Dolen Perkins-Valdez - Wench

“Hurry with your chores and come to bed,” he said.

As she slowly made her way to the kitchen, she heard the excited voices of her children entering the house.

Fran got out of the house more. She dressed the children in the finery she had bought them and took them on walks through the woods. When Rabbit scuffed her new shoes, Fran laughed. When Nate fell and got grass stains on his knees, she brushed him off and rubbed at his dirty face with a spit-moistened thumb. She walked the children through the slave quarters, pointing out various work tools and explaining the names of things. The slaves did not allow Fran to catch them observing the spectacle.

Eventually, Nate and Rabbit took note of their new status among the other slave children, refusing to play with them. The children made fun of the way they spoke. Nate kicked dirt at them and dared them to kick it back. The children did not dare, for they knew his threat was real. He would tell Miss Fran. Or Bossman Roberts. Or his pa. Nate had finally realized that Drayle was something more than his Master. Rabbit simply refused to speak to other girls her age.

The children still craved Lizzie’s attention, but they preferred the time they spent with Fran because she gave them things. When Fran tired of them, Lizzie came and got them. They willingly went with their mother, but after a while with Lizzie they would begin to ask about Miss Fran again.

Lizzie saw how her children were changing, and tried to steer them back to their reality by secretly forcing them to continue with their chores. In the afternoons she made them change into their regular clothes. Both Rabbit and Nate knew better than to allow the other children to see them back in their old clothes. When they saw the other children coming, they ran and hid. After a few weeks of this, they told Fran what Lizzie was making them do and Fran put a stop to it.

Drayle delighted in Fran’s new attachment to the children, but Lizzie was determined to change his mind.

“It ain’t good, Drayle.”

He fastened his belt and pulled her close to him even though the door to the bedroom was wide open. He was taking more and more liberties in the house, especially now that Fran was distracted by the children. “Not this again.”

He turned toward the door and stepped into a wide beam of sunlight. Lizzie caught her breath. For a moment, she imagined Nate standing there in his shoes, filling out his clothes. The boy was the spitting image of his father for sure.

“I just don’t want the children to be hurt is all. They’ve really taken to her.”

“They’ll be fine, Lizzie.”

She pursed her lips after he was gone.

Nate ran out of Fran’s room with Rabbit in pursuit.

“Give it to me I said!” Rabbit’s face was pink.

“Hey!” Lizzie yelled.

They turned to her, ready to protest. She silenced them with a hand held up in the air.

“What are y’all doing running through the house? Nate, what do you have that belongs to your sister?”

“I ain’t got nothing.”

“He’s a liar, Mama.”

“I haven’t got nothing,” Lizzie corrected. She grabbed his balled fist and pried it open. A blue ribbon lay crumpled in his palm.

Lizzie took the ribbon from him and popped him on the back of the head with her hand. “I have told you about lying. And you know better than to run through this house like wild animals.”

“Lizzie!”

Fran stood on the stairs, her face surrounded by a mass of curls. “What on earth are you doing?”

Lizzie pulled the children close. “Nothing, ma’am.”

Fran rushed at her and slapped Lizzie on the face hard. “Don’t you ever touch my children again, do you hear me?”

Lizzie nodded into the back of her hand. The children shrank back as if they were more afraid of their mother than the woman who had just struck her.

Nate began to cry. Fran grabbed May’s hand and ordered Nate to follow. They disappeared into Fran’s room and closed the door behind them.

Less than two weeks before Christmas, they received a telegram that Fran’s sister and nephew were coming to spend the holiday with them. The house was thrown into a frenzy with Fran at the head of it all.

“I want all of the silverware polished once more,” Fran said amidst a neck of family jewels, as if she had brought out everything she owned and donned it at once. “This is Christmas, after all.”

Fran lifted doilies and opened drawers, moved vases and scooted chairs, sniffed meat and tasted milk, beat pillows and pointed out cobwebs. She moved about the house like a high priestess as she had not done all year, her velvet gown smelling faintly of mold and the bowels of the attic.

While Fran moved things around, Drayle tended to the moths. A sack of flour had been infested with worms and in the months since, slender moths had been fluttering out of closets and cupboards, lingering around candles, resting on walls. They nested in wools and silks, spun their sticky substance and left a trail of holes. Drayle brushed cocoon shells from the edges of floorboards and the creases of ceilings with a broom. They fell like gun casings, and Lizzie followed behind Drayle, sweeping.

Dessie made everyone wash up before entering through the back. She put a small tub of water by the door for any field slave entering the main house to wash their bare feet.

In the slave quarters, preparations were no less intense. The slaves worked in the fields an extra hour each day in preparation for the Christmas break Drayle would allow them. The overseer Roberts and his wife would also be leaving to see their family, so they worked the slaves extra hard to finish the list of tasks Drayle had set out for them.

Drayle directed the men, led by Philip, to groom and shoe the horses. When the horses grazed in the pasture, their heads down in relaxed concentration, they looked like statues except for the occasional swish of a tail. There were two Tennessee walking horses, three American Saddlebreds, and a Peruvian Paso bought for Fran’s birthday by her father when she was a girl. Mr. Goodfellow also remained.

Fran rarely entertained her family. In fact, Lizzie could not remember the last time any of Fran’s family had visited. The Drayles always traveled to Mississippi to see her folks.

After the house had been cleaned better than it had been in months. After the vegetables had been washed and stacked in piles on the scratched wooden table in the center of the kitchen. After the salted ham had been brought in from the meat house and several chickens had been slaughtered and plucked. After the riding horses were shoed and the slave quarters had been tidied. After all this, they learned that Fran’s sister would not be coming after all.

Two nights before Christmas, a carriage pulled up in front of the house. As the driver approached, the two women in the kitchen peeped out of the window to see who it was. Lizzie put down the jar of preserved berries and walked to the window to stand behind Dessie. They saw a man in a hat driving a carriage. He dropped the reins and proceeded to get down. Although they had not gotten snow that year, it was blustery cold outside. The slim figure pulled his coat about him and walked to the side of the carriage to open the door. A small child emerged.

“Who is that?” Lizzie whispered.

“I’ll get the tea going. You get the door,” Dessie instructed.

Lizzie did as she was told. She opened the door before the man had a chance to knock.

The child stood right in front of her and peeked around Lizzie into the hall of the house. Somewhere upstairs, the sound of Nate and May’s chatter drifted down to them. It was after dinner and Fran was preparing them for bed.

The boy turned an ear toward the stairs.