Cecile seems to relax some when I give her the news. She starts fixin' my breakfast again, a little smile on her face. But she still ain't talkin' to me, jus' sharin' glances with with Samuel every once and a while. He don't talk neither and 'till she hands me my breakfast, the room is quiet.
I eat my porridge, not commentin' on that it ain't her best. She wouldn't talk to me never if I said that. When the silence gets too much, I decide to try my rotton luck again. I ain't one to give up.
"If you don't mind me askin'," I say all- polite like, "Why haven't you spoke all week?"
Cecile don't make a noise like she's heard me, so I sigh, gettin' ready to tear. I ain't one to get most ignored. Most everyone feels like my presence is a gift. I ain't used to it.
"Cecile I'm sorry if I did somethin'."
She looks at me, then to Samuel, then back.
"Hon, it alright," she finally says takin' a seat, "I ain't mad at you."
I wait for her to speak more, but she says nothin'. She jus' holds her gaze with Samuel, them seemin' to communicate with no words. When I know nothin' else is gonna be spoken, I look at my food, eaten' as fast as I can. Today I gotta watch over some slaves cleanin' the parlor.
Eventually, right before I leave, Samuel snaps, "You ain't gonna tell her. She ain't one of us. She don't know nothin' 'bout us."
"She ain't one of 'em either," Cecile argues back, standin' up over Samuel, "It's my story to tell."
"No it ain't. It Roger's."
"He's dead Samuel, and I'm standin' here. If I wanna tell her I will."
I stand back while they speak, my legs angled to run. Daddy's always said slaves get violent, and I ain't wanna be here when they do. 'Specially not with Samuel bein' one of 'em. That lousy hand ain't gonna stop him from chokin' me.
"Fine. But if she squeals to that rotten daddy of 'ers, don't comin' lookin' to me no more."
He pushes past me, his eyes into little slits. The fear radiatin' off me can probably be smelled.
Cecile gives a comfortin' smile at me, sittin' back down. She watches the back of Samuel, 'till she can't see him no more.
I eat my porridge, not commentin' on that it ain't her best. She wouldn't talk to me never if I said that. When the silence gets too much, I decide to try my rotton luck again. I ain't one to give up.
"If you don't mind me askin'," I say all- polite like, "Why haven't you spoke all week?"
Cecile don't make a noise like she's heard me, so I sigh, gettin' ready to tear. I ain't one to get most ignored. Most everyone feels like my presence is a gift. I ain't used to it.
"Cecile I'm sorry if I did somethin'."
She looks at me, then to Samuel, then back.
"Hon, it alright," she finally says takin' a seat, "I ain't mad at you."
I wait for her to speak more, but she says nothin'. She jus' holds her gaze with Samuel, them seemin' to communicate with no words. When I know nothin' else is gonna be spoken, I look at my food, eaten' as fast as I can. Today I gotta watch over some slaves cleanin' the parlor.
Eventually, right before I leave, Samuel snaps, "You ain't gonna tell her. She ain't one of us. She don't know nothin' 'bout us."
"She ain't one of 'em either," Cecile argues back, standin' up over Samuel, "It's my story to tell."
"No it ain't. It Roger's."
"He's dead Samuel, and I'm standin' here. If I wanna tell her I will."
I stand back while they speak, my legs angled to run. Daddy's always said slaves get violent, and I ain't wanna be here when they do. 'Specially not with Samuel bein' one of 'em. That lousy hand ain't gonna stop him from chokin' me.
"Fine. But if she squeals to that rotten daddy of 'ers, don't comin' lookin' to me no more."
He pushes past me, his eyes into little slits. The fear radiatin' off me can probably be smelled.
Cecile gives a comfortin' smile at me, sittin' back down. She watches the back of Samuel, 'till she can't see him no more.
