Mustard Seed

by Laila Ibrahim

  Lisbeth understood. Mother was speaking of the evacuation fire. She knew of it from the newspaper account, but her mother had never mentioned it in a letter. Or perhaps she had, but the correspondence hadn’t arrived. The post had been increasingly unreliable toward the end of the war.

  “I’m sorry, Mother,” Lisbeth said. “It must have been very alarming.”

  Her mother continued, ignoring Lisbeth’s condolences. “President Davis must not be blamed for the destruction. The fire was necessary to prevent the Union troops from following.” She blinked at Lisbeth. “You must have celebrated the news, but I feared for my life.”

  Indignation smothered Lisbeth’s compassion. How could her mother believe her to be so indifferent to her suffering? She started to defend herself, but her mother interrupted.

  “Then”—contempt filled her mother’s voice—“your Mr. Lincoln dared come here with his son. Flaunting his cruelty! Celebrating.”

  Lisbeth believed Lincoln’s tour of Richmond was a peace offering, to show respect.

  “He got his due ten days later,” Mother snarled. “We kept our celebrations private, but no one loyal to the South mourned the day Mr. Booth brought us justice.”

  Lisbeth felt like a boat being tossed around in a harsh storm of her mother’s emotions and accusations. President Lincoln’s assassination was as painful as losing a dearest family member. She’d heard there were many people who sympathized with Mr. Booth, but she hadn’t let herself believe her own mother was one of them.

  Mother stared in challenge, waiting for a reaction. Lisbeth would not give her the satisfaction of showing outrage nor defending the outcome of the war. Lisbeth waited patiently for the next outburst, but Mother dropped her shoulders and looked away.

  Changing the subject and her tone, Mother said, “Elizabeth, please help me upstairs. I must rest before supper.”

  Lisbeth exhaled in relief. This had been a confusing, though informative, conversation. She appreciated the frank words about Mother’s experience of the war, but it was exhausting to be chased by her mother’s intense emotional states. Mother vacillated between being pathetic, polite, and cruel at such a quick rate that Lisbeth felt like a jackrabbit jumping in all directions.

  After Lisbeth guided her mother into bed, Mother cooed, “I have longed for just this, Elizabeth. A daughter to comfort me in my time of need.”

  “I hope Julianne has been a good surrogate,” Lisbeth ventured.

  “She is too nervous. It is simply not the same.” Mother actually smiled tenderly at Lisbeth.

  Lisbeth felt wary at the change in Mother’s attitude, but perhaps her unburdening was serving to bring peace between them. Cautiously Lisbeth said, “I have always wished to be close with you too.”

  “Elizabeth, I always felt motherly affection for you. I just did not know how to express it.”

  Lisbeth’s heart swelled at the news.

  “You hoped for kisses and pats, but I am not demonstrative like you. Your desire was confusing and overwhelming.” Mother sighed. “But I only ever wanted the best for you. Which is why we went to such extremes to ensure your marriage to Edward.”

  Lisbeth steeled herself for criticism.

  “We were shunned, entirely ignored by our dearest neighbors. Your father never recovered. When he passes, the creditors will take everything. Once again, I am going to lose my home. Soon I will be a homeless pauper.”

  Without thought, Lisbeth offered as reassurance, “Mother, you are always welcome to live with us in Ohio.”

  She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, but tears already pooled at the corners of Mother’s eyes and seeped out the edges. Lisbeth had no memory of seeing her cry before.

  “You are a dear child. Thank you for bringing comfort to this mother’s heart.”

  Giving in to a yearning to hug her mother, Lisbeth leaned forward, her arms held out wide in an unspoken invitation. She waited in anticipation for her mother to accept or reject her offer. Mother looked back and forth between her two arms, seemingly puzzled, and then finally bent forward, resting her head against Lisbeth’s shoulder. Lisbeth sighed in relief. She wrapped her arms around the thin shoulders. Mother reached up and patted Lisbeth’s arm. A rush of warmth and tenderness filled Lisbeth. Her eyes moistened. She took in a deep, grateful breath. After so much time perhaps she finally made some real peace with her mother.

  After a time, Lisbeth felt her mother’s body go slack. She laid her down and tucked her under the covers. She even ventured a tender kiss and brushed the gray hair off Mother’s cheek. As she walked out of the bedroom, Lisbeth felt the bottle in her pocket. She opened the door to her father’s room to return the laudanum to his bedside table. He was alone, asleep under the quilt.

  Father rolled onto his back, his lids open. “Elizabeth? Is it really you?” His voice was still raspy, but his eyes were clear and looked right at her.

  “Yes, Father,” Lisbeth replied. Apparently he’d forgotten that she was in Richmond.

  Still lying down, he said, “You are brave . . . to visit, to face your mother’s venom. But then you have always been . . . brave.”

  He sounded like the man she knew as a child, his voice stronger and more coherent than it had been since her arrival. Lisbeth had sat with the dying before and had experienced the changes in mood and energy, so she wasn’t surprised.

  She replied, “I came to be of support, for you and Mother.”

  Father asked, “You do not regret your choice, do you?”

  Lisbeth sat on the edge of the bed. She’d never been so familiar with him, and it was strange to be so physically close, but she wanted this conversation—to know a little more of her father while there was still an opportunity.

  She replied, “I’m glad to be here with you in this time, after all these years.”

  Father shook his head and corrected, “I mean your choice to abandon this life. You do not regret that?”

  Her neck tingled. She knew the dying spoke honestly, but that question was a startlingly frank and complicated one to answer.

  Lisbeth considered her words, striving to be kind, but honest. “I do not regret leaving Virginia, though I am sorry for the harm my choice caused you, Father.”

  Father replied, “I was not brave in this life, and now I will burn in hell for all of eternity.”

  “What? No!” Lisbeth challenged, saddened to hear his fear. “Why do you say that?”

  “I only hoped to be a simple minister preaching truth. Seminary was the happiest time of my life,” Father said.

  “You were enrolled to become a minister?” Lisbeth asked, shocked at this new information.

  “I was never concerned or jealous that I would inherit nothing. I was grateful for the role God had put me in as a second son, but then he tested me with Alistair’s death.” Her father sounded defeated. He went on. “I was not brave enough to refuse the evil of my inheritance, and I will pay the price for my cowardice forever. Please pray for me when I am gone, though it will be too late to do me any good.”

  Lisbeth longed to find words of comfort for her father before he died.

  “Father, surely God knows your heart,” Lisbeth said.

  “Actions matter, not words,” Father said, resigned. He stared off into space, lost in thought, his brows furrowed.

  She patted his arm, wishing there was something more she could do. Lisbeth felt compassion and sorrow for him, but she couldn’t argue for his salvation when she didn’t believe in it herself. She thought of the more than ninety slaves that her father had owned. He spoke of himself as a benevolent master, but privately he understood it was a sin. He had lied to her, and to himself, when he’d explained that the enslaved were an inferior race who needed his care. For years Lisbeth had believed that myth—until she discovered that men like him forced themselves upon girls for their own pleasure and power. She thought of Emily, and the layers of deceptions that were hidden in her childhood home.

  A smile split her fath
er’s face. His affect totally changed, he said, “I know! I will free all my slaves upon my death. Surely that will give God cause to bring me to heaven!” He smiled a dreamy smile.

  Lisbeth considered telling him that he no longer had that power, but he looked so delighted with his solution. What purpose would it serve to tell a dying man that he did not have a route to heaven? He would learn soon enough.

  Father whispered urgently, “Lisbeth, do not tell your mother, for she would be furious. Bring paper, quickly! I must do this today!”

  Disdain joined the sorrow in Lisbeth’s heart. Even this close to his death her father was a coward, unwilling to do what he knew was right in God’s eyes.

  “But first I must rest, for I am so tired.” He rolled to his side. Lisbeth wondered if he would say more, but when the soft sounds of heavy sleep came from his throat, she gave up on him.

  CHAPTER 6

  JORDAN

  Fair Oaks plantation, Virginia

  Jordan and her mama cut through the brush back to the main road toward Fair Oaks. Trickles of sweat ran down Jordan’s back as they walked. With each step she regretted that the wagon was so far away from their destination. On the hot, deserted dirt road Mama’s caution felt undue.

