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Chapter Nine
Author: Amberlyn Emmanuel 2020-10-03 01:49:58
Chapter Nine
Come on Abigail, why are you dawdling'?
'I'm not '!
'Yes you are'
'Are not'!
'Are too'!
'Are not'!
'Are too'! Abigail opened her mouth to respond and i quickly injected in. 'Look, you're doing just that by sitting down there and arguing with me. Now we really do need to go, Mrs Stanley needs-'
'I know, i know, but i don't feel like shopping' she flopped back on her bed, lying on
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Fifty years Chapter Eleven
Days past, four months was drawing near and summer was here. Which meant traveling was a lot easier than in winter.If hadn't mentioned it before, the Stanley had a large plantation of grains, but not only that, they also cultivated cotton. Summer also meant harvest and so many of my days were taken up in either of the fields. This certainly explained why the Stanley's and others like them, felt the need to buy a lot of slaves. But i didn't know how i felt about that now; if u blacks were meant to work in the fields and houses as servants and do other strenuous works, why then had the Stanley father and son, and mother of course, chosen me as an abigail for their Abigail?The sun beat down on us, soaking into my dress and heating up the threads that made up my cotton dress. Was i getting more brown? I always had a light skin completion which had mayhap gotten lighter before from frequently staying in doors more
Fifty years Chapter Ten
I must include, though, that this part of my life i am about to recount is of some shame to me. Of course i had not been born with a fountain of wisdom but i had acted imprudently in the situation.When i arrived, i, instead of going to Abigail's room to give her the flowers- of whence i had been originally headed to until i heard voices in the drawing room, crept in that direction. 'Darling, i believe we've talked about this before, Abigail is of age now to be courted', i heard Mr Stanley Jr say. 'I know, i know John'. Mrs Stanley assured. 'But you promised she could be given the chance to court the city gentlemen'.'Darling' Mr Stanley said, 'John and i talked about it. How do you think of Abigail going to stay London, say in about four month's time'?'What! So soon? I'd have to send a telegraph to my father. She would stay with my father won't she'?'Yes we were pending on that'. I gasped. Pending on it? They wanted
Fifty years Chapter Nine
Chapter NineCome on Abigail, why are you dawdling'?'I'm not '!'Yes you are''Are not'! 'Are too'!'Are not'!'Are too'! Abigail opened her mouth to respond and i quickly injected in. 'Look, you're doing just that by sitting down there and arguing with me. Now we really do need to go, Mrs Stanley needs-''I know, i know, but i don't feel like shopping' she flopped back on her bed, lying on her back with her arms spread up.'Why ever not'? I sat by the edge and played with the skirt of her gown. 'It's always so rowdy with people every where-' 'But that's your elements'!'And the place carries and awful odour''Ahh, so it's the smell', she wrinkled her nose up in the air.'You could just endure it a little, couldn't you? And anyway, we're not going to the worst parts of the market'. 'Yes we are, you know we are' she harried. 'There'd
Fifty years Chapter Eight
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 hands have 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 hands have crad
Fifty years Chapter Eight
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 hands have 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 hands ha
Fifty years Chapter seven
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
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