by Naomi Finley
When we parted, I tilted my head to look into his welling eyes before laying my cheek against his shoulder, and the fabric of his wool shell coat collected my silent tears. He whispered soothing words of love and promises of his return.
I brushed away my tears and stepped out of his embrace. “If you are to catch your train, you need to go.”
He took my hand, and we walked back to join the others. Bowden said one final goodbye before descending the steps to where Jimmy stood patiently waiting. I followed behind him to stand at the end of the path. Jones sat on his mount, waiting to accompany Bowden to town.
“Et sho’ was good to see you, even ef et was only for a short spell,” Jimmy said as Bowden tucked the food Mammy had given him into the saddlebag.
He turned and gently clasped Jimmy’s shoulder, smiling fondly. “There’s no place like home. And nothing more comforting than to sit awhile in the company of loved ones and old friends.”
Jimmy grinned. “No, Masa, dere certainly ain’t. You mind you take care of yourself and git back here to Missus Willie and de rest of us.”
Bowden inclined his head before swinging up into the saddle. His gaze moved over the house folk standing on the front veranda and the quarter folk who’d come to send him off before focusing on me. No words needed to be said because his eyes spoke of his love. Nudging the horse around, he kicked his heels into the animal’s side and galloped down the lane, taking my heart with him.
As he and Jones disappeared out the gates, I failed to fight back the tears before turning and racing into the house. Whitney strode into the foyer, and I veered by her and charged up the stairs, wanting to be alone to wallow in my misery.
September, 1862
AT THE CLANGING OF THE cast-iron dinner bell and Mammy’s bellow, I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my wrist and arched my back to alleviate the throbbing ache.
Tillie, Pippa, Whitney, and I, along with the scarce few remaining slaves, had taken to the fields at first light. All morning the merciless scorching sun had beat down on us, and the nausea in my stomach since rising hadn’t eased. Fingers pricked and bloody, feeling wearier than I did most days, I welcomed the sound of the bell. I strode to the wagon, removed the cotton sack from around my neck, and placed it in the wagon bed.
“Hell itself blazes down on us.” Whitney hoisted her overflowing sack into the wagon.
I reeled as lightheadedness washed over me.
“You all right?” Whitney asked. “You aren’t coming down with that bout of influenza those soldier boys brought here, are ya?”
“I’ll be fine. It’s this sun.”
Her brow puckered beneath her floppy straw bonnet. “If you say so.”
It’d taken another week or more after Bowden had left, but eventually Whitney had come and offered an apology, which I’d welcomed. I hadn’t wanted to be at odds with her any more than she had with me.
She clambered into the driver’s seat.
“Up you go, Tillie. I’ll sit in the back.” I held out a hand and eyed her expanding middle. The babe would come around Christmas.
She hesitated and looked to the house. “You can’t be seen showing favor to de slaves. I git in de back lak a slave suppose to.” She walked to the back and climbed into the wagon bed.
Too exhausted to fuss with her, I waited for Pippa to board before settling myself beside her. We sat in silence on the way back to the house, but the churning in my stomach never ceased.
As we neared the house, Whitney snorted and said, “Well, will you look there.”
I peered in the direction she’d nodded toward and saw an officer sitting in a rocker on the back veranda, reading the newspaper and sipping on what appeared to be lemonade.
“We work the fields while they eat our food and kick their feet up and enjoy the fruits of our labor.”
Tillie chuckled from her position in the back of the wagon. “Many times, we say dat ’bout white folkses.”
Whitney scowled back at her. Pippa and I laughed when Tillie jutted her chin and grinned back.
“She has a point,” I said.
We left the wagon in the work yard and joined the silver-haired officer on the veranda. I caught a glimpse of the bold newspaper heading before he lowered it: Resounding Victory for the South in the Second Manassas.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Armstrong.” He stood and glanced at Whitney, who marched to the door without so much as a “How do you do.” He turned an admiring look on Pippa and inclined his head. “Ma’am.”
