by Naomi Finley
“Mr. Barlow, good evening,” I said.
“Willow, Pippa.” He removed his hat and climbed the steps.
“What brings you to Livingston?” I asked.
“I’m returning from patrolling, and I was wondering if you heard the news.”
“To what news are you referring? I’ve about had my fill of news.”
“Shall we sit?” He gestured at the rockers. “I’m weary from the day.”
“Of course,” I said as Mammy stepped out onto the veranda. “Henrietta, do you mind bringing Mr. Barlow something to drink?”
“Yes, Missus.” Mammy curtsied and returned inside.
Once we had seated ourselves, I said to him, “It must be important for you to stop in on your way home.”
Mr. Barlow brushed the dust from his trousers. “It’s news that will send a ripple through the South. Caused quite a stir with Mr. Carlton and the others.”
“Oh?” Pippa sent me a nervous glance. “Do not keep us waiting.”
“Very well. Lincoln has issued a preliminary Emancipation Proclamation, declaring his intention to free all slaves in new territory seized by the Union Army. Says that states engaged in the rebellion against the Union have until January, when all slaves in Confederate states will be forever freed.”
“And what of all the enslaved in the United States?” I said.
“Thank you, Henrietta,” he said as Mammy returned with whiskey. After a long, thoughtful swig, he continued. “I suppose they will remain slaves.”
“So this proclamation has nothing to do with freeing slaves because it’s constitutionally wrong; it’s simply a political and military tactic to try and force the South’s hand.” I shook my head in disbelief. “When will this ever end? If we are to see equity for the blacks, I’m not sure it will be at Abraham Lincoln’s hand. He claims slavery is morally wrong but then says the blacks shouldn’t vote, hold office, serve on a jury, or marry a white. Therefore, to him, the blacks are less than the whites and not equal members of society. So let’s say he comes through with his plan for emancipation; what then? The blacks will still find themselves handcuffed by the Constitution.”
“Willow is right,” Pippa said. “Lincoln’s attempt to dangle the chance of emancipation appears to be nothing more than a military strategy.”
“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see. But, in the end, if he does come through, then perhaps this war would’ve been for something. It’s days like today when I would like to sit down with your father and discuss the matter.” I glimpsed yearning on his face before he shook his head as though to dislodge memories. He pushed to his feet. “Isabella and Callie will be waiting for me.”
“Tell my friend I miss her and for her to try to visit soon,” Pippa said as he descended the stairs.
“I will.” He mounted his horse and rode out.
We turned to go back inside when a rustling at the corner of the house caught my attention. “Parker, is that you?” I called.
There was a curse, followed by the swaying of shrubs before he stepped into sight.
“What are you doing?” I narrowed my eyes, but as I said the words I understood. “Were you eavesdropping?”
He crept closer. “Yessum. I couldn’t help but overhear what Mister Barlow said ’bout President Lincoln.”
I looked from him to Pippa and touched her arm. “I will join you shortly.”
She nodded at me before smiling at Parker as he came to stand at the bottom of the steps. “Evening, Parker.”
“Evenin’, Missus Hendricks.” He bowed his head.
She turned and walked inside.
Parker’s eyes flitted about as he stood waiting for my lecture, I suspected. “What is it you want to know?” I asked.
His eyes widened, but he took an eager step forward. “Is et true dat Lincoln wants to free us?”
“That’s what Mr. Barlow said.”
Hope gleamed in his eyes. “Ef he does, dat means I’d be free and I could marry Kimie.”
“On the contrary.” I lowered myself down onto the top step. “Come and sit.” I patted the place next to me, and after he seated himself, I stared at the fields. “I wish it were as simple as that.”
“Free is free, ain’t et?”
“It should be, but I fear free comes with conditions. It doesn’t exonerate you from being black.”
