All Things New (12 page)

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. Well, if you ladies will excuse me, I’ll go look in on Harrison.”

“Things aren’t fine at home, Mother,” Jo said when the doctor and Priscilla were gone. “Daniel can’t run that huge plantation with only Otis to help him. And Lizzie can’t do all the housework, either. Daniel needs to talk to Mr. Chandler and hire the help we need.”

“Let’s wait and discuss this in private,” she whispered. Priscilla was returning to the parlor after escorting the doctor to the bedroom. But Josephine shook her head.

“Not until you promise that you’ll tell Daniel what Mr. Chandler just explained to us.”

“That’s enough, Josephine. We won’t spoil our nice visit by arguing. Now, tell me, ladies. How have you two been getting along?”

“Jo has been a godsend!” Priscilla gushed. But as she and Eugenia began to chat, Josephine rose and quietly left the room.

On the way home, Eugenia’s thoughts seemed to wage war inside her. On one hand, women simply didn’t take over unless their men were as ill as Harrison was. Daniel may not have been wounded, but something inside him was broken, and he wasn’t taking proper care of the plantation or his family’s needs. Should she go against her upbringing and take charge the way Josephine and Priscilla had? Or should she be patient and wait for Daniel to find himself again—and risk starving? Eugenia longed to have a man she could turn to, someone to rescue her. Men were stronger than women and always knew exactly what to do. But as Eugenia remembered turning Philip’s photograph facedown, a niggling voice told her the men were the ones who had decided to go to war in the first place and had lost everything.

She got her driver’s attention as her carriage arrived home and drew to a halt near the front porch. “No, kindly drive me down to the stables. I need to speak with my son.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She found Daniel gazing into an empty horse stall, doing nothing as far as she could tell. He looked surprised to see her. “What are you doing down here, Mother?”

“I just had an interesting conversation at the Blakes’ plantation.” Eugenia told him what the bureau man had explained and wasn’t at all surprised when Daniel reacted the same way that Harrison had.

“You expect me to trust a Yankee? A government man? Never! And we can’t trust the slaves, either. They’ll kill us in our beds and steal everything we own.”

“The Negroes already outnumber us, Daniel. They might kill us anyway if we let them all go hungry. And if the work doesn’t get done around here, we’ll all starve.”

“We have to protect ourselves, Mother, first and foremost. There’s already a bunch of shiftless Negroes living down in the woods, and I’m worried for your safety.” Daniel talked on and on, as if he had been brooding about this for a long time. “My friends and I have decided that it’s up to us to keep the slaves under control.”

“Is
that
what you’ve been meeting with your friends to discuss?” Eugenia wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, but she kept her voice calm. “I’m glad you’re getting together with your friends, but I had hoped it would lead to something more productive, like planting cotton. Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if you hired the slaves to work for us instead of chasing them off?”

“How can we hire them? We can’t afford it!”

“You need to listen to Mr. Chandler. There are ways of getting the money we need. Please, Daniel.” It went against Eugenia’s nature to be so direct, to argue with her son this way. But if the decision was right for Priscilla’s plantation, then it was right for theirs, too.

Daniel turned away from her and stalked to the stable door. “I’m not Father,” he said with his back still turned. “And I’m not Samuel.”

“I know, darling. But—”

“I have to do this my way.”

He strode out the door, heading toward the weed-choked cotton field. Eugenia didn’t follow him. Instead, she slowly made her way up to the house, lifting her black skirt to keep her hem from trailing in the dust.

She could ask Otis to drive her into town. She could sign a contract with Mr. Chandler herself. Then the cotton could get planted, and they would have a crop to sell in the fall. But even as she considered the idea, Eugenia felt the pain in her chest begin to build. She needed to go inside and sit down. She needed to give Daniel a little more time.

12

M
AY
20, 1865

Lizzie had been trying to ignore the signs for two days. The sickening way her stomach rolled in the morning before she even crawled out of bed. The way the stench of the chamber pots made her gag when she emptied them. The way she had to drag herself around, feeling weary all day long. She kept hoping she was wrong, praying she was wrong, but there was no mistaking the truth. Otis had come home one month ago and now she had a baby growing inside her.

