Other days, Sydney sing to her like she a baby. Soothe away her tears as she lay there moaning bout her fate now Old Massa William pass on. Not caring that Sydney, a grown woman, was forced to let Jane and Ellen go when Massa sold them to the plantation next to this one. What a big ruckus it caused when Massa discovered Sydney been sneaking off at night to visit her children, without him permission. Massa told Winston to drag her outside and flog her. Was the first time Winston not run to do Massa bidding.

What was worse, Massa made us all watch when Winston had to force Sydney to lay on the ground, show her back. Listened when she begged for mercy, promised not to do it again. Winston gave him wife ten lashes. Only ten, but still her back did bleed. Some of us hung our heads in shame for Sydney, she never got flogged before. Stella hung her head, but I noticed she had that snake smile on her face.

‘Sydney getting uppity,’ I heard Stella tell Melon one day when she was helping out in the kitchen. ‘Think because she Mistress Margaret favourite she deserve special treatment. Huh. You wait. One day she going see Mistress Margaret turn. Just like Massa turn with me.’

Stella not so wrong, because what Mistress Margaret did?

Watched Sydney get flogged, all quiet-like, and said nothing.

After all me chore them, I sometimes keep watch on Massa, looking to find a new story. Creep inside him empty bedroom, when no one looking. Sit on the floor, open up him clothes cupboard. Push me hand way down inside him boots, just to get a feel of him. Stand in front of a long mirror, see how much I grow, even if I never seem to get much bigger.

Looking for signs. Signs of who I could be, if Stella not reel me out, tell Massa me not him son. Even though Calla tell me, ‘Course you him son.’ Make no difference what Calla think. When Massa see me coming, him always look the other way.

Used to be Old Massa William bedroom. The big one at the front of the Great House. Have a wide window with wooden shutters that look out down towards the canefield them. Can see the mountain through them shutters. The one that look close but is far, far away. Sometimes that mountain is violet like the little flowers Mistress Margaret sew on her pillowcases. Other times is indigo like the dye them make in the plantation next to this one. And in the rainy season, that old mountain turn from green to grey, the mist dipping down to cover it. Is funny, though, no matter when I creep inside – morning time, evening time – Massa always keep the shutter them half closed.