a pass, she could find out for herself if the terrible rumor that her sister had been sold were true or not.

Drayle pulled his penis out and rubbed the shaft of it.

She turned her face away. She felt a sour taste rise in her throat. She blew out the stench between her lips.

“Lizzie, there are some things you don’t understand.”

“What do you want me to understand, Drayle? I understand you want me to do that nasty thing.”

“What are you talking about? It’s not some nasty thing. Women do it all the time for their men. Why there’s a woman in town who-”

“I ain’t like them women in town,” she stated.

“I’m not like those women in town. How many times do I have to tell you not to use the word ain’t?”

“You use it sometimes.”

He picked up her hand. “If you loved me like you say you do, this wouldn’t be a problem. Shoot, I bet it’s a dozen gals down in the quarters who would take your place no sooner than you could shake a stick.”

“Yeah well, they ain’t got your children neither.” As soon as she said it, Lizzie regretted it. That was the last thing she wanted. If Drayle wanted children by another slave, it would be easy, especially now that he knew he could make them. This was the only power she held over him. And now it was the only power she held over Fran. She had to be careful she didn’t push him out there.

Her head moved and she felt Drayle tense. He placed his hand on the back of her neck and pushed.

Fran had decided Rabbit and Nate’s clothes would no longer do. When she went to pick up her dress made in the silky blue fabric given to her by Yancy, she took the children with her.

Lizzie swept near the door so she could look through the front window. She knew Fran would protect the children as if they were her own, but Lizzie worried all the same. What would happen once Fran lost interest? What if her children mistook this for real love?

She looked up and caught Dessie staring at her.

“They be all right. Just one of them thangs slave children got to go through. Different ways to learn they lessons. Your childrens got to learn theirs thisaway, that’s all.”

Lizzie nodded. The floor creaked beneath her. The night before had been especially cold, and one of the cows had gone into labor and given birth to babies that had frozen during the night. The mother had abandoned her calves instead of keeping them close to her and warm. The story had shaken Lizzie when she heard it.

Lizzie polished the tall grandfather clock in the hallway, and took a rag to the floorboards. She walked and wiped until she got to the room she now thought of as Fran’s instead of Fran’s and Drayle’s. A miniature wooden statue of Jesus on the crucifix. A snuffbox. There was no sign of Drayle in the room other than his clothes in the closet. Lizzie searched the closet for a box or some other container holding memories of Drayle’s family and life before marriage to Fran. She found nothing. When she had asked Drayle about his family, he had only mentioned that both of his parents were dead and he had no siblings. It was as if he was as alone in the world as she was.

Lizzie opened the closet and fingered the dresses inside. She took one out and held it up in front of her. She was bigger than Fran now that she’d had children. But the dress had enough fabric to be let out and fit her just right. She put it back in the closet.

She found a book on the closet shelf and took it down and opened it. It was a child’s catechism, and Lizzie could imagine the excitement of her children as they examined the pictures and Fran pointed out the large letters printed on the page. Lizzie lay across Fran’s bed with the book open before her. She read softly as if her children were there listening. She had not read in the quarters lately. It struck her that her children did not know she could read. She would have to tell them. She would sneak a book out of Drayle’s library and take it down to Big Mama’s house. And the first chance she got, she would read to them just as Fran did. She didn’t want them to think white people were the only ones to hold the magic key to these letters.

She put the book back on the shelf and smoothed out the bedcovers. She refilled the lamp with oil and polished the posts of the bed until they shone. She went over the windowsills with her rag until not a speck of dust remained.

She brushed her hair. Her thick naps didn’t require much. She pinned them in her usual style. Fran had prohibited her having a mirror in the bedroom. She’d also limited Lizzie’s clothes. She was not allowed to have more than three dresses.

Lizzie heard the clop of Drayle’s boots on the stairs and hurried out of the room. She was bent down wiping the floor when he walked right into her.

“How are the cows doing?”

“We put them in the barn. There’s four pregnant cows. Would you believe it? I put all four of them in the barn even though only two are due any day now. I figure they could keep each other company in case one starts whelping in the middle of the night.”

Lizzie nodded.

“Where’s Fran?” he asked.

“She took Nate and Rabbit to town.”

Drayle scratched the back of his neck. He moved past her.

“I’ll have my supper upstairs.” When he got to the doorway of the bedroom they shared most nights, he turned around and looked at her.