During the sweltering summers, the river created a welcome breeze through the house. Deep forests at the back of the property provided some of the wood to keep the stoves and fireplaces burning all winter, and the acres of fields kept the slaves busy planting and picking crops. Nine hundred peach trees were planted in a single row like a living fence around one of the backfields. Peach trees grew like weeds in the fertile soil, and field hands cut down one hundred trees a year to use as firewood. In the spring, one hundred new saplings were planted to replace the ones that had been cut.
            Master Brewster strolled into the kitchen house and let the door slap shut behind him, tilting his head up to breathe in the sweet fragrance of molasses and chopped peaches.
            "Have you woken up Mistress Liza yet?" he asked Bones. His sturdy frame filled the doorway, and his riding boots clacked on the freshly swept floor. As on most large plantations, the kitchen house was a separate building located off to the side to keep the main house cooler and reduce the risk of fires.
            "No, Masta," Queenie said, sweet as the shoofly pie she'd begun to assemble. "Bones just goin' up now."
            Master Brewster shook the sweat off his large straw hat and leaned down to tug at the girl's braids. Mama fixed them every day to cover her ears that seemed to sprout straight out from her head. But it never worked. Granny said those ears made her special because she could hear extra good.
            "And what is this?" He pointed at the old corncob wrapped in a handkerchief hanging from her neck.
            "My baby doll," Bones answered.
            "Ah! Yes, now I see that." He looked at the plain corncob, with no face or clothes. "And does your baby doll have a name?"
            "Lovely. Her name's Lovely."
            "Well, that's a mighty fine name for her," he said with a chuckle. "Is this another baby doll?" he asked, pointing to the peach pit that she rubbed between her fingers.
            "No, this here's a heart." She smiled up at him. "My pappy carved it for me and give it to me when I was born. I like how it feels."
            "Aha. I see. Well, now you make sure Miss Liza does her reading today," Master instructed. "She can't just play with the animals, pick flowers, and daydream."
            Bones carefully balanced the breakfast tray the cook had prepared for her young mistress and walked slowly out the back door, calling out behind her, "Oh yes, I will, Masta Brewster. Don' you worry 'bout that." The s-sound in "Brewster" whistled through the gap between her two front teeth. She went down the short path to the big house and up the back staircase, the one the slaves used. Carrying her mistress's breakfast tray upstairs was the first duty of the day, and sprinkling her bedsheets with refreshing lilac-scented cologne was the last duty at night.

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Excerpted from Currents by Jane Petrlik Smolik
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.