“Afternoon, Captain,” Pippa said.
“It’s a hot one out there.”
“Like you would know,” Whitney said under her breath before waltzing inside and slamming the door.
“What did she say?” He cupped his ear. The captain’s saggy jowls and droopy lids reminded me of an old coon dog.
“She said, ‘afternoon,’” Pippa said in a loud voice before gracing him with a pleasant smile.
He snorted and shook his head. “Her face didn’t say that, and neither did that door.” He tucked the paper under his arm and strode to the door. “After you, ladies.” He opened the door and stood back.
“If you will excuse us, we need to wash up and will join you in the dining room,” I said.
He nodded and strode down the hallway and disappeared into the dining room.
Freshened up and changed, we womenfolk joined Knox and the soldiers fit to join us for the afternoon meal. While the table guests chattered, I found myself moving the food around my plate with my fork.
Sailor entered the room carrying a white Ironstone China pitcher. Mammy had insisted that, with us in the fields, she needed his help with the soldiers. “He ain’t a babe no more. And I ain’t getting any younger,” she’d said. I hadn’t liked it at all, but short of hands I was left with no choice.
He walked around the table, carefully filling the glasses, and each time he managed to finish without spilling a drop, he looked my way and beamed with pride. I praised him with a small nod.
“Lincoln be damned.” A soldier slammed his fist on the table, causing us all to jump. Sailor drenched the white linen tablecloth and the man. The soldier jumped to his feet and backhanded him so hard it sent him reeling backward. Sailor dropped the pitcher, and it shattered.
“Private Daniels!” I scraped back my chair and leaped to my feet.
Sailor cradled his cheek and began to cry. I rushed to his side. He gazed up at me with fear and disappointment radiating from his eyes. “I’m awful sorry, Missus, I didn’t mean to.”
“Of course you didn’t.” I glanced back at the soldiers regarding us with perplexity. “Are you all right?”
He bobbed his head, but I felt his body tremble under the hand I’d placed on his shoulder.
“You go on outside and find Jimmy. Don’t come back in here until I come and find you,” I whispered.
“Yessum.” He turned and fled the room.
I looked at Mammy, who had rushed in to find out what had happened. She stood wide-eyed and uncertain what to do. “Henrietta, please bring more water,” I said.
After she left, I swung back to regard my observers. “Gentlemen.” I gestured at the table. “Please, eat.”
I returned to my seat, and those who had stood seated themselves. My jaw twitched as I lifted my fork and looked at the private who had struck the boy. “Private Daniels.” I waited until I had summoned his attention and said in an even tone, “You will never treat my servants that way again, or I’ll send you back to the army as you are.”
“If I had my guess, I’d think you were a damn nigger-lover.” He leveled dark eyes on me before swiping a hand through the air. “Ain’t been here but a few days, but I can see this ain’t no ordinary plantation, the way you interact with your slaves.”
“Let me tell you something, sir,” I bit out. He stiffened. “If it wasn’t for those slaves, you wouldn’t be on your way to recovery. If it wasn’t for those slaves, this plantation wouldn’t still be standing
. If it wasn’t for those slaves, our crop wouldn’t have been planted or gathered to fill your ungrateful belly.”
A balding soldier of twenty-five or so with his arm in a sling, sitting to the captain’s right, leaned forward. “Ma’am, Private Daniels didn’t mean to disrespect you in your home or to disregard the service you provide the army.”
The private’s face reddened, and his jaw clenched. His anger was minimal compared to mine.
“Apologize to the lady, or see yourself removed,” Knox said.
The captain cupped his ear. “What he say?”
Pippa patted his arm and leaned in to speak in his ear.
Private Daniels stood, threw his napkin on the table, mumbled an apology, and hobbled from the room.
