I took the hoops from her and set to work. I’d helped Grandma Lorena with her jewelry many times. It felt right somehow, being that close to Frankie, helping with a task familiar to women of all colors.
When I had the earrings in place, she glanced in an old mirror on the wall, its worn silvering distorting the edges. “You probably think I’m silly, me an old woman, fussing about a picture,” she said, using a small comb to straighten her short white hair.
“I don’t think you’re silly at all.” Our gazes met in the glass. “I’m glad Alden thought to bring a camera.”
“You two seem to be gettin’ along.”
Heat rushed to my face. “We’re becoming friends.”
She turned to me, a half smile on her lips. “Mm-hmm. Friends is good.”
We returned to the living room only to find Alden on the front porch.
“The light is perfect out here.” He indicated the chairs on the porch. “Mrs. Washington, if you’ll have a seat, I’ll step down off the porch and take the picture looking up at you.”
Frankie settled in the chair and turned to face Alden while I moved out of the way. Her hands rested in her lap, with her right hand covering her gnarled fingers. A plain gold band I’d never noticed before sparkled in the sunlight.
Alden looked into the camera, tried various angles, but eventually frowned and shook his head.
“Perhaps you should look at Rena,” he said, motioning to where I stood on the walk amid the flowers, just down from the porch steps.
She nodded, turned her head, and faced me. I thought she might smile, but she took on a pensive look. Before Alden could snap the picture, Frankie brought her right hand up and covered her lips as though deep in thought.
I heard the camera click.
“Perfect.” Alden cranked a lever and smiled.
Frankie continued to stare past me. Only after I returned to the porch did she seem to shake herself out of her reverie.
“Funny, I hadn’t thought of that photograph in years.”
Alden glanced at me. I shrugged. “What photograph is that, Mrs. Washington?”
“A photographer came to the contraband camp sometime after Illa Crandle got me the job doing laundry. One day she gathered a group of us slaves to have our picture made.” She chuckled. “We had to stand still for the longest time before that man came up from beneath his black cloth and said he was finished. We couldn’t figure out how the thingamajig worked or if he was just fooling with us. Years later, a professor put out a book about the war here in Tennessee. He was giving a speech at Fisk University, and I went to hear him. Would you believe he had a copy of that picture?”
“Do you recall the name of the professor?” Alden asked, his eyes sparking with interest.
Frankie shook her head. “No, that’s been too many years ago. But I was right happy to see that photograph. I’d forgotten some of the people in it, but Miz Illa and Nell were there.”
“Was Sam in the picture too?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if the familiarity we’d experienced in her bedroom gave me courage, but I couldn’t leave this question unanswered.
A soft smile parted her lips. “Yes, Sam was there. And wouldn’t you know, he was the only one smiling.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sam.
I couldn’t seem to get away from that man. If I needed water, he was there to haul it. When I accidentally let my fires go out, he had them blazing in minutes. Despite my gruff words, ugly glares, and downright rudeness, the man would not take the hint and leave me alone.
“Folks is talkin’ about you, Frankie.”
Nell and I sat on our cots, wrapped in blankets to ward off a chilly October wind blowing outside the tent. Illa Crandle wouldn’t allow labor on Sundays, so the day was ours to enjoy despite the turn in the weather.
“What do I care?” I pretended nonchalance, but inside, I fumed. I didn’t like being the subject of gossip.
“Folks is wonderin’ why you so mean to Sam when it be clear as day he likes you.”
I scoffed. “That man likes everybody. He ain’t got no special feelings for me.”
“That’s not what people are sayin’.”
“Best you not listen to tittle-tattle, girl. Nor spread it.”
We sat in silence before Nell continued the conversation. “Why don’t you like Sam? Ain’t no one nicer than him.”
I didn’t want to discuss Sam with anyone, let alone Nell. But I knew she wouldn’t leave it alone, so I decided to be honest. “I don’t like him because I think he’s fake. I think he’s like one of them porcelain dollies with a painted-on smile.” I gave her a pointed look. “Just like Hank.”
