What Happened In Paradise?

The Past: Life in the Big House

Nana returns from the field and returns to the birthing house. She settles into a chair by the door, keeping watch over Ernestine and the baby for what is left of the night. The wooden chair groaned when she sat, and creaks each time she adjusts her weight. Not long after Nana sits, there is a knock at the door.

“What the…” Nana jumps to her feet. Before she can sound out her protest, the door is pushed open. “Oh, Master Palmer, it is you.” Nana lowers her head, steps to the side, granting the pudgy man access to the room.

“Good to see that you and the baby are well, Ernestine. The Mistress needs you in the house.” Master Palmer walks over to the adjustable wooden bench where Ernestine lies, with the baby tucked by her side. Master Palmer examines the baby, nods his head. “A girl is it?”

Ernestine shrinks away from Master Palmer, from the baby; she teeters at the edge of the bed.

“Yes.” Nana steps forward. “A very healthy girl. A solid girl. Take almost all her mother’s energy to ship her out.” Nana chuckles; the joke is shared by her alone. Ernestine is still balancing at the edge of the bench. Master Palmer studies the baby, glances over at Ernestine.

“Since all is well, Ernestine, I will expect you in the house before sunrise.”

“But Mr. Palmer,” Nana interrupts. “She need a little more time to recover. And the baby-”

Master Palmer faces Nana, his jaw flexes. “They’re both fine.”

Nana nods.

“The house misses you, Ernestine. That Phoebe is absolutely useless. She’s hardly worth the cost to keep her. Can you believe she almost spilled my coffee this morning?”

Ernestine stares at Master Palmer, stares through him.

“Phoebe will take care of the preparations, but you will be there to serve breakfast and tend to the Mistress.”

Master Palmer falls quiet; he’s awaiting acknowledgment or agreement from Ernestine; he gets neither. What he gets is a blank stare and tears rolling down Ernestine’s cheeks.

“She will be ready,” Nana says. “I will get them both ready.”

Master Palmer leaves; Nana shuffles over to Ernestine and the baby. Before Master Palmer entered the room, Ernestine had nestled the baby against her body, in the space between her forearm and torso. Now she lies away from the girl.

“Listen to me…,” Nana says to Ernestine. Instead of continuing her thought, she tilts her head towards the door, listening. “I know this hard,” she continues. “Hard is an understatement. This unbearable. But that be our lot. It is all unbearable, but somehow we find a way to bear it.”

Ernestine looks away from Nana; Nana takes Ernestine’s chin into her head, turns Ernestine’s face to her. “This would not be any easier if the child belong to Cudjoe. What you think would happen? You would lose any favour you have in that house.”

Ernestine cries, ugly and silent.

“His favour uncertain. It here today, but it may gone tomorrow. You are going to do whatever you can to keep it. Because that be your only hope for security.”

Nana escorts Ernestine to the side of the plantation house, to the entrance by the kitchen.

“This where I leave you,” Nana says. She hands Ernestine the baby; Ernestine looks away. “Do not be silly, child,” Nana adds. “You know I cannot go any further than this.”

“I do not want it. I do not want any more of him.”

“What you want me do with her? Teach her how to swing a cutlass?”

Ernestine’s arms are stiff; resistant.

“Even our children deserve to know some innocence. Bring the child into the house. Let her experience some of the security that come with being his child - even if he never say the words...even if he never call her daughter, her lot will be better.”

Ernestine continues to refuse the baby, much to Nana’s mounting irritation. It’s Bee who eventually comes to take the child.

“I hear you almost spoil the Master’s finest linen with coffee,” Nana says while handing the baby over.

Bee lowers her eyes; her cheeks flush. “They were talking about the baby. You know the way they talk around us as if we not there? Well, they be talking about the baby. The Mistress curious. She want to know which one of the men from the field was bedding one of her house girl.” Bee holds Suzanna in the crook of her arm, rocks her while massaging her head. “It took all my will not to laugh because it as if the Mistress never yet see the boy. I want to tell her that the father of the boy is the father of the girl.”

Nana bursts out laughing. Her laughter causes a sleeping Suzanna to squirm in Bee’s arms. Bee rocks Suzanna more intently, quiets her with a gentle Hush. Hush. Hush. Nana sobers. “I best be on my way.” Nana pats Ernestine on her shoulder. “Bear it, ‘Stine, like you bear everything else.”

Nana turns to head to the field; Maxwell watches her leave. He’s eager to see the plantation house.

***

Bee takes Suzanna to a room adjacent to the kitchen. She places the baby in a straw bassinet next to the bed. She turns to the bed and smooths her hand over a lump in the mattress while tugging the end of the sheet. She tucks the tattered tail of the sheet between the thin mattress and the bed base. The sheet is worn, its blue colour is so faded it can pass for a white sheet that caught some blue dye in the wash.

“I do a little fix up...,” Bee says to Ernestine. “...For you and…” She points to the bassinet.

“Where you find that thing?” Ernestine asks. “I did throw it out.”

“I…I did hide it in the cellar. No sense waste good things. I did know it would come to be of use sooner or later.”

Ernestine walks over to the bed, slumps down on the edge of it; the bed groans.

“Get up,” Bee demands. “We have to serve the Master and Mistress breakfast.”

Ernestine's head snaps in Bee’s direction. “I do not need you to give me orders. Do not forget who run this house.”

Phoebe steps towards Ernestine; Ernestine stands.

“I know who run this house,” Bee says. “They about to come into the dining room and they expect we to feed them.” She storms from the room, leaving Ernestine wordless on her feet. After a moment, Ernestine sits. She studies the bassinet, the ceiling, the bassinet, the ceiling. A bell rings and jolts her. She speeds across the house; Suzanna is left in the bassinet.

