American Dreams Read Online Free PDF

smokehouse. Brick paths from the mansion led to a stable of blooded horses, a blacksmith's forge, farm sheds, and a cluster of cabins for the thirty-some slaves owned by the Gordons.
    Beyond the house grounds, milk cows grazed in a pasture next to the vegetable garden. Half-wild hogs foraged in the nearby woods. Stretched along the fertile valley were fields of corn, cotton, tobacco, wheat, oats, and indigo, in addition to fruit orchards. In the absence of Will Gordon, his brother-in-law, George Murphy, supervised the work of the Negroes in the fields.
    However, the domestic side of the plantation's operation was solely the responsibility of Victoria Gordon. And that, Eliza had learned, included more than just the household. It ranged from the vegetable garden and the milk cows to the care and maintenance of the Negroes—a formidable task when one considered that more than thirty needed to be fed and clothed, their sick and injured tended. On her first morning, Eliza had witnessed the weekly doling-out of supplies by Victoria Gordon as a line of black women carrying wooden trays waited to receive their rations from the barrels of meal, tubs of pickled pork and corned beef, and rows of smoked hams and pork shoulders hanging from beams in the basement's locked storeroom.
    Victoria Gordon rarely sat down except at mealtime. A thousand and one tasks demanded either her supervision or her participation, and Eliza began to appreciate the cause of the woman's harried and worn look.
    Conscious of the lengthening shadows around her, Eliza hurried along the brick path to the house. Ahead, the glass panes of the mansion's windows reflected the golden pink glow of the setting sun as the hush of evening settled over the plantation.
    A pressing silence greeted her when she entered the great hall. Feeling its crush, Eliza paused by the staircase that marched majestically to the second floor. Tonight she wasn't anxious to climb the long flights of steps to her room. In truth, she felt lonely and a bit homesick. She missed her mother's company and the stimulating conversations they had always had in the evenings.
    From overhead came the tread of soft footsteps approaching the staircase. Eliza looked up as the big-bosomed mammy called Black Cassie came into view.
    "Good evening, Cassie." Eliza unconsciously shied from attaching the appellation of "Black" to the slave woman's name. It reminded Eliza of a milk cow called Brown Bessie her family had owned when she was a young girl. For all the darkness of their skins, Eliza could not regard these unfortunate Africans as animals.
    Cassie came down the steps. "Was you be wantin' somethin', Miz 'Liza?"
    "Nothing, thank you, Cassie."
    The woman nodded and moved away. Eliza started to climb the stairs, then stopped when her glance strayed into the family parlor, with its rosewood piano. Not once since she had arrived had she played it for her own enjoyment, even though Victoria Gordon had given her permission to do so.
    With a certain brusqueness of decision, Eliza entered the room and went straight to the piano. She sat down and adjusted the layers of her skirt and petticoats, then raised the hinged cover over the keys and located the pedals with her feet.
    The instant her fingers touched the ivory keys, her manner changed. She played her favorite nocturne from memory, her fingers moving lightly over the keys, her body swaying gently with the soft, soothing song of evening.
    As the last note faded, she began another melody, not allowing the mansion's silence to take hold. She went from one song to another with barely a pause in between, calling on her memory for selections by Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart, occasionally faltering when the notes of a particular measure escaped her.
    When evening's shadows began to darken the parlor, Eliza paused long enough to light two candles and place them atop the rosewood piano to illuminate the ivory and black keys. Then she resumed her playing.
    She finished