I’Ve Loved Before

By Matrinna Woods

Bertha, is a slave on Master Jackson’s plantation in Mississippi before the start of the American Civil War. She is young, sassy, driven, head-strong, and beautiful.
Bertha is allowed to work inside of the big house, which is taboo at the time because of her darker skin color. Upon starting working inside of the house she is met with many unexpected challenges that she has to overcome and these challenges do not prepare her for her biggest challenge yet, when she meets a similarly feisty Julia, who is the niece of Master Jackson.
Julia’s and Bertha’s personalities clash initially however, they eventually develop an unspoken friendship through unlikely circumstances and their mutual adoration starts to develop that contradicts their time, their circumstance, and their race.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491740491

Matrinna Woods

Matrinna Woods was born and raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. She attended Milwaukee Public Schools and graduated from Riverside University High School, located on the eastside of Milwaukee. She is an alumnus of The University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, where she graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in Political Science in May 2012. I’ve Loved Before is her first fictional publication, and she spent more than a year crafting the story while working full time as an environmental service worker at a hospital located near downtown Waukesha, Wisconsin, a small town located thirty-five miles west of Milwaukee. In the near future, she plans on continuing her education and crafting more fictional novels. She is already busy at work crafting her second fictional work.

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Copyright © 2014 Matrinna Woods.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-4048-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-4050-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-4049-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014912557

iUniverse rev. date: 08/15/2014

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1 Working in the Big House Kitchen

Chapter 2 Bertha and Bubba

Chapter 3 Romance at the Pond

Chapter 4 Bubba’s Rude Awakening

Chapter 5 Master Jackson

Chapter 6 The Girls

Chapter 7 The Girls (Part 2)

Chapter 8 Bertha’s First Day

Chapter 9 The Torture Begins

Chapter 10 Bertha Perseveres

Chapter 11 Julia’s Arrival

Chapter 12 Chicken Dinner

Chapter 13 Back at Home

Chapter 14 The Rivalry

Chapter 15 Julia’s Curiosity and Plan

Chapter 16 Bertha Gets in Trouble

Chapter 17 Logan and Julia

Chapter 18 Julia Returns

Chapter 19 Working in the Garden

Chapter 20 Stuck in the Mud

Chapter 21 Aunt Margaret’s Journey

Chapter 22 Logan Returns for Julia

Chapter 23 The Wedding

Chapter 24 The War Starts

Chapter 25 Julia’s Excitement

Chapter 26 The Whipping

Chapter 27 Garden Treasures

Chapter 28 Aftermath of the War/Finally Free

Chapter 29 The Letter

Chapter 30 Sage’s Epiphany

Chapter 31 Julia’s Confession

About the Author

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to my entire family and all who played an integral part in shaping the person I am today. Some of those people are my mom, dad, brothers, my younger sister, my grandmothers, my grandfathers, and my close friends. I definitely want to send a special thank you to all of the Milwaukee Public School teachers who invested their time into my education. I also would like to thank the wonderful staff at University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee who helped enhance my education experience through their dedication to their work.

Lastly, this book is dedicated to all of the intriguing people whom I have had the pleasure to cross paths with in this life (in the community, at work, and out and about) who have inspired, encouraged, and influenced me and my writing. Thank you, all.

In memory of Thomas Jasper Buchanan III

(February 8, 1987–November 11, 2009) and

Earnestine Hughes (May 29,, 1943- July 18, 2006)

SPECIAL THANK YOU TO THE EDITING DEPARTMENT AT iUNIVERSE SELF PUBLISHING FOR HELPING TO IMPROVE THE QUALITY OF THIS NOVEL

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Chapter 1

Working in the Big House Kitchen

B ertha, quit playin’ around with them potatoes before Massa come in here now. Mattie yelled at Bertha from across the kitchen.

Bertha was standing at the scrub bowl in the big house kitchen, fumbling around with the potatoes that she was supposed to be peeling as part of the evening’s dinner.

Mattie, why do I gotta do this all the time? Why you never let me do the fryin’?

Look, Bertha, you know Sue in charge of the fryin’ today.

But she did it last night and on Wednesday, and Pearly did it on them other days. I never get to do the fryin’.

Look here, girl, don’t give me no lip. You do the potatoes, and that’s the end of it unless you wanna be back out there in the field in that hot sun. You lucky that all you gotta do is them potatoes. Now get to peelin’ them!

But I’m fifteen, and I only used the stove to do the fryin’ once, Bertha insisted.

Look, girl, I said get to peelin’ them potatoes, or I’ll tell Massa to put you back out in the field to work in that sun. Goodness sakes, this child drivin’ me mad!

