Chapter One
January 1897
Some folks hear the voice of God they whole life. I reckon I was always one of them folks. When I was a chile, it was like a lut whisper, almos' like the way a chile whisper to anudden. Then, as I got older, it turnt into a faint hum, a sweet lut melody what kept you calm an' cooled yo' hot, young blood ev'ry now an' again. Later on, it become a small voice, one what'll give you strength when you weak, an' straighten you out when you wayward. Now that I'm ole, it almos' like the sound of rushin' water, a beautiful sad song of water an' time passin' quicker an' quicker; a song of mournin' an' rejoicin' all at once.
I'm an ol' woman now, nearly seventy-two. I done seen a lot of suns goin' down, days of joy, days of sorrow, days of War an' days of Peace. Done known love and sorrows a-plenty, chile, an' for ev'ry soul I done seen come into Creation, I done seen the same 'mount of 'em go out of it. I was forty years a slave an' I'm goin' on thirty-two free. Bless God, I likes the free better! But I see Time windin' down now, though. Time to tell the young folks what I know. Pass 'long this wisdom what was gave to me by the by from so many folks I miss nowadays.
I say to myself, I say: "Dilcey, wount be long now 'fore you in Heaven with yo' Pork, an' you'll see yo' Ma and yo' Pa, an' all your dead chiluns an' ol' friends. Bless God, it gonna be a happy time!"
But so much of me wanna live, too! Got chiluns an' grandchiluns an' great-grands to live for. Still ain't quite used to the idea of bein' free, wanna go on a lut longer an' see what all kindza free I can get. I reckon I always did have too much of that ambition, - the audacity of wountin' to live an' wountin' to be free. Darkies wasn't s'posed to have that; white folks say you too flighty an' full of yo'self. But my granny, Africa Woman, she yuster call it, "A passion for livin'." My burnin' come from always wountin' tuh help folks, though. To watch over my fambly an' friends an' make what I could outah myself, too. Other folks got that same force, but theirs wount lettum slow down, they always gotta be durin' somethin' or goin' somewhere. Two folks in partic'lar put me in mind of that: Miz Scarlett an' Cap'n Butler. They yuster leave me in a quandary the way they lived, chile. But they was who they was, an' I am who I am. I'm Dilcey. This is Tara. My home. All I know.
My husban' was Abner, but folks 'round here knowed him as "Pork". He yuster be the valet an' butler for ol' Mist' Gerald O'Hara back durin' slave time. Mist' Gerald, he was Irish, a furrener but quality 'cause he married quality from Savannah later on, an' he won this place (an' Pork, too) playin' poker with one of President Polk's cousins on one of them islands down there one night. Mist' Gerald say he didn't like the name "Abner", say it sounded like an Orangeman's name, whatever that was, but, at the same time, he couldn't call him "Polk", neither, 'cause he couldn't twist his fat lut Irish tongue to say it. When they come up here to Tara, ev'rybody in Clayton County hear Mist' Gerald hollar, "Pork! Pork!" when he was really tryin' tur say "Polk! Polk!" The name just stuck, I reckon.
Anyhow, my Pork been dead nigh on ten years now. I miss him as much dead as I loved him when he was livin'. But I thank God, 'cause, in the end, I had me the best husban' in the world. We wasn't on the same page sometime. Hell, sometime we wasn't even in the same book, chile. But Pork was mines! I knew he loved me. He had to convince me of it, but he really did. Thank God. Most folks don't never have that kinda love an' its a mighty sad thing 'cause, if they did, the world shoal would be a sight happier than it is. Life, no matter how bad, allus better if you got someone to share joys an' sorrows with. I had that and I was bless among women 'cause of it. Forty years of lovin' a man makes him part of you. When Pork die, he take a part of me with him to the grave and a part of him live because I still breathe.
