by Susan Wise Bauer

About the author: Susan Wise Bauer teaches literature at the College of William and Mary.

Two years ago, we buried my grandmother in the family graveyard, in the middle of a corn-field. Overtop of the old Confederate soldier graves, the funeral home director set out rows of folding metal chairs for the relatives, and my cousin mowed down the corn around the graveyard’s edge so that friends could stand and listen. Just before the minister began the service, a statuesque black woman with a close cap of hair and platform shoes came through the field and sat down at the end of the relatives’ row: the only black woman in a cluster of white faces. I didn’t recognize her, until my mother leaned forward and whispered. &ldquo...