Mississippi in Africa: The Saga of the Slaves of Prospect Hill Plantation and Their Legacy in Liberia

337 Pages·2004·2.43 MB·English

by  Alan Huffman

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.