I come to Clayton County when I was fourteen after bein' sole down from Carolina. The Wilkes fambly bought me an', after a while, I become head woman of the place. I learnt how to midwife from ol' Aint Rachel, who was like a mama to me. I got so good at birthin' the Wilkses loant me out to a lot of the places 'round here to midwife. I bought many of the chiluns in these parts, white an' black, intur the world for a long, long while. Miz Scarlett an' Miz Suellen, Miz India an' Miz Honey, a couple of them Tarleton girls, Big Sam, 'Lige, Prophet…chile, I brung 'em all here with the Good Lord's help. When ever things got bad an' Doctah Fontaine couldn't come, they'd fetch ol' Dilcey an' I did what I could. Only lost two chiluns the whole time. One was Miz Anne Wilkzes' last baby girl; the udden was Big Sam's oldes' boy. Both born dead. Couldn't be helped.
Even though he was sweet on me for years and I was back an' forth with him, I finally marry Pork an' come to Tara the day 'fore Lincoln call for troops. That was April 1861. We stayed on here through Jubilee, helpin' Miz Scarlett, an' later on, Mr. Will an' Miz Suellen, run Tara. We spent a brief spell in 'Lanta, me tendin' to Mist' Ashley an' Miz Melly's place an' watchin' their boy, Mist' Beau. Down the street, Pork an' Prissy was at Miz Scarlett's an' Cap'n Butler's place. When Miz Melly die, I decide to leave. Pork, he say he wanna join me. I hate to leave Mist' Ashley, but Miz India was hellfire to work for. I couldn't take it. Pork, he say he tired of Miz Scarlett an' Mist' Rhett arguin' an' carryin' on. Both of us getting' ole an' wount peace. Back to Tara we come in '73 an' I done been here ev'rysince.
I live at the top of what yuster be the ol' plantation street at Tara, what runs to the left an' down the hill behind the Big House, in the cabin what yuster be the overseer's place. There nine famblys, all colored, on Tara now, sharecroppin' the cotton an' corn, tendin' the cows, doin' this an' that. They got cabins dotted all over the place. Some built on the foundations of the ol' slave cabins the Yankees burnt. A few of us womens goes up an' cleans an' tends the ol' Big House for Mist' Wade an' Miz Miranda.
I just be up there nowadays; all the young gals hollar: "Aint Dilcey, you gettin' too ole! You sat down an' rest! We got it!"
"Naw," I say. "I ain't dead yet!"
My youngest boy, Mancie, he the head foreman now, work right 'longside Mist' Wade like they yuster play 'longside each other as chiluns. Situation ain't the same, though, an' I tell him so.
"Son," I warn. "You cain't laugh an' joke with Mist' Wade like you could when y'all was chiluns. Ain't that way no moe. You gotta be careful."
Mancie, he just nod the slow an' easy the way he always do. Don't much bother my baby. He take it all in stride, just like his pa did.
"You an' Pa teach me right." He say. "I know no matter what the past is, he a white man an' I'm a colored. No 'mount of good times an' fun gonna change that. I keep my good eye open."
Thank God he learnt easy an' not hard like his brothers.
Outtah all my chiluns, Mancie remind me the most of his pa. He my only chile by Pork. Though he tall, dark red an' flat-nosed like me, as far as ways, he Pork through an' through, honey. He smart but he don't always let it show.
"Cain't let it show, Mama." He always say. "You know how it is. White folks gen'rally cain't stand no smart nigger, 'specially if they thinks a nigger might be smarter than they is."
The story of my life, I say.
But Mancie is smart. The smartest thing he done yet was marry Lut Elizabeth, ol' Big Sam an' Bet's daughter. Big Sam an' them chose the last name "Fairfax" after Appomattox 'cause Big Sam's mama come from Fairfax County, Virginia. We call ourselves "Jones" 'cause its a plain name. Its hard for folks to track you down if trouble's after you what if you got a plain name. Anyhow, that made Betty's full name "Elizabeth Fairfax Jones", which sound mighty up-market for a colored gal, but I reckon that's what makes Betty like it so much.
All us in the fambly all calls her just plain ol' Betty. I love her 'cause she put me in mind of me when I was younger. Strong and determine to make the world mind her no matter what it might say. Child, a fly cain't buzz or a bug crawl on this place without her knowin' it. She small, like her ma was, but she strong, like her daddy an' grandmamma was. She got skin such a pretty shade of brown it look like what the Bible say 'bout Jesus: it look like polished brass. She don't talk common, either, an' set a big stoe on her an' Mancie chiluns carryin' theyselves better. She even get on me from time to time.
