The countryside's clouds were grey, they almost always were, and even then, I remember I was still not used to that, although I was 10. It was different from my real home, my father's home, my mother's, my ancestors.
Everything was different from it. Back at home, the sun was always shining, beating warmly, down our backs and when it wasn't shinning, it was night and if it wasn't night, then it was a rainy day. In the countryside, the weather was fairly okay but it was not like home and it was sometimes unpredictable, I dislike unpredictable.
Although, the land was vast. A person or family could own several aces or land and you could not see another neighbor for several miles away. Some of the lands and the houses were even passed down from generation to generation, like the Stanley's household.
But as the years went by, I grew to love the countryside. Not only for it's vastness and mellow animals; sheep, cattle, pig donkeys, horses and the Meadows! But also the people, and most especially the Stanley's, whom I worked for.
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°
I turned my gaze from the sky and back to the millet I was hacking down, standing in a field of it with others such as myself, working quietly with their heads bent in concentration not standing, looking up at the sky, caught in a daydream. My eyes flittered around, restless, while my hands did the monotonous job of cutting down stalks and piling them into the basket by my feet.
My eyes caught on something from between the waving heads of the millets, it was a head. A hat on a head, a nice, quality stetson on a head. And not just any head in a hat, but it belonged to that of Mr Stanley, walking his way through the field, watching as we harvested the bowing stalks. It was not unusual to see Mr Stanley making rounds on his farm and sometimes it was his son, Mr Stanley Jr or it was both of them. But that day, from between towering oats on sticks and people, just as me, littered around - I do remember once, when I followed my mama to buy something's, hearing a woman with a shrilly voice from beneath a ridiculous flopping hat with frillies around the tip say, ' I can't tell one from the other. They all look the same' -, he looked at me. Our gaze met, mine had been the cause of wandering unattended and his had seemed to purposely seek me out.
His hat was drawn low over his brows, and all I could see were his eyes - dark because he stood backing the sun but I knew what colour they were, grey, I had seen it many times not to know, calm grey eyes that made you feel at home with him or the calm that belied the storm brewing beneath -, and a big bush of white beards around his face, reaching to his chest.
I averted my eyes, bowing my head when I realized I'd been giving him stare fore stare for more than a moment.
After what seemed like hours of picking wheat, we had moved around the field when I remembered Mr Stanley. I stood on my tiptoes, turning my head this way and that, searching for the familiar hat. My mama gave me a jab on my side and I dropped down. Raising an eyebrow, her hands reached, yet, for another millet stalk. When mama raised her eye brow, it said about as much as a complete conversation.
We picked up our loaded baskets and pushed our way through, home bound, or more correctly, to the threshing ground, where we'd hand the unfortunate souls our many baskets. They had the responsibility of dividing the harvest into two; the greater bunch went to the mill and the other was threshed by hand. The threshing ground was a large area of hard ground that had several shallow dentation in it. It was where the wheat will be put in to be crushed or pounded, by a heavy stone or stick, Into powder or as powdery as it can get by hand. This flour was mostly used to make round bread/cake also called grain bread and sometimes, the milled flour could be used too. But if I were asked which job I disliked more between harvesting and threshing, I'd choose threshing; I still remember the time I was assigned the threshing job, my muscles told a totally different story from the soft, sweet looking cake as the end product.
My Mama's taller frame moved before me as she parted the grains before her. My mama was a very tall woman, her black hair coiled tightly into her faded blue bonnet. She was wearing her practical blue gown that was frayed from age, glimpses of her ankles showing from beneath the shortened skirt's hem. Although I was tall for my age, she was still a head and shoulder taller than I.
As we made a detour to the back of the house, after depositing our baskets of millet, I was skipping ahead of my mama, eager to get away from the scorching sun and into the cool room my family lived in, sitting on the cemented clay ground while my mama knitted or moved around the room. Instead as I moved from the frying sun and into the sweltering kitchen, Mary, a fellow servant like us, stopped us on our way. 'Naomi. Master Stanley wants you in the drawing room '.
