That place I’m talking about ain’t nothing but a bloody slit in this world of His. But everybody wants to rule over it. It ain’t for the white man to rule. Ain’t for any man to rule.

When you got a question,” Polly said before Granada could ask, “first be silent. Look around you. Let creation speak the truth to you.” She.

The silence of an entire race was evidence of your superiority. Fast-forward.

When you quilting up a life, you sometimes got to start with any piece you can get your hands on.

No one had ever told her about the ingredients of life, only of biscuits.

They all watched silently as she walked toward her cabin, but when she got to the doorway she stopped and turned around. She stood for a moment with her chin lifted and her eyes closed. What on earth was she doing? Granada wondered.

Gran Gran recalled the bloodstained dress she had taken off the girl. It was made of blue silk muslin and finely embroidered, stitched by somebody who knew what they were doing. She hated having to toss the ruined garment into the stove. The smell had sickened her. Since she was a girl, she had never forgotten the odor of beautiful things set afire. Such a waste!

Granada had never been on the water before and she marveled at how the creek was a living thing with a will of its own, like an untamed horse challenging her to ride upon its back.

You don’t have no idea who you are. And if you don’t know who you are,” Polly continued, “you can’t know nothing about where you beee-long.

Exactly what kind of creature is it?” they asked one another. She was too unsightly to be thought of as frolic in bed for the master. She was too far past her childbearing years to multiply the stock. Though she seemed nimble enough, it was hard to imagine her being brought all the way from North Carolina for field work.