“You can confide in me, if you wish,” Lisbeth said. “Or we can speak of other topics. As you like.”
Mary took a breath. Quietly she told Lisbeth, “Robert witnessed our brother Albert’s death. He does not speak of the details, but I believe it was neither fast nor pain-free.”
A knot developed in Lisbeth’s stomach, and she took Mary’s hand between her own. Mary had written of her brother’s death, but not the circumstances. Albert and Robert had been nearly twins; no two brothers had ever been closer.
Mary gazed off to the river as she spoke. “Robert was sent home to recover, but his state worsened after the Union troops stationed on our land burned all of our stores and crops.” She looked into Lisbeth’s eyes. “The war may have ended, but I fear it will live in him forever.”
Sammy ran up to them, interrupting the conversation. “May I have the playing cards?”
Lisbeth dug them out of her bag. “Who are you playing with?”
“Uncle Robert and I are going to teach Danny and Harry how to play Go Fishing.”
Lisbeth smiled at her son as she passed him the deck of cards. She watched him run back to the blanket. In this setting he reminded her of Jack as a boy. With more kindness in his life, perhaps Jack would have been as thoughtful of others as her Sammy.
“Sitting here is so familiar and comfortable it is hard to believe that I have not seen the James River, or you, in ten years,” Lisbeth said to Mary.
“I was utterly distraught when you left,” Mary remembered. “I feared your life had been ruined. Now I believe you and Matthew were wise to leave.”
Surprised, but curious and willing to speak plainly, Lisbeth replied, “But your home and children are lovely.”
“It looks pleasant, but Daniel hardly sleeps at night with the worry. We do not have enough seed to plant all of our acres, and we cannot get any more credit to purchase more. Even if we had more seed, we do not have enough workers. A few have been loyal, but most have abandoned us. Without workers we will be ruined. He fears we are going to lose everything to a carpetbagger.”
Lisbeth was astounded. Mother had given her the impression that Daniel Bartley had profited off the war. Lisbeth considered that her mother might have been intentionally misleading her.
“Enough feeling sorry for myself,” Mary said. “I have arranged a surprise for you. Tomorrow we are visiting Fair Oaks! Alice and Alfie Richards, the current owners, are delighted to have us for dinner.”
Lisbeth’s heart leaped. It would be bittersweet to return to her childhood home, and complicated to show it to Sammy and Sadie. They’d been raised to understand that slavery was abhorrent, and she’d been too ashamed of her family’s relationship to that travesty to be entirely honest with them. Her children were always begging her to tell them about her experience growing up. They’d heard stories about the willow tree, hunting for yellow crocuses, and picnics by the river, but they didn’t have the full understanding of her childhood home.
CHAPTER 8
JORDAN
Fair Oaks plantation, Virginia
Mama, Sarah, and Jordan squeezed into the only bed in the shack. It was more cramped than the wagon, and the straw under the ticking poked through in spots, making for a long, uncomfortable night. Jordan was grateful to her mama for taking the middle. Sleep came in fits and starts, her mind jumping between worrying about Samuel alone in the woods and searching for a way to find Ella and Sophia. The only information Sarah had was that her children had been taken to Hope Plantation in North Carolina, not much to go on.
When Jordan woke up, she was alone with Mama. Sarah was already at work in the fields, having instructed her guests to stay inside unless they needed the facilities. Sarah planned to assure the overseer they would be gone soon, and that they were no threat. After supper with Cousin Sarah, they’d leave her, head back to join Samuel, and work to find those girls. Though Jordan hadn’t thought of a way to go about doing that.
By daylight this space was more depressing. It hardly seemed fit for livestock, let alone humans. Slits of light came through the cracks in the walls, highlighting the dust dancing in the air.
“There’s no floor,” Jordan remarked. “You and Pops really lived here?”
“You know your father lived on another plantation,” Mama corrected her. “Jus’ me and Poppy and Samuel were here, until I was brought in to feed and care for Lisbeth.”
Jordan had heard these stories her whole life, but they took on a whole new meaning after seeing this place.
