Teenie Character Analysis

“Well, pick my peas! A white woman as a maid and a beggar! Must not be no slaves from where she come from,” Teenie commented.

“Not all white people are rich landowners,” Polly said, almost coldly. “Most white folks I know scuffle for every scrap of food they get.”

“But they ain’t slaves,” Teenie reminded her quietly.

Amari took a deep breath and grabbed a yam from Teenie’s basket. “My mama,” she began, then tears filled her eyes and she gave up trying to explain. She closed her eyes and sniffed it. She could almost smell her mother’s boiled chicken and yams.

“You know, my mama came from Africa too,” Teenie told her. “She teached me what she knew ‘bout Africa food. Long as you remember, chile, it ain’t never gone.”

Teenie paused, then said, “For me, it was the overseer, Willie Badgett. Eventually, they gets tired of you and moves on—but the terribleness of it just goes to another slave woman.”

“Money ain’t everything, chile. And ain’t none of his money belong to her—she got ‘bout as much chance to use his money as you do.”

“Yeah, but she ain’t no slave,” Lena insisted.

“Pretty close to it,” Teenie said. “He decide where she go, who she talk to, what she wear—everything. She just sleep in a better bed than you do!”

“My beautiful baby,” she murmured over and over. Finally calmer, she looked up at Teenie and the girls. “I must explain,” she whispered, “before I die.”

“You ain’t gonna die, Miz Isabelle,” Teenie assured her. “You is fit and fine. Everybody feels a little poorly after havin’ a baby.”

Tenderly, Mrs. Derby touched the infant’s velvety brown face. “You don’t understand. My husband will kill me,” she said with certainty.

[...]

“He would never do such a thing!” But Teenie knew that Mr. Derby was probably quite capable of murder and would be within the limits of social acceptability to do so for this impropriety.

“You know, I never really knew any black people before I came to Mr. Derby’s place. I mean, everybody had slaves, of course, but I never actually thought about them. And I certainly never had a black friend before,” she admitted.

Amari looked away. “Sometime I hate white people,” she admitted softly. “I never hate before I be a slave.” She stretched her arms. “I never even see white person until they attack my village. It be hard to have hate feeling and like feeling at same time.”

“What did your mama keep a-tellin’ you while you be with her?”

“She tell me stories about Africa and about her own mother, and she tell me, ‘Long as you remember, ain’t nothin’ really gone.’”

Amari, blinking away tears, hugged him. “You gonna always remember?”

“I ain’t never gonna forget nothin’ she done tell me,” the boy said with great seriousness. He squeezed the leather pouch.

She inhaled sharply as she thought of Mrs. Derby, of the infant who had been given no chance to live, and of all the other women, both black and white, who continued to suffer as property of others.

“Well, pick my peas! A white woman as a maid and a beggar! Must not be no slaves from where she come from,” Teenie commented.

“Not all white people are rich landowners,” Polly said, almost coldly. “Most white folks I know scuffle for every scrap of food they get.”

“But they ain’t slaves,” Teenie reminded her quietly.

Amari took a deep breath and grabbed a yam from Teenie’s basket. “My mama,” she began, then tears filled her eyes and she gave up trying to explain. She closed her eyes and sniffed it. She could almost smell her mother’s boiled chicken and yams.

“You know, my mama came from Africa too,” Teenie told her. “She teached me what she knew ‘bout Africa food. Long as you remember, chile, it ain’t never gone.”

Teenie paused, then said, “For me, it was the overseer, Willie Badgett. Eventually, they gets tired of you and moves on—but the terribleness of it just goes to another slave woman.”

“Money ain’t everything, chile. And ain’t none of his money belong to her—she got ‘bout as much chance to use his money as you do.”

“Yeah, but she ain’t no slave,” Lena insisted.

“Pretty close to it,” Teenie said. “He decide where she go, who she talk to, what she wear—everything. She just sleep in a better bed than you do!”

“My beautiful baby,” she murmured over and over. Finally calmer, she looked up at Teenie and the girls. “I must explain,” she whispered, “before I die.”

“You ain’t gonna die, Miz Isabelle,” Teenie assured her. “You is fit and fine. Everybody feels a little poorly after havin’ a baby.”

Tenderly, Mrs. Derby touched the infant’s velvety brown face. “You don’t understand. My husband will kill me,” she said with certainty.

[...]

“He would never do such a thing!” But Teenie knew that Mr. Derby was probably quite capable of murder and would be within the limits of social acceptability to do so for this impropriety.

“You know, I never really knew any black people before I came to Mr. Derby’s place. I mean, everybody had slaves, of course, but I never actually thought about them. And I certainly never had a black friend before,” she admitted.

Amari looked away. “Sometime I hate white people,” she admitted softly. “I never hate before I be a slave.” She stretched her arms. “I never even see white person until they attack my village. It be hard to have hate feeling and like feeling at same time.”

“What did your mama keep a-tellin’ you while you be with her?”

“She tell me stories about Africa and about her own mother, and she tell me, ‘Long as you remember, ain’t nothin’ really gone.’”

Amari, blinking away tears, hugged him. “You gonna always remember?”

“I ain’t never gonna forget nothin’ she done tell me,” the boy said with great seriousness. He squeezed the leather pouch.

She inhaled sharply as she thought of Mrs. Derby, of the infant who had been given no chance to live, and of all the other women, both black and white, who continued to suffer as property of others.