Currents

Text copyright © 2015 by Jane Petrlik Smolik
Illustrations copyright © 2015 Chad Gowey
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Charlesbridge and colophon are registered trademarks of Charlesbridge Publishing, Inc.

Published by Charlesbridge
85 Main Street
Watertown, MA 02472 (617) 926-0329
www.charlesbridge.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Smolik, Jane Petrlik, author.

Currents / Jane Petrlik Smolik.

pages cm

Summary: In 1854, eleven-year-old Bones is a slave in Virginia who sends a bottle holding her real name and a trinket from her long-lost father down the James River—the currents carry it far away, ultimately uniting the lives of three young girls.

ISBN 978-1-58089-648-1 (reinforced for library use)

ISBN 978-1-60734-863-4 (ebook)

ISBN 978-1-60734-900-6 (ebook pdf)

[1. Slavery—Fiction. 2. African Americans—Fiction. 3. Identity— Fiction. 4. Social classes—Fiction. 5. Isle of Wight (England)— History—19th century—Fiction. 6. Great Britain—History— Victoria, 1837–1901—Fiction. 7. Immigrants—Fiction. 8. Irish Americans—Fiction. 9. Authorship—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.S66459Cu 2015
813.54—dc23                                    2014010491

Printed in the United States of America
(hc) 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Illustrations made with watercolor on Arches watercolor paper
Display type set in Stempel Garamond AS
Text type set in Stempel Garamond AS, ITC Zapf Chancery,

Metroscript by Alphabet Soup Type Founders, and Mostly Regular by Jonathan Macagba

Color separations by Colourscan Print Co Pte Ltd, Singapore
Printed by Berryville Graphics in Berryville, Virginia, USA
Production supervision by Brian G. Walker
Designed by Martha MacLeod Sikkema

To Karen Boss,
for helping me bloom

F
olks along the James River swore it was because of the tobacco-plant flowers. Queenie, the cook, was certain it was due to all the roses that grew in Old Mistress's gardens. Whatever the reason, the honey that came from Stillwater Plantation's hives was considered the finest in all of Virginia. Friends and neighbors looked forward to a jar at Christmas and on special occasions.

Every other month, Bones covered herself up in the special bee suit that Queenie had made for her and carefully carried her bee-smoker pan to the hives. She slowly filled wide-mouthed bottles with the golden nectar. Every now and again Queenie would slip a jar of the sweet treat to Bones, who would take it home to Granny and Mama.

Bones would always sneak the empty bottle back to the kitchens. Except for the one she saved—that one she kept just for herself.

B
ones was too young to remember the day her pappy had been sold off to another plantation, but she remembered everything about how she learned she was the personal property of another human being.

“Took you so long to sweep the kitchen, you need somethin' else to eat to keep you goin',” fussed Queenie, the cook, as she placed an extra piece of cornbread in front of Bones. The little girl ate it carefully, so as not to drop crumbs on the corncob doll hanging from her neck by a rawhide string.

“You'd better go now and wake up Miss Liza. I suspect you be doin' all sorts of things today. Looks like the sun's gonna be shinin'. And stop jigglin' that foot of yours, or Old Mistress tie you up in a chair again!”

Queenie had been the head cook since Master Brewster bought her years ago and brought her to Stillwater Plantation. She had been born on the Smiths' farm a few miles down the river and had learned as a child to prepare tasty pork, chicken, pies, and fresh greens. Master Colonel Sam Smith sold her for one thousand dollars to the Brewsters solely on her reputation in the kitchen. They sold her on the condition that her new family promised not to beat her, and if she ever acted so badly that she had to have a whupping, her new master would bring her back and drop her off in the yard where he got her.

Every morning when Bones appeared in the kitchen, Queenie was cleaning Master's boots, shoes, and sword, and making his coffee before starting breakfast.

Staring out the Brewsters' kitchen window, Bones had a clear view past the big house and the kitchen gardens to the rows of unpainted cabins. She lived in one of them with her granny and her mother, Grace. Theirs was the farthest one away, and from their door, a weedy dirt path led straight to the fields that sloped gracefully down to the James River. Granny and Mama were field hands, and left every morning before dawn to work the long rows of tobacco, corn, wheat, and cotton. Each cabin had its own garden patch in the back where the slaves were allowed to grow extra food. At night or on Sunday afternoons, they could tend their own rows of cabbage, lima beans, onions, potatoes, black-eyed peas, and collards. If one person had too many collards one week, they would trade with someone who had too many lima beans.

Stillwater was one of a handful of old plantations that sprawled out along Virginia's lower James River. Built with bricks that had been fired on the property and shaded by wide porches framing three sides, it sat at the end of a gravel drive lined with oak trees and mountain laurel. The back porch, which overlooked the river, stretched across the entire length of the house and was held up by eight fluted white pillars. Lounge chairs, tables, and settees were placed neatly about, and magnolias planted around the house brushed against the roof and spilled their fragrance into the soft Virginia air. In the front yard, carefully clipped boxwood hedges surrounded three levels of terraced gardens, built to show off the Mistress's rosebushes.

During the sweltering summers, the river created a welcome breeze through the house. Deep forests at the back of the property provided some of the wood to keep the stoves and fireplaces burning all winter, and the acres of fields kept the slaves busy planting and picking crops. Nine hundred peach trees were planted in a single row like a living fence around one of the backfields. Peach trees grew like weeds in the fertile soil, and field hands cut down one hundred trees a year to use as firewood. In the spring, one hundred new saplings were planted to replace the ones that had been cut.

Master Brewster strolled into the kitchen house and let the door slap shut behind him, tilting his head up to breathe in the sweet fragrance of molasses and chopped peaches.

“Have you woken up Mistress Liza yet?” he asked Bones. His sturdy frame filled the doorway, and his riding boots clacked on the freshly swept floor. As on most large plantations, the kitchen house was a separate building located off to the side to keep the main house cooler and reduce the risk of fires.