  “Keep your mouth closed, and your eyes down!” Mama lectured Jordan. “I gonna do all the talkin’ if we see anyone beside Sarah. And keep your shoes hid. They a dead giveaway no matter how much we mussed ’em.”

  Jordan nodded absentmindedly and took in the scenery. She’d imagined only harsh ugliness, but this was lovely. Elm and hickory trees lined the road. Beautiful shrubs with yellow flowers dotted the ground, contrasting with purple aster. Breaks in the trees revealed fields of tobacco plants nearly six feet tall. The huge leaves were striking in the sun.

  “It’s gorgeous here, Mama. I had no idea tobacco grew so high.”

  “It sure is.” Mama got a wistful look in her eyes as she took it all in. “So much beauty and so much ugliness all mixed together. My heart don’ know what to make of it.”

  Jordan hooked her arm through her mother’s. Her spirit was confused too. It felt peaceful, walking on this road past these plants. Mama had lived right here for nearly thirty years. This was Samuel’s childhood home. In all the stories that she had heard, Jordan had never pictured the plantation as appealing in any way, only horrific, but this was idyllic.

  They turned onto the wide dirt path that led to the cabins. Mud filled the ruts left by wagon wheels. Rows of tall plants blocked the view of the big house. Heads poked up and then disappeared behind the tobacco leaves. In the distance Jordan saw a dozen or so small shacks lined up in two rows. Past them there was a dark smear, probably the James River she had heard so much about.

  As they walked past a break in a row of plants, Jordan saw a White man on a dark-brown horse. She quickly turned her head away and whispered to her mama, “There’s an overseer! Right there.” Her mouth went dry as fear replaced her enjoyment of the scenery.

  “I seen him too,” Mama replied. “Maybe he ain’t noticed us.”

  “You! Turn around!” a deep voice shouted behind them.

  Mama patted Jordan’s hand and hissed, “You stay quiet!” Then, “Yes, suh,” Mama said with her head bent and her eyes turned down. Jordan mirrored her mother’s stance.

  The man growled from his horse. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “We here to see Sarah, suh,” Mama said. Jordan bristled, but she understood her mother’s obsequious tone. “She my husban’s cousin.”

  “Where you visiting her from?” he challenged, looking them up and down slowly.

  “Shirley, suh.”

  Jordan’s heart pounded fiercely in her chest, and her breathing got shallow. Suddenly, mussing up her clothes didn’t seem like an adequate disguise. The quality of the cloth and the style of her shoes were a glaring betrayal. Her father’s warning echoed in her ears; her nice clothes would make her a target. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, she ever so slowly pulled the hem of her gray skirt over her feet, wanting to hide the most conspicuous evidence that she didn’t belong in this land.

  The man snorted. “They may let their niggras come and go at Shirley, but at Fair Oaks ours work to earn their keep.”

  “Yes, suh.”

  “Go back to the road and wait until sunset.” He smirked. “You can have your visit then.”

  “Yes, suh.”

  They walked in silence until they got to the T at the main road.

  “Should we go back to the wagon?” Jordan asked. “Wait with Samuel?” She wanted to get away from that man. If he came back to question them, Jordan was certain he would figure out she was not a worker.

  “No. He gonna be watchin’ us,” Mama explained. “We gonna do jus’ as he says and sit right here until the sunset.”

  “Mama, you were right,” Jordan replied. “This is awful.”

  Her mother gave her a bittersweet look. “Honey, you ain’t seen nothing awful yet.”

  Jordan had never been so hot or so thirsty, but she didn’t complain out loud because there wasn’t any point in mentioning it. The minutes crept by. Just sitting here she was miserable; it was hard to imagine what it was like for the workers in the fields, including Cousin Sarah. She looked over at her mother.

  “Is that what you used to do? Work in the field like that?”