She should be happy. This child would be born free, not a slave. He would belong to her and Otis, not to Miz Eugenia and Massa Daniel. Lizzie would never have to worry that this baby would be sold away from her. But oh, this was a terrible time to bring a child into the world! There was hardly enough to eat. She already had more work piled on her shoulders than one person could possibly do, especially with Roselle working for Miz Eugenia’s friend after school every day. Another child would make it harder for her and Otis to move out of here and get their own place someday. Lord knew Lizzie loved all three of her children, but she didn’t want another one. Yet she was going to have a baby whether she liked it or not. Faced with the truth, she sank down on the back step, lifted her apron to her face, and wept.

Long before she had a chance to cry out all her sorrow, Lizzie heard Miz Eugenia’s bell ringing in the morning room.
Not now! Please! Leave me be!
she groaned. She waited, but the bell rang again. There was no one else who could go, and if Lizzie didn’t hurry, things would be a lot worse for her. She wiped her eyes, drew a breath, and went to see what the missus wanted. She knew that if Miz Eugenia spoke one harsh word to her, she would burst into tears again.

“Yes, Miz Eugenia?” Lizzie stared at her feet, willing her tears to go away.

“You need to make time today to rub beeswax and furniture oil on the banisters and stair railing. The wood is bone-dry and it’s going to be ruined if it isn’t taken care of soon. In fact, all the furniture needs to be polished.”

Lizzie bit her lip, waiting until she was sure she wouldn’t cry. This was one more task on an ever-growing mountain of work that she just couldn’t climb. “Maybe I can get to it today, ma’am,” she said. “Or maybe tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is the Sabbath.”

“Oh. On Monday, then.”

“I would prefer today. And don’t forget about it. It simply must be done.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lizzie’s tears started falling again before she reached the hallway. She let them fall as she worked all afternoon, putting a meal together from whatever she could find. She had to prepare twice as much food today so the white folks would have something to eat tomorrow and she could get her half-day off on Sunday afternoon. She wasn’t expecting Otis to come up to the kitchen before the dinner bell rang, but when he arrived earlier than usual, he caught her crying as she was mashing the potatoes.

“Lizzie-girl? What’s wrong? Has the missus been picking on you?”

“No . . . no more than usual.” She tried to laugh about it but couldn’t. Otis took the wooden masher from her hand and pulled her into his arms.

“Tell me what’s wrong, then.”

Lizzie knew this baby was her own fault. If only she didn’t love Otis so much. Hadn’t her mother warned her not to fall in love? She rested her head on his chest and heard his heart beating, strong and steady. Just like him. “I’m gonna have another baby.”

He pulled back so he could look at her. He was smiling. “Well, that’s good news, ain’t it? Why’re you crying over good news?”

“Because it ain’t good news, Otis. There’s so much work to do, and I can’t do it all alone, and now we’ll never be able to get a place of our own, and we’ll have one more mouth to feed, and—”

He pulled her close again. “Shh . . . shh . . . Lord knows all that, Lizzie. And He still saw fit to send us another baby to love. We’ll manage, I promise we will.”

“How?”

“Well . . . I’m not sure yet. But maybe I can talk to Saul and the others again about coming back here to work. I should’ve done it a lot sooner, Lizzie. I’m sorry.”

“What if Miz Eugenia kicks us out when she sees I’m having a baby? I can’t do all the work now as it is. How am I gonna do it when my belly grows clear out to here?” She held her hands in front of her to show him where her belly would be. Otis laid his hand on her middle, patting it as if patting a baby.

“If Miz Eugenia don’t want us, then we’ll talk to that Yankee fellow in town and ask him to find us another place to work. Don’t you cry no more. We’ll be fine. A baby is good news, Lizzie.”

