What did Dr. Whitcomb know? Him and his six-figure salary, his endowed chair, and his fucking cable in his university office.
“Is that all?” His hand hovered over the remote. “Did you need something else?”
I put extra cornpone and molasses into my voice.
“No, Dr. Whitcomb. I understand what you’re saying, and I hope you know I really appreciate you. I appreciate you so—”
“Ailey, stop. That ‘southern belle’ bullshit don’t work with me. Girl, I got regrets and kids older than you.” He put a chip in his mouth, then began to laugh. He was still laughing when I gave my excuses and left.
14 MAY 1855 Holcomb Byrd James hired as overseer 24 DEC 1857 Matthew Thatcher in Guest Cabin 4 FEB 1858 Matthew in Guest Cabin
4 MARCH 1858 Matthew in Guest Cabin
1 APRIL 1858 Matthew in Guest Cabin
6 MAY 1858 Matthew in Guest Cabin
3 JUNE 1858 Matthew in Guest Cabin
1 JULY 1858 Matthew in Guest Cabin
5 AUG 1858 Matthew in Guest Cabin
2 SEPT 1858 Matthew in Guest Cabin
7 OCT 1858 Matthew in Guest Cabin
4 NOV 1858 Matthew in Guest Cabin
24 DEC 1858 Matthew in Guest Cabin
4 FEB 1859 Matthew in Guest Cabin
27 FEB 1859 Leave for Savannah w/ Matthew 10 MAR 1859 Return frm Savannah w/ Matthew 10 MAR 1859 Gloria dead, Sunday last 2 JUNE 1859 Peach blighting
10 JULY 1859 Fire in Left Cabin
11 JULY 1859 Rabbit & Leena dead （Monday last） 11 JULY 1859 Pompey & Sugar & Cletus gone （Ran Monday last） At Shug’s, Scooter tried to start a conversation, but I told him I couldn’t chitchat. I had eight hundred pages to get through. But I thanked him for the coffee, and no, I didn’t want any breakfast. I wasn’t hungry.
“Ailey, I’ve got a favor to ask.”
“No, youngblood, you can’t hold twenty dollars. I’m light, brother. It’s the middle of the month.”
“Very funny. No, I need you come to dinner with Rebecca and me.”
I looked over my glasses. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not. Rebecca really wants you to come over.”
“That’s not going to happen, Scooter.”
“Why not?”
I rose and walked to the counter. It was a slow morning, and so I stood there for several minutes, talking to Miss Velma. Did she have any new pictures of her youngest grandbaby? And she leaned down and brought up her purse, saying, she shole did.
I returned to my table but didn’t speak to Scooter. I gathered my books and papers and headed toward the door. When he called my name, I didn’t turn around. That evening, he came by my apartment. He stood on the porch, ringing the bell and knocking, but I didn’t open the door. I sat on the couch, listening as Mike scolded Scooter, he didn’t live on this street. So he couldn’t be standing on a lady’s porch, causing a ruckus like he didn’t have no sense. Somebody might call the police, and Scooter was a Black man. He should know better: he had to be careful in this town.
June 26, 1868
Dear Master Samuel
I trust this letter finds you well. I write to inform you that I have been living happy and FREE these last seventeen years. I shall not reveal the names of my benefactors or the city in which I dwell, only that I have been aided by righteous people who are very kind. They ask that I worship the Lord in exchange for my roof, bed, and many good meals and I am happy to do so. Surely God is deserving of my praise. Yet my benefactors have asked me all these years to consider my salvation. They have reminded me that the Good Lord requires our forgiveness of even the most grievous of sins. Master you have surely trespassed against me, my grandfather, my mother, my father, my beloved wife, my children and everyone else at Wood Place who occupy my affection but after much prayer I now write to you and offer my forgiveness. I forgive you Master of your many thousands of evils. I forgive you for being the left-handed comrade of the Devil who whispers his desires in the dark and who you follow without hesitation. Truly I forgive you Master though you are a creature worthy of disgust without mitigation. Daily I pray for your ugly, miserable and tarnished soul. May our most merciful Savior redeem you before you pass from this earthly vale and are sentenced to Satan’s fiery depths.
Your former slave
Nick Pinchard
The Thrilla in Manila
By midterm, I’d made my way through the earliest records of the Pinchard family. I’d walk across campus and huff up those stairs. I’d wave at Mrs. Ransom and she would fix her glasses on her nose then give me the inevitable white cotton gloves.