Sylvia Stepp, Artist

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Spell of the South: Chapter One

Sylvia Stepp / April 24, 2026

December 22, 1913

Dear Auntie Eula, Uncle Benny, and Cousin Joy,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and safety, as I have sent this letter on the day of your departure in hopes it might meet you as you arrive.

Miss Annie May at school is helping me write this, she seems quite pleased that I’ve taken an interest in my studies. She’s a tall lady, stern, but smart. Momma says I should be grateful for her, seeing as it’s hard to find a teacher as good as her outside the city, but she really just seems like a know it all. The other students at school say she’s “thin and tall as a willow” and I guess I’d agree. She towers over nearly all the other teachers at school. What’s school like for you, Joy? I’m sure you’re fitting right in,  you were always so popular here. 

What’s life like up north? I’ve never even been out to the city, but I’d imagine it’s huge. Since you guys’ve left, Papa’s been on about me “pulling my weight” or whatever that means. But sure enough, ever since, I’ve been doing grocery runs and chores around the house. Just last week he sent me down to Uncle Smokey’s place to pick him up some cigarettes—he owns the corner store down the street. He’s kinda funny looking, what with his big ole shoes, ratty black and grey beard, and the big blue circle around his left eye. But he’s sweet, and every time I run an errand for Papa he throws in a lemon drop just for me.

Now, Uncle Smokey says that in the North there are whole towns of colored folk, just living it up. You know, like Tulsa

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