“I’m right sorry for his behavior, ma’am,” the soldier said. “Ever since Lincoln invoked the Second Confiscation and Militia Act, allowing niggers to fight alongside white men, he has been sourer than ever at the blacks. Can’t say I ain’t heated by Lincoln’s actions, either. I hope he and every last yellow-bellied Northerner lie in the gutters at the end of this war. The way I look at it, the South would be better off without them.”
Whitney’s eyes flashed. “How do you reckon that? The South depends on the North for their factories as much as the North depends on the South for our cotton.”
“If you don’t recall, ma’am, the depreciation of Confederate currency is another reason for the South’s disregard of the North. Even street merchants are refusing to take our money. My wife entered a shop in Virginia where the shopkeeper rejected her money like it was dirty. Said it was worthless. The North seeks to cut us off at the knees; pardon me if I don’t like it much.”
“We, too, have encountered problems with the currency. Just the other day, a traveling salesman refused to sell me sugar and flour,” Pippa said.
“Major General Loring issued a general order stating that the money from the Confederate Government is secure and should be received for public transactions.” Whitney cut her food into precise pieces. “Perhaps if women had a say in political matters, we wouldn’t find ourselves at war in the first place.”
I tensed as the soldier narrowed his eyes at the insert of her political views, and the soldier sitting next to him regarded her with the same disapproval. “Political matters are best left to men,” he said.
“Is that so?” She stretched to her full height.
Knox patted her hand where it lay on the table next to her plate, looking nervous.
“Yes,” the soldier asserted. “Can you imagine what would happen to this country if women’s input was valued? And God help us if some fool granted them the chance to vote.” His chuckle reverberated throughout the dining room.
“There are plenty of women who’ve made profound progress in this country,” I said. “And doing so while having to hide behind their husbands. Not out of cowardice, I assure you, but because they were considered inadequate in all matters. In fact, they are born with gifted minds and possess more courage and brilliance than some men. It’s their decisions and actions behind closed doors that advanced their husbands to power.”
Throats cleared, and the men adjusted themselves in their seats.
I smiled, and before taking a bite of food, said, “I’ve had all I can handle on matters of politics and war for the day. Let us talk about other matters, shall we?” I placed the food in my mouth, only to have my stomach revolt. I grabbed my napkin, angled my body away, and deposited the bite into the linen.
“Are you well, ma’am?” The soldier who had rebuked Private Daniels looked at me with concern.
“I fear I may have caught the sickness you all brought with you. I’ve been feeling under the weather for the past few…for a while…” I stopped as a thought occurred. No, it’s impossible. I lifted my glass and took a rather long swig. “If you will please excuse me.” I laid my napkin beside my plate, and as I stood, the men at the table followed suit. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure. I offer my apologies for the disruption. I think I will retire to my chamber.” I turned and dashed from the room.
“Willow?” Pippa said behind me as I reached the upstairs landing. I turned to observe her following after me.
“What is it?” I continued on down the corridor to my chamber. Head spinning, I dashed to the basin on the stand by the window and vomited. After expelling the bile from my empty stomach, I used a folded cloth lying by the basin to pat my mouth. Worry plagued my mind. I rested my hands on the stand and squeezed my eyes shut. The influenza strain brought by the soldiers had lasted two to three days, but the ailment tormenting me had taken hold before they’d arrived at Livingston and still lingered.
“It appears God has chosen to bless you,” Pippa said behind me, and I turned to face her and rested my hips against the stand.
“What do you mean?” I knew exactly what she referred to, but fear heightened my denial.
She smiled warmly at me. “I’ve seen my share of women blessed with the gift of life.”
“No, you’re mistaken.” I shook my head and walked quickly to the bed. “We are in the middle of a war. We have no time f-for…” I couldn’t say the word.
“A baby,” she said tenderly.
