The Kitchen House (12 page)

“Of course,” Miss Martha said.

“Please, Mother,” Marshall began to plead, “send me away to school.”

“Why do you want to do that, Marshall? Where is Mr. Waters?” Miss Martha asked. “Would you like me to speak to him? Is he too demanding?”

“No,” Marshall said, looking back to the door. “Don’t tell him I came to you.”

“Where he now?” Mama Mae asked, shaking out the white bedcover.

“He’s out,” Marshall said.

“He out with Rankin?” Mama Mae asked Marshall, but her eyes were on Miss Martha.

“That’s none of your business!” Marshall was suddenly furious.

“Marshall!” his mother said sharply. “You apologize.”

“Why? What can she do anyway? She’s just a nigra!” His face went bright pink, and without warning, he picked up his mother’s drinking glass and threw it at Mama. She dodged, and it flew past her to hit the wall. Miss Martha rose swiftly to clutch Marshall’s
arm. In a rage, he swung her away, throwing her against the dressing table. She tried to catch herself as her hand slid the length of the table, toppling a silver mirror and sending her porcelain and glass treasures crashing to the floor. Somehow she grasped hold and kept herself upright. Marshall stilled in the silence that followed. When his mother uttered his name in disbelief, he looked about as though lost. Then, like one defeated, he left the room.

T
HAT NIGHT, AFTER THE MISTRESS
was settled, Mama and I came to the kitchen to pick up the stew Belle had prepared for supper.

“You come eat with us tonight,” Mama invited Belle.

“Thank you, Mama, but I think I’ll stay here tonight,” Belle said.

“You feelin’ all right?” Mama asked.

“Uh-huh,” Belle said, rubbing at a stain on her apron. “Uncle Jacob’s coming here later.”

Mama studied Belle. “It be all right with you, Abinia come eat with us?”

“Of course it’s all right, Mama.”

“I send her back with Ben after we eat.”

“She’s big enough to run back by herself.” Belle would not meet Mama’s questioning eyes.

“That be fine, Belle,” Mama finally said, motioning for me to come with her.

The twins were waiting on the steps of their cabin as Mama and I approached. This family seemed a world apart from the big house, and I left the worries of that day behind when I joined them. Papa George was coming up from the barns, and the twins and I ran down to greet him. He leaned down for Beattie to climb onto his back, then he reached both arms out for Fanny and me to pull him up the hill. Once there, he shrugged us off and straightened up.

“You’re nothin’ but a big old chil’ yourself,” Mama scolded. “Now go wash up.”

“First I get a kiss from my womans,” he said, reaching for Mama. She brushed him away but laughed with us when he squeezed her in a hug.

Inside, I happily helped the girls pull their playthings from the shelf. Papa sat at the table and talked to Mama as she prepared corn bread for our meal. “Marshall say the Waters man with that Rankin again today,” Mama said.

“They takin’ the food those poor niggas supposed to get, and they sellin’ it,” Papa said.

“How you know?” asked Mama.

“I talk with the mens,” said Papa. “They ain’t gettin’ what the cap’n say they supposed to get. Those two even startin’ to go after the womans down—”

Mama looked over at us and shook her head at Papa just as Ben opened the door. I had not seen him since his abduction, and I was unprepared for the shock of his mutilation.

A dark angry wound had replaced his ear, but worse, that side of his face and neck was so badly swollen that I scarcely knew it was him. I stared in horror.

“Abinia!” he said in happy surprise, until he saw my distress. He walked to the bench by the table and sat, then called me over. I stuffed my thumb into my mouth and shook my head, refusing him. “Come here, Birdie,” he said, reaching out for my hand. Reluctantly, I walked to him. He gently pulled me around and angled his injured side away from me. “See,” he said, “I still Ben.”

I recognized him then. When I burst into tears, he lifted me onto his lap, and I hid against his great chest. He covered my head with his large hand and gave me shelter while I grieved for what had been done to him.

“I gonna look better in time,” he soothed, and he had me settled by the time Mama served our meal. Everyone ate quietly until Ben asked for Belle.

“She stay back,” Mama answered. “She say Jacob comin’ by.”

