The Lost Quilter (27 page)

Almost imperceptibly the Union steamer pressed on, closer to Fort Sumter, closer to the hail of gunfire from Morris Island. Sometimes the smoke grew so thick in the distance that Joanna couldn’t discern what was happening—if the ship had fired upon Charleston’s defenders or if it had been sunk. But then a breeze wafted the drifting smoke aside, and again the ship came into view, pressing ever onward. Joanna silently willed it along, praying for the blue expanse between ship and fort to swiftly narrow, her heart pounding as the ship came fully into the range of the guns.

And then all at once a cheer went up from the men and women watching spellbound from the Battery. Slowly, so slowly that Joanna could almost convince herself it wasn’t happening, the ship was turning—away from Fort Sumter, back toward the open ocean.

“What are they doing?” Joanna cried, standing. “They’re so close, so close!”

Abner seized her arm and yanked her back to her seat. “Hush up,” he muttered. “Don’t let the buckra see you upset.”

“But the ship—”

“It got hit. Don’t you see? On the mast and the rudder. They got to turn back before they get sunk.”

Joanna bit her lips shut, mindful of the cheers and celebration surrounding the carriage. The steamer looked sound enough to her. How could those few guns endanger a ship that size? They had turned tail and run, and why, Joanna couldn’t imagine. It sickened her to watch as the steamer grew smaller in the distance and finally disappeared in the lingering smoke.

She had not realized until that moment that she had expected salvation to arrive on that Union ship.

“Those were my husband’s men,” Miss Evangeline told her aunt triumphantly as they returned to the carriage. “Those were his cadets. Think of it—students, boys really, driving off a Union invasion.”

Joanna didn’t think it had been much of an invasion, considering the ship had never even dropped anchor, but she knew better than to say so as she helped Miss Evangeline and Aunt Lucretia into the carriage, tucking skirts and shawls around them, shutting her ears to their exultant retelling of the events they had all witnessed. Abner let off Aunt Lucretia at her home before returning to Harper Hall, where Miss Evangeline ordered Sally to prepare
a grand feast to celebrate the victory, which the young mistress seemed to believe was entirely her husband’s doing. In later days, Joanna overheard Miss Evangeline boast that her husband had fired the decisive shot that had struck the
Star of the West
’s mast and sent her fleeing to safer waters—although by then, Miss Evangeline knew perfectly well that her husband had not been within four miles of Morris Island at the time.

Weeks passed. Somehow, even without reinforcements, Major Anderson clung stubbornly to Fort Sumter, unwilling to provoke a war and unwilling to leave. Other states quit the Union—Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas—and in February, Miss Evangeline held a grand party to celebrate the forming of their own nation, the Confederate States of America. She hosted another in early March, on Mr. Lincoln’s inauguration day, to celebrate that he was not
their
president.

Joanna knew she could no longer hope for Union soldiers to bring her freedom on a merchant steamer. While Miss Evangeline celebrated and Colonel Harper drilled, Joanna waited—and prepared. She memorized the streets of Charleston as she ran errands for the mistress; she befriended free colored merchants and craftsmen whom she might one day be able to call upon in a time of need. Slowly but certainly, she taught Hannah to read, forming letters from thread, spelling simple words. She praised Hannah when she pointed to the object the thread letters named, but she was not satisfied. “It ain’t enough to know what the word look like. You need to say it too,” she told the girl, but Hannah did not reply.

Marse Chester did not bring his family to visit Harper Hall again, but on one joyful day, Titus appeared unexpectedly, sent from Oak Grove with letters and gifts for Miss Evangeline and the colonel. He stayed only long enough for the newlyweds to
write their replies, which was barely enough time to marvel at the changes in their daughter since he had last seen her. Though it was almost more painful than joyous to see him so briefly, Titus left Joanna with a hopeful secret: He had heard Marse Chester and the mistress talking, and he knew their letters urged Miss Evangeline to return to Edisto Island until it was certain that the Union would let the Confederate States secede peacefully.

But Joanna’s hopes were short-lived. Miss Evangeline was determined not to leave her husband, although she was reluctant to choose him over her father. “Papa must understand that it makes no sense for me to return to Edisto Island just in time for the malaria season, when in every year past he has sent me to Charleston to avoid it,” she told her husband as she tucked the letters into a desk drawer. The colonel nodded, and as far as Joanna knew, they never again considered evacuating the city.