Bertha looked out the big window in the kitchen and saw the Mississippi sun beaming down. It was hot outside, and the air was dry, but inside the kitchen the moisture in the hot atmosphere seemed like a cocoon that held Bertha captive. Even so, without further protest, she picked up a potato and started peeling it. As she proceeded with her duties, she wiped a gloss of perspiration from her upper lip. Mattie was the head of all of the servants in the kitchen. She was a robust woman who often ate a couple of meals at the same as managing the preparation of all of the meals for Master Jackson and his family and whatever other guests they may have been expecting at the time. When Bertha proceeded to peel the potato in her hand, Mattie turned around and popped a dumpling into her mouth and started chewing.

Mattie, why you always get to eat whiles we in this kitchen? Nobody else get to eat in here, Bertha asked.

Mattie took two steps forward and grabbed a fried chicken leg that was in a basket sitting on the counter. After taking a large bite from it, she quickly charged at Bertha and pointed the drumstick in her face. With her jaws bulging from the portion of chicken in her mouth, she confronted Bertha.

Look, girl, you ain’t but fifteen. I been runnin’ this kitchen before you got to this here plantation, and I was runnin’ this kitchen before you was born. I eat when I please. You hear me?

Yes, ma’am.

Bertha could sense the rage underneath the forced calmness in Mattie’s voice as she spoke through a tight jaw and a mouth full of chewed chicken, so she wisely decided to back down.

That’s what I thought, Mattie said. She then turned around and stormed out of the kitchen, letting the door slam behind her.

Fat hog, Bertha mumbled softly when she was sure that Mattie was through the door. She started laughing quietly as she grabbed a small piece of cornbread and chucked it into her mouth in defiance of Mattie’s rule.

Sue was beaming with sunshine that day, and she entered the kitchen with a bounce in her walk. She tossed a bag that she was carrying on the counter.

Hey, how you doin’ today, Bertha? Sue asked.

I’m always fine, Bertha answered. I can’t help it; just look at me.

Girl, you mighty high of yo’self, ain’t you? Now be quiet and peel those potatoes like I know Mattie told you to do. We know that you can’t do nothin’ else.

I wouldn’t be so quick to talk, Sue, because you always take forever fryin’ that chicken. If that was me, I’d do it way faster.

Yeah, you might do it faster, but that bird would be burnt up just like when Myrtle tried to cook for the first time. Bertha, Masta don’t need to be wastin’ on burnt up food.

Pshh, Bertha hissed at her.

Sue and Bertha worked silently for a moment, and then Bertha turned to Sue, still upset about not being able to cook.

I don’t know why Mattie won’t let me do none of the fryin’, Sue. Bertha placed a knife up to the potato in her hand, applied an excess of pressure, and scraped off the skin, fumbling it because of the distraction of her anger.

Well, you know that only women get to do the fryin’ in this kitchen, and you ain’t a woman yet. You’s still a li’l girl Bertha. Sue laughed, walked over to Bertha, and softly patted her on the head.

Bertha stood there with her jaw dropped. Then she quickly fired back. Little girl? I’m a full-grown woman. And if I gotta be a old, wrinkled-up woman like you to cook, then I don’t wanna cook at all.

Old woman? Bertha, I’m barely six years older than you.

Well, I am a woman, Sue. Can’t you tell?

Bertha accentuated her hips and other parts of her figure, imitating a seductive woman. They both laughed loudly at the ridiculous body movements that she had demonstrated. Sue went back to her station and started to prepare the frying pan and other cooking materials for her portion of the day’s dinner. As Sue was setting up her area, Bertha quickly popped another piece of cornbread into her mouth. This time, the piece was too large to be easily hidden. Bertha began to chew as quickly and as quietly as possible without being noticed.

Sue was still busy getting to her assigned kitchen duty. As she looked over all of the cooking utensils that she had just laid out on the big wooden cutting board near the firewood stove, she realized that she was missing the large black cast-iron frying pan that she needed. Sue looked around the kitchen and spotted it right next to Bertha, who was still busy peeling potatoes with her back to her.

Bertha, can you hand me that fryin’ pan hangin’ up there right next to ya?

Bertha was trying to finish the cornbread that she was still chewing and pretended not to hear Sue.

Bertha, hand me that pan over there.

At that moment, and in the most suspicious way possible, Bertha reached up for the frying pan without responding to Sue. Holding her head down, she blindly felt around for the handle of the pan that she knew was hanging on the wall right above her.

Bertha, what in the world is you doin’ over there? Sue questioned.

Nothing.

Bertha’s muffled response was barely audible as crumbs fell from her mouth and hit the floor.

Are you over there eating?

Sue had become frantically suspicious because of Bertha’s behavior.