“When I done, I take Abinia back,” Ben said, looking at Mama.

“I don’t know, Ben,” said Mama, “somethin’ not sittin’ right with Belle since the cap’n leave.”

T
HERE WAS NO MOON, AND
it was a dark night, but I felt safe when Ben held my hand and walked me across the yard after supper.

“Does your head hurt, Ben?” I asked.

“Yup, it do, but it gettin’ better,” he said.

“Do you want me to get you some more drops?” I asked.

He laughed. “How you gonna do that?”

“I’ll ask Miss Martha,” I said.

“Why, I sure do thank you, Birdie, for lookin’ out for me, but I think I gonna be all right.” He squeezed my hand.

When we got to the kitchen door, Belle came and, avoiding Ben, abruptly took me in.

“So. Now I too ugly-lookin’ to you?” he asked, then turned and left before she could answer. Stricken, Belle called out after him, but he did not turn back. She sent me up to bed, but later, when I heard her sobbing, I crept down.

“What’s wrong, Belle?” I asked.

“Go back upstairs,” she cried, “go to sleep.”

I hesitated, then used what I knew would get her attention. “Today Marshall pushed Miss Martha, and she fell.”

It worked. Belle stopped crying. “What?” she asked.

I repeated myself. Belle blew her nose, then patted the seat beside her. “Come here,” she said. “Now what’re you saying?”

I was relieved to tell all. Belle was silent when she took my hand and entwined my fingers with her own. “It’s good you’re telling me this,” she said, looking me over. “You’re getting to be a big help.”

“I’m eight already,” I reminded her.

“You too big to sit in my lap?” she asked. I shook my head, pleased. “Come,” she said. I had grown since my arrival, but I was still thin as a twig, and she lifted me easily. I rested my head on her shoulder, and we stayed nestled that way in front of the embers for a long time.

D
ORY AND
I
WERE SITTING
together in the blue room, and while Dory fed Campbell, I held Sukey. It was an early week in December, the
first hog-killing day. I asked Dory why there was such excitement about the event.

It was a break for those in the quarters, she explained, and they looked forward to a feast when they finished. Also, during this week, they were given extra meat with their rations of cornmeal.

“Otherwise, do they only eat cornmeal?” I asked.

No, she said, they were also given a weekly ration of salt pork. Most everyone in the quarters had small gardens where they grew greens, sweet potatoes, field peas, and beans, and some, she said, even had a few chickens.

“Why don’t they get food from the big house?” I asked. I had gone with Belle often enough to the storage rooms in the basement of the big house, and I knew of the abundance there.

“They jus’ don’t.” She sighed. “Belle right. You sure askin’ a lot of questions these days.” That ended our conversation. I was beginning to see that questions about the quarters were discouraged, and if an adult’s answer was forthcoming, it was clear that the subject made them uncomfortable.

As the babies settled for their nap, Dory suggested that I go down to help Mama and Belle in the kitchen house, where the work had already started. I was eager to go but first had the chore of emptying the chamber pot from under Miss Martha’s bed. Carrying the lidded porcelain pot, I headed down the back stairs and outdoors toward the nearest privy. There were two outdoor toilets. The one for the house servants was at the back of Mama’s house. The one I now went to, the one used by people from the big house, was located in a more secluded area back by the orchard.

The early-morning air smelled clean and crisp, and I was happy to be outdoors. I walked slowly, swishing through the fallen leaves. By the time I was within sight of the privy, the chamber pot had grown heavy, and I set it down for a rest. Under a nearby tree, I noticed an overlooked red apple nestled in the brown leaves. My mouth watered for it, but I decided to pick it up on my return and share the treat with the twins. All at once I heard unfamiliar sounds coming from the privy.

I thought I recognized Marshall’s voice, but the sounds were oddly disturbing. Instinctively, I ran behind the protection of the garden fence. I hunched down and peered through a gap between the boards. When the privy door swung open, the tutor stood in the doorway. Then he turned back, kicked at something on the floor, and said for it to get up. Somehow I knew it was Marshall. I pulled back when the man scanned the area, and I didn’t dare look again until he was up at the big house. I waited until he was inside before I cautiously ran to the privy. When I peeked in, I found Marshall, partially clothed, sitting in the corner on the floor. He looked dazed, and when I called his name, he didn’t seem to hear me. For some reason, I ran out for the apple, and when I returned, I offered it to him.