“Everything ready?” Ernestine scans the table, her question not directed at anyone in particular.

“No thanks to you,” Bee responds. Bee whispers something into the ears of a scrawny young woman who rushes from the room.

“Master Palmer know about this?” Ernestine asks.

“What Master Palmer do not know, will not hurt him. They expect me to run a whole kitchen by myself?”

“Busha will miss her in the field.”

Bee scoffs. “Them skinny hands cannot swing a ’lass.”

“So what she do?”

“Make herself useful. She help out in the garden, help the artisan. Now she help me in the kitchen.”

“But Master Palmer…”

“You going to tell him? Or the Mistress? I sure the mistress would like to hear why you not the one to sweat over her breakfast.” Bee rings the bell again, places it at the far end of the table.

Six polished mahogany chairs are around the table which is draped with white linen. The tablecloth isn’t completely white; green and yellow embroidery runs along the edges and hovers just above the seat cushions of the chairs.

Bee has placed the bell next to the silver tray and cover which sits at her end of the table. Ernestine retrieves it and brings it to her end, to sit next to the covered platter at her end.

“The Mistress sit here.”

“It matter?” Bee rolls her eyes.

“It matter to us because it matter to her.” Ernestine adjusts the silver teapot at her end; she juts out her chin, encouraging Bee to do the same to the teapot on her end of the table.

“We should ring the bell again,” Bee says.

“No.”

“But the food getting cold. You know they going curse that the food cold.”

“She going to curse that you hurrying her. She going to tell you that she do not operate on your time, you live by her time.” Ernestine lifts the tray cover, examines the johnnycakes and eggs, slowly lowers the tray. She counts the items on the table again. “Where the sugar?”

“Master Palmer takes his coffee black.”

“Yes, but Mistress Palmer like her hot chocolate very sweet.”

“I already sweeten it.”

“Just go get the sugar.”

Bee frowns, but she does as Ernestine asks. Bee leaves the room; a thin, pale woman enters the room. Her face is long; its length is exaggerated by the hair piled on top of her head. Ernestine pulls out the chair for her to sit.

“Nice to see you showed up for your duties this morning, Ernestine. It’s as if you people think the world should stop whenever one of you breeds.” She sweeps the fan in her hand back and forth then rests it on the table next to the bell.

Bee re-enters the room with a small white dish filled with yellow-brown crystals. She places it next to the Mistress, curtsies, and leaves the room.

Mistress Palmer waves at Ernestine. “You may leave.”

Ernestine looks over to Master Palmer’s empty seat. “I…I want to ensure all is well before I leave.”

“It wasn’t a request.”

Ernestine lowers her head, curtsies, and backs away from the table. Before she reaches the door, Master Palmer enters.

“Good to see you, Ernestine.” He drags his chair underneath him as he sits.

“I thought you were skipping breakfast.” Mistress Palmer speaks through gritted teeth.

“What I wish to skip, is your foolishness.”

Ernestine turns to the door.

“How is the baby, Ernestine?” Master Palmer asks.

“Fine, Master.”

“And Joseph?” Master Palmer chews slowly, watching Ernestine.

“Uhm, Master…” Ernestine searches for an answer.

“This is bitter!” The mistress grimaces.

“Sorry, Mistress. The sugar-”

“I can see the sugar.” Mistress Palmer heaps two spoonfuls of sugar into her teacup. “It seems you have taken leave of your senses.” She piles in more sugar. “And you didn’t have much, to begin with.”

Suzanna is crying, wailing. She cries so loudly it sounds as if she’s directly behind the door of the dining room.

“Oh, for the love of…go tend to that child.” The mistress scoffs. “Another one. All this crying and screaming under my roof.”

Ernestine steals a glance at Master Palmer, he nods. Ernestine leaves the room.

***

Ernestine sits down, loosens the strings of her dress. The dress falls to her waist. Ernestine massages her breasts and wince; Suzanna is still wailing and writhing in the bassinet.

“Can you just be quiet?” Ernestine rubs her temples, then her breasts again. Ernestine sighs, takes Suzanna out of the bassinet, then positions her by one of her leaky n*****s. Suzanna works her mouth, searching for the n****e. When she finds it, she gobbles it up and sucks feverishly. Ernestine sighs. Both her cheeks are wet.

There is a knock at the door. Bee enters before Ernestine responds. Bee is accompanied by a little boy. He looks to be about four years old. He’s fair, much fairer than Ernestine and Bee. He’s almost as fair as the newborn Suzanna. His dark curly hair is pulled back in a ponytail. The plait of the ponytail is held at the end by a bow. At the top of his head, the hair is unruly. Curls bunch up, struggling to be free.

The little boy approaches Ernestine, one step, two steps. Ernestine lifts one side of her dress, uses it to conceal the breast that Suzanna isn’t draining. The boy leans in, hugs Ernestine. Ernestine winces. “Have you been good,” she says; her cheeks still tight.

The little boy nods. “I’ve been very good.”

“I give him breakfast,” Bee says. “He want to go see Master Palmer.”

Ernestine shakes her head. She massages her free breast and inhales through clenched teeth. “Take him back to the cooper,” Ernestine says.

“But I want to stay with Master Palmer,” the little boy says.

“Not today,” Ernestine insists.

“But I want to see Master Palmer.”

“Joe, I said not today.”

“Do not call me that.” Joe pouts. “I do not like when you call me Joe. Call me Joseph. Master Palmer always call me Joseph.”

“I do not care what Master Palmer call you,” Ernestine snaps.

Joseph hurries over to Bee and steps behind her.

“I will take him to the cooper,” Bee says. She ushers Joseph from the room and shuts the door behind her.