Dolen Perkins-Valdez - Wench

Someone quoted a scripture and Lizzie read a poem from a book in Drayle’s library by someone named William Wordsworth. The children cried the hardest. Lizzie returned to Big Mama’s cabin alone and lit a fire. She had never talked much to Big Mama about her relationship with Drayle, and now she wished she had.

Philip had recently been over to the plantation where Polly lived and confirmed to Lizzie that her sister had been sold. When the fire finally died down after a couple of hours, she wrapped herself in Big Mama’s shawl. She cried for a little while. Rocked herself. Wondered if she would ever see Polly again. Polly had not had children. She had been alone before Lizzie. Now she was alone again, on another plantation somewhere. Lizzie had asked Drayle about finding her, but he reported that her former owner had been uncooperative. Without Big Mama and Polly, all Lizzie had were her children.

The longer she stayed there, the more she realized that sleeping in the slave quarters was difficult for a house slave. Each morning, while the slaves tied cloths around their heads and layered whatever clothing they could find to protect themselves from the cold before hustling out to the fields, she put on a dress and walked toward the house.

Her children still refused to play with the other slave children. Fran had filled their bellies and heads with false dreams, and they had a difficult time letting go of this. Rabbit became sullen and withdrawn, and Nate kicked when he was angry.

At first, the slave women barely spoke to Lizzie. But as the months passed, they included her in their conversations. Lizzie’s speech fell back into the rhythm of her youth.

One unusually warm spring night, Lizzie went to bed in just a shirt. When she rolled over, she felt a hand between her thighs. She pushed it away, thinking one of the children was using her as a pillow. Then she felt the sticky hand wedge itself again between her legs.

She opened her eyes and a fat face loomed over her. He put a hand over her mouth. It was Baby. She hadn’t spoken to Baby in a long time, and she could instantly sense that he was different. Not the Baby she’d known. She felt him try to pry her legs apart. She yelled and he punched her in the face. Her jaw burned. She kicked and arched her back. Even though she couldn’t see around her, she guessed there was no one in Big Mama’s cabin with her. The children were gone. She could hear singing. They were all outside and they wouldn’t hear her even if she did manage to move his hand from her mouth. But he covered her mouth so tightly she could barely breathe. The look in his eyes scared her. He would do this to her. He would do this to her and the next day he wouldn’t even glance in her direction. For once, she was glad her children had sneaked off.

He pinned one of her legs beneath his knee. She kicked with the other leg. And she understood what he wanted from her: just one push. He wouldn’t even wait to satisfy himself. He just wanted to violate the master’s woman. He’d do it with a finger if he could, but she kept his hands busy holding her down.

I’ll tell. If she could speak, she would threaten him. But she wasn’t sure if it would mean anything. Sleeping in the slave quarters meant she was subject to its rules. She could appeal to the elders. She could try to get somebody to beat him. But she had no family. Some women had brothers who provided this protection. Others had lovers who let it be known their women were not to be messed with. Lizzie had no one.

Except Drayle.

I’ll tell. The words died in her throat as his fat finger made its way inside of her. He groaned. His grip on her mouth loosened and she bit him. Then she heard a loud thud.

He fell back and Lizzie rolled from beneath him and covered herself. She heard the skillet drop to the floor and then the sound of her son crying. She lifted herself up.

“Nate, come here.”

Philip kicked the pan away and knelt beside her. “You al-right?”

She nodded.

“Nate came here and found him on top of you. He came and got me. Why you in here sleeping when everybody else outside having a good time?”

“Nate, come here,” Lizzie said. She didn’t want to talk. She just wanted her son next to her.

A field hand stood in the doorway. “He dead?” he asked.

“Naw,” said Philip. “He all right. Just help me get him out of here.”

Lizzie scooted back into the corner, still holding on to Nate. “Where’s Rabbit?”

“Outside,” he said. They dragged Baby’s big bulk out of the door.

Lizzie touched her hand to her sore cheek and knew it would be swollen by morning.

Lizzie and her children moved into Philip’s cabin, the only one on the plantation built with hewed logs. He kept a neat and tidy room despite being a single man. Lizzie found Drayle in the kitchen one day and told him she was now living with Philip.

“Philip? That’s fine, I suppose. He’ll take good care of you and the children.”

Drayle was right. Philip treated her and the children respectfully. He always left when she needed to undress.

Each morning, he left to give little Billy riding lessons. This kept Philip busy, and Lizzie and the children were often asleep by the time he returned. Lizzie was grateful for Philip’s protection, so she kept the cabin as a wife would. She tended his laundry, brought back leftovers from the big house. He didn’t say much, just clucked his appreciation and went back on his way. He grew closer to Nate, sharing more animal stories with the boy once he learned he liked them.

Lizzie wished Billy would leave. She did not feel any ill will toward him, but he was the sole reason she and her children were back in the slave quarters.

Fran never once inquired about Nate and May. It was as if they had never existed. Sometimes Lizzie’s children came to the kitchen door to fetch something or run an errand. If they caught sight of Fran, she turned the other way. The children now looked as ragged as the other slave children. Despite their protests, Lizzie had finally taken away their fine clothes for good. There was no use for them in the quarters. The next time a slave with a pass visited the plantation, Lizzie gave them the clothes to sell in town.

Eventually the hurt looks on Nate and May’s faces lessened as they realized Fran would not be their special mistress anymore. Lizzie dampened the hurt by bringing them treats from the house. She also took to hitting her children more, especially Nate. She didn’t want a white man to be the first to beat her son. When he received his first beating, he would take it with the knowledge that a beating couldn’t hurt him. He would have to learn how to be a slave now.

One day while Lizzie was shelling peas in the kitchen, she heard Fran scream from somewhere inside the house. She had never heard Fran scream like that, so she wiped her hands and hurried out to the front. Fran was kneeling over a small body and when she lifted her hands, Lizzie saw they were covered in blood.

Lizzie rushed forward, then stopped. It wasn’t Nate. It was Billy. His head was bleeding and his eyes were closed.

“Lord!” Lizzie said.

Philip was talking fast. “He was riding. He was all right. And Mr. Goodfellow just bucked.”

“Why did you put him on that one-eyed bastard? he’s too big for a child!”

Drayle slammed the front door behind him. “What happened?”

“Your slave. He did this.” Fran pointed at Philip. “He did this to my boy.”

“No, no, no,” moaned Philip. “I swear, Marsuh Drayle. I was right there. That one-eyed horse just bucked.”

Dessie came out of the kitchen. “I sent for the doctor.”

“Help me get him on the table,” Drayle said to Philip.

“Don’t touch him!” Fran screamed.