“And you,” Mama reminded her sharply. “You lived here too, though not for long. We lef’ before you made one. You know that!”
“Oh, Mama,” Jordan exclaimed. “You told me, but, I just . . . I just had no idea. I don’t know what to say, except thank you. Thank you so much for getting me out of here.”
Mama smiled at Jordan. “That the hardest, and best, thin’ I done in my whole life. Traipsin’ through the forest, you on my back.” Mama shook her head, remembering. “You nearly died. That’s the worst moment of my life . . . when I thought you was gone.”
Mama had tears in her eyes at the memory. Filled with tenderness and awe, Jordan looked at her mother with new respect.
“Did you plan for a long time?” Jordan asked, suddenly interested in the details.
“Mm-hmm,” Mama confirmed. “Took me months to save up jus’ for the paper. We got Sarah to thank for writin’ the pass that got us to freedom.”
Jordan recalled, “Lisbeth taught Samuel to read and write. Then Samuel taught Sarah. Did Lisbeth understand what she was doing?”
“No.” Mama shook her head. “She only a little thing that jus’ wanted to please me,” Mama explained. “We was always under that willow for naps and for reading. I don’ think she thought twice about Samuel joining us.” Mama paused and got a far-off look in her eyes. Then she said, “I wasn’ much older than you are now when I was brought in to be her nurse.”
“Twenty used to seem so old to me,” Jordan said, “but you were hardly more than a child yourself.”
“You grows up fast round here,” Mama agreed.
Jordan dug behind the bed for her head scarf, which had come off in the night. She pulled up the ticking and was stopped short by what she saw on the wall.
“Look!” Jordan said, pointing to the rough wood plank.
“Hmmm,” Mama said in wonder. “Somethin’ even I can read: Samuel. Guess he jus’ wanted to leave his mark—remind God he was here. I had no idea he done that.”
Jordan ran her fingers across her brother’s name, carved into the wood hidden behind the bed she was born in.
“Where’s the willow tree and the window that Samuel waved to?” Jordan asked. “Putting his fingers up?”
Mama drew her eyebrows together into a scowl. “I don’ think we need to be showin’ ourselves in the direction of the big house . . . rubbin’ it in that we here.”
Jordan pleaded, “Just a quick peek.”
“All right.” Mama opened the door and looked into the distance. A wistful expression covered her face, and she pointed.
“The graveyard way up there. You can’ see it from here, but you can when you up high. That where Poppy and my mama have markers. I sorry you can’ see it, but I don’ wanna show ourselves so much.” She pointed again. “And there’s the willow, on that rise.”
Jordan sucked in her breath. It was beautiful. The bright-green canopy reached up to a beautiful blue sky and all the way down to the ground. The James River sparkled in the background, and birds flew in and out of the branches.
“Was this your whole world, Mama?” Jordan asked.
“What you mean?”
“This cabin, that tree, the fields. Did you know anything else?”
Mama pulled in her lips, biting the lower one in thought. “I had stories from the Bible, once or twice a year a dance, and eventually the big house, but nothing like you seen growing up.” Mama got a far-off look in her eye again.
“What
?” Jordan asked.
“I jus’ remembered that I didn’ even knowed what a mirror was when I was brung in,” Mama said with a snort.
“A mirror?” Jordan thought about Sarah’s shack. Of course, Mama hadn’t ever seen a mirror.
“My own reflection scared me.” Mama laughed. “I actually jumped.”
Jordan smiled at the story, but it broke her heart too. “Where’s the window? To your room with Lisbeth?”
“That one, right on the corner. Ten years I spent caged in that pretty room, takin’ care of her and washin’ laundry for the big house.”
Jordan looked at the building, sun glistening off the window her mama pointed to. She looked back at Mama, her face pinched with sorrow.
Mama said, “Ain’t no pain as awful as the one that come from bein’ away from your own chil’. Seein’ through that window helped a bit. Samuel knowed I checked on him two times ever’ day, but it ain’t the same as holdin’ him and being his all-the-time mama, you know?”