"Don't say "nigger", Mama Dilcey. Or even "darky"." she say all the time. "Ain't been no niggers or darkies for real since the Surrender. We's colored folks an' gotta call ourselves colored folks, too. How other folks s'posed to respect you if you don't respect yo'self?"
"Go 'head on, then, chile." I say with a laugh and a toss of my hand. I don't pay her no mind for real, though, 'specially when it come to my own mouth what the Lord gave me an' me alone.
Mancie an' Betty got three chiluns an' they lives here with me in my cabin 'cause it's the biggest house on the place save for Tara itself. I do most the housework an' cookin' down here. Betty an' the gals be up at the Big House. Mancie an' the boy be out in the fields somewhere. Even now, in the winter, there's still a-plenty to do on a big ole place like this.
Violet, she the oldest chile an' helps tend to the chiluns up at the Big House. If I recall right, she'll be seventeen this year. Lord, she shoal is a pretty thing and, watch out world, she know it, too! Smooth skin and turned up sparklin' eyes, full smooth lips and a long, graceful neck, nice figure with good weight in good places. She 'bout the ripest peach on any tree outside of 'Lanta, I reckon. Lord, and all the bucks from all over her just swarm around her like bees 'round a hive come Sundays after church. She don't pay them any mind, though. Says she wounts to marry a city man. I say, "Whatever, chile. You don't know…" and laugh at her. She just roll her eyes an' pay me no mind. She got ways 'bout like my Prissy did at that age, all full of answers without even knowin' half the questions. I get confused like old folks do sometime an' even calls her by her auntee's name.
Next come Agnes. She the family cut-up, always got a joke or a riddle, always during her best to make folks laugh an' feel at ease. She ain't as fine as Violet. She wide-eyed an' as skinny as a stick, but she got moe spirit an' life to her, seem to me. She a couple of years behind Violet but she got her a boy what comes to see her pretty regular. Mancie ain't too keen on Fred, either, 'cause he one of ol' Able Wynder's mixed grandchiluns and Lord they's 'bout a rowdy passel of folks. Ev'rytime you turn 'round one of 'em either runnin' from the white folks, runnin' from darkies or just plain runnin' they mouths an' startin' mess. But Agnes, she a good girl an' I don't worry 'bout her. Who knows? Fred Wynder might be just a passin' notion to the chile.
Now, I know it ain't the Lord's way for a grandma to have a favorite grandchile, but I'm sorry I just cain't help it. Abner (we call him "Lut Pork") is my pride an' joy. He the spittin' image of his mama but got his daddy's dark skin an' big eyes. He got his gran'daddy's chin an' foehead like they was stolen from him, always had, that's why Mancie name him after Pork. He just turnt twelve hear a month back but he got all the seriousness an' sterness of a lut ole man. That boy is a ole soul; he done been here befoe. He an' I can be out in the orchards or walkin' 'long by ourself an' I nearly can talk to him like I can a grown person, an' he respond back the same way, too. He is the one I worry 'bout. He too smart for his place in life. I'm scared the white folks might get him.
"Granny, why you look at me so hard sometimes?" he ask me sometimes. He ain't nothin' but eight but got ways like a lut ol' man seem like to me. "You look at me like I make you sad."
"Aw child, I just look at you an' see plenty good Light around you an' see plenty Dark after you; that's all."
I say it with a chuckle, hopin' he wount take on too serious about it. It don't work.
"Aw, Granny," he sass a little. "You sound like an ol' Injun when you say stuff like that!"
"An ol' Injun is what I am, boy an' don't you get all high-post darky on me 'cause you one-fourth Injun yourself! You hear?"
He laugh an' nod, then he give me a hug 'round the neck an' plant a sweet kiss on my cheek.
My grandbabies is good chiluns, an', most times, I leave they rearin' an' raisin' to they ma an' pa. I try to help the chiluns with they readin', though, an' I try to be as discrete as I can since the white folks 'round here mighty peculiar 'bout a darky knowing how. I been teachin' all my life, I reckon. I taught my two oldes' boys, Linus an' Rex, how to read when we was slaves over at Twelve Oaks Plantation. Then Prissy an' Pork I teach here at Tara durin' an' after the War. Mancie went to the Freedman's School when we was livin' in 'Lanta. But now we all back out here at Tara, me an' Betty teach the chiluns. Prissy wount Mancie an' Betty to send 'em to her in Nashville so they can go to school. Prissy know better with that mess. She know Betty ain't gonna part with her chiluns. They fights about it ev'rytime Prissy come back to Tara an' visit. I stay out of it. I done got too ole for fambly mess now.