  Mama nodded. “Until I was brought in. I missed being in the quarters, but I didn’t miss workin’ the field. It was so hot and awful.” Mama looked directly at Jordan, like she knew her soul, and said, “That why I so grateful just to be free. I ain’t never, ever taken it for granted.”

  In the distance they watched the workers moving through the fields. Two men on horseback patrolled the area. Jordan was disgusted by the long leather whips tied to each saddle, and grateful neither was being put to use. She’d read enough slave narratives to be jarred by seeing overseers and whips. The scene was perversely calm given the history of these fields and these people.

  “Why do they stay? These workers?” Jordan asked.

  “Uprootin’ ain’t easy. Mos’ of them been here they whole lives. They don’ know anything else. They think they don’ got a choice.”

  Eventually the sun hit the horizon, and the overseer yelled out a signal that work was done for the day. The field hands walked through the rows of tobacco toward the quarters. Jordan started to stand, but Mama grabbed her arm, shook her head, and stayed sitting. Jordan settled back onto the log. Mama didn’t make a move until it was fully dark, long after the field hands had trudged away. Alone they walked on the road through the empty fields and cut down the path into the quarters. Rows of small, rickety huts lined the path. They saw no one on their way to Cousin Sarah’s. Jordan would have thought the huts were abandoned, except there were a few open fires with pots held up by tripods. It was depressing and unsettling, sad and haunting at the same time.

  “It too quiet,” Mama practically whispered. “It used to be filled with folks getting their supper ready after working all day.”

  Jordan felt Mama’s nerves as they reached the fifth cabin on the right. The crooked little shack could hardly be called a house. No more than ten by fifteen feet, it was made of gray weathered planks with open cracks and knotholes. A hole in the door had a piece of frayed rope through it instead of a metal latch. Slavery was over, but these people were still living in shacks. Jordan understood it was hard to start anew, but she still could not fathom why anyone chose to stay here.

  Mama tapped quietly. They didn’t have to wait long for the portal to swing open.

  “Hello?” an old woman asked, worry and uncertainty covering her wrinkled brown face.

  Mama stared hard and then gasped loudly. “Sarah?”

  The woman nodded, looking skeptical. Jordan kept a neutral expression on her face, but she was stunned and slightly disgusted by this grungy woman, with her yellowish weathered skin and sunken, rheumy eyes. Dirt, scars, and sores covered her body. This was her mo
ther’s cousin?

  Mama put her hand to her chest. “It me, Mattie.” Mama’s breathy voice shook.

  The woman’s dirty hand flew to her mouth. “What! No . . .” She stumbled backward.

  Mama took Jordan’s hand and led her into the dark space. Sarah looked back and forth between them, shock and confusion covering her face. “What you doin’ here?” Sarah asked. Gaps in her teeth showed swollen gums.

  “We came for you, like I said I would,” Mama said.

  The woman studied Jordan, who stood there, feeling uncomfortable. “Jordan?” she asked, incredulous.

  Jordan nodded.

  “Oh my!” Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. “I ain’t seen you since you were a baby. Look at you. So grown. So lovely.” She patted Jordan’s smooth brown skin with her calloused and swollen fingers. Jordan resisted the instinct to pull away from the rough scratching on her cheek.

  “Oh, Mattie.” Sarah’s hoarse voice filled with awe. “You did it! You got yo’self a good life.”

  The wonder on the woman’s face was touching.

  “And we got that waitin’ for you too!” Mama exclaimed. “I brought a wagon. We gonna take you to Ohio. Samuel waitin’ in the trees with it.”

  Panic overran Sarah’s face. She challenged, “Anybody sees you?”

  Mama sighed and nodded. “The overseer.”

  “He talk to you?”

  Mama shrank into herself, nodding her head.

  “What you say?” Sarah challenged.

  “You my husban’s cousin, and we visiting from Shirley.”

  Sarah scrunched up her lips, disgusted. “You know he know you lying!” she rebuked. “Look at those clothes. Ain’t no way you a field hand!”

  Jordan watched in silence. The woman chastising her mother had been born only a few months before Samuel, but Sarah looked older than Mama.

  “You cain’t come here and jus’ take me away,” Sarah scolded. “It don’ work like that!”