Hiding her bitterness, Joanna counted her blessings and bided her time. Ruthie spoke her first words. Miss Evangeline outgrew her gowns and grew increasingly impatient for her husband’s attention. For the first time, the newlyweds argued; Joanna, Hannah, and the other house slaves hid out in the kitchen listening and waiting for the furor to subside. They flinched at the sound of china shattering as someone, probably the mistress, flung a teacup against the wall. “He married himself a fiery sweetheart but want a docile wife,” Sally said, shaking her head. “Can’t you say something to make her sweet again, or least make her
act
sweet?”

The last was directed at Joanna, who regarded the cook with astonishment. “You mean for me to walk into that?”

“Not now. Later, when you alone. You her maid. You supposed to keep her in a good temper.”

“She ain’t mad at me,” Joanna pointed out. “I can make her
fine dresses and fix her hair pretty, but that won’t make the colonel forget those Union soldiers in the harbor.”

“Mistress jealous of Major Anderson,” George said in mock sorrow, and the slaves muffled their laughter. Joanna might have laughed more gleefully than the others. She had no interest whatsoever in helping Miss Evangeline cultivate a sweeter disposition. The more Miss Evangeline and the colonel argued, the more likely the mistress was to remember her father’s indulgent affection and the comforts of Oak Grove.

Winter faded and spring arrived. Miss Evangeline resigned herself to lonely hours and Joanna to remaining in Charleston. Ruthie took her first hesitant, unsteady steps on the lower piazza; Hannah was so delighted that Joanna hoped for a moment that she might speak to praise the younger girl, but she only clapped her hands. Miss Evangeline set Joanna to work on a wholecloth quilt made of her father’s finest Sea Island cotton for her unborn child. Joanna could not put a stitch into it without imagining Ruthie as a young woman, dressing the golden curls of an impetuous young mistress who slapped her if she pulled the comb too hard through a tangle of hair. And that would be the best Joanna could hope for Ruthie in slavery. In her nightmares she saw her daughter the favorite of some insatiable master, sold off far away when the mistress discovered her carrying the master’s child.

The next time Titus came and stayed the night, the very next time, she would convince him to steal the carriage and they would flee.

One night she finished her Birds in the Air quilt—large triangles and small, each pointing north to freedom. In whispers after the other slaves had fallen asleep, Joanna traced the quilted
images with her fingertip and told Hannah their secret meanings. Hannah listened, wide-eyed and solemn, but if she were curious or eager or frightened, Joanna could only guess. Hannah said nothing, asked no questions. Maybe she had truly lost her voice forever.

Sometimes, instead of whispering over the quilt, Joanna feigned sleep, her arms curled protectively around her two girls while George lay on his side watching her from around the half-wall partition. She had come to know him better since the day he had first invited her to share his bed, and she had grudgingly come to like him. He was quiet and rarely smiled, but then unexpectedly he would pass by her and murmur a stingingly accurate and disrespectful observation about the colonel or the mistress or their guests that had her biting the inside of her cheeks to stifle laughter. She knew he hoped she would forget Titus and turn to him, and if she had not loved Titus so much, she might have welcomed George’s affection. But she loved Titus completely, and no distance between them could make her love falter. According to the ledger downstairs and the law, she belonged to the Harpers, but in her heart, she belonged only to herself and to Titus. She felt only kindness and sympathy for George, and privately wished he would look to Sally, who lit up whenever he entered the room and always saved him the best parts of the leftovers from the master’s table. The fool man never seemed to notice.

Sometimes she fell asleep remembering the feel of Titus’s hands upon her, and as she drifted between wakefulness and sleep, she breathed deeply and almost thought his scent lingered on her skin and in her hair. But she knew it was only a memory and not the man.

For a time the colonel seemed correct about the Union’s willingness to let the rebellious states go easily. Anderson’s occupation of Fort Sumter remained a nagging thorn in the side of the new Confederacy, or so Joanna gathered as she overheard the dinner conversation of the Harpers and their frequent guests. Until Anderson and his men were evacuated, which everyone seemed to believe was the inevitable outcome of their stubborn, slow starvation, the young nation had no credibility with either the North or with foreign powers, who surely wondered why a so-called sovereign nation tolerated another country’s presence on their free and independent soil.