But mess keeps right on happenin', with or without me bein' in it.
We all knowed it was comin'; it done been talked about for months, ev'rysince Miz Scarlett die. I reckoned it was gonna happen later on, closer to springtime, just befoe the crops went in. But, naw. Mist' Wade come down early this morning with the news. He done fount someone to buy Tara lock, stock an' barrel.
"Don't you fret none, Aint Dilcey." He say all calm, hat in his hand, showing me the kind of respect most white men don't show in colored folks' houses. "The new owner say you ain't gotta go nowhere if'n you don't want to. He say that you an' Mancie an' Betty an' the chiluns can stay here forever for all he pleased. Said he can work out a contract with Mancie to sharecrop if he wanna 'cause he got his own foreman he gonna send to run the place. He already know how good y'all done been to us over the years, told him I couldn't rightly sell Tara to him if I knew y'all was gonna be maltreated."
I look up from my chair an' smile a "Thank You." at Mist' Wade. He shoal did turn out to be a fine man, which, truth be told, shock the hell outhah me considerin' the hell he was raised 'round. Still, his folks shoal is proud of him and I know it there's angels in Heaven what yuster be folks, his pa, his Aunt Melly an' his Grandma Ellen look down an' rejoice. Some of them other folks? Lord, don't get me to guessing if they made it into the Kingdom much less taking the trouble to look down here if they did.
Mist' Wade ain't 'specially tall, but slender, like his daddy was, with big brown eyes an' big ol' ears. He wear his light brown curly hair a lut longer to cover 'em up some. His eyebrows swoop up in thick arches, like his mama's did, an' he got her pointed chin, too. He got the beginnin's of Mist' Gerald O'Hara's gut, an' his legs is a lut bandy like his ole Irishman granddaddy's was, too.
To me, he take on in manners more after his uncle, Mist' Will Benteen, than he do his daddy or his mama. He got a plain way of talk, real direct an' simple like a man what works land oughta. To not know him, you would think he was the educated son of a Cracker 'stead of the son of a Hamilton or the grandson of Savannah rich French folks. He got a right smart piece of money, but don't let it swell his head none. He neat an' mannerable, but not sissified like his pa was or slick like Miz Scarlett's last husband, Cap'n Butler, was. He Tara an' Clayton County through an' through, like the Flint River itself. Country, but good an' clean an' smart country. I reckon that was from Mist' Will bein' the only man outside of ol' Mist' Gerald who ever took a true notion to teach him as a chile.
Mist' Charles Hamilton was his mama's firs' husband an' died in the War befoe Mist' Wade was even born. Mist' Wade set a big stoe on his pa an' his sword hang on the wall right there in the big front parlor of the Big House. Miz Melly, his pa's sister, tell Mist' Wade so much about his daddy while he growin' up an' he talk so much 'bout him now that most folks what wouldn't know him would 'spect Charles Hamilton to ride up in a surrey at any minute 'stead of bein' dead for thirty years. It's good, though. Chiluns, - 'specially boy chiluns -should always know somethin' 'bout they daddies, even if they dead. God knows Miz Scarlett never talked 'bout him to Mist' Wade.
Mist' Wade's mama's second husband was Mist' Frank Kennedy, whose stoe Miz Scarlett 'ventually turnt into Kennedy's Department Stoe in downtown Atlanta. Mist' Wade said he couldn't rightly stand Mist' Frank, said he didn't like the way he let Miz Scarlett boss him. Mist' Frank was Miz Ella's daddy, but he got shot in the head huntin' niggers one night with Cap'n Butler when Miz Ella was still just a baby. Some say Mist' Frank was kilt by ol' Cap'n Butler hisself so he could marry Miz Scarlett. Naw, I say. Cap'n Butler wouldn't do that to ol' Mist' Frank. Just the fact Miz Scarlett didn't love him woulda been enough vengeance for Cap'n Butler to live on.
