by RC Shivers

Created on: September 16, 2010

The house was very dim, like a cave.  The cobblestone wall bordering the large hearth oozed a dewy perspiration.  The worn wood planks haphazardly fit together as walls sweated and bowed with the changes in temperature and humidity.  Moisture darkened the hard packed dirt floor.  Each room bore that ever-present mustiness that the child and her family and the others had grown used to over the years.  The ramshackle structure lacked just about anything that resembled furniture.  A small rickety table stood in the center of the room.  There were no chairs.  In one sparse corner lay a small pile of flea-infested hay.  Not the bright yellow hay the animals would feed on, but the dingy moldy brown of vegetables gone far too long.  The rancid pile did nothing to help the family rest, but it did provide a layer between their skin and the dirt floor.  In the colder months, they would huddle close together, in the very same heap of hay, in a futile attempt to generate some kind of warmth.

The hearth itself consumed the space of one long wall and sat unused through most of the year, dripping with the same perspiration that bowed the other walls.  The owner of the plantation would not justify an allotment of wood for the comfort of simple slaves, though at select times throughout a year he would, out of the ‘goodness of his heart’, allot just enough wood to keep the hearth warm for a day or two. Ironically, it always seemed to coincide with the need of another large oven to assist in the preparation of a large social function.  The slave women, required to cook, would mix the ingredients under strict supervision of the slave master.

Only ten years old, little Rennie had already learned that life was tough.  Her only comfort lie in the lessons her mother taught her.  Rennie remained a shadow in the periphery most of the time.  She stayed out of the way and did her share of the work. 

The child’s arms glistened with sweat and ached from her knuckles to the tight muscles that barely held her head above her neck as she kneaded the dough that would be used for the baked delicacies at this weekend’s function. Her mother stood at her side working the butter churn as other slaves mixed grains and other ingredients.  Although she did remain silent as she worked Rennie kept a keen eye on everything around her. It was a lesson her mother taught her when she was very

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