The Land

Table of Contents

Published by Phyllis Fogelman Books
An imprint of Penguin Putnam Inc.
345 Hudson Street
New York, New York 10014

Copyright © 2001 by Mildred D. Taylor

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Taylor, Mildred D.
The land / by Mildred D. Taylor.
p. cm.
Summary:
Paul-Edward, son of a white plantation owner and a slave mother
of African-Indian heritage, follows his dream of owning his
own land through hard work and determination.

ISBN : 978-1-4406-5084-0

1. Racially mixed people—Juvenile fiction. [1. Racially mixed people—Fiction.
2. Afro-Americans—Fiction. 3. Prejudices—Fiction. 4. Race relations—Fiction.
5. Southern States—Fiction.] I. Title
PZ7.T21723 Lan 2001 [Fic]—dc21 00-039329

Five years ago when I was in the early stages of writing
The Land,
my two uncles came to visit. As I cooked breakfast one morning, they and other family members gathered in the kitchen and soon, as always happens when my family gets together, the stories began. There were hilarious stories about my father, my uncles, and my aunts growing up on the family land in Mississippi. There were stories about my grandparents and great-uncles, and there were stories about my great-grandparents. Most of the stories I had heard many times before, but they were so freshly and wonderfully told that I pulled out my tape recorder and began to record them. As my uncles spoke, I knew I had all the rich material I would need to finish
The Land
.

Once again my uncles had come to my aid.

When I first started writing, I had always gone to my father concerning family history. Since his death in 1976 I have relied on my uncles, Mr. James E. Taylor and Mr. Eugene Taylor, for that history and they, like my father, have never failed to supply the information I have needed. I am deeply indebted to them and I thank them for helping to make so many of my books possible.

I am indebted to many others as well, including Mr. Jan Raynak, Ms. Linda Brown, and Mr. Keith Brown, for answering my many questions during my research for
The Land,
and I thank them for their time and interest. I am also indebted to all the family and friends who encouraged me throughout the many years of my writing
The Land
and who provided me on so many occasions with countless hours of child care so that I could write uninterrupted.

My last words of thanks are to Ms. Phyllis J. Fogelman, my editor and publisher for more than twenty-five years. As always, Phyllis's belief in my writing and in the stories I have to tell urged me forward. Even when the writing became so difficult, I was ready to stop working on the book, Phyllis's quiet insistence that
The Land
was a story I
had
to write, for no one else could, kept me writing. Finally, after three years I considered the story finished. Phyllis did not agree. It's a great beginning, she said, but it could be better. Now, four years later, I believe it is. Thank you, Phyllis.

All of my books are based on stories told by my family, and on the history of the United States. In my writing I have attempted to be true to those stories and the history. I have included characters, incidents, and language that present life as it was in many parts of the United States before the Civil Rights Movement. Although there are those who wish to ban my books because I have used language that is painful, I have chosen to use the language that was spoken during the period, for I refuse to whitewash history. The language was painful and life was painful for many African Americans, including my family.

I remember the pain.

Since writing my first book,
Song of the Trees,
it has been my wish to have readers walk in the shoes of the Logan family, who are based on my family, and to feel what they felt. It has been my wish that by understanding this family and what they endured, there would be a further understanding of what millions of families endured, and there would also be a further understanding of why there was a Civil Rights Movement, a movement that changed our nation.

CHILDHOOD

I loved my daddy. I loved my brothers too. But in the end it was Mitchell Thomas and I who were most like brothers, with a bond that couldn't be broken. The two of us came into Mississippi together by way of East Texas, and that was when we were still boys, long after we had come to our understanding of each other. Seeing that we were a long way from our Georgia home and both of us being strangers here in Mississippi, the two of us depended on each other and became as family.

But it wasn't always that way.

In the beginning the two of us didn't get along at all. Fact to business, there was a time it seemed like to me Mitchell Thomas lived just to taunt me. There were other boys too who picked on me, but Mitchell was the worst. I recall one time in particular when I was about nine or so and I was reading beside a creek on my daddy's land, and Mitchell came up from behind me and just whopped me on the head. For no reason. Just whopped me on the head! Course I jumped up mad. “What ya do that for?” I cried.

“Felt like it,” he said. That's all; he felt like it. “Ya wanna do somethin' 'bout it?”

But I said nothing. Sure, I wanted to do something about it, all right, but I was no fool. Besides the fact I was a small-built boy, Mitchell was a year and some months older than me, a big boy too, stronger than most boys his age, and he could've broken me in two if he'd had the mind. Mitchell stared at me and I stared at him, then he turned and walked away. He didn't laugh, he didn't gloat; he just walked away, but I knew he'd be back.

And he was. Time and time again.

At first I just tried to stay out of Mitchell's way, but that didn't solve the problem. So I went to my sister, Cassie, about Mitchell. Now, my sister was a beautiful girl and I knew even Mitchell had eyes for her. But Cassie was not only beautiful, she was tough, smart, and just a bit cocky. She was six years older than I was and pretty much like a mother hen when it came to me; I knew she'd take my part. “Cassie, you know 'bout Mitchell?” I asked her.

“Course I know about Mitchell,” she answered. “Why're you letting him beat up on you?”

“I'm not letting him!” I exclaimed in outrage. “You thinking I'm liking him beating up on me?”

“Well, if you're not, you'd better make him stop.”

“Well, I'm trying.”

“Well, you'd better try harder.”

“I've tried fighting back, but he's too strong. Thing is, I don't know how to stop him.”

“You'd better figure a way,” she said matter-of-factly, then looked me in the eyes. “You want me to talk to him?”

I didn't even need to think on that. “Naw, course not! You did, then they'd all be saying I had my sister fighting my battles!”

Cassie shrugged. “Then you'd better figure something out quick.”

Well, I didn't figure anything out quick enough before Mitchell whalloped me again. And again. Finally things got so bad, I told my daddy about Mitchell and about how he and other boys too were always picking on me. Now, the thing was, Mitchell and his family and the other boys lived on my daddy's land, and I figured my daddy with one word could put a stop to Mitchell and the rest. But my daddy said, “What you expect me to do about it?”

“I don't know,” I replied, even though I knew exactly what I wanted him to do about it.

“You expect me to stop this boy Mitchell and the others from messing with you?”

I didn't say anything.

“You want it stopped, Paul,” he said, “then you stop it. This here is between you and Mitchell and whatever other boys. I'm not getting into it.”

My daddy was true to his word too. More than one time he saw me with a busted lip or a bruised eye, but he showed me no sympathy. He just looked at me and said, “See you didn't stop it yet.” After a while, though, he said, “Paul, you don't stop this soon, those boys are going to kill you.”