Wench by Dolen Perkins-Valdez Read Free Book Online

pregnancy; Reenie’s master never looked her in the face; Drayle refused to free the children he claimed to love. Mawu worked on them in the days following their visit to Lewis house—nudging, cajoling, infusing them with thoughts of escape. She asked them: How can you stand being a slave? Don’t you want to claim that arm? That leg? That breast? She declared that no one would suckle her titty again—man or child.
    Lizzie felt each defense of Drayle die in her throat. At night, she felt safe and certain, protected in his arms. In the day, she felt unsure of anything.
    Then Mawu said she’d caught Drayle staring at her breasts.even though the thought of his betrayal made her want to vomit, Lizzie believed the newcomer.
     
    T he four women stacked the preserved fruit against the wall of the ice house. The ice house was thirteen feet long and twelve feet wide, a nearly perfect square. A ten-foot-deep hole was dug into the ground and filled with ice from the pond during the winter. After the ice was buried, the hole was covered with straw. The house remained cool throughout the summer. The resort used it for storing various foods such as fruit and eggs. Barrels of whiskey sat in the corner.
    Sweet leaned against the wall. “Y’all mind if I rest a bit? My back ain’t holding up too well.”
    “Naw, you go on and rest yourself,” Reenie said.
    “This ground sho is cold,” Sweet said.
    Mawu stooped and touched the ground. “This ice house wouldn’t last a Louisiana summer. Ain’t cold enough.”
    “Louisiana ain’t no hotter than Tennessee,” Lizzie said.
    “Hmph. You ain’t seen one of our summers.” Mawu’s voice was quiet. “You write it yet?”
    Lizzie could make out the shapes of the women. Sweet formed an r . Her baby face—the origin of her name—led into a thick neck, wide bust, and sloping belly. Reenie’s older, thinner form was ramrod straight, her boniness cutting a sharp edge in the dim light of the ice house. Mawu’s hair was tied back into an uncharacteristic bun and covered with a yellow cotton handkerchief. Lizzie traced the woman’s body with her eyes: the small high breasts that had caught Drayle’s attention.
    “You write it yet girl?” Mawu repeated.
    Reenie and Lizzie stood side-by-side, stacking the jars in six neat rows: peaches, nectarines, plums, cherries.
    “I ain’t sure I want to,” Lizzie said. She could feel the cool air creep through the folds of her dress. She cleared her throat.
    “Do it,” Sweet said.
    Both Lizzie and Reenie stopped working and looked down at the pregnant woman.
    “I had a man once,” Sweet said. “He escape and leave me behind. I keep thinking he gone come back and get me. I wait and I wait. But he don’t never come.”
    Lizzie wondered why Sweet had never told them this.
    “I ain’t going nowhere,” Sweet went on. “Got too many childrens back home. I reckon I ain’t gone never leave Master. But the ones that wants to go oughts to be able to go.”
    “Who exactly are the ones that want to go?” Lizzie pursed her lips until the words came out in a whistle. “I ain’t leaving my children neither. Nobody but Mawu wants to go.” Lizzie looked at Reenie when she said it. Surely the woman was too old to start over.
    “I is still collecting my thoughts,” Reenie said.
    “Collecting your thoughts?” Lizzie repeated.
    Mawu walked over and grabbed Lizzie’s arm. She bit down into the flesh with her nails. Lizzie tried to pull away, but Mawu’s grip was firm.
    “You write that letter, you hear?”
    The salted carcass of a pig swung in the side vision of Lizzie’s eye, its broad back as purple as a bruise.

SEVEN
    I t began with a flurry of excitement over wearing a new dress. The news they would be dining in the main hotel with the men was strange, but welcome. The four couples—along with a northern businessman—were to dine in the library on the top floor of the hotel. The northerner’s presence would be as unusual as that of