After talking with Sarah last night, Jordan understood her mother’s anguish in a whole new way. The stories from her childhood had happy endings with the four of them reunited. Mama and Pops always reminded them to count their blessings, not their sorrows. But Mama had borne years of loneliness, separated from Pops and Samuel. Her mama was strong in a way Jordan had never had to be and had lived with loss Jordan had only read about. Jordan put an arm around her mama. A small, though so inadequate, comfort was all she could do for the woman who had been brave enough to give Jordan so much.
CHAPTER 9
LISBETH
Fair Oaks plantation, Virginia
“You lived here? With Grandmother Wainwright and Uncle Jack?” Sadie exclaimed when the driver stopped in front of the white façade with tall white columns.
“No wonder they’re so mad,” Sammy said. “They lost this.”
“Money is not nearly as important as human kindness,” Lisbeth reminded her children, uncomfortable with their attitudes. She did not want them to romanticize her childhood, but she also did not want them to think less of her because of it.
They gave quick nods but didn’t take their eyes off the building. Lisbeth studied the façade, looking for changes. The trees were the same, only taller. The paint on the front door was a new shade of deep blue. And the path had been filled in with bits of rock gravel, making it less muddy.
Nervous and excited for the memories and questions this home would stir up, Lisbeth followed Mary to the familiar front door. Her friend knocked and waited. It felt strange to be locked out of her first home. Her instinct was to simply walk in as she had always done before.
An unfamiliar Negress with dark hair pulled into a tight bun greeted them and led them to the Richards family, who was waiting in the sitting room. It felt at once familiar and wrong. The drapes and walls were exactly the same as the day she’d left home, but the furniture was entirely different, and too modern for this space. The daguerreotypes on the mantel displayed the faces of strangers.
“Elizabeth,” Mary said, interrupting her thoughts. “Mr. and Mrs. Alfie Richards, this is Elizabeth Johnson and her children, Sadie and Sammy.”
“Thank you for opening your home to us,” Lisbeth said. “You are very generous to allow me to return to Fair Oaks.”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Richards said. “We are so glad to meet you. Cook speaks of you very fondly.”
“Cook is still here?” Lisbeth asked. She remembered the large dark woman with a mixture of fear and admiration. Cook had been a powerful fixture in Lisbeth’s childhood household, seeming to answer to no one but herself. Though on reflection, Lisbeth understood it must have been more complicated than that for Cook.
“Absolutely,” Mr. Richards replied. “She is a treasure. We would never part with her. Please, sit. Make yourselves comfortable.”
Once they were settled, Sadie tugged on Lisbeth’s hand and pointed to one of the images on the mantel.
Mr. Richards responded to Sadie’s gesture. “That is our daughter, Cora, in her wedding gown.”
“She looks like a princess!” Sadie said, awe in her voice.
“That day was a much-needed respite during the difficulties,” Mr. Richards replied. “It was well worth the sacrifice we incurred to cover the costs. I hope your journey here was pleasant.”
“It was. Mary’s carriage is very comfortable. And the roads are much improved from when I lived here,” Lisbeth replied.
“I hate the Yankee invaders, but I appreciate the roads they paved to get here,” Mr. Richards said with a chuckle. He continued speaking without pause. “I see you have good taste, young man.”
Sammy had been studying Mr. Richards’s cane.
“You may take a closer look.” The jovial man passed the cane to Lisbeth’s son. “My grandfather had that made eighty years ago—in 1788. Do you understand the significance of that date?”
Sammy shook his head.
“That was the year the Constitution was ratified,” the man proclaimed proudly. “My grandfather’s great-great-grandfather was a part of the original Jamestown settlement. Have you learned about Jamestown?”
Sammy nodded. “We studied United States history last year.”
“I am glad to hear that even in Ohio they are teaching you about the founding of our great nation,” Mr. Richards said. “My grandfather was an officer in the Revolutionary War. He had this cane crafted to remember the sacrifices that must be made for freedom. I trust you know the eagle is the symbol of our great country. My grandfather passed it to my father, who in turn passed it to me.” Mr. Richards looked intently at Sammy, clearly serious about conveying his words of wisdom. “Son, you must remember that liberty is a most precious gift from God. No one has the right to wrest it from you, though many will try. As the greatest of us all wrote in the most magnificent document of all, ‘we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.’”
