I DON'T KNOW WHAT brought the devilment about. I never sashayed in front of that man. I never made eyes at him, and all the while I spent at Ayr Mount I dressed proper-like. No low necklines. And I always wore a neckerchief.

But in the fourth week of going to his house, he came at me. Like quality ladies all did, his wife and niece made afternoon calls, and he made sure they were out of the house, first. But always he made sure I had chores enough to keep me home. Then he sent Peg and Joy on some work down at the loom house. I was in the parlor, sewing, and when he came in he was in his cups, the smell of corn liquor on him, his eyes all glassy-like.

He came at me like a rutting hog, his hands all over me.

"Master Kirkland," I said, "please, sir."

"Please what?"

"Leave off."

"You telling me what to do? I'm the master around here, and I do as I please."

"But sir, it isn't right."

"You telling me what's right, you nigra you? You think because you sit at our table you're not still a slave? I hired you, girl, and you'll do as I say. This is part of the bargain. I don't care what Master Robert says. You're just chattel. You have no call to say no to me."

All the time he was unbuttoning my dress. I recollect, likely he's right. Likely I have no call to say no. I should do as he wishes.

I was supposed to give myself over to him because he was white and I was nigra. Because he was master and I was a slave. Just like my mama had done with Master Burwell.

Still, I fought him, as fierce as I'd fought Mr. Bingham. But this man was too strong for me. He slapped my face so's I near fainted. The blow sent me somewhere else, not here at all. So I succumbed. I remember screaming and him putting his filthy hand over my mouth. I recollect thinking: God is soon gonna kill this man if He's the God I know. And then I did faint, after all.

Mr. ALEXANDER KIRKLAND made me bring myself to rights, made me stop crying. I remember he shoved a glass of whiskey at me to becalm me, but I'd never had whiskey so I near choked on it. He made me put on a new dress and sit at the supper table with them that evening.

"You behave," he said. "You tell anybody and I'll kill you. The authorities won't question me, not in this state. I mean it. You don't even tell Master Robert. I don't care if he is kin."

I was frightened as a hog going to slaughter, sitting at table with them that night. I couldn't eat. Master Kirkland coaxed me. Nicely.

"You don't eat you'll get sickly, Lizzy. I can't send you home to Robert ailing."

Somehow I ate. My head was aching. I told him I had a headache and he took pity on me and gave me laudanum.

I NEVER PRACTICED conjure, but I reverenced it too much not to hold some belief in it. As a child I'd seen it done in the quarters on Master Burwell's plantation many times. Grandma Sarry even did it on occasion. But only for good.

Could I do it? I vowed to try, so that night I went into the kitchen where Peg was preparing biscuit dough to make in the morning.

"What you want in here?" she asked. "Ain't you 'fraid you'll get dirty?"

"You got any nuts?"

"What kind?"

"Any kind will do. Walnuts, almonds."

She fetched some from a crock and eyed me. "They come dear," she said. "What you gonna do?"

I set one down on the wooden table and split it in half and put it in my apron pocket.

"Ain't you gonna eat it?" she asked.

I didn't answer.

Understanding lit up her eyes. "You conjure?" she asked.

"No."

"Why you split that nut then? I know what that means. My grandma used to conjure."

A new look in her eyes then. Respect. "Lord bless you. You still remembers who you are after all."

SURE 'NUF, NEXT MORNING he came to the breakfast table late, that man. And when he came, he had a splitting headache. His face looked like ashes from the fireplace. He looked old of a sudden. His eyes were sunken in.

"Coffee, Peg," he ordered. "Make sure it's hot. And get me my laudanum."

While she stood over his shoulder pouring the coffee out of the silver pot, Peg gave me a small smile.

He had the headache all day. I knew what he needed, jimsonweed beat up into a poultice and tied around his head. And another string tied around his head with the knot in front to draw out the pain. But I kept a still tongue in my head about it. Let him suffer.

He was so sick that Arnold the butler had to drive me home that day. And I didn't tell Robert what had happened. I kept my own counsel. Because I believed Alexander Kirkland really would kill me.

HE KEPT AT ME whenever the evil possessed him, that man. He had me whenever he wanted. I fought him every time, but it did no good.

Did Anna, his wife, suspect anything? I lived in terror that she would find out because she was so good to me. I didn't want her hurt in this sordid business, especially since she was carrying his second child.

Peg kept me supplied with nuts. And allst I could say is that he got migraine headaches of a sudden, and he had them all the time now.

He consulted with his doctor who gave him more laudanum. He took to drinking, regular-like. He lay on the couch in the parlor all day, half out of his senses. He stopped going to the store. He let his manager run it for him.

He got fat. He quit chewing tobacco. He became easily agitated and all the time talked about dying.

God punished him in other ways, too, ways that had nothing to do with me. Scarlet fever came to the quarters of Ayr Mount that summer. Bad. Three of his field hands died right off, and he had to have shanties built in a field for the other sick ones. They called it "shantytown," and food had to be carried there and left outside the shanties.

At night it looked like a scene from hell, that field with sticks of fat pine dipped in tar and burning, sticking out of the ground.

He lost seven field hands in all. I hoped it wasn't my doing. But I misdoubt I could do all that just by splitting nuts.

ALL THE WHILE he kept preying on me. He'd all the time follow me about the house and seize his moments when his wife and niece were out making calls. I didn't tell Robert. I wrote to my mother and never told her. She'd blame it on me. She'd say I was loose. What was worst of all was that if anybody did find out, I would be blamed. I, the nigra wench. The pretty nigra girl and the master of the house. It happened all the time. People expected it. It wouldn't be thought of as anything so terrible. Still, the blame would be mine.

SOON I was in a childbearing way and I panicked. What should I do? What would Robert and Anna say? I put off telling Robert as long as I could.

Finally I had to. And Robert's response was just what I expected. "You should have known better than to take up with that man, Lizzy. I'm disappointed in you."

"I didn't, Robert. He forced me. And he said he'd kill me if I told you."

For a moment he studied on that. Then, "You should have come to me. He's nothing but a drunken sot. His business is failing. He's stopped coming to church. I feel sorry for his wife."

"What am I going to do, Robert?"

"I'd send you home to Virginia, but my father has died and my mother is living with Anne and her husband, Hugh Garland. I can't burden them with this. Have your baby here, and then you go back when you and the child are ready to travel."

"Why can't I stay here?"

"Because I can't afford the gossip. People love to take on about something like this. I can't afford hurting the school."

There was some kind of a showdown between Robert and Master Kirkland. I don't know what happened, but money changed hands. Robert paid him. But he was to admit that the child was his if asked. So the reputation of Robert and the school wouldn't suffer.

My baby was born in midwinter of that year. Robert hired a doctor to attend me. "Pa would turn over in his grave if I did anything less," he said.

Did I mourn Master Burwell, my real father? For a few moments, yes, but having a child put the chill on that. I now knew what my mother had gone through, having me, submitting to him like I'd had to submit to Kirkland.

I named the baby boy George Pleasant Hobbs, not Kirkland. I named him after my Daddy George. Would Kirkland claim my son as one of his slaves? I worried that like a dog worried a bone, but Robert spoke to him about that, too, and assured me that I and the baby now belonged to his mother.

I went home with George Pleasant Hobbs when he was four months old, in April. Kirkland died soon after. People said he died from his drinking and his headaches, but I knew he died from the evil inside him. They say he cried out to the Lord for forgiveness before he died. On his tombstone is written this: "Gone where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest."