Mississippi in Africa: The Saga of the Slaves of Prospect Hill Plantation and Their Legacy in Liberia PDF
Preview Mississippi in Africa: The Saga of the Slaves of Prospect Hill Plantation and Their Legacy in Liberia
MISSISSIPPI AFRICA IN MISSISSIPPI AFRICA IN A l a n H u f f m a n This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Mississippi in Africa Gotham Book / published by arrangement with the author All rights reserved. Copyright ©2001 by The Gotham Books Publishing Group. This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability. For information address: The Gotham Book Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is http://www.penguinputnam.com ISBN: 0-7865-4562-3 GOTHAM BOOK® Gotham Books first published by Penguin Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GOTHAM BOOK and the "GOTHAM BOOK" design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc. Electronic edition: February 2004 For my parents MISSISSIPPI AFRICA IN INTRODUCTION long slats of moonlight fall through the shuttered window, across the floor, and up the legs of the massive old grand piano that commands a corner of my living room. It is the middle of the night and the room is still and quiet, which is odd, considering that a few moments before, I was awakened by the sound of random banging on the piano keys. I had pictured my dog Jack with his paws on the ivory, chasing a moth, but in the dim light I see that the piano’s keyboard is closed, and that Jack is nowhere to be found. There is no moth flutter- ing dumbly against the windowpanes. When I later recount the story to friends, their first reaction is to blame the noise on ghosts, but that is not what comes to mind as I stand scratching my head at three a.m. I think instead of the discord unleashed upon the world by one of the piano’s former owners, Isaac Ross Wade, who has been consuming my thoughts lately and, from all appearances, is now entering my dreams. I first saw the old square grand piano in my friend Gwen Shipp’s home in Slate Springs, Mississippi, in the late 1970s, when her son, Tinker Miller, and I stopped by to visit during a duck-hunting trip. Gwen was particularly proud of the piano because it had originally belonged to a Revolutionary War veteran named Isaac Ross, who was Wade’s grandfather and from whom Gwen is descended. It is a beauti- ful piece of furniture, crafted of rosewood and ebony, made for the sort of pleasant, restless melodies that once resonated through the hushed parlors of the Old South. But after too many long, hot sum- mers in houses without air-conditioning, its soundboard is warped and most of its notes are false. It has not played music for a very long time.
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