“Do you know where those words are from?” Mr. Richards asked.
“The Declaration of Independence, sir,” Sammy answered.
“Do you agree?” Mr. Richards asked in a way that left no room for opposition.
Sammy nodded his head.
“What is the most precious gift from God?” the man quizzed Sammy.
“Liberty, sir,” Sammy parroted.
“That’s right, Son,” Mr. Richards praised him.
Lisbeth had to bite her tongue to keep from asking Mr. Richards whose liberty he would fight to defend. She hated to let his ideas go unchallenged in front of her children, but even more she did not wish to be rude by having a political argument with her host. She would be sure to bring up this conversation when she was alone with her children to tell them where she and Matthew stood on this issue.
Mr. Richards continued. “You can go back to Ohio and tell your friends you held a piece of United States history in your hand: the cane from a Revolutionary War hero!”
Mr. Richards put his hand out to get the cane back. Sammy passed it to him.
“May I hold it?” Sadie asked.
Mr. Richards looked at her, his eyebrows pulled together in surprise. “I suppose there is no harm.”
Sadie ran her fingers over the intricate eagle feathers.
“Is this for my liberty too?” Sadie asked the old man.
Mr. Richards laughed and looked at Lisbeth. “You have a little spitfire there! Honey, you have no need for liberty,” Mr. Richards said condescendingly to Sadie. “Your husband will take care of you. You’ll understand when you are older.” He reached for the walking stick.
Lisbeth patted her daughter’s arm and telegraphed a silent request to stay quiet. She was grateful when Sadie returned the eagle without saying more.
Mr. Richards sat back, looking satisfied, and changed the subject. “Dinner will be ready soon; however, we thought you might enjoy a tour b
efore we eat.”
A shiver, likely from excitement, shot through Lisbeth’s spine. She smiled at Mr. Richards. “That would be wonderful, if it is not an imposition.”
“No imposition at all. I am quite sentimental myself, so it is what I would want if I were in your position. Lucie can show you around while we visit with Mary. We will catch up on the news.”
Sadie squeezed Lisbeth’s hand. “May I come too?”
“Of course,” Mr. Richards said. “You must learn about your history, but first . . . have a sweet.” He opened a small dish with a flourish and revealed hard candy in bright colors. “Lemon, mint, or sassafras,” he announced.
The children looked to Lisbeth for permission, who nodded her consent.
“Thank you!” they exclaimed, and chose pieces for themselves.
“You too,” Mr. Richards insisted to Lisbeth.
Feeling like she could not refuse, Lisbeth took a lemon piece and expressed her gratitude as well.
The petite Negress who had let them into the house gestured to them from the doorway. Lisbeth, Sammy, and Sadie followed Lucie’s gray skirt up the wide staircase. Lisbeth’s chest hammered in anticipation.
“Mr. Richards is very kind,” Sadie declared.
“He seems nice,” Lisbeth replied, though she knew very well the appearance of courtesy was a separate issue from true kindness.
“Mrs. Richards is shy,” Sadie decided. “She doesn’t like talking to us.”
Lisbeth had also noticed that the older woman hadn’t said a word to them. She doubted it was Mrs. Richards’s own temperament that kept her quiet, but instead assumed Mr. Richards’s attitude silenced her. Lisbeth had been raised around men like him. They were jovial and kind until they were crossed. So many wives found it best to simply stay silent rather than risk the storm that came from saying the wrong thing.
At the top of the stairs the maid asked, “Which room did you stay in?”
Lisbeth pointed to the right. “The last one.”
Lucie nodded and led the way down the rug-covered hall, which was narrower than in Lisbeth’s memory. She opened the door, and Lisbeth stepped into her childhood. She looked around, taking in all that was the same and all that had changed. The mirror, the windows, and the wallpaper were familiar. She walked around the space, opening the door to Mattie’s small antechamber, which was hardly more than a closet. Crossing to the door on the other side, she opened it and looked down. Her children squeezed their heads past her arms to peer into the dark.
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