Nell shook her head. “Oh no, Frankie. Sam ain’t nothin’ like Hank.”
“How would you know? You couldn’t tell Hank was a good-for-nothing when he was laying on top of you.”
Hurt crossed Nell’s face. “Maybe not, but I know Sam ain’t anythin’ like him. You should come to the Bible readings he gives. It ain’t just for those of us takin’ lessons at the school.”
Nell and the others talked nonstop about the readings when Sam first arrived. They discussed fascinating stories I’d never heard of, with floods and kings and healings, but I refused to join them each night after supper. While a crowd gathered around Sam and his black book, I went back to the tent to fall into bed after a long day of scrubbing and pressing officers’ clothes.
Sometime after Nell’s and my discussion, curiosity got the better of me. When a group gathered around Sam after supper, I hung near the back, hoping to go unnoticed. I had to admit it was something special to hear a black man read. I never thought I’d live to see a day like such, and it brought up feelings I didn’t want to contend with.
The next day, Sam came to me while I was up to my elbows in a tub of hot, sudsy water.
“Miss Frankie,” he said, twisting his hat around in his hands and acting more nervous than I’d ever seen him. “I has something to say.”
I straightened and wiped my hands on my apron. “Go on then. I’s busy and can’t stand around jawing all afternoon.”
He nodded, then took a big breath. “You ain’t gonna like this much. I keep tellin’ the Lord he’s made a mistake, but he ain’t backing down.”
I frowned. Had he gotten into the whiskey some soldiers illicitly sold to folks in the contraband camp? I’d never known Sam to be a drinking man, but he was sure acting soused. “What foolishness are you talkin’ about?”
“Ain’t foolishness, Frankie. When I was back in Philadelphia, the Lord told me I’d find my wife in Tennessee.”
My eyes widened. Surely he didn’t mean—
“And I have.” His gaze landed on me.
I took a step back, worried he might try to grab me.
“But the thing is,” he went on, as serious as one could be, “I don’t want to get married until we’re free. Truly free.”
“I thought you were free,” I said, although I hadn’t intended to enter the crazy conversation at all.
He nodded. “I declared myself free when I escaped from the plantation and made it to Philadelphia. But if my former master found me now, he’d have the legal right to take me on back as his slave. Same as you. Same as all these folks.” Distress filled his face. “It ain’t true freedom, what we have now, Frankie. If the Yankees lose this here war, I ’spect it’ll mean trouble for us. We could hightail it north, but that won’t solve the real issue. I want us to start our new life together as man and wife as a free man and woman.”
While I couldn’t fault him for his convictions, I was not the woman for him.
“That all sounds fine and good, but you best keep looking for that wife. I ain’t never getting married.”
A slow smile curled his lips. “You can argue with me, Frankie, but you can’t argue with the Lord.”
I watched him walk away, a feeling in the pit of my stomach that Sam knew something I didn’t. It wasn’t a good feeling at all.
Fall turned t
o winter, and life in the camp wore on. Every so often I’d find a gift from Sam lying on my cot or beside the container of lye soap in the laundry area. Just small things at first. A pretty maple leaf. An extra hunk of cheese wrapped in cloth. Nell swooned when she discovered he’d left me a pair of warm gloves.
“That man be crazy in love with you, Frankie.” She sighed. “I wish someone would love me like that.”
Usually I rebuked such talk. I didn’t like discussing Sam, mostly because I didn’t want anyone to know my feelings toward him had softened since he’d declared he was going to marry me. Truth be told, I sometimes found a secret smile on my lips when I considered the prospect. But more often than not, fear gripped my insides when our eyes met across the camp and Sam sent me his special smile. It wasn’t the big grin he wore when talking with others. It was softer, less showy. Intimate.
What if I gave my heart to Sam and something terrible happened to him? If the Confederates won the war, none of us slaves would be free. Who knew where we might end up when it was all over. I couldn’t bear watching him sold away—or worse. No, it was best to keep my distance. To keep telling myself and everyone else that I didn’t care about Sam. Maybe if I said it enough, my ol’ fool heart would listen.
