Tainted Harvest by E. Denise Billups

Author:E. Denise Billups [Billups, E. Denise]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Next Chapter
Published: 2021-06-02T23:00:00+00:00

In the small garden behind Maw’s cabin, Delphine appears a mad woman tear-stricken with rage for her plight as she pulls the handmade bag Maw sewed from an old blanket from beneath a row of turnips and checks inside for items she’d tucked away for several days. Cala and hot cakes. A jar of molasses. A sweetgrass basket filled with dried beef, cloth-bound cheese, nuts, seeds, and leftovers Maw pilfered from Massa’s kitchen. A hand-sewn quilt. Extra clothing. The quarter eagle, and silverware she’d stolen from the cupboard. She figures Missus’s expensive silver is worth more than the coin Massa gave her, money she needs up north.

Delphine wrinkles her nose when a caustic odor emanates from the bag. A small lumpy croaker sack Maw filled with several small satchels tied with flax cords contain liniments and salves made from various herbs, roots, and shrubs grown in her garden. A skill she learned from her mama and passed on to Delphine. Boneset and sage tonic for colds and fever. Rue for poison and plagues, although Maw warned her not to use it until the baby comes. An asafetida, turpentine, and garlic amulet to ward off disease. The healing burdock root and dogwood bark that cured many of Maw’s pains. Castor oil fed to Delphine in teaspoons every night as a child. Comfrey oil used for rashes. And cocklebur roots and bluestone potion Maw explained stops the babies from coming when Massa has his way. Delphine used it many times, but the twins and the one she carries still came.

At the bottom of the pouch rest the twins and firstborn’s braided locks, a good luck charm to keep dear to her heart. Maw feared she’d fetch attention on the roads and stashed slaves’ clothes in the pack. She loops the traditional head wrap her people wear around the elegant chignon she’d worn in the main house, securing the ends with a knot, tucking the edges. At once, she unties the hot cloth from her head, unaccustomed to her curls being hidden.

“No. I ain’t coverin’ my head,” she chides, placing it back in the bag.

A fit of anger and disgust overcomes her as she discards Missus Lorelei’s expensive hand-me-down silk-calico dress, ripping and tossing it with the fancy shoes into a row of corn.

“I’s free to dress and do as I’s want. No moe Missus and Massa’s need of my flesh. No bind to others’ needs, juz my own.” She inhales and exhales like a newborn, taking life’s first breath, staring at the bright moon shining only for her. Baptized anew in its glow, Massa and Missus wickedness sloughs like white, viscous birth matter from her soul.

Moonglow brightens the dark, humid night as she undresses and withdraws the homespun clothes Maw weaved with her own hands from hemp. A linen petticoat. A brown skirt. Gray waistcoat. Plain but sturdy leather boots. Now she looks like a simple slave girl, not a well-kept Missus.

Slinging the sack over her shoulder, she turns around and gasps at two figures drifting toward the garden.

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