We found Rachel Sullivan sitting on the porch of a two room house on Reynolds Street. She is a large, fleshy woman. Her handmade yellow homespun was baggy and soiled, and her feet were bare, though her shoes were beside her rocker.
We approached her cautiously. "Auntie, we heard you were one of the slaves who used to live on Governor Pickens' place over near Edgefield."
"Yas'm, Yas'm. I shore wus. He gin us our chu'ch—de one over yonder on de Edgefield road. No'm you can't see it fum de road. You has to cross de creek. Old Marster had it pulled out de low ground under de brush arbor, and set it dere."
"And what did you do on the plantation, Auntie?"
"I wus a nu's gal, 'bout 'leben years old. I nu'sed my Auntie's chillun, while she nu'sed de lady's baby whut come from Russia wid de Marster's wife—nu'sed dat baby fum de breas's I mean. All de white ladies had wet nusses in dem days. Her master had just returned from Russia, where he had been ambassador. Her baby had the czarina for a godmother."
"And so you used to look after you aunt's children?"
"Yas'm. I used to play wid 'em in de big ground wid de monuments all around."
"Miss Lucy Holcome was Governor Pickens' second wife, wasn't she?"
"Musta wus, ma'm."
"And were you born on the plantation at Edgefield?"