Though it was barely light, Callie was up early, her skin bathed in sweat before she even left her pallet. On this unusually warm and humid morning in late October, the tepid water in her washbowl added moisture to thick air but did not cool her. As she pondered the tasks ahead of her, Callie gently cleansed her sleeping daughter's peaceful brow.

Much was expected of Callie that day. After breakfast, she had to begin preparations for a feast on the plantation grounds before going to Beaufort to pick up the captain's favorite seasonings. After that, she would spend the rest of the day and much of the next in the cookhouse. Her thoughts wandered toward her younger brother, Lucas, the best slave boatman on the plantation, who would row her to town on the incoming tide. Missus Bowen had insisted gently that Lucas be on the Beaufort wharf to pick up her son as soon as the steamer brought him home from the Naval Academy.

Callie stepped from her one-room cabin to find the air so still that she felt a stir as mourning doves rose in a flutter just outside her door. With water on two sides of the point of land where the big house stood, the sea breeze would be up by late morning on most days. She looked forward to the relief it would bring, as soft light began to add depth to the dark shadows that moved with her up the familiar footpath.

Passing down the row of quarters reserved for the skilled slaves who worked directly with the planter and his family, she was grateful for the cabin she shared with her daughter. Their one-room home had a wooden floor and was sparsely furnished with a table, two chairs, and a bed just big enough for Sunny. Callie's pallet, near the small stone fireplace, had a blanket given to her by Captain Bowen that provided just enough cushion for Callie's long, slender frame. The captain had ordered his slaves to build the cabin especially for her about five years earlier. It was set slightly apart from the other shanties, affording some privacy for her. That the location also gave the captain cover for his dark purposes tempered her gratitude.

Typically, summer warmth remained on the sea islands through October, but the recent run of relentless sun, heat, and humidity challenged anyone attempting to work outdoors past noon. Callie watched the field hands in the dull haze as they moved slowly beyond the ocean of cotton plants to the sweet potato field. Digging out those wonderful roots from soil parched by the late-summer sun had been particularly exhausting since Captain Bowen was determined to get the sweet potatoes out of the ground and the cotton picked as quickly as possible. In that effort, one of the oldest hands on the plantation had died in the field on the previous day. From Callie's twenty-three years of life experience with Captain Bowen as master, she knew that his decision to cut work hours short by an hour for the rest of the week was an act of property protection more than one of human kindness.

With heart as heavy as the moist morning air, Callie knew she had to forge ahead. The words of her "mama" echoed in her ears as each new day began: "Dayclean, sunshine, wid Gawd, feel fine." She adhered to Mama Ruth's morning admonition, hoping for truth in its simplicity. Her spirit joined her faith to greet each new day with optimism, but her experience taught her to be wary.

Callie walked out from under the last live oak tree on her path to the big house, thinking that Missus Bowen must have been happy that morning as she awaited her son's return home. Then she saw Jacob, the plantation carpenter for the past ten years, standing motionless down near the tide line, facing sunrise over the salt marsh. His thin, wiry arms hung limply by his sides. Callie stumbled down the bank of sand and grass, startling him as he spun to meet her, so that he nearly fell into the shallows.

"You awright, Jacob?" Callie asked.

"Ain me you need fuh aks. You bes check wid yo fren, damn Massa!"

"Jacob!" Callie anxiously looked up the bank toward the mansion looming above the marsh, its windows and encircling verandas providing ample opportunity for Captain Bowen to view his property.

Jacob was not to be stopped: "Wuh wrong wid da man? He wuk dis cotton so haad (hard), he kill we."

Though sympathetic, Callie only said, "I jes know Massa worry bout time fuh git cotton pick."

"Don mek no sense. Wuh Massa know? Him see Franklin en Cato fall out ... Massa lay em down en po water on dey head, den mek em wuk mo. No, Massa ain slow down til Hezikiah draw e las bret (breath)."

His eyes welled with tears and his chest heaved. "Yessuh. Wuk haad fuh Massa. Fuh wha? Fuh nuttin!" Jacob spat over his shoulder toward the big house, more gesture than substance.

"Jacob! You look fuh git whip yosef. I know you too smaat fuh act like fool in de sight uh Massa." His look to her, though respectful, came through watery eyes, a tear tracking down his clenched jaw.

"You know I right, Jacob. Ain gon leh Massa lash on yo ole skin. My haat kyah too much fuh oona. (My heart cares too much for you.)" She grabbed his arm, pulled him, and walked him up the shifting sandbank. "Gi Hezzie respeck dis day fuh way he treat we."

"Look wey him be now, Callie. Look wey him done git!" Jacob stopped walking with Callie as they reached the footpath, pulling back from her urging grasp of his arm. "Res of we ain sho like you, Callie, da nex day gon be awright."

She released his arm and stepped back, her eyes searing through his. "Wha I done been fuh Sunny, BB, Lucas, en you, Jacob! I tek kyah dem Bowen like I been do since I been small chile. I mek sho we git wha we need—wha you say don matta none fuh me." The fire in her eyes masked and stopped the tears that had begun to form, belying her words.

She calmed herself, watching a pelican family of five fly a perfect V formation at treetop level. "Jacob, you know yo fight ain wid me." She paused. "You know wha I laan (learn) in da big house hep all we people roun yuh (here)."

Jacob hugged Callie; he knew he had crossed a few lines, but he never meant to offend. They moved off: Jacob to his carpentry and Callie to her list of tasks.

* * *

Callie was invaluable to Daniel Bowen for many reasons. She had gained the confidence of the Bowen household over a period of years. She provided all cooking services, and despite being just nineteen years old when Mama Ruth passed on four years earlier, Callie took on Mama Ruth's role of managing all domestic slaves working in and around the big house. Ruth, the only mother Callie had ever known, had shared her broad expertise gained through fifty years of enslaved service on Oakheart Plantation. From Ruth, Callie learned that each daily task taught lessons in life, so she was prepared to assume responsibility for "Mama's" duties and did so with grace unexpected from one so young.

Callie's knowledge of cooking extended well beyond recipes and seasonings. She had a knack for growing vegetables,...