“Well, little one, where do you come from?” There was no answering smile on the child’s face. In that moment Amelia heard a swift step behind her.
“Don’t touch that nigger!” Lucy’s voice cracked like a whip. Her face was distorted with fury. Amelia saw the dark woman, bending over a tub in the corner, lift her head. Lucy leaped at her and struck her full in the face.
“Get that brat out of here,” she screamed. “Get her back where she belongs. Get her out!”
With one movement the woman was across the floor and outside the door. She swept up the child in her arm and, holding her close, ran behind the barn.
“How dare she! How dare she!”
Lucy was shaking as with an ague—she seemed about to fall. Still Amelia did not understand.
“But, Lucy—what are you saying? That child’s white.”
“Shut up, you fool!” Her sister turned on her. “You fool! It’s her’s. It’s her’s, I tell you. And what is she? She’s a nigger—a filthy, stinking nigger!”
She began to cry, and Amelia held her close, remembering the large green eyes, set in the little girl’s pinched face.