If Mama suspected either Jesus or me of slacking in fulfilling the plan she envisioned, she was sure to let us know. Much as we slaves studied the Van Lews, still we didn’t know whether they had more capital or creditors. “Slaveholders can’t get enough of beating on negroes, you need to do it, too? To our own child?” (c) Mama, your little girl is all grown up, and still playing our best game. Something hard I had to do, no matter what-cleaning all those fireplaces, polishing the silver, helping her serve and clear the Van Lews’ meals. Whenever Mama said you’re old enough, it meant something new was coming. Find what you seek, because it’s already there. She said it was the first kind of learning she could give me, and the most important, too. (c)īut she was never too busy to riddle me. I knew my childhood was a rare respite within bondage, me losing my parents only to death, when most slaves, even my own mama and papa, lost theirs long before. Sales tore countless others from cherished families, with no way for parent or child to know thereafter how the other fared. Many a slave lived a whole lifetime never knowing her own papa, nor her mama. Not sure what I think of the idea about the poor (&'self-immolating') Mary Ryan being a kamikaze of sorts… Nevertheless I just lapped it up, since a story of all that superhuman resilience proves to be an incredible read.
And, I'm sure that anachronisms were afoot throughout the novel. A story of a very brave girl who made sure to join the Civil War effort to help her people along into the better future. A story of a father who was allowed to see his family 1 day a week. A story of a mother who believed her child, born in slavery, was gifted by God and who taught her reading by tracing words on ash.
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