Wench by Dolen Perkins-Valdez is startling and original fiction that raises provocative questions of power and freedom, love and dependence. An enchanting and unforgettable novel based on little-known fact, Wench combines the narrative allure of < ?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Cane River by Lalita Tademy and the moral complexities of Edward P. Jonesâ??s The Known World as it tells the story of four black enslaved women in the years preceding the Civil War. A stunning debut novel, Wench marks author Perkins-Valdezâ??previously a finalist for the 2009 Robert Olen Butler Short Fiction Prizeâ??as a writer destined for greatness.

From Part 1, Chapter 6:

The four women stacked the preserved fruit against the wall of the ice house. The ice house was thirteen feet long and twelve feet wide, a nearly perfect square. A ten-foot-deep hole was dug into the ground and filled with ice from the pond during the winter. After the ice was buried, the hole was covered with straw. The house remained cool throughout the summer. The resort used it for storing various foods such as fruit and eggs. Barrels of whiskey sat in the corner.

Sweet leaned against the wall. â??Yâ??all mind if I rest a bit? My back ainâ??t holding up too well.â?

â??Naw, you go on and rest yourself,â? Reenie said.

â??This ground sho is cold,â? Sweet said.

Mawu stopped and touched the ground. â??This ice house wouldnâ??t last a Louisiana summer. Ainâ??t cold enough.â?

â??Louisiana ainâ??t no hotter than Tennessee,â? Lizzie said.

â??Hmph. You ainâ??t seen one of our summers.â? Mawuâ??s voice was quiet. â??You write it yet?â?

Lizzie could make out the shapes of the women. Sweet formed an r. Her baby faceâ??the origin of her nameâ??led into a thick neck, wide bust, and sloping belly. Reenieâ??s older, thinner form was ramrod straight, her boniness cutting a sharp edge in the dim light of the ice house. Mawuâ??s hair was tied back into an uncharacteristic bun and covered with a yellow cotton handkerchief. Lizzie traced the womanâ??s body with her eyes: the small high breasts that had caught Drayleâ??s attention.

â??You write it yet girl?â? Mawu repeated.

Reenie and Lizzie stood side-by-side, stacking the jars in six neat rows: peaches, nectarines, plums, cherries.

â??I ainâ??t sure I want to,â? Lizzie said. She could feel the cool air creep through the folds of her dress. She cleared her throat.

â??Do it,â? Sweet said.

Both Lizzie and Reenie stopped working and looked down at the pregnant woman.

â??I had a man once,â? Sweet said. â??He escape and leave me behind. I keep thinking he gone come back and get me. I wait and I wait. But he donâ??t never come.â?

Lizzie wondered why Sweet had never told them this.

â??I ainâ??t going nowhere,â? Sweet went on. â??Got too many childrens back home. I reckon I ainâ??t gone never leave Master. But the ones that wants to go oughts to be able to go.â?

â??Who exactly are the ones that want to go?â? Lizzie pursed her lips until the words came out in a whistle. â??I ainâ??t leaving my children neither. Nobody but Mawu wants to go.â? Lizzie looked at Reenie when she said it. Surely the woman was too old to start over.

â??I is still collecting my thoughts,â? Reenie said.

â??Collecting your thoughts?â? Lizzie repeated.

Mawu walked over and grabbed Lizzieâ??s arm. She bit down into the flesh with her nails. Lizzie tried to pull away, but Mawuâ??s grip was firm.

â??You write that letter, you hear?â?

The salted carcass of a pig swung in the side vision of Lizzieâ??s eye, its broad back as purple as a bruise. view abbreviated excerpt only...

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