Our Hearts are the Same

Prologue

........all of them for more than a week and all of them for four days before the sale. They were brought in thus early that buyers who desired to inspect them might enjoy that privilege, although none of them were sold at private sale. For these preliminary days their shed was constantly visited by speculators. The negroes were examined with as little consideration as if they had been brutes indeed; the buyers pulling their mouths open to see their teeth, pinching their limbs to find how muscular they were, walking them up and down to detect any signs of lameness, making them stoop and bend in different ways that they might be certain there was no concealed rupture or wound; and in addition to all this treatment, asking them scores of questions relative to their qualifications and accomplishments.

-  unknown

Authors Note

A tremendous amount of love and research went into the writing of this book. I very much want the passion I have for race equality to show through my words. My interest began when I read Mitch Laundreu’s book, In the Shadow of Statues. If you have not read this book, I encourage you to do so if equality interests you at all. It is based on his time in New Orleans as the Mayor, and the difficult decision of removing Confederate statues as a step forward in racial equality in a city with an opulent history of racial tensions. This story is based in Savannah, Georgia, a beautiful place full of rich history. In 1870 it was more magnificent than it is today I believe. I’ve always loved education, learning, and knowledge. This book allowed me to take a step back in time, to the end of the Civil War, the Freedman’s Bureau, freed families, adjustment to a new way of life and a world unknown to any of us. It is through the research and the writing of this book that I have found kindness to be stronger than hatred and love as an alternative to abuse. I hope you enjoy.

-  Jen

Excerpt from George Fitzhugh: Sociology for the South, or the Failure of Free Society in 1854, in which he laid out what he believed to be the benefits of slavery to both the slaves and society as a whole. According to Fitzhugh:

Now, it is clear the Athenian democracy would not suit a negro nation, nor will the government of mere law suffice for the individual negro. He is but a grown up child, and must be governed as a child, not as a lunatic or criminal. The master occupies towards him the place of parent or guardian. We shall not dwell on this view, for no one will differ with us who thinks as we do of the negro’s capacity, and we might argue till dooms-day, in vain, with those who have a high opinion of the negro’s moral and intellectual capacity.

Secondly. The negro is improvident; will not lay up in summer for the wants of winter; will not accumulate in youth for the exigencies of age. He would become an insufferable burden to society. Society has the right to prevent this and can only do so by subjecting him to domestic slavery.

In the last place, the negro race is inferior to the white race, and living in their midst, they would be far outstripped or outwitted in the chase of free competition. Gradual but certain extermination would be their fate. We presume the maddest abolitionist does not think the negro’s providence of habits and money-making capacity at all to compare to those of the whites. This defect of character would alone justify enslaving him, if he is to remain here. In Africa or the West Indies, he would become idolatrous, savage and cannibal, or be devoured by savages and cannibals. At the North he would freeze or starve."[1]

For my children, Landon, Jenna, Calli and June who inspire me each day with their beauty and wit. To my Savior, my Father in heaven and the one who I know is with me every moment of every day.

Chapter One: Changes

I don't want to go to school with the other kids. I have exhausted all my options and excuses. I told Mammie I had laryngitis. She turned around so hard her skirt made that swooshing sound, and she proceeded to explain to me in detail what that word meant.

I could've done more research before using that trick on her. I told her my belly felt bizarre, and she told me it was nerves and to quit using big words on her. I told her I couldn't feel my legs. She came at me that time with a long brown finger in my face and spoke in that stern voice I knew not to question, especially the closer the finger got to the tip of my nose.

Adamina, this is a good thing. You must go to school with all the children, not just here on the farm, but in a schoolhouse. There will be folks there, some you already know, and maybe you'll meet some new friends.

Her voice now was soft and soothing like when I was smaller, and she would rock me and tell me about what the world might one day be.

When she uses my whole name, I know she is serious, but also heartfelt. Most of the time I am called Addie. I like both, but not when she is stern.

My name means Earth. It was her and Papa's idea to name me something strong. My Mammie is biblical, in fact we all are. She wanted me to be named something with meaning, and Adam came from earth. I was told early in life to cherish a name so courageous. I do.

I'm scared. Some kids don't like us. The teacher ain't even gone like us! They gone be mean. I stomp my boot on the hardwood floor in frustration. Mammie seemed not to be fazed, but instead made sure my ponytails were intact and the wrinkles were free in Lydia’s dress.

We live in Savannah, Georgia. We live in the slave houses of the plantation owned by Mr. Hicks. Mr. Hicks’ house is a mansion, or at least what I call a mansion. The whites live there, and the blacks live out back. That isn't new. The whites stay indoors while the blacks work their backs hard in the cotton fields, and where every muscle in their bodies aches until they can't walk. That's where most of our schooling up until now has been.  Mammie picks cotton in the sun that makes beads of sweat roll down her dress, leaving a long streak of stain down the back. It is 1869 and the war is over, and it has been for a while. Some things have changed, and some have not. Mostly the time has been used to figure out who has what rights and what the new rules are. Blacks don't notice no difference though, for nothing has really changed. We still work the fields; the only difference now is that Papa gets paid a little money, but we still live in the slave houses. Mr. Hicks deeded Papa a plot of land, so that we could harvest our own food and so Papa would have something to call his own. Mr. Hicks wrote on a note that Papa was the owner of the plot in case anyone should ask. He gave the note to Papa to keep somewhere safe in case there was ever a question about the operation of the plantation and the fields.

Mammie now spends her days working inside the plantation, cleaning and helping cook for the Hicks. The big house, that's what I call the plantation, is white on the outside and mostly on the inside as well. The wood is shiplap Mammie told me. It's a sturdy wood that can withstand the high winds and rains here. There are seven rooms in the main house, with a loggia on the front side. Sometimes when Mammie is working in the house she lets me come with her and sit in the big wooden rocking chairs that look out over the yard. The barns, outhouses and sheds all look the same as the house. It has only been a few weeks that Mammie has worked on the inside. Papa is still with the others in the fields. Like I said, the cotton is gone. The war ravaged more than our mental state, but also the condition of the fields as well as other ways to ensure a steady income.

Our home is a small, white, clapboard house. My sister and I share a bedroom with our Grandparents, and our parents use the other one. White walls with black indented lines stand throughout the house. The ceilings are molded a little after many years of torrential downpours. Yellow stains mark the corners with a little bit of black. I ask Mammie is the black part bad for us, for I know a little about mold. We have hard floors with spots of dark brown and some black. I know this is from the rings in the trees that were cut to build them. Some slave homes have dirt on the floor and hardly anything on the inside, like the Millers. They are our neighbors the next plantation over, and they have nothing it seems. Mammie said we are blessed with owners that are giving people. I say no one is giving when they own someone and make them work like she and Papa have been doing all their lives. Mammie says for me to be grateful, that things could have been much worse and that we should be thankful Mr. Hicks is a good man. Our home is sound, and we have furniture that Papa built with Grandpa. Beds with thick log end posts and mattresses made from goose feathers line the outside walls of the bedrooms. All of this was made available by Mr. Hicks from feathers and wood pilings around the land. It wasn’t free. Nothing is free. Everything comes with a cost, but