Christmas Day arrived, bright sunshiny but cold as ice. Everyone had the day off, and we enjoyed a fine dinner of roasted wild goose and turnips provided for us by Illa’s Friends Society. After such a big meal, I thought to take a walk and stretch my legs. When Sam appeared by my side, I couldn’t refuse his company on a joyous day like this one.
“I dream about celebrating Christmas in my own home someday,” he said, surprising me with his sentimental thoughts. I’d never once considered such a thing. Christmas had always been for white people.
“What would you have?”
He grinned. “We’ll have us a big tree, tied with pretty ribbons and candles. There’ll be presents under the tree for all the chillens.”
I stopped walking. “All the chillens? How many young’uns you planning to have?”
“As many as the Lord gives us.”
I let the comment pass. He’d taken to using us and we when he talked about the future. It aggravated me at first, especially when he accompanied it by saying the Lord told him such and such about me and him. But over the months, I’d grown used to it, and it didn’t bother me as much. I still didn’t plan on marrying the crazy man, but I’d come to the conclusion he was harmless.
We climbed halfway up the hill behind the camp. The fort the army built lay at the top. We stopped and looked out over Nashville. From our vantage point, it looked like a completely different city than the one I’d lived in after Mr. Waters bought me. Most of the trees were gone, having been used to build several forts and barricades to protect the city from attack. Rumors constantly circulated about the Confederates’ determination to retake Nashville, but other than an isolated skirmish now and then, they hadn’t come close enough to try. Still, despite the daily demands and drudgery of camp life, the future seemed precarious. Nothing was certain.
“I have something for you, Frankie.”
Sam’s voice drew me from my thoughts. I turned to find him holding a small paper-wrapped parcel tied with string.
“I can’t—”
“Now, before you go and start an argument, let me tell you the story behind this gift.”
I hid my smile. He knew me so well already.
“When I first got to Philadelphia, I was full of confidence. I’d escaped slavery and beaten the odds. I tried to get work, but no one would hire me. Day after day I searched for a job, but nothing turned up. Soon, I was starving, but I couldn’t bring myself to steal like some escaped slaves did to survive. It was near Christmastime, and I didn’t have nowhere to sleep. I feared I’d freeze to death if I stayed still too long, so I started walking, not knowing where I was going. It got dark, and I crawled up on the steps of a building to get out of the snow.”
He glanced up to the clear sky, no doubt thankful for warm sunshine on his face now. “Turns out it was the home of Miz Annabelle Gaddis. She was a Quaker woman, like Miz Illa. She took me in and had her cook set me down to a meal. There were servants aplenty, but she offered me a job to earn my keep. On Christmas Day, she gave me this.” He handed the parcel to me. “Said someday it would mean more to me than silver or gold.”
I looked at the wrapped package. “I can’t take somethin’ that means so much to you.” I offered it back, but he shook his head.
“I want to give you more than silver or gold, Frankie.” His soft voice struck me in a place I thought long dead. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I looked away.
At his prodding, I untied the string and let the brown paper fall away. There in my hands was a small book. Its black leather cover bore cracked edges and looked worn, but the gold lettering on the front fairly sparkled in the sunshine.
I stared at it, my mind traveling all the way back in time to the day I stole Miss Charlotte’s book and held it in my hands. Oh, how I wished I’d thrown it in the fire that day.
“Miz Annabelle taught me to read,” Sam went on, unaware of the painful memories his gift unleashed deep inside me. “This here is a book of Psalms from the Bible. Many are written by a man named David. He was a king long ago. The Psalms tell us all about God and how we can trust him. David says God is our heavenly Father who loves us. For slaves like us who ain’t had a father or someone to care for us, I find that comforting.”
My breath came heavy. I stared at the book, torn between the desire to hug it to my chest as a treasure or throw it into the Cumberland River as a curse.