“Here, Marshall, you can have this,” I said. He didn’t appear to notice. I picked up his hand and tried to place the apple in it, but his fingers refused to close. “Here, Marshall,” I said, “you eat this, and I’ll get Papa.” When he still didn’t respond, I took a small bite and placed the piece in his mouth.

“Chew it,” I instructed, and when he slowly began to do so, I again placed the apple in his hand. This time his fingers closed around it. “I’ll come back with Papa,” I said, and I left him then.

I flew through the orchard, past the gardens and the far side of the kitchen house. When I rounded the corncrib, I stopped. Horrified, I couldn’t move forward. I had arrived in the barnyard where the men were butchering pigs. My eyes fixed on a barrow, already dead, hanging from one leg and suspended over a steaming pit of hot water. Beyond it was one hanging from a pole, its belly splayed open. When I saw a third, its neck dripping blood into a pan underneath, I felt myself begin to sway.

“Abinia! What you doin’ here?” Ben’s angry voice brought me back. He shook my shoulders until I centered on him. “You get back to the house, this no place for you,” he said.

“Papa?” I said.

“What’s wrong, Abinia?”

“Papa?” I said. “Where’s Papa?”

“He with Rankin.” Ben pulled me back behind the corncrib. He scrunched down to meet my eyes. “What goin’ on, Abinia?” he asked. “Why you wantin’ Papa?”

“It’s Marshall,” I said. “He’s sick. He’s in the privy and can’t get up. He won’t talk.”

“What?” Ben asked.

“The tutor,” I said. “He was kicking him out in the privy.”

Ben’s look frightened me, and I was reminded of the day he had carried his sledgehammer up from the barns. He looked around. “Don’t go to Papa, he with Rankin. I see to Marshall. You get Mama, she in the kitchen. Send her to me.”

When Ben sprinted off, I headed back for the kitchen house. When I arrived in the yard, I saw more of the pig slaughter, but this sight was less disturbing. Here the women from the quarters worked on long planks that served as worktables, cutting up portions of fresh meat to prepare for the smokehouse. I saw Mama Mae at one of the tables, working and laughing with the others. She turned impatiently when I pulled at her arm, but when she saw my face, she leaned down.

“Ben wants you,” I whispered loudly.

“Ben?” She looked puzzled, then alarmed.

“He’s with Marshall in the privy,” I said. “The tutor hurt him.”

Mama Mae dropped the small handsaw she had been working with, went to Belle, whispered something to her, then hurried off.

I
T WAS MIDMORNING BEFORE
M
AMA
came back, and when she did, she had lost her earlier good cheer. She took Belle aside before she hurriedly went back to working outdoors with the other women, but after that, Belle, too, became serious.

“Is Marshall all right?” I asked.

“Ben’s staying up there with him,” she said.

I was relieved to know that Marshall was safe with Ben, though I felt that something still was very wrong. Soon, though, Fanny distracted me. She was back to her old self, making Beattie and me laugh at her antics. First she pulled a pig’s tongue from a bucket
and stole up behind us, relishing our squeals of disgust. Then, from outdoors, she found two pigs’ ears and hooked them between her braids. It took a minute before we noticed her standing in the doorway, the pigs’ ears flopping over her own.

“Fanny, you’re something else,” Belle said, shaking her head but smiling in spite of herself.

“Well, now, isn’t it nice to see everybody having fun.” Rankin, the overseer, watched from the doorway, but his hard eyes glinted with something other than amusement. Grayish strands of hair clumped and hung to his shoulders, and his brown clothes were bloodied from the slaughter. He hooked his thumbs into the waist of his pants, and I noticed the caked dirt under his long fingernails. He eyed Belle from head to toe before he paced off the kitchen, making a point to carefully look in all the corners. “I’m looking for that Ben boy. Good to see he’s not hiding in this kitchen,” he said.