Next come in the line come Cap'n Bulter hisself, who Mist' Wade liked alright, but he always used to say Cap'n Butler was so stuck on Miz Scarlett an' his two Butler half-sister, it didn't leave much room in Cap'n's heart for him or Miz Ella. Plus, Miz Scarlett an' Cap'n Butler carried on somethin' awful back in them days, gettin' drunk an' arguin' an' fightin'. Then there was Miz Scarlett's miscarriage an' po' lut Miz Bonnie getting' thrown from that pony she ought notta had in the first place as short as she was. Some of the things Pork an' Pallas an' Prissy told me 'bout them times was enough to make you cry.
Mist' Wade growed up an' married Miz Miranda Fontaine 'bout seven years ago. Miz Miranda is a nervous little bird like her grandmama, who we yuster call "Young Miz" back in slave times, was. She always frettin' an' fussin', runnin' 'round like a hen with her head chopped off tryin' to solve a thousand problems not knowin' she makin' ten thousand moe 'cause she wount sit the hell down somehwere. Bless her soul, the sweet young chile mean well, though. Mist' Wase usually let her have her way with most things. Either that, or he just flat out lie to her an' let her believe she gettin' her way 'til she plumb forget an' he do what he wount to. Po' Miz Miranda, she so busy comin' an' goin' most time she don't know the difference nohow.
She an Mist' Wade got two boys named Charles an' Joe, an' a lut girl named Alice, all named after dead kinfolks. (Seems like ev'rybody, white an' colored, is namin' babies after dead folks these days. I reckon it's the fashion. I don't like it; seem creepy to me. Seem to me like it mark chiluns, namin' 'em after dead folks, 'specially dead folks who was dead befoe the baby was even born. Didn't even like it with Lut Pork at first, but oh well). The Hamilton boys is fine-lookin' lut gentlemans an' they both 'bout my Lut Pork's age. Mist' Charles, he likes to be out in the woods lookin' at all kindza animals an' bugs, say he got a hankerin' to be a scientist but his Ma says naw, tells him all the time nothin' but sissys an' Yankees is scientists. Mist' Joe, he ain't nothin' but a lut sportsman, allus climbin' trees an' jumpin' fences an' ain't never seen a horse he didn't love. He love 'em so much I s'pose that's why he insist on smellin' like one half the time. Sweet as a boy can be but Lord if he ain't the laziest lut thing ever born at Tara since his Aint Suellen. Ain't never seen a chile so disincline to bathe! And that girl? Miz Alice? Lord, if that ain't a mess in pinafores an' crinolines! Bossy an' opinionated an' allus quick to tell you what she is an' ain't gonna do, even to her own Ma and Pa. She get it honest, though. Her grandma on her pa's side Scarlett O'Hara an' her great-grandma on her ma's side Ol' Miz Fontaine. Heaven knows there wasn't too many white womens in Georgia what had more gumption – or gall.
"So, Mist' Will, what you an' Miz 'Randa gonna do now dat y'all done sole de place?" ask Mancie.
"Well, Mancie," he say. "The wife done always had a hankerin' to move into town. Ella, Aunt Suellen, Uncle Ashley, Suzie Q. an' ev'rybody else is there. Uncle Rhett wount me to come to Charleston an' both me an' Randa loved it there, but, I dunno. Aint Pauline and Aint Eulalie done been dead for years an' I can't rightly stan' the sight of Uncle Rhett since Mother die. He just an ole shell. You know he always say he thought God was wrong for takin' Mother 'fore him."
"Aw Mist' Wade," I say, patting him on the forearm. "You know Cap'n Butler set a mighty big stoe on yo' mama, an' she 'preciated him, too, in the end. They had they ups an' downs, but by an' by, they had a lot of good years together 'fore Miz Scarlett got sick with that cancer."
"I wish Uncle Rhett had just stayed on here like I ast him to. He too ole to be alone. Cat so busy bein' the grande dame of Charleston she barely give him a second thought. He should be here, with folks what'll care for him, but no! He gotta be there with that spoilt mess sister of mines. He as stubborn as a mule, just like Mother was!"
