“Be proud of yourself, Ella Mae. I ain’t never done none of this. Not a child to my name & I can see whatta trial you been thru & how the Lord’s gonna set a bounty of goodness upon ya. I can see it, Ella Mae. Don’t push too hard now. Jesus don’t want nothing coming express.”

Indigo’d studied violin with the white woman Miz Fitzhugh sent every summer, but she concentrated more on learning what Aunt Haydee knew. Giving birth, curing women folks & their loved ones. At first Aunt Haydee only allowed Indigo to play her fiddle to soothe the women in labor, but soon the mothers, the children, sought Indigo for relief from elusive disquiet, hungers of the soul. Aunt Haydee was no fool. She watched Indigo playing the fiddle one evening as the tide came in. It’d been a long time since a colored woman on Difuskie moved the sea. Some say it was back in slavery time.

Blue Sunday, that was her name ’cause she was born on a Sunday & as black as pitch. Blue Sunday was the favorite of Master Fitzhugh, but everytime he came near her the sea would getta fuming, swinging whips of salt water round the house where the white folks lived. This went on for years till Blue Sunday was so grown even Master Fitzhugh knew she’d have to breed or lose him money. He liked the way her bosom was barely visible, how her hips defined that coarse scratchy garb field hands wore. He’d sent her silks, even a corset from France, but Blue Sunday’d tied these round a hog she left in his library. When he whipped her in fronta all the slaves before the indigo harvest, all she did was laugh. No scars, no blood appeared on her back. He threw her to the overseers, two po’ white trash hooligans decent white folks wouldn’t look at. When they were through with her she was still a virgin. Master Fitzhugh took her, unconscious, to his bed. When he penetrated her, she turned into a crocodile. As a crocodile, Blue Sunday was benign. Her only struggle was to remain unconquered. Master Fitzhugh was left with one leg, but otherwise quite himself. The Fitzhughs no longer cultivated indigo as a cash crop. Blue Sunday was never seen again by any white person, but women of color in labor called on her and heard her songs when they risked mothering free children.