Sugar by Jewell Parker Rhodes

Author:Jewell Parker Rhodes [RHODES, JEWELL PARKER]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780316125789
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2013-05-07T04:00:00+00:00

Another Secret

I can’t sleep. I’m so excited. I dream of places I can go. Shanghai. Chengdu. North, like Lizzie.

I don’t mind my sweat-soaked sheet. I don’t mind how stuffy my shack smells. Or the dirt in my hair and on my feet.

My money jar is open. I lay my dollars in a row. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. I wish dollars could breed like rabbits.

I hear a whistle. Billy!

Another whistle. Then another.

Billy’s going to wake the Beales!

I tiptoe outside. Candles are snuffed, shacks are dark. I hear Mister Beale snoring (do Chinese snore?). Whip-poor-wills are screeching, eating bugs.

Another whistle. I run round back. “Shhh. I’ll get in trouble.”

Billy’s freckles are bright red; the day’s sun has turned his hair golden.

“Tell me about the Chinamen.”

“Chinese. They’re called Chinese. They like spicy beans. They don’t like okra. Collards are okay.”

“Oh,” says Billy like I’ve said magic words.

“You better leave, Billy. I’m going to get in trouble.”

“You like trouble.”

“But the Beales don’t. Your pa might run them off.”

Billy stuffs his hands in his pockets. His whole body scrunches like a weight’s pressing him down.

“You know it’s true, Billy Wills.”

“Not fair.”

“Hush. You’re going to wake the Beales.”

“I’m sorry, Sugar. In the field, workers don’t talk. I can only get to know them in the slave yard.”

“Used-to-be-slave yard,” I mutter.

“Ma’s not sure the Chinamen are civilized.”

“Chinese. Chinese men.”

“Pa says, ‘Lincoln ruined everything.’ ”

“I think President Lincoln did good.”

“Pa says workers are scarce. Hard to get and keep. I told him that’s why I should learn more about Chinese. I already learned not to say Chinamen.”

“From me.”

“That’s why I’m here. It’s not fair that you get to be with the Chinese and I don’t. Not fair we can’t play together.”

I see stars, some blinking, some streaking across the sky. Mister Beale told a tale of slaves who decided to become blackbirds and fly back to Africa. Eagles are prettier, bigger.

I turn and climb an evergreen, hand over hand, foot over foot.

Billy rustles after me; it’s like a race, but I win. Sitting on a branch, I raise my arms. “I wish I could fly!”

Billy’s on a branch beneath me. We’re both perched high.

“Look,” says Billy, “the river, it’s sparkling like Ma’s pearls. I don’t have to fly; I can sail. Stars help you navigate. Go anywhere.”

“I only know the Drinking Gourd. It points north.”

“The Drinking Gourd is the Big Dipper. There’re two dippers,” says Billy, pointing. “A Big Dipper and a little one. See, Little Bear, Ursa Minor. The North Star is part of Bear’s tail. Next to it is Ursa Major, the Big Bear. And there’s Orion, the hunter. See his belt?”

“I see,” I say, connecting dots in the sky.

“Just like there are paper maps for land, the stars are maps for oceans. I don’t understand it all, but I’d like to.”

“Me, too.”

To my left, below, are the sugarcane fields, River Road shacks; to the north is the big house and the Mississippi. Up high, the stars.

I cling to the bark, liking how it scratches my arms and makes me feel strong.

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