His words gave her hope, and she managed to finish all the cooking and dishwashing by bedtime. But she never did get the banister polished like Miz Eugenia had asked her to. Nor did she have time to do it on Sunday morning. She barely got the table set and the food all ready before the white folks came home for their Sunday dinner after church. The polishing would have to wait until Monday.

Lizzie was grateful for a chance to sit down that afternoon and take a rest. Otis, Rufus, and Jack had gone fishing earlier that morning, and now Lizzie sat on the front stoop of their cabin,
watching Otis clean the two fish they’d caught. Fish scales were flying everywhere as he scraped, and he’d given Rufus a small knife so he could learn how to do it, too. Lizzie basked in the sun and in the sight of her family, laughing and talking together. She didn’t think she could be much happier, and when she looked up and saw Roselle coming down the little hill toward them, Lizzie couldn’t help smiling.

“Hey, Roselle, honey!” she said, waving to her. She longed to leap up and give her daughter a hug, but she had kept her motherly instincts in chains for so many years, afraid of loving her daughter and then losing her, that she was still held captive.

“Did they give you the day off, too?” Lizzie asked.

Roselle nodded. “Missy Jo told me I could walk home and pay you a visit.” Roselle held her arms tightly folded against her chest, a gesture she’d learned from Lizzie, holding her emotions back, afraid to show her love.

“How is everything going over there?” Otis asked.

“Fine. I like working for Missy Josephine. She’s real nice to me. Massa is as mean as a rattlesnake, though. Missy Jo says to stay away from him.”

Otis stopped scraping scales and looked up at Roselle. “I hope you’re still going to school every day.”

Roselle rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m going. I like school a lot.”

Lizzie knew it was the truth because she’d been asking Rufus and Jack about their sister when they came home from school. Lizzie still couldn’t quite believe that her children were learning to read and write. It didn’t seem possible. She’d heard of slaves who’d been whipped and sold farther south for learning such things, and so Lizzie had never dared to consider it. But it seemed as if every time she had something to be happy about, like her kids going to school, something bad would happen to make her lose hope again. This time it was remembering that she was pregnant, remembering all the fears and heartaches that went with having another child to love. Roselle looked happy for once, but Lizzie knew she was about to rain on that happiness.

“I’m sorry, Roselle, but you need to tell Missy Jo that you can’t work for her no more.”

“What! Why?” So much anger in those two words.

“Because you have to come back here and work with me.”

“No! I don’t want to! I hate working for Miz Eugenia, with her chin up in the air all the time. If you try and make me come back, I’ll . . . I’ll run away!”

Lizzie jumped to her feet as her temper flared. “You’re always thinking of yourself, Roselle! You’re telling me ‘no’ and threatening to run away before you even bother to ask me why I need help.” Lizzie turned her back and walked away, hurrying down Slave Row to let off steam, like a pot that had just boiled over.

All of the cabins were vacant except for the one where her family lived, making the Row seem desolate. Some of the doors had been left open, and as Lizzie strode past she glimpsed stripped beds, a table and chair, things that had been too heavy to carry away when everybody went off to be free. Beyond the last cabin were the empty cotton fields and the big wooden shed where the cotton bales were stored. Lizzie sat down on the step of a smaller shed where they used to dry tobacco when Massa Philip was alive, and as soon as she was out of sight of the others, she began to cry. This time her tears weren’t because of the baby but because of Roselle’s threat to run away. Ever since her daughter had been born, Lizzie had worried that Massa would sell her, and now Roselle herself was threatening to leave. It made Lizzie’s heart ache to try to hang on tight to her children while trying to hold them loosely at the same time.

A few minutes passed before she heard shuffling footsteps on the path. She looked up, expecting to see Otis, but it was Roselle. “Mama . . .?” Roselle was still hugging herself as if she was cold. “Otis told me about the baby. I’m sorry, Mama. I’ll come back and help out.”

Lizzie stood and pulled Roselle into her arms. “Only in the afternoons, though. We won’t let Miz Eugenia or anybody else keep you from going to school, okay?”