“Impossible.” I paced in front of the bed before nausea roiled again, and I was forced to sit down. I recalled the lovemaking in the meadow. “No.” Misery and fear rushed over me. “It can’t be. It’s the soldiers. They brought this illness to us.” My words lacked conviction. Pippa lowered herself down on the bed beside me. “But I can’t be with child.” As hard as I tried to deny that I could possibly be pregnant, I knew the truth. What had Bowden and I been thinking? To bring a child into the world in the middle of a war…why, it was downright foolish and irresponsible of us. I broke into a fit of tears.
Pippa gathered me into an embrace. “Hush now, dear one. You mustn’t cry. Everything will work out, and when Bowden returns he will be delighted to hear the news.”
“But this war could last for years,” I said between sobs.
“And if it does, his homecoming will be that much sweeter.”
I hiccupped and sat up, taking the handkerchief she offered me and blowing my nose. “Thank you. I don’t know how I will do this.”
“Your child will be one good thing that will come out of this war.” She brushed stray hairs from my eyes and tucked them behind my ear.
“B-but what if I go through this all again, only for the child to…”
“Die?” she said before standing and moving to turn down the linens. “You mustn’t let such fear rob you of the joy for the life that grows inside of you. Each day, when you rise, give thanks for another day and your child, and let the Almighty take care of the rest.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said bluntly. “Death follows me.”
“And that belief will ensure it does.” She pulled back the covers. “Come, let me remove your shoes. You should rest for a while and see the child gets the best of care.”
“All right, but only because I feel I will collapse if I return to the field. Don’t get to thinking that I will lie in bed and be coddled; I have a plantation to run.” I climbed beneath the linens after I allowed her to remove my shoes.
“Very well; but for today, you rest.” She smiled down at me, and I absorbed the warmth in her face.
As she turned to walk away, I grabbed her hand. “Pippa?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
“I’m glad I inserted myself into Ben’s and your affairs,” I said with a smirk.
She chuckled softly.
I smiled at her. “Left to him, he may have missed the treasure that gleamed before his own eyes.”
The melody of her laughter renewed my spirit. She patted my shoulder and walked from the room.
THE NORTH AND SOUTH FACED the bloodiest one-day battle since the war’s commencement with the battle at Sharpsburg. Publications declared the casualties to be astronomi
cal, and General Lee had been forced to give up his plan to invade Maryland and had retreated back to Virginia.
At Livingston, our patients had recovered and departed, and although I welcomed the quiet of the house, waiting for Jones’s return from Charleston with news of my husband had strained my sanity. I sat in the parlor with Pippa, knitting wool socks for the army, and every few rows, I had to remove stitches.
“I hope the soldier who gets these has enormous feet.” I held up my work for her inspection.
She laughed.
“Lard sakes, gal, he won’t only need big feet but misshapen ones as well,” Mammy declared as she marched into the parlor with a plate of sliced apples. “You haven’t eaten a bite all day. You got to keep dat babe healthy and fed.” She had doted on me since I had told her the news.
I reflected back on the day, and her happiness, and my dismay.
“Oh, Mammy, how can it be so?” I’d thrown myself at her.
“What ya think gonna happen when Masa show up here after being gone so long?” Mammy had stroked my back. “He need himself some loving, and when mens need some loving, dat when babies happen.”
“I’m well aware of how babies come about.” I’d pushed away and scowled at her with misery and uncontainable fear.
“Ya hear me?” Mammy plucked me back to the present. “Eat.” She gestured at the apples.
I laid the knitting aside and took a slice. “I’d rather have a slab of cake.”
“Ain’t got no flour. I asked Mister Jones to fetch some when he went into town. Mrs. Smith was clean out de last time he asked.”
Later, when dusk stretched over the plantation, the sound of a horse approaching lured me to the window.
“Is it Jones?” Pippa asked.
“I can’t tell.” I pressed my face closer to the window. “No, it looks like Mr. Barlow.” I turned and frowned at her. “I wonder what he wants?”
“Let’s go find out.” Pippa tossed her knitting aside and headed for the door.
We walked out onto the front veranda as he dismounted and handed his reins to Pete.