Beyond the Cotton Fields

Chapter 1

The sun set behind the forest line, painting a mosaic of oranges, pinks, and purples on the sky. The slaves finished dumping out their collected cotton into the cart that would take it to market and began to retire for the night. They passed the master's manor, which glowed with the light of oil lanterns. Inside, the master, his wife, and their son and daughter sat in the dining room as one of the house workers brought out platters of hot food. The land workers ignored their growling stomachs and kept walking to the barn for dinner. While the master and his family were enjoying meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans, the slaves would be sitting down to a meal of leftovers and scraps from the Aberlings' dinner of the previous night, which consisted of chitlins, turnip greens, and beans in the barn.

Lucy walked in the opposite direction of the barn, going to her shack. She prepared her own meals on the nights that the women would stew up a pot of scraps for the other land workers. This was a nightly tradition for the land workers. Eating a pot of cooked scraps all together. On Fridays, some of the men would pull out banjos and harmonicas and play them as the slaves, both land and house slaves, danced and laughed. Sometimes, Master Aberling and his family would come out to the barn to watch the festivities. Lucy never joined the other workers on these nights, either.  She wasn't going to be shuckin' and jivin' for the entertainment of white people and she wasn't going to eat the master's leftovers. Regardless of what the master, his family, and other white people thought, she wasn't some animal. She wouldn't lower herself to the level of a scavenger. She wouldn't give them pleasure of thinking she was grateful for them scraping their plates into her food bowl. To others, this may have seemed stuck up; but, to Lucy, this was merely keeping the small amount of dignity and pride that wasn't ripped away from her.

As she made her way to her shack, Cyrus, an 18-year old barn worker, caught up to her. Cyrus was one worker that Lucy opened up to. With no family and other slaves thinking of her as stuck up, she valued Cyrus's friendship, but to an extent. She knew of his intentions with her, and by no means was she going to let his intentions become actions. Cyrus didn't allow for growth within Lucy. If anything, he enabled decay. The man in Lucy's life would cause her to grow into an Oak tree. This man, much to Lucy's pleasure and Cyrus's displeasure,  was not Cyrus

"Good evenin', Miss Lucy." Cyrus greeted, looking down at the short girl and tipping his hat to her.

"Hello, Cyrus. How are ya this evenin'?"

"I'm good, thank ya. Ya headin' to fix yaself supper?" Cyrus knew Lucy would never eat what the master threw at them.

"Yes, ya wanna join me?" She asked.

"Yes, thank ya." He smiled at the mere thought of spending time with Lucy. They headed to Lucy's shack and settled in. Lucy lit a match and lit an oil lamp, illuminating the small shack. Cyrus sat down on her straw bed and she began to cook a pot of wild rice. While she was stirring the rice, Cyrus, knowingly, pulled up a loose board on the floor, grabbed one of the books that lied beneath it, and let out a chuckle.

"Dese hea books are gonna be ya death."

"Those books are gonna be my ticket to a betta life. Soon, Imma leave this God-forsaken plantation and make me a livin' by knowin' how ta read an' write."

"Don' no yankee want some nigger girl workin' fa them. Ya need ta jus' stay here, stop all dis readin' nonsense, an' stick ta doin' what ya know. I wan' my wife ta take of da house, while I'm out workin'."

"With that mouth, you ain't gonna have a wife."

"Yes, I am. Imma save 'nough money, buy me's an' ya's freedom, an' ya gonna be my wife. Ya gonna cook, clean, an' take care of da babies while I work. Ya ain't gonna be readin' and writin' in ma house."

"Ya ain't gonna be my husband." She scowled, "Ya ain't buyin' my freedom, 'cause I ain't waitin' here for ya to raise that money. I'm goin' up north an' get me a better life. One with a husband that'll let me read an' write."

"Ya talkin' nonsense, girl. Ya can't leave hea widdout Massah knowin', an' don' no man wan' some readin' or writin' wife. Dat's a beckonin' fo da white folk to hang ya up from a Sycamo' tree.  All dese books gonna do is git ya whipp't an' kill't by Massah. Jus' fo'get all dese books an' junk. I can make a bedda life fa ya den dese here books eva could."

"Enough, Cyrus!" Lucy exclaimed, spooning some rice into a bowl and giving it to Cyrus. "I don't wanna hear anotha word of ya mess." She glared at the slightly older boy, fixing her own bowl of rice.

Cyrus scooped some rice up onto his fingers and put it in his mouth, hiding his smirk. The two young slaves ate in silence for the next 20 minutes. Once the pot of rice was empty, Cyrus stood to leave.

"Sleep well, Lucy. An', be careful. Someone say dat dey saw some o' dem savages creepin' 'round da forest edge."

Lucy rolled her eyes as she stood next to the doorway. "Thank ya for the warnin'. Good night, Cyrus."

"G'night, Lucy." He tipped his hat to her and headed to the shack that he shared with his older brother.

"Savages." Lucy silently mocked his words, rolling her eyes. "The only savages 'round here are that damn boy an' his brother." She blew her lamp out and placed a large cloth on her bed. She lifted the loose board, grabbing all of her books and writing instruments, and placed all of the things on the large cloth before tying it together in a bundle. She sat on her hay mattress, looking out towards the forest line and mulling over Cyrus's idiotic words as she talked to herself.

"I can't leave here widout Massah knowin'? If that ain't the biggest lie I done ever heard. Massah don't even know his wife be sneakin' Pastor Wilkins in their bedroom when he ridin' 'round the fields. Massah was talkin' to Pastor Wilkins at the dinner table last week after they came back from services an' Ms. Aberling was under the table with her head between Pastor Wilkin's legs, an' Massah neva found out. If Ms. Aberling can get away wid that, I can get away wid leavin'."