Southern Historical
Date Published: June 11, 2020
Publisher: Acorn Publishing
Heaven Hill Plantation, upriver from Georgetown, South Carolina, 1807: Sixteen-year-old Alexandra Degambia is the daughter of a wealthy African American planter and a social-climbing mother who can pass for white. Balancing on the tightrope between girlhood and the complicated adult world of Low-Country society is a treacherous undertaking.
Early Reviews
Alexandra is a tenacious heroine who’s easy to root for, and the author elegantly articulates her precarious position between white and black society. Overall, this novel explores issues of equality and personal freedom in thought-provoking ways.
Sharp writing, an original plot, and a strong female protagonist make for an engrossing read.
-Kirkus Review
This tale of desperation, injustice and courage is a much needed addition to our grasp of our nation's history. A 5-star reading experience. Highly recommend!"
Laura Taylor – 6-Time Romantic Times Award Winner
Excerpt:
Once Lulu manages to coax Alexandra’s hair into a topknot
fastened by an emerald-studded comb, she nods and takes her position in front
of the mirror. Smiling behind a fan that matches her dress, Alexandra hums
Bach’s minuet. The dress works its magic as she and Lulu spin and dip, giggling
when they make the last turn.
“Thank you, Lulu,” Alexandra whispers. Then she executes a
perfect curtsey and looks to her servant for praise.
Lulu’s eyes are riveted on the French doors.
“What?” asks Alexandra.
“Someone was watching.”
“Don’t be silly.”
Alexandra turns and sees that an edge of the drape and the
embroidered silk over-curtain have caught on the latch, leaving an opening
large enough for someone to see inside. It’s a good thing it’s dim in the
interior of the room. Day is yielding to night. The large chandelier hasn’t
been lit, and half the candles in the smaller one have burnt themselves out.
“Whoever it was probably
couldn’t have seen much,” Alexandra
says. But she doesn’t sound convincing, even to herself.
One of the hall doors that opens onto the balcony slams.
Maybe Jimi’s come home early from visiting Papa. Alexandra can bribe her little
brother with a chocolate and make him promise not to tell what he saw. But the
footsteps are too heavy to be Jimi’s.
Alexandra helps Lulu pull the house-help dress over the
blue silk and plunks herself down on her vanity stool.
Just as Lulu starts
working lavender oil into Alexandra’s hair, Mother bursts into the room
carrying a lantern bright enough to turn night to day.
“Good evening, Miss Josephine,” Lulu says, dropping a
curtsey and staring at the floor.
Mother sets the lamp on
the bureau and paralyzes Alexandra with a hateful glare. “You were told
not to wear that dress until your debut.”
“I had to put it on so I
could decide how Lulu should fix my hair to best show off the dress,” lies
Alexandra, proud that she’s looking Mother in the eye and keeping her voice
steady.
Mother lifts the hem of Lulu’s calico, revealing the silk
dress. She turns to Alexandra, her voice rich with venom. “You know Lulu’s not to wear your clothes anymore.”
Mother narrows her eyes. “Do you have any idea what people would say if
they knew you’d taught your girl a ballroom dance?”
“I’m sorry, Mother.”
“You will be.” Mother bobs her head toward Lulu. “Go down
to the kitchen and tell Old Mary to fill a jar with water and fix a basket of
shrimp and rice cakes.”
“Right away, Miss Josephine.”
Cold sweat drenches Alexandra. “I’ll make it up to you,”
Alexandra whispers as Lulu rushes to the door.
Lulu dips a curtsey and hurries out.
Mother’s shrill laugh turns into a coughing fit. When
she’s caught her breath, she turns to Alexandra. “Make what up to her? She’s
your slave, or have you forgotten again?”
“Then why can’t I do with her as I will?” Mother’s eyes
narrow. Alexandra wishes she could call her words back.
“She’s yours to train, but she’s on my property ledger
until five months from now when you turn seventeen, providing you prove you’re
worthy of being called a woman at your debutante celebration.”
“What are you going to do to Lulu?”
Mother plucks the servant’s bell from its holder by the
door and rings three times. Sampson’s signal! Alexandra wills herself not to
show the fear that courses through her like acid. A loud knock rattles her
resolve.
“Come in,” Mother chimes in the tone she reserves for her
favorite help.
Sampson, who’s nearly seven feet tall, strides into the
room dressed in his midnight-blue waistcoat. His posture is ramrod straight
like Mother’s. Unlike Mother, he could never pass for white. Although he’s
light-skinned, his black hair, cut short, with sideburns that reach nearly to
his chin, is curly and coarse like that of most Africans.
“Sampson, Lulu’s waiting in the kitchen. Lock her in the
hog loft with some water and shrimp cakes,” orders Mother.
“No!” Alexandra cries out.
Sampson hesitates.
Mother glares at him. “You have cotton in your ears?”
“On my way, Miss Josephine.”
“Oh, and Sampson, in the morning, install the bars on
Alexandra’s balcony door. She’s to be confined until I’m satisfied she’s
learned to comport herself with the dignity that will bring honor to Heaven
Hill.”
“Soon as the rooster crows, Miss Josephine.” Samuel spins
on his heel and hurries out.
“Mother, please don’t. Those meat-eating hogs terrify
Lulu. It’s too dangerous.”
“You ever see a pig climb the ladder to that loft?”
“Punish me instead. I made her put on the dress.”
Mother gazes into the
mid-distance. “Your juvenile actions have
convinced me to invite Ichabod Collins to stop by the house.”
“The speculator?” Alexandra struggles to catch her breath.
“You’ve shown me it would be best if I got rid of Lulu and
bought you an experienced attendant.”
“You can’t sell Lulu!”
“I’m your mother. You’re telling me what to do?”
Alexandra shakes her head.
“Of course, I wouldn’t want to sell her until January,
when the price of number-one girls will triple. You do remember why the price
will triple, don’t you?”
Alexandra nods. Mother has told her a hundred times. The
price will soar when it becomes illegal to bring in slaves from Africa,
starting on January first.
Mother taps the sharpened nail of her pointer finger on
the marble-top table, no doubt calculating how much Lulu might bring in a
private sale.
“If I sell Lulu for a
good enough price, I’ll have enough money to purchase a skilled
attendant who can teach you the things you need to know in order to lure a
worthy suitor.”
“I don’t want to lure a suitor!”
Mother’s shrill laugh sparks Alexandra’s fury.
“You can’t sell my friend!”
Mother slaps Alexandra. Words fly out of Alexandra’s mind.
Mother has never struck her. She wills herself not to cry. At first, she thinks
she sees regret soften Mother’s face, but she knows
she’s wrong when Mother says, “You better hope spending time in the hog
barn will teach that girl the humility that will make her appealing to her new
master, or she’ll have the devil to pay.
About the Author
Dorothea Hubble Bonneau is an award-winning novelist, produced playwright and optioned screenwriter. Inspired by a quest for justice, her work is informed by her love of family, nature, and the literary arts.
Dorothea is a member of Author’s Guild, Women in Film, Squaw Valley Community of Writers, Aspen Summer Words Alumni, and Historical Writers of America.
Contact Links
Twitter: @DorotheaBonneau
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