Here is a story that came out of a time I was reading historical pieces and this snippet came to me! I am proud of it.
~ A Letter Series by Claudia Moss
Dorchester County, Maryland
Parsons Bend
March 1847
Dearest Tip,
I thanks you for that greeting. Right now I feels the fire you speak of. Good that you be where you is and not here to see this grin taking ovah my face. Your letter is art. I knowed it, had a notion you be art too. Words a path to the heart. So I will be honest as well. I reads the fine writing divers number of times only to read again. Pretty words from a pretty woman. But I feels your clashing. Between the woman part of you and the man part. Do not take it as injury. I means it in the best way. You is a cup of peppermint tea, strong yet dreamy. Like I loves my tea.
Same as you seek a introduction, I gives you the ‘Come-up’ (smile). That was my Big Papa way of giving his stamp. He gone now. Was worked to the bone. Them Samuels got every bit of life outta him they could. But I knows he yet with me since I feels him in times of trouble. He still comfort me. I won’t go all stormy inside thinking on how he lived his life so I say, ‘Come-up, Tip Dennison. I be tickled to see you.’ Oh. Big Papa coulda been speaking to a person or a mule when he spoke them words. Everybody knowed what he meant.
Just ‘pearing at your letter speak about you. I prays you do not mind that we different. If you read my words and is put off, I understand. You see, I got my learning catch-as-catch-can. But though my learning scarce, I understands aplenty. No wool bound to be pulled ovah these eyes. I knows wolfs no matter what they wear. By them words, I is owning that I knows I done seen 19 or 20 summers to somebody else 30 or more, but my Big Mama did not raise no simpleton.
Look, Tip, I don’t wants you thinking I’m stormy. I is not. Well, not most of the time and not without good cause. I knows we of different classes. Different backgrounds and outta different families, but we is sisters just the same. So if you wants to know me, that won’t be hard to do. My door open too. Feel the tender in my voice and come in.
I is not one for a long anything, less it is long slow kisses. Or maybe one of your long letters. (smile) That said, this is who I is.
My name is Binah Samuel, though nobody call me Miss Samuel. Sometime I forgets that I has two names. My father is Master Ashford Samuel, Old Man Heath Samuel middle son. My mama die having me. She wasn’t mor’n a girl, my Big Mama say. Bird, my mama, could sing and was chile size li’l. Story go that is why she leave bringing me here. She a girl chile spared the sorrow of slavery.
I is free. Master Samuel free me and then wash his hands. He give me to Henrietta Louise, my Big Mama, one of his trusted slaves and say, ‘Raise this pickaninny. Teach her dressmaking so she don’t go begging.’
Don’t that beat all. He got a 250-acre tobacco plantation with timber and shipbuilding to his credit and I is his daughter and he don’t own me, send me money, ask after me when I is sick or stick up for me. Way I sees it, I is dead to him. And heaven forgives me, he sho enuff dead and gone to me. I gots the best family I could want in my peoples, Miz Henrietta Louise Wilkerson and our other kin, slave and free.
I is a summer baby. Was born in blackberry-picking season, on June 1. Truth be told, you can fill that date in with what-send-ever figure you please, since we filling silences. Big Mama say I look about two weeks old when Miz Everlena come to her cabin door that late June night, telling her Master say keep me outta his mistress sight. But, she add, that was one of the prettiest nights she ever seed, the stars twinkling gems.
Ain’t nevah been outta Dorchester County. But I travel about this area, visiting our peoples and doing what I can when us be sick and birthing and needing clothes and raw from the lash. Whitefolks leaves me be. I nod or speak, but that be only because Big Mama learn me to be polite. Say lasting pretty in how I treats people, not on my face and in my form.
I nevah been married. Truth be told, I cain’t see the worth in it. I makes the finest dresses in Dorchester. White and colored patronizes me. Slave and free knows my needle’s charm. My family love me, I loves them. Nah, why you thinks I needs a husband to order me around and take my keep?
That all bring me to how I comes to be setting up at your cousin’s place, speaking of oiling engines. If every situation in life got sides, I casts my lot with the belief that everybody born free. The only chattel exist in a man’s mind, when he wicked enuf to believe he can own somebody else.
Goodness know, this be enuf writing to last me ’til you sends me more words. Thank you for wanting to know me, Tip Dennison, and please share more about you in your next letter.
Lit,
Binah
Claudia Moss is the Author of the Amazon Bestselling e-book, “If You Love Me, Come: a novel.” Author of The Wanda B. Wonders series. Avid Speaker. Poet. And Enthusiastic Dancer.