It was a long walk, longer than Mira remembered it being, and the farther she went the more she regretted not changing out of her clothes for the wedding. The dress was too constricting, and the material made her itch in the heat. At least she had comfortable shoes, flats she’d slipped on instead of the heels she’d felt pressure to wear. She continued on the uneven path, trying her best to recollect the way she’d gone.

With the plantation closed for the wedding and most everyone still at the restaurant, the grounds were whisper-quiet, a stark contrast to what she’d witnessed yesterday. Without the conversations of strangers or the sounds of the machinations of plantation life, she heard the sounds of the woods. Its hums and calls. With each step she heard the low whistle of wind or the trill and buzz of insects hiding in the dark.

The foliage grew dense and lush as she continued into the heart of the woods. The trees’ branches above clouded the summer light, and she worried she’d cross a point of no return where she’d be lost forever. It didn’t seem she was getting any closer to the fields but closer to a world unfamiliar.

“This isn’t right.” Mira stopped, finally admitting to herself she was lost. Everywhere she looked the path appeared the same, and she had no idea anymore which way to go. Her worry became a fear as she started again, quickening her pace, her chest tightening as she ran faster in the hope she’d stumble upon something she would recognize. Soon, she had to stop. The sound of whispers rippled through the trees. Whispers swelled to murmurs. She couldn’t resist following the sounds. Murmurs shifted until she heard talking. Then, singing. A haunting call trailed by the chorus’s response.

Now see that possum he works hard. Hoe, Emma, hoe. You turn around, dig a hole in the ground. Hoe, Emma, hoe. But he can’t work as hard as me.

Mira followed. The trees fell away and she came upon a clearing where a few feet ahead of her a group of black men rotated, digging a large hole in the ground. They struck their shovels deep in the ground and threw the dirt in the air. Mira watched it fly. As they worked, they sang, their deep voices bellowing as they dug again and threw. She sank behind some brush to watch, hidden from their sight.

Hoe, Emma, hoe. You turn around, dig a hole in the ground. Hoe, Emma, hoe. He sits a horse just as pretty as can be.