‘Massa paint it. When me was young,’ she say, leaning on her broomstick. ‘Massa used to paint all the time, you know. Calmed him right down,’ and her face soften and she have a faraway look. ‘Used to make me carry him paints, him brushes. Rise early. Walk far and wide looking to find a good vantage point. That’s what him called it. Seemed to look all the same to me.’

‘How come him stop?’

‘Mistress Margaret make such a fuss bout it. Make Old Massa William take away Massa paints.’

‘Why him do that?’

‘Why why why. You ask too many questions, little Will,’ Stella say, shaking out her dusting rag.

‘If you don’t tell me, I going ask Calla. She don’t hide tings from me.’

Stella stop what she doing. Look at me hard, but I look right back. At last she say, ‘Everything stop when him find the special paintings.’

‘What paintings?’

Stella sigh. ‘The ones Massa paint of me. Had to lay down in the grass. Lay quiet, not move a muscle, even if ant bite me,’ and Stella have that faraway look again. Sigh when she tell me, ‘Him put flowers in me hair.’

‘Why him want to do that? Him can look pon you whenever him want.’ Stella don’t answer, just sigh some more. ‘Must be before me born?’ Stella just nod, get on with her dusting.

I go up to the painting, take a closer look.

‘You pretty back then. Much prettier than Mistress Margaret.’

Stella stop what she doing. March right over. Cuff me bout the ears. ‘Never you mind bout pretty,’ she say. ‘You be careful round that woman. She two-faced. Play nicey nicey. Then spread plenty plenty lies behind you back.’

In the evening, after everybody have them supper and the plantation quiet down, Massa retire to him room. Must be hiding himself away from Mistress Margaret nagging. The room have a little side door open out to a path that lead to the back pen, past a grove of bamboo trees, before it make it way up to the slave village. A secret door him slip through, believing nobody see him. Of course I know what him up to. Been watching him come and go since me a pickney.

After him return from stopping by Stella, or lately one of the young slave women. Is then I take up me hiding place, just behind the wait-a-bit thorn hedge. The hedge Massa plant to keep out the animals from him gardens. Make ready to collect more seeing and hearing story them. Watch as him make marks in him book, on him paper. Marks that mean much to him, but hold not much meaning for me.