Secret Tides

The Oak Plantation, 1858 A bandof thunderstorms hit the beaches of the South Carolina lowlands theday Camellia York accidentally killed the father of the man she hopedto marry. Thestorms didn't come ashore all at once though. No, they gradually made theirway inland, slowly eroding the blue sky of the early November day with dark clouds. Asthe storms approached, Camellia stood barefooted about midway downa long wood table in a plantation cookhouse about three miles fromshore. An old blackwoman, so stooped she looked like she'd carried a rock the size of a washtubon her neck for a long time, worked on the opposite side of the table. The woman'sskin was so inky black that folks often said, if not for the whites of her eyes,they'd never see her after night fell. Camellia's skin was a softwhite, and her hair hung in rich brown waves past her shoulders. The black womanwore a green bandanna, but it did little to contain the gray sprigs she calledhair. Camellia's lips were full; she had all her teeth. The lips of theblack woman seemed to sink in around her mouth, and most of her teeth had longsince disappeared. A dip of snuff filled her right cheek.Flour covered the hands of both women. Camellia wiped sweat off her brow, leavinga smudge of the flour between her blue eyes.The black woman grinned and pointed at the flour spot. "Miss Camellia makin' hersweet young face a mess. Lay on a mite more flour, and you be lookin' likea swamp ghost."Camellia laughed and bent forward. The older woman grabbed a rag and wiped offthe flour."There's not enough flour from Beaufort to Charleston to make youa ghost," drawled Camellia."That be true," said the black woman, chuckling. "Stella beblack as the ink in Master Tessier's pen, oh yes I am."The wood floor under the two women's feet creaked as they worked. Fliesbuzzed in and out of the open window to their right. The air hung heavy and hotin spite of the clouds gathering outside. A low rumble sounded in the distance.A fireplace as wide as a wagon covered the room to Camellia's left, andthe fire in it made the cookhouse even hotter than the outdoor temperature. Camelliafaced the window and hoped to catch a breeze, but none came. She glanced aroundthe rooma rectangular space about twenty by forty feet. Pots and pansand all manner of other cooking utensils hung on nails on the walls. Shelveson two of the walls contained flour, sugar, salt, and vegetables they'dput up in jars and cans. Barrels in the corners held cornmeal, rice, and wheat.Camellia picked up a clay jar, poured flour into a bowl, took a touch of lardfrom a pail, and dug her hands into the flour. Stella did the same. Her handsturned as white as Camellia's. A strange notion seeped into Camellia'shead. Could it be that all people were the same color, under their skin? shewondered. She held up her hands, covered with flour. "Look, Stella. Ourhands look the same."Stella spit into the snuff cup she always kept close by but said nothing.Camellia wiped her hands on her apron, then scrutinized Stella. "Our clothesare about the same too."Stella shrugged, obviously not catching Camellia's meaning.Camellia started to say more but then decided if she explained it, Stella wouldjust look at her like she'd lost her mind and wave her off. So Camelliawent back to her dough, massaging it steadilyParker, Gary E. is the author of 'Secret Tides', published 2004 under ISBN 9781582293592 and ISBN 1582293597.