almost. mixed in with the voices surrounding the house, recognizable but undecipherable tostamp paid, were the thoughts of the women of 124, unspeakable thoughts, unspoken.

, she my daughter. she mine. see. she come back to me of her own free will and i don't have toexplain a thing. i didn't have time to explain before because it had to be done quick. quick. shehad to be safe and i put her where she would be. but my love was tough and she back now. i knewshe would be. paul d ran her off so she had no choice but to come back to me in the flesh. i betyou baby suggs, on the other side, helped. i won't never let her go. i'll explain to her, even thoughi don't have to. why i did it. how if i hadn't killed her she would have died and that is something icould not bear to happen to her. when i explain it she'll understand, because she understandseverything already. i'll tend her as no mother ever tended a child, a daughter. nobody will ever getmy milk no more except my own children. i never had to give it to nobody else — and the onetime i did it was took from me — they held me down and took it. milk that belonged to my baby.

nan had to nurse whitebabies and me too because ma'am was in the rice. the little whitebabies gotit first and i got what was left. or none. there was no nursing milk to call my own. i know what itis to be without the milk that belongs to you; to have to fight and holler for it, and to have so littleleft. i'll tell beloved about that; she'll understand. she my daughter. the one i managed to havemilk for and to get it to her even after they stole it; after they handled me like i was the cow, no,the goat, back behind the stable because it was too nasty to stay in with the horses. but i wasn't toonasty to cook their food or take care of mrs. garner. i tended her like i would have tended my ownmother if she needed me. if they had let her out the rice field, because i was the one she didn'tthrow away. i couldn't have done more for that woman than i would my own ma'am if she was totake sick and need me and i'd have stayed with her till she got well or died. and i would havestayed after that except nan snatched me back. before i could check for the sign. it was her allright, but for a long time i didn't believe it. i looked everywhere for that hat. stuttered after that.

didn't stop it till i saw halle. oh, but that's all over now. i'm here. i lasted. and my girl comehome. now i can look at things again because she's here to see them too. after the shed, i stopped.

now, in the morning, when i light the fire i mean to look out the window to see what the sun isdoing to the day. does it hit the pump handle first or the spigot? see if the grass is gray-green orbrown or what. now i know why baby suggs pondered color her last years. she never had time tosee, let alone enjoy it before. took her a long time to finish with blue, then yellow, then green. shewas well into pink when she died. i don't believe she wanted to get to red and i understand whybecause me and beloved outdid ourselves with it. matter of fact, that and her pinkish headstonewas the last color i recall. now i'll be on the lookout. think what spring will he for us! i'll plantcarrots just so she can see them, and turnips. have you ever seen one, baby? a prettier thing godnever made. white and purple with a tender tail and a hard head. feels good when you hold it inyour hand and smells like the creek when it floods, bitter but happy. we'll smell them together,beloved. beloved. because you mine and i have to show you these things, and teach you what amother should. funny how you lose sight of some things and memory others. i never will forgetthat whitegirl's hands. amy. but i forget the color of all that hair on her head. eyes must have beengray, though. seem like i do rememory that. mrs. garner's was light brown — while she was well.

got dark when she took sick. a strong woman, used to be. and when she talked off her head, she'dsay it. "i used to be strong as a mule, jenny." called me "jenny" when she was babbling, and i canbear witness to that. tall and strong. the two of us on a cord of wood was as good as two men.

hurt her like the devil not to be able to raise her head off the pillow. still can't figure why shethought she needed schoolteacher, though. i wonder if she lasted, like i did.

last time i saw her she couldn't do nothing but cry, and i couldn't do a thing for her but wipe herface when i told her what they done to me. somebody had to know it. hear it. somebody. maybeshe lasted. schoolteacher wouldn't treat her the way he treated me. first beating i took was the last.

nobody going to keep me from my children. hadn't been for me taking care of her maybe i wouldhave known what happened. maybe halle was trying to get to me. i stood by her bed waiting forher to finish with the slop jar. then i got her back in the bed she said she was cold. hot as blazesand she wanted quilts. said to shut the window. i told her no. she needed the cover; i needed thebreeze. long as those yellow curtains flapped, i was all right. should have heeded her. maybewhat sounded like shots really was. maybe i would have seen somebody or something. maybe.

anyhow i took my babies to the corn, halle or no. jesus. then i heard that woman's rattle. she said,any more? i told her i didn't know. she said, i been here all night. can't wait. i tried to make her.

she said, can't do it. come on. hoo! not a man around. boys scared. you asleep on my back.

denver sleep in my stomach. felt like i was split in two. i told her to take you all; i had to go back.

in case. she just looked at me. said, woman? bit a piece of my tongue off when they opened myback. it was hanging by a shred. i didn't mean to. clamped down on it, it come right off. i thought,good god, i'm going to eat myself up. they dug a hole for my stomach so as not to hurt the baby.

denver don't like for me to talk about it. she hates anything about sweet home except how shewas born. but you was there and even if you too young to memory it, i can tell it to you. the grapearbor. you memory that? i ran so fast. flies beat me to you. i would have known right away whoyou was when the sun blotted out your face the way it did when i took you to the grape arbor. iwould have known at once when my water broke. the minute i saw you sitting on the stump, itbroke. and when i did see your face it had more than a hint of what you would look like after allthese years. i would have known who you were right away because the cup after cup of water youdrank proved and connected to the fact that you dribbled clear spit on my face the day i got to 124.