No, Bertha replied quickly as more crumbs fell from her mouth.

Bertha, stop yo’ lyin’. Are you outta yo’ wits? Do you wanna get us in trouble with Masta, and that’s only if Mattie don’t come in here and beat us dead first! You know that if one of us gets in trouble while another is in here, then we all gets in trouble. I’m not gettin’ a lash on account of you!

Mattie ain’t aimin’ to do nothin’, Susan. She just likes to scare us into following her rules.

Child, you hardheaded! That’s why don’t nobody like you in the first place. And don’t call me no Susan. Everybody know I don’t like that name. My last masta wife was Susan, and I ain’t nothin’ like her.

Well, I’m done now. Bertha finished up the cornbread that she had swiped. She swallowed it and opened her mouth to show Sue that there was nothing inside.

You better be done.

In the middle of their spat, Mattie walked back through the kitchen door and startled the two of them. Nobody likes who? she asked with a tone of curiosity, suspecting that the girls were in the middle of a fight.

The two girls turned to Mattie and automatically straightened up their postures as if Mattie was their drill sergeant. Bertha quickly wiped the crumbs from her face as Sue stood next to her.

Oh, nothing. Me and Bertha just havin’ a li’l girl talk, Sue answered. You know how we young’ns do.

Oh, all right. Mattie suspiciously eyed the both of them from head to toe, but she couldn’t figure out what was going on.

Well, why ain’t nothin’ cookin’ in here? We don’t have much mo’ time. Y’all know that. Bertha, is you done with them potatoes yet?

No, ma’am, not yet. Bertha clinched her mouth and bit her tongue to keep from back talking.

Well I’m gon’ need you to hurry up. We ain’t got all day.

Mattie, it’s too hot in this kitchen, Bertha said.

Bertha never missed an opportunity to whine and complain. Mattie stared at her in a moment of contempt for her complaining. She was already fed up with Bertha for the day. She put one finger to her head and stood there, silently thinking of a solution that would shut Bertha up.

You know what, Bertha, why don’t you go outside to the garden and pick some tomatoes for tomorrow’s dinner?

But Lucille was supposed to do that yesterday, Bertha protested.

Well, it was too hot out yesterday.

But, Mattie, it’s hotter today than it was yesterday!

Just go. Right now! And don’t forget this. Mattie walked over to the large hand basket, which was always kept on the kitchen counter just for picking vegetables in the garden, and gave it to Bertha.

How many do you need me to pick? Bertha gave in without protesting.

Oh, about twenty.

They really didn’t need any tomatoes at all, but Mattie had found a magic number to pull out of thin air.

Twenty? But this basket only holds about ten or twelve!

Well, make two trips, honey, Mattie suggested. She gave Bertha a sarcastic pat on her shoulders and shooed her out of the door. Now getta goin’, sweetie.

Bertha took the basket and stomped out of the back door of the kitchen leading out to the yard. The slam of the door echoed behind her. Mattie and Sue watched her exit with smirks on their faces. Bertha kept up her quick walking pace all the way to the garden while maintaining her anger the whole way there.

Master Jackson’s garden was about eighty-eight yards west of the house in eyesight of the cotton fields, where the men and women were still working their daily picking duties. It took Bertha about ten minutes to reach the garden, which was about five minutes quicker than the time it took her to reach it on foot the last time that she was on garden duty.

The sun was still beaming down on the dirt fields even though it was almost six o’clock in the evening. Bertha was extremely hot, and sweat was dripping from her forehead. She knew that she should probably take a second to grab a drink of water from the water well that was only a few feet from the garden, but she was hell-bent on completing her task so that she could get back to her duties in the kitchen.

When she reached the patch of tomatoes, she stooped down to a squatting position and began to pick them and place them into the basket. She managed to fill the basket with twelve tomatoes, but that was eight short of the twenty that Mattie had asked her to bring back. She stopped for a second to think of a way to bring the twenty tomatoes back in one trip.

She looked down at her sweaty shirt and thought that she could probably use it as a carrying tool. She didn’t think that was all that good of an idea, so she tried to think of another option. Stumped, she decided to go forth with fitting the eight tomatoes into a fold in her shirt despite the sweat. She folded up the base of her shirt and created a little pouch. She managed to get five tomatoes inside it. She realized that she was still short three tomatoes and decided to place the remaining three tomatoes on the top of the basket that was already full to capacity.

As she bent down to pick up the three tomatoes, one of the tomatoes stuffed into her folded shirt fell to the ground. She ignored it for the moment. She concentrated heavily to balance the tomatoes that were stuffed into her shirt, while trying to intricately place three more tomatoes on top of the overflowing basket without knocking any of them out. As she was bent over with one hand trying to softly and strategically place the tomatoes in the basket while the other hand cradled the tomatoes in her shirt, another tomato fell from her shirt. This one landed right on the top of the basket, knocking four tomatoes to the ground. In a show of frustration, she kicked the basket over and cursed at it. All of the contents of it went spewing around the garden, near her feet.