“De Lard a cruel god,” he said despondently. “He never gave de black men a fighting chance in dis life. De white man gits richer while de black man dies toiling on deir lands or chained to de whipping post.” He looked up at the heavens. “Maybe He, too, is a white man. Reckon He hates de black man too.” His jaw clenched, and tears of frustration welled before he leaped to his feet and hobbled down the steps. At the bottom, he turned back and looked up at me, his eyes flashing. “I be damned ef I’m gwine to live de rest of my life wid my neck under de white man’s foot. I will marry Kimie, and we will have a piece of land of our own. I ain’t ’bout to die a slave lak my pappy.” He limped to the corner of the house and disappeared.
My shoulders slumped and I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. I considered Parker and his love for Kimie, and how I’d feel if Bowden and I had faced the same trials. My thoughts turned to Mary Grace and Magnus, and the hardships they would face as an interracial couple.
I looked down at my expanding stomach. I wanted my child to grow up in a world where hate and division didn’t label us, but we had to change to do so. But how did one change a generational mindset that extended to every corner of the world?
March, 1863
AT THE BEGINNING OF THE new year, Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation, ordering black soldiers’ enlistment. I altered my apprehensions about the president and conceded that perhaps he could be an ally for the blacks, but I retained some reservations in the matter.
“Damn leg keeps me prisoner.” Parker knocked at his leg with his walking stick.
In the field a short distance from the outbuildings and house, we worked the earth to plant vegetable seeds within the coming month.
“Ef I could git myself to Beaufort and enlist wid de Union, dey wouldn’t take me anyhow ’cause of dis busted leg. Ain’t worth much to dem, I reckon.”
I paused to rest a spell as the ache in my lower back that had troubled me all morning intensified. “Do you think racial segregation doesn’t follow the army?”
Tillie looked up from working the ground and adjusted her infant son strapped to her back as he began to fuss. “Sally Mae from over at de Hamilton plantation says de black folkses who enlist are given positions as cooks, teamsters, and laborers. Dey don’t git to fight alongside de whites. De way I look at et, et ain’t no different dan being on a plantation.” The baby’s wails heightened.
“’Cept dey git paid,” Parker said.
“Why don’t you find some shade and feed him?” I said to Tillie as she removed the babe and tried to soothe him.
“He ain’t gwine to settle till I do.” She strode from the field.
“Do you reckon what Tillie said be true?” Parker stared after her.
“Ruby says Saul receives significantly less pay than the white soldiers. He is a strong, healthy man, and he has been assigned the task of teamster. So what do you think?” I struck the ground with the hoe in hopes of finishing the task at hand, but a sudden pain in my abdomen stilled my movement and I winced.
Parker dropped his hoe and shuffled to my side. “You all right, Missus?”
I bent forward and rested my palms on my knees. “I-I think it’s time.”
“Time for what?” Parker regarded me with confusion.
“The baby.”
His eyes widened, and he started yelling and carrying on. “Lard Jesus, I ain’t fixing to deliver no baby. I don’t know de first thing ’bout et.”
I squeezed his arm, and he let out a yelp. “Trust me, I am not giving birth in this field,” I said through gritted teeth. “Help me to the house.”
“Yessum. Big
John take care of dis.” He nodded and wrapped an arm around my waist.
We made it across the field and to the smokehouse before another contraction hit. “Wait. Hold on.” I stopped and clenched my jaw at the pain.
“Willow, you all right?” Whitney strolled through the yard, carrying buckets of water from the river.
“De baby is coming,” Parker shouted back at her.
She dropped the pails and raced to my side.
“No, no.” I shooed her away as fear of losing the child took precedence. “Run ahead, tell Big John.” She raced off.
The contractions were coming too fast. Something was wrong. Panic thrummed, and I looked to the heavens. “Please help me. Keep my child safe.”
“Missus.” Pete’s voice. “Missus Tucker sent me.” He halted in front of me, and without hesitation hoisted me into his arms.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and broke into hysterics. “I can’t lose this child. I can’t!”
“Evvything be all right, Missus. I git you up to de big house, and my pappy will take care of evvything.” His confidence in Big John’s abilities did nothing to still the panic charging through me. Ben had been competent, and still my son had died.
