Chocolate Lace
Watching my Negro workers harvest the corn under the warm Louisiana sun made my heart smile. As I sat on the verandah, rocking back and forth on my cane rocking chair, I felt tears run down my withered old face. For they reminded me of an old slave I once had the pleasure of knowing, one called Sylvia. I inherited the farm many years ago from a wealthy uncle. Life was good for a while. I married a local governess and we ran the farm happily and profitably. But she died in childbirth and my...