Next to the garden was the tool shed that the men who worked the field used. The wooden shed was old and decrepit. The large doors on front of it always seemed to squeak of rusted metal door hinges, and this was usually very audible in the open air. However, in her frustration, Bertha did not notice the sound as the door slowly opened. Emerging through the doors from the inside of the shed was a tall figure who approached the area in the garden where she was. She felt a presence coming close to her and looked over her shoulder to see what it was. Her frustration was clearly visible through the tightness in her facial muscles. Her attitude was not the least bit welcoming, and her hair was blowing into her face because of a swooping gust of wind that further agitated her. As she looked up, her caramel-colored face had a glistening shine from her continued perspiration. When the approaching young man got close enough to her, she got a quick look at him and returned her focus to her task.

What do you want? she responded, still crouched down.

What you doin’? His voice was deep and pointed.

I’m mindin’ my own affairs. Bertha snapped back and continued her efforts to refill the basket. Her former master’s wife, who taught her to read, would often respond to questions in that manner. Well don’t you need no help, li’l, missy? He pretended as if she hadn’t been rude to him.

My name ain’t Missy; it’s Bertha.

He stood back and smiled as he folded his arms. He was amused by her feistiness. Let me give you a hand. In his deep and distinctive voice, he insisted on helping. Bertha could nearly feel the bass of it rumble through her.

Who are you? she asked. Bertha decided to stand up and get a better look at the young man who was hovering over her asking questions and offering to help.

My name’s Bubba Spokane.

Bubba? Dat yo’ real name? Bertha was as condescending as she could be.

Well, yeah. I have another first name, but I don’t care to use it, and I don’t care to share it either. Now do ya need some help or what?

She got a long look at the stranger who was standing in front of her. This was when she stopped focusing on her frustrations and realized how stunningly attractive he was. Bubba had broad, shirtless shoulders that protruded out from under the straps of his denim overalls. He was a hardworking young field man, and his overalls were all covered in dirt and oil. He stood about six feet, four inches tall and had large, well-defined muscles. His eyes were compassionate and brought out the beauty in his handsome face. His skin was nearly perfect, and he had an infectious smile that showed his straight white teeth. He had a handsome set of teeth for a field Negro.

Well don’t you have work of yo’ own that you should be doin’, Bubba? Bertha questioned. She was still intent on demeaning him.

Well, missy, I got a early start today so I finished my pickin’ a li’l early, and Masta Jackson had me put on tool duty for the rest of the day.

Tool duty? What’s that? she asked.

Cleanin’ and oilin’ the tools. Don’t you know nothin’ about workin’ in the fields? Bubba developed a condescending tone of his own.

Well… Bertha scrambled to think of a rebuttal, but she couldn’t think of anything clever to say. I don’t work there very much these days. Listen, Bubba, I’m grateful for yo’ offer, but all I’m doin’ is tryin’ to take twenty tomatoes back to the kitchen for Miss Mattie. I think that I can handle that on my own.

Oh, Miss Mattie in the kitchen? Bubba had met Mattie before.

She somethin’ else, ain’t she? Bertha noted.

Bubba smiled a great smile in remembrance of his last interaction with Mattie. That’s a good woman, though.

Yeah, somethin’ else ain’t the only thang I would call her.

Bubba paused and took a look at the basket and then at the tomatoes that were spilled all around Bertha’s feet. They won’t fit, he noted.

Huh?

Twenty ain’t gon’ fit in that there basket. Let me help you.

He bent down and grabbed six tomatoes with his large hands. He easily placed three tomatoes in each hand and stood there waiting for Bertha to finish stuffing the other tomatoes into the basket. She repacked the basket with twelve tomatoes and realized that with Bubba’s help and her fitting the twelve into the basket, she only needed to carry two more tomatoes in her off hand. She realized that carrying the basket in one hand and only two tomatoes in her other hand was much easier than her original plan. Then she reluctantly showed her gratitude.

Well, thank you for yo’ help, Bubba.

That’s mighty fine of you to say. He shrugged and looked away in his confidence.

If Bubba wanted to or had to, barely breaking a sweat, he could have gathered the dozens of tomatoes in the garden that day and carried them all back to the big house before anybody from the field even noticed that he was gone.

Well, lead the way, missy.

Look, Bubba, if you call me Missy again, I’m gonna go across yo’ face with this basket of tomatoes. You hear me?

Yes, ma’am. He replied quickly but with