Then April came, and with it rumors that President Lincoln was sending a fleet of ships to bring food to Anderson’s men. The plans were supposedly secret, but the
Courier
reprinted stories of troop movements that had appeared in Northern newspapers, so all of Charleston knew of them. Joanna glimpsed headlines on stacks of newspapers on street corners as she ran errands for the household, and invisible as Miss Evangeline’s maid, she listened to heated conversations from the colonel’s study and witnessed all manner of soldiers and messengers and politicians racing to and from Harper Hall day and night. The colonel reassured Miss Evangeline that Lincoln could send an armada of ships but it would make no difference; he and his fellow South Carolina soldiers were merely waiting for Anderson to run out of food so he could surrender honorably. Once Joanna overheard the astonishing suggestion that Anderson was not merely stalling for time until reinforcements could arrive but had fixed the date and time of his upcoming surrender with General Beauregard.
Joanna was torn between hoping Anderson would surrender and praying that he and his men could hold out until the Union ships arrived. All around the city, men drilled and paraded in a variety of uniforms; every day brought new ships into the harbor, filled with Confederate troops. If war came, it would bring chaos and bloodshed, it would endanger Ruthie and Hannah—but the frenzy and fire of battle might cover their escape.

If only Titus would return. If only Marse Chester would send the carriage and insist Miss Evangeline leave for Oak Grove at once, but Joanna could not count on that. She had to make her own plan, a plan for her and her girls.

A week later, or maybe more, a low boom like a distant roll of thunder shook her awake. In the early morning darkness, she saw George at the small window on the east wall, looking out toward the harbor. As she climbed carefully from bed to avoid rousing the girls, George glanced her way, shook his head, and returned his gaze to the misty, charcoal gray sky outside. “Bet those Union soldiers came at last,” he said. “That’s cannon fire for sure. Marse Colonel had Asa sleep outside his room last night. He know this coming.”

Shivering, Joanna wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and peered out the window. In the distance she saw flashes of light in the mist, heard more low rumbles, but Harper Hall was too far from the harbor to discern what was happening. But surely the attack had begun; what else could it be?

Suddenly the low rumbles turned into furious reports, and the sky flashed baleful fire. A shiver of fear and anticipation ran up Joanna’s spine, but before she could crane her neck and try to see what was happening, Miss Evangeline rang the bell for her, a barely audible summons she couldn’t pretend she had not heard, even considering the distance and the din. Miss Evangeline might
believe her, but she would punish Joanna for disobedience just the same, and perhaps demand that Joanna sleep on a pallet outside her door in the future, away from her girls.

The shouts and cannon fire had woken the others. Ruthie sat up, whimpered, and reached for her, but Joanna could spare her only a brief, hasty cuddle before turning her over to Hannah and hurrying downstairs and across the cobblestones to the big house, lips pressed together to hold back bitter recriminations. War had come, and Joanna could not even comfort her baby girl. What need could Miss Evangeline possibly have that was greater than Ruthie’s? Joanna could not bear it, but she had no choice except to go when and where she was summoned.

In the Harpers’ bedchamber, Miss Evangeline ordered Joanna to dress her, because sleep was impossible. Joanna helped her into her gown, quickly noting that the colonel and Asa were nowhere to be seen. “To the roof,” Miss Evangeline instructed, mouth in a tight line, hand on her rounded belly. “I must see what is happening.”

Joanna obeyed, willing to risk the danger of the roof rather than the greater peril of the Battery, relieved that the impetuous mistress had not sent orders for Abner to prepare the carriage. Up the stairs onto the roof they climbed, the young mistress’s awkward gait making Joanna fearful that she would tumble backwards and knock them both to their deaths. At last they reached the top, breathless from alarm and exertion, and looked out over the city to the harbor, which lay shrouded in heavy mist that nearly obscured the outlying islands. Joanna flinched and drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders as the cannon fire increased in fury, but Miss Evangeline’s face was alight with eagerness and alarm.