A light warm breeze blew her tight curls that held their shape above her shoulders ever so gently as she kneeled to feel the black and cool soil of the recently churned earth. The flowers won't last but a few days, but they do look oh-so-nice for when company comes. She let the dirt fall from her perfectly smooth almond-colored skin as the smell of the soil brought back a memory of when she was a little girl and her mother had told her that all people had come from the earth and one day would rest within it, peacefully, Lord willing.
The heat from the sun was indeed hot enough to cook an egg on a stove without even needing wood and a kindling of fire. One would think that the sun was the worst part, but the sun doesn't even come close to what the humidity does. One step out from under the shade meant beads of sweat on the back of your neck and a lower back that became immediately damp. Regardless of the depth of the color of your skin, the combination of the sun and humidity spares nobody.
From where she was kneeling with the soil beneath her in front and above her stood the most magnificent Magnolia. Not only was the tree the widest she had ever seen, which weren't many mind you as her travels were limited, but it was also the tallest tree she had ever seen. Even in the heat, the beautiful white velvet flowers bloomed on the outer limbs of the great tree. The roots grew deep and the trunk was strong. Many a time it had been said that the tree could be made into some fine furniture, but no craftsman could ever craft something as beautiful as it stood on its own. The shade it offered the inhabitants of the land also surely appreciated it.
Too much time had passed as she was admiring the tree and the soil and she could already hear Madam Whitley opening the front doors to come down to scold her like the child that she no longer was. She was supposed to be minding the clothes washing by fixing the water proper and getting the soap and washboard meticulously prepared. If you're going to wash the clothes you may as well do it right and if you're going to do it under the magnolia to spare yourself from the heat you may as well do as much of the washing as you possibly can for fear that if you don't Madam Whitley won't take too kindly to your time wastin'.
That's not to say that Madam Whitley was terrible, as a whole she was quite the opposite. One of the fairest women in all the South, not just in looks, but also in temperament, she was as sweet as the tea she served, which was much sweeter than anyone had ever tasted in the world prior to her making it. She just also happened to carry about her a way to do things and if they ain't done right she will take over and be angry about it for longer than it would've taken to do it right yourself the first time.
As Madam Whitley came closer from the Big House to the magnolia she yelled, "Now Mae, you may have that shade for only a little bit longer so please hurry with the washing, we have guests coming and we can't let it be known that one of the finest estates can't even prepare a proper meal and home fit for their arrival."
"Yes ma'am," Mae replied as she gripped tightly to the wash basin with her knuckles showing white through her skin to shift into the proper way to wash the clothes from the Big House. A song came to her mind to sing while she did the washing, but it wasn't worth opening her lips another time as she knew it would only annoy Madam Whitley and her one tract mind. Bubbles, washing board, soak, bubbles, washing board, soak, then scrub, then repeat. Over and over again until just before the skin on your hands would crack from the laborious activity. She couldn't get blood on those clothes especially not right before company.
When Mae finished the washing she ran the line of twine from a head-height limb of the magnolia out to a post about 20 paces away that Master Whitley replaced not but a year or two ago. Time worked funnily around those parts. Sometimes a day would go by that felt like a year and other times a year would go by that felt like a day. It was known that Mae was a favorite of the Whitleys. They had many people working on their fields, on their rolling acres, in the Big House, and in other areas of their property, but she was the one that was special to them.
She had been born a few years more than twenty years ago, and they raised her like their own except in respect of her duties and the help of the other ladies in the Big House. Her skin was a bit fairer than the rest, but maybe due to her not being in the sun as much as the others. She didn't prefer the additional special treatment, but it was not her place to raise her voice for she also knew the consequences of what her actions could bring.
The men from the fields and smaller houses that lined the main drive further down from the big house would make remarks about her or give her a look or two, but they too knew that a lingering gaze could bring about their consequences as well. Mae was all but raised to be a perfect replica of Madam Whitley, but instead of just the sweet, she had a bit more of the flavor of life. A hint of seasoning if you will. The spice of life that Mae brought with her was now the driving force and starter to how well the plantation ran.
Except for when they specifically needed her for mundane chores that the other ladies were too busy to attend to, Mae also ran the small school that Master Whitley built from the ground up. He was quite the carpenter and craftsman when he wanted to be, but he too, didn't dare touch the magnolia for its wood. Mae's teachings were simple and were taught from the books they could find at the local store of the nearby town or from what they learned from the Bible or word of mouth. Mae herself was taught by Madam Whitley each day as she was growing up. Reading, writing, math, philosophy, astronomy, religiousness, and many other subjects and she could feel her soul growing each day with each thing learned and relaying to everyone that she possibly could.
The Whitley's success had risen to a point where many plantations in the surrounding area envied them for their production and ability to churn out profitable results regardless of the economic or political issues that came about. They had been successful for many years and planned to be successful for many more. After all, the most important part of a good plantation is the Big House, and not many structures in the South could rival the strong and sturdy bones of that old house. It was built by men who knew what they were doing and took pride in the work they were crafting, the hammers that drove the nails didn't care about the color of the skin on the hand that held the handle.
Mae had completed hanging the rest of the clothes on the line and started back to the Big House. Madam Whitley had retreated into the cooler interior not long after she had told Mae to hurry her washing. As she walked away from the Magnolia and the warm breeze caressed her face once more it was as if she could hear a whisper rather than a whistle in the wind. She could feel something drawing her back to the ancient tree. Yet the nagging reminder that Madam Whitley was probably waiting for her made her turn sharply and walk towards the big house.