Roselle nodded. Lizzie kept her arm around her daughter’s thin
shoulders as they walked back to the cabin. Roselle wrapped her arm around Lizzie’s waist, so lightly and carefully that it might not have been there at all.

Rufus ran to meet them, holding a chipped dinner plate in his hands with the cleaned fish piled on it. “Look, Mama! The fish is all ready to cook!” Lizzie held her hand over her mouth to keep her stomach from turning inside out as the fishy smell reached her nostrils.

“Thank you, Rufus, honey. I’m sure it’s gonna taste real good.”

“I’m cooking it,” Otis said, “so you won’t have to.”

“Anyway,” Roselle said with a sigh, “Missy Jo said they’ll be getting lots more help soon, so they won’t need me much longer. Bunch of their slaves are coming back and working the land for themselves. No overseer or massa or anything.”

“Did Mr. Chandler and that bureau of his arrange it?” Otis asked.

“I don’t know the man’s name. But he’s the same Yankee I see sitting in the office where the school is. He’s been coming out to talk to Missy Jo sometimes. We should all go work over there. It’s much better than here.”

“I’m gonna try and get us some more help here first,” Otis said. “Maybe I’ll go back and talk to my brother and the others again tonight. Some of Miz Blake’s slaves must be camping out in the woods with Saul and the rest. Everybody must know about Mr. Chandler and his arrangements by now. We should be able to work White Oak the same way they’re doing.”

“Do you think Massa Daniel will let you do that?” Lizzie asked. “With no overseer or anything?”

“I don’t know, but Massa Daniel ain’t planting cotton and it needs to get done pretty soon or it’ll be too late. It’s nearly June. We’ll walk over to see Saul tonight after the boys are in bed.”

“In the dark?” Lizzie shivered, remembering their last trip into the gloomy woods. “Why not go when it’s still light out?”

“Because this is our only day off and I want to spend it with our kids.” He rested one hand on Rufus’s shoulder and the other
on Roselle’s. “They’re gonna tell me what all they’re learning in school, aren’t you?”

“I can count,” Jack said. “Wanna hear me?” He began saying his numbers, his little face as serious as a preacher’s calling down hellfire.

Rufus had set the plate of fish down and was pulling on Otis’s shirttail. “Can we come with you tonight to see Uncle Saul?”

“Not tonight. Maybe next time. Now let’s get this fish fried up. I’ll bet it’ll taste real good cooked over a campfire. Roselle, run up to the kitchen and get me the biggest frying pan you can find. Jack and Rufus, you need to gather us some firewood.”

The boys skipped off to the woodpile, with little Jack still reciting, “Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine . . . What comes next Rufus?”

“Forty.” Their voices faded in the distance, still counting together.

Roselle was gone for such a long time that Lizzie began to grow worried. Was she having trouble finding the pan? Did Miz Eugenia call her to do something? She decided to head up the path to the Big House and see what was keeping her. But just as she reached the top of the rise, she saw Roselle running toward her shouting, “Mama! Mama, something terrible has happened!”

Lizzie felt her knees go weak, imagining the worst. “What, honey?”

“I haven’t looked at my ducks all week, and so I decided to go look at them now—and they’re gone! Mama, they’re gone!”

Lizzie’s strength returned with a rush of relief. There wasn’t a crisis, after all. “Those eggs probably hatched open, honey. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah . . . The shells are all broken open, and the mama and papa duck and five of the babies are gone, but three of them got left behind. They’re all alone, Mama! I watched and waited and looked all around, hoping the mama and papa duck would come back for them, but those poor little babies are all by themselves. They’re wandering all around the nest and peeping like their hearts might break, and they’re all alone!”

That was the way of nature, Lizzie wanted to say, the way of life. It was hard, and sometimes innocent creatures were left to fend for themselves. It would be a hard lesson for Roselle to learn, but it couldn’t be helped. “Listen, honey. From what I know about ducks, they head for a pond or a stream just as soon as the babies hatch. That’s where they live—in the water—when they ain’t setting on their nest.”