Parker hobbled along beside us.
“Angel gal!” I heard Mammy call, and looked up to discover Big John and her racing toward us as fast as her legs could carry her. Big John reached us first.
“Put me down,” I said. Pete obliged and placed my feet on the ground.
“How fast de pains coming?” Big John asked.
“I don’t know. Fast.” I clutched his arm.
Mammy caught up and stood catching her breath. Sweat glistened on her brow, and worry shone in her eyes, but I assumed, upon noticing my own panic, she shuffled it away. “Don’t you worry none. We have ourselves a healthy babe born dis day.” She cupped my cheek. “Parker, you go on to de field. Dat earth ain’t gwine to work etself. Besides, dis here is ’oman’s work.”
Big John gestured at Pete. “Hurry, son, git her up to her chamber.”
“No, I can walk.” I brushed him away.
“Dis ain’t no time for your stubbornness,” Mammy said with a scowl.
“I will make it,” I grunted. I walked past them and headed for the house, but at the back veranda another contraction hit and almost buckled my knees. I halted and grabbed the stair railing, biting down hard to control the pain. My mind raced with the information I had gathered from the book The Origin of Birth by Frederick Hollick. After my son’s death, I had decided that if I were to find myself with child again, I would become as knowledgeable as I could about reproduction and birth. After the pain subsided, I straightened and eyed the stairs with dread.
On one of the whitewashed rockers, a soldier blinded on the battlefield tipped his head to hear better. “That you, Mrs. Armstrong?” he asked.
“It is.” I had taken a liking to the young soldier, who happened to be our only patient at the time.
“I hear your time has come. My wife gave birth only days after this war started. I suppose my boy would be two or more by now. I’ve never seen him. Guess I never will,” he said with a laugh devoid of any bitterness, instead resolved to the loss of his sight. “I suppose this here situation has taught me to not take for granted the blessings one has in life.”
“Are you a Christian man, Private?” I asked.
“No; all I cared about was serving my country, but my pa was. He used to say, ‘Son, if we can see the love in the smallest things, there is no room for fear.’ When I first lost my sight, I was angry. Downright mad at God. Felt like He had cheated me or did me a disservice, but maybe this was His way of making me appreciate the life I took for granted.”
Tears tightened my throat.
“I am no good in the service of the army. Soon I will go home, and when I do, I’ll embrace my son and wife and give thanks that I returned to them when so many won’t. I’ll find another way to be of service to my country.”
Admiration for the man swelled in my chest, and his courage and outlook on life filled me with hope and determination. I would birth my child, and all would be well. “Thank you, Private.”
“For what?”
“For inspiring me to face what comes.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. I don’t know what I said, but I’m mighty grateful it helped.” He smiled the most peaceful smile.
“Come, Missus, let’s git you inside.” Mammy wrapped an arm around my waist.
I allowed her to help me up the stairs and to my chamber. She helped me disrobe and slip into a nightgown before another contraction hit, and I rested my forehead on her shoulder and grunted through the pain.
“God have mercy!” I moaned into her shoulder as she rubbed my back and hips.
Later I lay in bed while Big John examined me.
“Et comes quick, Missus. You have dis babe soon. Real soon.” He dropped the sheet and smiled at me over my bent knees.
“How soon?”
“Can’t be sho’, but soon. De babe reveals ets head.”
Mammy stood at my side, holding my hand, and I clutched it tighter.
An hour later, Whitney studied me from a nearby armchair where she had sat chewing her nails about clean off. “If you ask me, giving birth is a ghastly predicament. After listening to you wail like your insides are about to erupt, I wonder why women let men near them at all. And some go on to birth a tribe of children.”
Mammy chuckled and said, “Ain’t nothing evvy woman don’t think ’fore dey give birth.”
As Big John had predicted, my daughter entered the world in perfect health within two hours and lay cleaned, swaddled, and asleep in my arms. Whitney had feigned a headache and left the room before the babe’s birth; the ashen look on her face revealed she had been about to faint and prove the fearless Whitney Tucker was indeed fallible.
