Chapter 2 - Upstate

     They arrived in Monticello before dusk. Tall stone columns marked the corners of their destination.  The giant walnut tree in Papa’s front yard came into view as Hoban turned the minivan on to Clinton Street.  The enormous gray house with blue shutters dwarfed the six other houses on the street even though it was situated back several dozen yards from the curb.  Two long windows were on either side of its front door. Jutting from the slanted roof, two smaller pentagonal shaped windows rested above them. Rheena had drawn pictures of this house countless times. Because rectangles, squares and triangles are easy to draw, they served as the cover art for more than one My Summer Vacation back to school report.

     The upstairs windows, like squared eyes with triangles for lids, monitored their safe arrival. The rectangle mouth of the front door positioned to exclaim a greeting of excitement and anticipation.

     Papa strode out to meet the car as if he had known the exact moment of their arrival. Rheena threaded herself unceremoniously out of the back seat of the vehicle followed by Zachary.  She stood at the edge of the driveway and studied the array of wildflowers, the ragged bushes already heavy with summer berries and sparrows and Grosbeaks that darted amongst the branches.  A grey squirrel scurried up the black walnut tree to improve its vantage point of its new neighbors.  In no time, Zachary was out of the vehicle running and tumbling across the lawn.  Papa ambled to the curb as Shirley pulled herself from the passenger’s seat to let the old man wrap her into his arms. Rheena and Hoban stood shoulder to elbow, instant allies, examining their new home.

     The house was painted a fern meadow blue.  Dark cobalt shutters flanked each window, front, back and side.  The grey stones that covered the lower portion of the house, the tall chimney in the roof with stones that matched the front of the house made the place look strong and safe. 

     The house had a porch. Clusters of maidenhair fern took turns with the pink azaleas and bee balm growing along the edge of the porch.  A short distance from the side of the house tomatoes and peppers leaned against broomstick poles.  Aluminum pie tins slapped lazily against the poles tapping out a rhythm that added to the tranquil soundscape. Clumps of deep purple irises and bright orange daylilies bloomed on their elongated stems throughout the expansive yard.  Still, there was plenty of room for play. Already, Zachary was twirling wildly on a tire that hung from a maple tree.

     Rheena and Hoban faced their new home, taking in the simple details that had always been there but now wanted more of their attention. The colors, shapes, sounds and smells would soon be a permanent part of their lives.  There was no name-calling now. Together they faced their new future. Hoban sighed.

     In the upstairs window a light flickered.  Rheena’s eyes darted up in response to the sudden flash of light. She noted, for an instant, the dark window was lit bright then dark again.  She glanced up at her big brother. Hoban frowned, turned his head to glance into the setting sun behind them, then back to the upper room window. Yes! She realized he had seen it too, the flicker of light then darkness again. Had they both seen the house mischievously wink at them?

     For a fleeting moment, Rheena wondered if living here permanently was such a good idea. She squared her shoulders, looked up at her brother then back at the house. Hoban gently rested his hand on his little sister’s shoulder and pulled her close.

Chapter 3 - Manners & Decorum

     RHEENA STRETCHED her aching muscles and climbed up from her sleeping place on the floor. As usual, Zachary and the other children were gone; she was alone in the cabin. Her bladder screamed to be relieved, so she scurried out the door, hustled around to the back of the sleeping quarters and headed straight to the sweet viburnum bushes with their tiny fragrant white flowers that grew in abundance a few discreet yards away. This fragrant spot had become her personal toilet. She adjusted her clothes, squatted, and closed her eyes with relief.

     She longed for a proper bath but had satisfied herself with the weekly washday at the river when she, like some of the others, climbed into the water along with the dirty clothes. On those sunny mornings she’d cleaned her nightshirt and her underwear, both items serving as her washcloth and towel, then help Aint Zori and Tanji scrub the rest of the laundry against the rocks.

     Now, Rheena slipped back into the cabin to fold her sleeping blanket. None of the other children who slept there, most of them small and younger than her brother, ever bothered. She picked up each cover at its edges, spread her arms wide overhead just as she had done countless times with her bedding back home and gave them a firm shake in the air until much of the dust and twigs caught in the fibers fell to the floor. Some she spread on the table to better manage the folding. The larger woolen blankets she left on the floor, crawled on them, matching corner to corner until they were neat bundles. These she placed on the hard ground along the wall. The covers made of muslin and threads of burlap didn’t have corners. No matter how much she pressed the cloth with the palms of her hands, they remained exactly what they were, clumps of nondescript fabric. If their surface area was smooth, that had to be good enough; and she bundled them along the wall as well.

     Aint Zori watched unnoticed as Rheena industriously went about the task she had assigned for herself. For weeks, since this little girl and her little companion popped into their lives, she and Brownridge took great pains to understand how it came to be and what their presence on the Hammond Plantation meant. In all her born days, Zori had never seen such brazen disrespect from any colored child. It unsettled her that this girl child had the audacity to make eye contact with her or with Brownridge. The child studied them when she didn’t know they saw her. And when Massa Orrie came down from his cabin at the top of the bluff, she watched him as well.     

     What Zori feared most was that someday Massa Orrie would ask about her. She was afraid he’d notice the brash little girl walking straight back, chin up in the air, across the field and he’d ask Brownridge where she came from. Or worse, how she got here? What could Brownridge, who the overseer held accountable for every living Black soul at Redcliff, tell him? What would he tell this white man who was quick to temper, and who enjoyed flailing the whip he carried? Neither she nor Brownridge had an answer. Because they didn’t know.