I lifted my eyes to Sam, angry that he’d caused such confusing emotions to swirl through me. “What am I supposed to do with a book? I can’t read it.”
My harsh words and ungrateful attitude didn’t affect the peaceful expression on his face. “I’ll teach you to read.”
Tears welled in my eyes, betraying me. I pushed the book into his chest. “I don’t want your book. I don’t want to read. And I sure don’t want your God. Can’t you just leave me be?”
I turned and ran. I couldn’t see where I was going through my tears. I only knew I had to get away. From Sam. From memories. From everything. The feelings he and his book wrought inside hurt too much.
The hem of my dress caught on a low stump, and I fell, bruising my knees. I covered my face with my hands and wept. For Mammy. For the innocent child I’d been before I was ripped from her. For my babies. For Moss. It all came out, like floodwaters that had been dammed up too long. Loud wails spilled forth, and I couldn’t’ve stopped them even if I’d tried.
I didn’t know how long I knelt there on the frozen ground, but eventually my tears ceased. My breath hiccuped, the only evidence of my heartache. I lifted my face to the sunshine, wondering what Sam must think of me now.
The answer was there when I stood and started back to camp. He was kneeling on the ground a short distance away, the small book in his hands. Tears wet his cheeks and his eyes were closed, but his mouth moved in silence. I knew he was praying. For me.
Our gazes met when he looked up. He slowly got to his feet and faced me. “You don’t have to be afraid no more, Frankie.”
Of all the things he could have said to me, those soft, unexpected words were exactly what my weary heart needed. Without thought or hesitation, I fell into his waiting arms.
He cradled me a long time, swaying in the cold breeze. Then he started talking.
“Don’t you see, Frankie? The day I landed on Miz Annabelle’s doorstep changed my life. I thought I found freedom when I ran away from my master, but it weren’t mine. Not yet. Freedom comes in knowing the truth of God. He loves each of us the same. He loves you, Frankie.”
I shook my head, my cheek rubbing against the rough fabric of his coat. “That ain’t true,” I said, yet wishing with all my heart it was. I pushed out from his embrace to look him in the face. “If God loves me, why’d he make me a slave? Why’d I get sold
away from my mammy? I seen terrible things done to folks, Sam. Folks like you and me. If your God loves us, why does he allow all this misery?” I waved my hand to encompass the contraband and soldier camps in the distance.
I shook my head again. “You’re a fool to trust him, if he’s there at all.”
“The apostle Paul said, ‘We are fools for Christ’s sake.’” A content smile lifted his lips. “I guess I’m in good company.” He looked down at the small book still in his hands, then up at me. “Please take this, Frankie. Don’t none of us know what tomorrow holds. It’d give me a measure of peace in my heart to know you have it should something happen to me.”
My body and emotions were spent. I didn’t have the strength to argue with Sam anymore. I sure didn’t want to think about something bad happening to him and the regret I’d feel if I didn’t do this one thing for him. I accepted the book. Neither of us said anything more as we returned to camp.
When I reached my tent, I was grateful to find myself alone. I couldn’t have tolerated Nell’s chatter right now. Without looking at it or turning even one page, I shoved the book under my cot and tossed a soiled apron on top of it.
I appreciated Sam’s kindness, his words of comfort, but I didn’t want his book.
It could stay under that cot until the end of the war, for all I cared.
Alden volunteered to drive to the drugstore near the capitol building and pick up some chicken salad sandwiches from the lunch counter. Jael arrived home in time to join us, and the four of us talked and laughed and enjoyed sharing another meal around Frankie’s tiny table.
“I hope you don’t mind my asking, but did you ever learn to read?” Alden said as he stood to help Jael clear away the dishes. She stacked them on the counter and they both returned to the table.
Frankie leaned back in her chair. “Reading was forbidden for a slave. It’s hard to imagine these days, what with schools and colleges teaching our young folks to read and write and do sums.” She smiled at Jael. “I’m right proud of all the progress we’ve accomplished since the war ended.”
Under the Tulip Tree Page 16