Part 3: Like mother, like daughter

Thick humid Mississippi darkness hung over Blackwood Plantation. The family up in the big house was finishing dinner. For the slaves, the backbreaking farm work was over for the day. It was summer and though the fields didn’t need constant attention there was plenty of other work to do – mending fences, digging drainage ditches, chopping wood, and getting the plantation ready for the upcoming festivities.

Samson sat alone on a long log next to a sputtering fire. He had just finished his dinner of pork and cornmeal. Now he stared into the flickering flames, wondering about his delightful, though very dangerous, encounter with Miss Polly earlier today. His thoughts danced from the bizarre (he could kidnap the alluring white woman), to the dangerous (I’ll keep seeing her) to the impossible (we can run away to the north together). It was challenging.

“Evenin’ Samson. Mind if I join you?” came a male voice from behind the big field hand.

Samson turned. “Jeremiah. You can have a seat anytime you want old-timer.”

An old black man plopped down on the log next to Samson. He walked with a crude cane and was bent over, his back muscles damaged from a lifetime of hard farm work. He was one of the oldest slaves on the plantation at 57 years old. He, and a handful of other oldsters, watched the children while the rest of the slaves toiled daily. Everyone in the slave quarters respected him.

Jeremiah stared into the fire alongside Samson for a long minute. “Ya know Samson,” began Jeremiah slowly, “Desire can be a very dangerous thing.”