I took a shaky breath, my mama placed a hand on my shoulder. 'Did he tell you why '? Mary looked at her incredulously, mama sighed and shook her head at her. 'Never mind that. Naomi -' I turned around, ' I didn't do anything mama ', she raised her brow at me, ' I never said you did'. ' But -', she shook her head at me. 'Just go. But remember, answer them with a yes sir or no sir. Never say anything that might be used against you. Never ever look at them straight in the eye for long '!I stepped into the main house to the parlour through the servant section. The sun was streaming through the open window and Mr Stanley Jr was sitting backing it, his blond hair shinning golden against the setting sun. His green eyes so dark against the sun, I couldn't be sure what he was thinking. Beside him was his father, Mr Stanley, in all his white haired glory. He'd taken off his hat, and it was probably hanging on the cap hook - when Mrs Stanley had been alive, she couldn't cond
She nodded, her eyes trained on the scratched surface of the box. ' They called for me this morning, your daddy and I. I was so scared '. And I was surprised, this was the first time my mama had ever told me in plain words, exactly how she felt.' I thought they were going to take you away from us and we'll be unable to stop them.That's why you must be careful when you go to live with them. The Stanley's are different but be careful '. She turned and stared me deep in the eye. ' Never forget who you are and where you came fromRemember that it's just few more years to reach the 50th year, to be free. Know your place among them but know who you are '. She softly jabbed her finger against my chest. Then she smiled, retracing her hand away and pushing the box back under the bed. ' Now let's get you to bed, to -'' But can me not stay up to see daddy'? I protested as she tugged me unto my bed and Drew up my things blanket up to my chin. ' Not tonight Naomi, you
'Say, winter is just around the corner'. Abigail lay on her bed on her stomach, her feet raised up and her dress falling to pool around her, altogether looking very unlady-like.'Mm hm', I murmured, concentrating on stitching a tear on her silk stockings, the type her mother liked and the ones Abigail was frequently destroying, only because they were more in number than her cotton ones. So there I sat, trying to stitch it carefully and neatly - which is rather difficult since the tear was not running along the seams but right through the middle, not very conspicuous you see-, so Mrs Stanly does not start a row with Abigail and somehow include all innocent and wary bystanders into it.'Well, i wish we could go outside you see, while the weather is still warm. I'm so bored, can we not go outside'? She had my attention now and i raised my head to watch her, her gaze directed to the open window, chin resting on her palms, looking forlorn. She sigh
Two years back,'What are you doing today Miss Abigail'?'Language. And really Naomi, have i not told you not to call me "Miss",it is Abigail between the two of us '.'Yes ma'am-''Abigail''Yes Abigail'. She smiled, pleased to have gotten her way.'Come on let's go. Miss Venice should be waiting for us'. We hurried upstairs to Abigail's schoolroom.Miss Venice was round. Her middle jiggled when she walked and you could see the many stomach folds behind her tightened girdle. She had a chubby, smiley face with quaint facial features, a sweet, calm demeanor but had a mean streak about her. Her pretty long fingers were almost alway fiddling with the ropes on her gown. And you really couldn't see her belly folds unless you truly looked.But Miss Venice had one problem - apart from, in the societies eye, the fact that she was a score and four years and yet unmarried and that she was Fre
Death hung heavily in the air.The solemn tolling of the church bell rang across the fields and through the distance to the ears of those in the Stanley's house. I was outside by the cloth line, hanging up my clothes when i heard the distant sound of the church bell. A wave of shivers ran up my spine and i frowned, a slight fold forming between my brows as i stared across the distance.Quickly, i shoved the shoulder of my dress into the wooden peg and hurried to the house. On the way, i saw James the stable boy and withheld him. 'What is going on? Why i the church bell ringing when it is not service day'? I inquired. 'Well ma'am, seems loike Mrs Daniel has finally gone to meet the Lord'. I gasped and let him go. Could that really be true? Sprinting into the house, i noticed the disheveled state it was in, every one seemed to be gravitating to the drawing room, and so i myself moved in that direction, shoving and pushing people out of the way as i went. 'Out of
I had learnt a long time ago that the world didn't work as one planned and the orange wasn't ever shared equally.One year back,I used to have this nightmares when i was younger, and then i had it again, four years after i had first been assigned as Abigail's hand maid. It was almost always the same scenery;i was on a boat or a ship because the ground swayed. Voices bounced around and above me and sometimes it blended with the hum of the ocean. I was in a dark room along with others, although i could not see them, i heard them, shuffling, coughing, children crying and sometimes hums that turned to singing.Foot steps echoed above us as the person pounded down the stairs. I was singing softly along with the crowd which were already quietening. 'Who said ye baboons were allowed to sing' . His booming voice hollered across the room. He stepped threateningly towards me, i could see his
I had learnt a long time ago that the world didn't work as one planned and the orange wasn't ever shared equally.One year back,I used to have this nightmares when i was younger, and then i had it again, four years after i had first been assigned as Abigail's hand maid. It was almost always the same scenery;i was on a boat or a ship because the ground swayed. Voices bounced around and above me and sometimes it blended with the hum of the ocean. I was in a dark room along with others, although i could not see them, i heard them, shuffling, coughing, children crying and sometimes hums that turned to singing.Foot steps echoed above us as the person pounded down the stairs. I was singing softly along with the crowd which were already quietening. 'Who said ye baboons were allowed to sing' . His booming voice hollered across the room. He stepped threateningly towards me, i could see his
Six years in the fifty years, two years to the fifthiet yearWhen i was a child, my mama used to sing me a poem when i woke up from the nightmares. She'd wipe my sweat and brush away the hair sticking to my face.These handshave subdued stubborn junglesunmasked fertile grovesand plumbed the seedful promiseof loamy plainsThe handscalloused like a tortoise shellhave tended tendrils, joyous,in their leafy danceon the spine of stakeshoed heaps cleanunearthed the venom of wayward weed-she'd pull my hair playfully and smile down on my giggling face-These palmshave lost their linesto the mahogany handleof a thousand machetesthe finger crooked by constant clutching-'like you know who', she wiggled her brows at me and i laughed, 'daddy'.'Ahh you said it not me'-These handsha