A Marriage, a New Set of Twins
Nick had been discontented, ever since the selling of Midas. Though he worked among his comrades in the fields and sometimes smiled, he was largely a stoic child, who became a brooding young man. In the privacy of his family’s cabin, he expressed his desire to run away from Wood Place, from Samuel, whom he finally understood was his father. Aggie would ask, did he want to break her heart into pieces? Hadn’t she lost enough? How much more did he want her to cry?
And so Aggie was glad when he approached her and told her he was a man. He wanted to marry. This pleased Aggie—marriage would settle him down—until Nick told her he planned to marry his sister. This change in her children—that they had moved from siblings to sweethearts—distressed Aggie. She turned her gaze upon Nick, looking for signs that he carried the distorted cravings of Samuel Pinchard. Yet he was a good son, always respectful and helpful, after his labors in the cotton fields. Pop George reminded Aggie that her children were not actually blood kin, so she should not feel disgusted. In fact, she should be grateful, since Tess was a curious girl with odd behaviors—the talking to trees, the staring into space. Nick assured his mother that there was a side to Tess that only he knew. And that he would love Tess until the end of his days. She no longer was his sister. Now she would be his wife, and after weeks of stony frowns, Aggie finally gave her consent. She moved into a narrow bed on the other side of Pop George’s room, and gave the newlyweds the front chamber, along with the bed that she had shared with Midas.
The twin girls of Tess and Nick were born near the Lord’s Resurrection, a holiday that Samuel celebrated in his white man’s generosity, giving two days of rest to the slaves. It wasn’t Easter yet, however, and that morning, Tess’s birth pains began in the field. She walked slowly to her cabin. Some hours passed, and a baby girl was born. Moments later, another baby girl. A week went by, and Tess returned to the fields, leaving her unnamed babies with Aggie, who would carry them to her at nursing time. Aggie would be followed by the other children, two or three of the smallest ones holding on to her dress or her long braid, which fell to her knees. As Tess nursed her babies, she would weep. When her babies opened their eyes, she longed to keep holding them, one in each arm, instead of returning to her work.
Samuel was no longer afraid of Aggie. He had watched her for seventeen years, since he had sold off her husband. He saw that the sparks in her spirit had died. Thus, two weeks after the twins were born, he walked boldly into Aggie’s cabin without knocking. He took his time in inspecting his newborn property, pulling the quilt off the babies. The baby on the right was very fat and healthy. She had a head full of black hair and was a pretty cradlesong: though bright-skinned, she had the features of the beautiful, dark-dark Mamie. She was born perfect.
Samuel named this baby after his wife. “Since your mistress is the first Eliza, this child will be Eliza Two.”
Small and poorly, the other baby was wrinkled, completely bald, and looked only like herself. Unlike her twin, she had no passed-down magnificence from Mamie. She twitched her limbs as if taken with palsy. Samuel decided to give this twin the name Rabbit.
When the twins lost their front teeth, they were given jobs in the big house, which had changed in its occupants: Victor had gone to the university, accompanied by the much older Claudius, and Tut the cook had died. A new cook had taken over, Venie, a young woman who had been drafted from the fields to replace Tut. With her move, she had been placed in charge of the left cabin, along with Pompey, the young man who had taken over as gardener.
Because they took care of the Young Friends, and thus, were involved in Samuel’s perversion—despite being compelled to do so—both the cook and gardener were friendless. The Quarters-folks avoided Venie and Pompey, and so, the two were grateful for the attention of Aggie. Along with other Quarters-children, Pompey had been raised by Aggie, before he had gone to the fields. He was devoted to her as much as to his own mother. As for Venie, the bond the two women shared would not have been likely, had they not been lonely. Aggie was twenty-five years older than Venie, but she was equally friendless. Living for years in “the yard” had distanced Aggie from the other women in the Quarters, though they revered her and were grateful for her careful tending of their children. She and Venie had more in common with each other, as both were connected in their different ways to the big house. Venie was a rare individual: she had been purchased as a Young Friend, but when Samuel tired of Venie within only a month, he could not sell her: Lancaster Polcott told him, if Samuel wanted to get rid of a child so quickly, he must have damaged her irreparably. And there were no refunds for human merchandise. So Samuel had purchased another Young Friend, and had cast Venie into the fields. He reasoned that, in time, he would find someone to breed her with, from among the Quarters-men. That way, he could recoup his financial loss when she gave birth to valuable babies.