Golden's Rule. C. E. Edmonson
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Название: Golden's Rule
Автор: C. E. Edmonson
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Учебная литература
isbn: 9781456625283
isbn:
I took a last look—still no lump. But the face in the mirror seemed strange somehow, far away, foreign. It didn’t feel like me anymore. I stared back at her for a few seconds, then turned out the light and headed back to my bedroom.
Mom was sitting on the edge of my bed, holding what looked like a book in her lap. It was about the size of my algebra book, covered in brown leather, and about an inch thick.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a memoir, honey, written by your great-great-great-grandmother. Her name was Golden Lea Jackson and she was born sometime during the 1830s. She called her memoir Recollections. It’s about her time growing up as a slave in Kentucky, and it’s been passed down to the women in the family for more than a hundred years. I’ve been saving it for when you’re older.”
The first thing I thought was, And you’re giving it to me now because I might not get older? But Mom was having enough trouble dealing with the situation, so I kept that particular thought to myself.
“Golden who?” I said. “My great-great-great what?”
“Your great-great-great-grandmother.” My mother patted the bed alongside her, and I sat down. “The book was written in Golden Lea’s own hand and the ink was starting to fade, so we had the pages bound into this book with archival page sleeves to preserve them. You’ll have to be careful while you’re reading, because the paper is very brittle.”
“Why don’t you just make a photocopy of it? Or scan a digital copy?”
“We have made copies, honey, of course. But reading the words in Golden Lea’s own hand is a way of reaching back to touch the past. At least, it was for me.” Mom stopped long enough to put her arm around my shoulders. “I know you’re looking ahead, baby, into the future. That’s natural at your age. But sometimes the past can help us deal with the present. Your great-great-great-grandmother was a woman with true spirit, a fighter to her bones.”
I started to shake my head. I didn’t want to be tied to a black past any more than I wanted to be tied to a white past. But I couldn’t say that, just like I couldn’t talk about a future without me in it.
“All right, Mom,” I finally said. “I’ll give it a try. But I just hope it’s not too depressing. I mean, I’m not trying to be a wise guy, but slavery doesn’t sound all that uplifting.”
Mom smiled and hugged me, then stood up to go. “I’m still trying to reach your father. I left word at his hotel, but I’m going to try calling him again.”
I waited until she left the room, then opened the book. My first thought was that I was in for a tough time. The handwriting inside was very neat, but also very small, and the black ink was pretty faded and many of the letters ran together. Plus, there were no lines on the pages and the words slanted up to the right. I told myself, You so totally don’t need this right now.
But I was wrong. I did need Golden Lea Jackson’s book. I needed to step out of my own skin for a while, get outside of my own headspace. I needed to hear from someone who survived an almost impossible situation and reached out to guide future generations of her family to do the same. And I didn’t have to read more than a few paragraphs before I was utterly hooked.
Chapter 3
Little Girl Lost
Recollections
MY NAME IS Golden Lea Jackson Pitts and this here is the recollections of my life. The first thing I gotta ask is that whoever comes to read this story in the future, please forgive my writin. Mosly, I had to learn readin and writin on my own. I got pretty good at readin cause I had me a chance to practice, but I never did git much chance to practice my writin when I was a growin up on Masta Harris Jackson’s plantation. I will tell how this come to pass in due time.
Fact, when my daughter, Ophelia, asked me to set down my membrances bout growin up, I was right opposed to the idea. But Ophelia ain’t nothin, if she ain’t persistent. I gotta do this, she says near bout every day, so her daughter will know bout slavery times, and her daughter’s daughter, too. It was a duty I had to perform for the family.
I tole her them was some mighty hard times and nobody should have to think too hard on em. But Ophelia’s bout as stubborn as the day is long and she jus finally wore me out.
I was born sometime durin the late 1830s. I can’t say when exactly cause nobody kep no records of when slaves was born, nor when they died. But I believe it was near 1838 cause Pa tole me that my mama was sold off the plantation when I was three years old. That’s when I was given to be the personal slave of missy Ann, who was two. Now I knowed for a fact that missy Ann was born in 1839, so I reckon I gotta be born bout 1838.
I don’t rememba nothin bout my mama. Don’t rememba her bein sold off, neither. My pa, Elijah, was a stable groom, and he tole me that I was near to broke in pieces. He said I didn’t speak for six months, nor barely moved, and Masta was bout to send me to live in the cabins with the other slave chirrens. Masta said I was a ungrateful child. But then I started talkin again, so I stayed in the big house.
But if I didn’t rememba nothin bout mama bein sold off, later on I did imagine how it happened. That come bout after I seen a slave trader drive his slaves up to the plantation.
The Jackson Plantation was called Belle Maison and it was located in the state of Kentucky, where it gits mighty wet and cold in the winter. So the slave traders only come in the summertime when the roads is dried up. I musta been bout four years old the first time a slave trader come to the house. I rememba I was on the porch with missy Ann when I seen a cloud of dust bout a mile down the road. The cloud was comin closer, but very slow. Not like the Masta’s carriage, or mens on horses. More like the cloud was driftin.
Masta Harris come out on the porch bout then. Jus stood there with his hands on his hips, like he figurin hard in his head. Missy Ann was nappin in the little crib she used on the porch and I was rockin her slowly, like I was sposed to. But Masta didn’t pay no attention to neither one of us. Only took his hat off and wiped his head with a big ol handkerchief. Then Winnie come out carryin a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and some glasses on it, so I knowed somethin was gonna happen. Winnie was Mistriss Sarah’s personal slave.
Finally, the cloud of dust gits close enough to where I can see three mens. The mens was mounted up and they was carryin pistols tucked into their waists and they had whips draped over their saddles. Their hat brims was very wide and hung down over their faces and they drooped in the saddle, like they come a far piece. A long line of what looks to me like ghosts stretched out behind em.
At first, I was right scared and I wanted to run off. But I knew if I left missy Ann alone, I’d git my СКАЧАТЬ