"A mule in horse's harness!" I laugh outright. "Member how yo' ol' Mammy used to call him an' yo' Mama that, Mist' Wade?"
I felt strange just then, thinkin' 'bout ol' Mammy. Pallas been dead twenty years an' here us was still laughin' at her tantrums like still waddlin' her big ol' self 'round the place, eyes roillin' an' lip poked out. Lord. how me an' that heifer there would go at it!
Mist' Wade got a far-off look in his eye an' smile a lut. He look down an' pat me on the shoulder an' say, "I shoal do remember, Aint Dilcey. I shoal do. If there was anybody who could get ol' Scarlett O'Hara mad, it shoal was ol' Mammy, that was certain."
"Yes Lawdy," I agree. "but doan you get vexed none at Cap'n Butler, Mist' Wade. This here place, Tara? Lord, it ain't nothin' 'but yo' Mama. That house, this land, all of it. Ev'ry tree an' ev'ry field. I know if I can see it, Cap'n Butler did, too, when he was here while Miz Scarlett was dyin'. It woulda kilt Cap'n Butler in two days, stayin' on here an' seein' her in ev'rything. Miz Cat did right by makin' him go back widder to Charleston. That's his world. That's why when he leave Miz Scarlett she went to him there 'cause when you fightin' for somethin', you fights for it on its home turf to show you really wounts it. But Cap'n Butler, he ain't got long, Mist' Will. I saw it. There, he can die in peace an' wount have to be haunted by your mama."
Ev'ry living thing in the room, Mancie, 'Lizabeth, Mist' Wade, the chiluns, even the dog, give me a queer look, but I keep on.
"Sometime you need to break from the past completely just to survive." I say.
Mist' Wade look down at me with a warm, genuine smile.
"Aint Dilcey, you always been good to my folks, an' you stayed on after Appomattox when most of the darkies had left this place. Why?"
"Well, Mist' Wade…" I begin, then my eyes wander a little. I look outside the window and point to the front yard. "Mist' Wade, you see them there two oak trees yonder."
"Yes'm."
"Well, them two trees is separate trees but they was planted so close together that now you rightly cain't tell one from the udden 'cause they limbs an' roots done got entangled with each other. If you cut down one, you gonna kill the both of 'em 'cause they feeds off each other."
He shake his head an' nod, but I could tell he still didn't quite get my meanin'.
"Mr. Wade, them trees is like us here at Tara. We all, yo folks an' my folks, done been 'round each other for so long and done been through so much together that we's all tangled an' a part of each other, like them trees."
Ev'rybody in the room laugh an' smile. Mist' Wade does, too. He understand.
"Well, just like them trees," I keep on. "The roots 'tween all us done run they course. See down there, towards the bottom of them trees? See there? Them trees is hollow on the inside now. They ain't got much longer. A good wind's gonna come an' blow 'em down here 'fore long. Same with y'all young folks an' us ole folks. Time for y'all young saplins to dig down roots of your own somewhere else an' let the old go. The world we lived in don't exist no moe. That world neither any of the stuff that was in it, like Tara. So, I'm glad you sellin' this place, Mist' Wade. You an' Miz Miranda, y'all go on to 'Lanta or Charleston or wherever. Make a new life an' a his'try for yo'selves there. Folks what really loved this place is either dead or dyin'. It ain't a place for young folks and dreams no moe."
"It make me wonder what's gonna happen to this place once we leave." Mist' Wade ponder outloud. "I mean, will it still be Tara the way it is now, feel the same when folks come out here? Will it still be like home?"
"I don't rightly know, Mist' Wade." I say. "I learnt a long time ago that home ain't bricks an' stones an' wood. It's people an' love an' mem'ries. You got them witcha an' you always at home, no matter where the Lord may send you."
Mist' Wade smile. I can tell he thinkin' 'bout Miz Miranda an' his chiluns.
"You just might be right on that, Aint Dilcey. You just might be right. And I reckon you would know. After all, you been here an' seen it all from the beginnin'."
"Shoal have, Mist' Wade. I shoal have. I been here in these parts since almos' befoe there even was a Tara. And believe me when I tell you, y'all young folks, y'all don't know the half of it." I say with a chuckle. "No, Lawdy. Y'all don't even know the half…"
