Before I left for Baton Rouge on Friday morning I ventured into the kitchen for a cup of coffee … I sat at the kitchen table watching Queen as she slowly kneaded a mountain of dough for her famous pastries. The sleeves to her darsheka were rolled up above her elbows and her forearms showed the strength of a woman much younger. She was silent and acted as though I wasn't even in the room … she began to hum an unfamiliar tune as she continued her work.
I crossed the kitchen to pour myself another cup of coffee and poured one for Queen as well. As I settled back in my chair I asked, "How long have you and Rose known each other?"
She continued her ministrations for another minute then covered the dough with a towel to let it rise. She looked at me, wiped her hands on her apron as she walked to the table and pulled out a chair, "Well, to tell the truth Mr. Emerly, I don't think there's ever been a time when I didn't know Miss Rose."
"Queen," I asked, "please call me Jackson … do you mean you two were raised together?"
A enigmatic smile crossed her face and she studied my eyes for a few seconds, "No … she and I … our families have been together for almost 150 years. When sugar cane was king in the Delta, my family was brought over in slavery from Jamaica and put on the block. Other families were split up and sold to different owners. When my family took their place in the auction, three of them stood proud with their chins up. The auctioneer expounded on the strength and health of each one … the man was stripped of his shirt and told to turn around, as he did his broad shoulders and biceps were pointed out … also, there were no scars on his back proving that he was a dutiful slave.
The young girl between them clung to their hands and little was said about her. Next the woman was told to open her mouth and a row of perfect white teeth attested to her overall health, her blouse was pulled from her to reveal pendulous breasts and a narrow waist. She had a birthmark on her right shoulder strangely in the shape of a fleur de leis.
In the audience a young woman gasped and clutched the arm of her husband. She spoke no words but her eyes implored him. He immediately understood and opened the bidding offering $3,000 for the entire family. Loud murmurs arose from the crowd but then quieted, no one counter bid and my family was led off the block to face their new owners.
The white man simply nodded at them, took his wife's arm to leave, and their new servants fell into step behind them. It was a long drive back to the plantation, and the three sat quietly in the back of a wagon loaded with supplies following the carriage in front of them. They were assigned a small house on the edge of the slave's quarters and settled in for the night, thankful they were still together but apprehensive about what the future held for them.
The next morning their new master approached them and asked their names. Although his shoulders were square he dared not look into the eyes of his new master … he knew it was considered a sign of insolence and punishable. He answered in a low voice, "I am Isaac. This is my wife, Marie, and our baby, Cherish."
"Very well," the new master said, "Isaac, have you ever done any work with horses?" Still with his eyes down, "Yes, master. I groomed and shoed the horses where I was before."
"Good, then," he smiled, "you'll be assigned to our stables to care for our personal mounts. Marie, would you and Cherish please go the big house and ask for your mistress …"
He turned and began to walk toward the stables. The couple looked at each other with surprise and questions in their eyes, but knew better than to say a word. Isaac followed the new master, Marie took Cherish's hand and started walking toward the big house. She entered through the kitchen door and stood for a moment while her eyes adjusted to the dimmer lights. Finally a pudgy woman a few years older than Marie saw her standing there and knotted up her brow, "Are you the new ones?"
Marie bobbed a small curtsey and answer, "Yes … master told us to come see the mistress … I'm Marie and this is my baby, Cherish."
"You two wait here, I'll tell the misses you're here," and she toddled off. She was back in just a few minutes, "Misses wants to see you in the parlor … come with me" They were led through the kitchen, dining room and into the hall … they had never been in the plantation house in Jamaica so the sights were new to them and their heads turned from one side to the other marveling at how well their new masters lived.
They came to a pair of pocket doors and the woman leading them knocked lightly, "Come in," said a gentle southern accent. "Thank you, Bert, you may return to the kitchen now."
Bert was surprised but said nothing to her mistress; however, Marie heard her muttering to herself as she turned to go back to the kitchen.
The sweet face framed by dark curls looked at mother and daughter. The little girl was frightened and half hid herself behind her mother's skirt. "There's no need to be frightened, Cherish … no harm will come to you here," she walked to the little girl and tilted her face up so the child could see her sincere smile.
"Marie … were you born in Jamaica?" she asked as she sat down.
"Yes, missus … I lived my whole life there until I was brought here."
"And, do you remember your mother?"
"Yes, missus"
"What do you remember about her?"