Tears of gratitude trickled down my cheeks as I regarded my daughter’s dark hair and long lashes. Her fingers clutched one of my own, and my heart felt like it would burst with love. “She is perfect,” I said.
“Dat she is, angel gal. Dat she is. She luks jus’ lak you when you were born.”
“Really?” I looked up at her with awe.
“Yessum. She sho’ does—a perfect angel. I recall laying you in your cradle after your mama drifted off to sleep and staring down at you. I thought de Lard had blessed Masa Charles and Missus Olivia wid a gift dat would bring dem closer. At de time, I didn’t knowed? you belonged to Masa Ben. But et didn’t matter none, ’cause you brought de missus and de masa a heap of love. Evvything changed after you were born. Made de missus start to feel somepin’ for Masa Charles, I suppose.” Tears pooled in her eyes as she relived a memory.
Over the years she had continued to tell me stories of my mother, and I never grew tired of hearing them. She never seemed bored of sharing. Mammy honored her by keeping Mother alive in her memories.
I thought of my mother, imagining her holding me in her arms after giving birth and the love that had swelled in her heart for me. At that moment, I felt a deep sense of connection with her.
“What you fixing to call de babe?” Mammy touched the apple of my daughter’s cheek.
“Olivia Henrietta, after the two women who mothered me.” I looked up at her and smiled.
Mammy beamed, and her bosom rose and fell. “Dat a right fine name, angel gal. A right fine name.”
THE SUN POURED THROUGH THE nursery window and enveloped my sleeping daughter with its warmth. I stood by her bassinet and admired how the sun’s kiss dampened the dark curls capping her head. Long lashes rested against the rosy apples of her cheeks, and her chest rose and fell with soft breaths. My heart swelled with pride and love for the little being that had blessed my life.
The floorboards squeaked behind me, and I glanced up as Mammy walked into the nursery. “She sho’ is a purty chile.” She smiled down at the babe.
I ran a finger over the flesh of the baby’s arm. “I thought after I lost m
y son that I’d never love another like I do her.”
“Dere ain’t no greater gift dan de one of being a mother. Though sometimes et bring you a heap o’ worry, et still a gift nonedeless.”
“I hope I can be half the mother you were to Mary Grace and me.”
“You well be…but you be better. I knowed et. You ain’t skeered of nothing. You raise Miss Olivia de same. Your mama was a fighter, and so is you. I reckon et in de babe’s blood to make a difference in dis world.”
“But Mama didn’t raise me.” I looked at her. “You did. So I reckon I got some of that fight from you.”
Her eyes dampened, and profound sorrow tugged at her features as she continued to regard my daughter. “Dat may be somewhat true, but I spent most of my life being skeered. Mary Grace wants to be anything but lak me. I didn’t mean to, but my fears harmed dat gal. Made her want to git far away from me. ’Cause when dis war be over, she leaving South Carolina and heading across the ocean wid my grandbabies.” Her shoulders slumped. “Don’t know when I see her again. But a mama can only protect her chillum for so long ’fore she got to let dem fly. Den, sometimes, all you left wid is regret. I should have done better. Been better. De chile was free, but I kept her lak a caged bird.”
I touched her arm. “You only sought to protect her.”
She turned from the bassinet and held my gaze. “I knowed dat to be true, and all a mama can do is do de bes’ she know how. And, when you see you did wrong, try and make et right. I can’t go back and change my mistakes, but I am telling you dis babe is meant to fly. Don’t let your fears of losing folkses cause you to make de same mistakes I did.”
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her toward the door. “With your wisdom, I hope I can be that source of comfort and assurance for Olivia. The way I look at it, we women and mothers need to stick together.”
“We sho’ do,” she said. “Dis here war got me believing de menfolk may not have et all figured out lak dey want us to think dey do.”
I chuckled lightly as we stepped into the corridor. “We are together on that thinking. Why just the other day—”