by Lynn Austin
“Restoring White Oak is too much for you to accomplish, no matter how strong you are.”
Eugenia had heard enough of his well-intentioned advice. She sat up and discreetly turned away to re-button her bodice. “Thank you, David. I appreciate your concern, but you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She looked at him and lifted her shoulder as if to say, Too bad.
“Listen, Philip was my friend. The very least I can do for him is take care of you. I wasn’t able to do anything for his pneumonia, and I had to watch him suffer and die. But I won’t watch you die, too.”
“I’m not going to die. I have too much work to do.” She managed a smile. “And Philip’s death wasn’t your fault.”
“I feel like it was.” He rose from his knees to sit down beside her on the sofa. “Ever since the war began I’ve been doing the best I can to take care of everyone under horrible circumstances . . . and getting nowhere. So many of my patients suffered and died. Now that the war is over, I find I’m still watching people get sick and die. I nearly lost another patient earlier today, and now you’ve collapsed. I’m at war with death, Eugenia, and I’m tired of losing.”
“Maybe you’re the one who is trying to do too much.”
“No! I’m hardly doing enough and—” He stopped. They looked at each other and both smiled. “We’re cut from the same cloth, aren’t we, Eugenia?”
“Maybe so.” She studied his worry-lined face, his kind, tired eyes, and resisted the impulse to embrace him. “But I truly am feeling better now. See? I told you it was just a passing spell.”
“You need more help. Your daughter was wise enough to seek out that government agency and get help for your friend Priscilla. Neither one of them tried to do it all alone. Josephine asked me to come and talk sense into Daniel, but maybe I need to talk some into you, too.”
“You don’t need to convince me. I heard what Mr. Chandler had to say, and I agree that it makes sense. But you heard Daniel’s reaction when you mentioned it just now.”
“You could sign the contracts yourself. That’s what Priscilla did. She didn’t wait for her son’s approval.”
“That’s different. Daniel isn’t crippled. And he’s trying to fill Philip’s shoes, which are very large ones to fill. I could hire more household help, I suppose, but I don’t know anything about planting cotton. I’ve been trying to convince Daniel, but he makes all the final decisions.”
“Then I’ll talk to him for you. This situation isn’t good for your health.”
Eugenia gripped his arm. “Don’t you dare say a word to Daniel about my health! I don’t want him or anyone else to know.”
He studied her in silence for a moment. “I’ll agree on one condition, Eugenia. You must let me come here and check up on you on a regular basis.”
“And have everyone know I need medical attention? Never!”
“I’ll attend you in secret, then. I’ll take you for a carriage ride or something. The fresh air will be good for you, as will getting away from all the pressure for a while. We could use some normal activities in our lives again.”
“But carriage rides?” she laughed. “Everyone will think we’re courting.”
He looked away, but she saw his cheeks turn pink. “Would you prefer they thought you were my patient?”
“Heavens, no! I’d rather they gossiped about us than about my health. And please, David. I don’t want my children to know. They would be frightened to death after losing Philip.”
“I understand. I promise it will remain our secret.” He paused, rubbing his jaw as if in thought. “I promised to check on Harrison Blake more often, so I could easily call on you while I’m out this way. Let’s say . . . three times a week?”
“That’s absurd! The gossips would have us engaged and married if you came that often!”
“Well, I’m coming to take you for a ride at least twice a week, Eugenia, and I won’t take no for an answer.” He pulled himself to his feet but stopped her as she started to rise. “Nothing doing. You sit there and rest for at least thirty more minutes. Take a nap, even. I’m going back to the study now to see if I can talk some sense into Daniel and his friends.”
“But I need to check on my servant and make sure she is still working.”
“No, Eugenia. You stay right here. I’ll see what she’s doing.” He was gone for a moment, then returned to say, “She’s polishing your banister. Is that what you want her to do?”
“Yes. Thank you. And please remember your promise?”
“Will you be ready for a carriage ride on Thursday?”
She nodded, smiling. She could always find an excuse to change her mind when the time came.
“Good. I’ll see you then.”
Eugenia leaned back against the sofa cushions and closed her eyes. If only she could get Daniel to put aside his resentment and be happy again. Obsessing about the Negroes and mistrusting the government had led to the disastrous war in the first place. It was how they had lost everything. Daniel and his friends should be settling down and starting families. They should be courting their sweethearts, going to dances. As Dr. Hunter said, they could all use some normal activities in their lives.
The more Eugenia thought about it, the more convinced she became that a dance was precisely what Daniel and the others needed to take their minds off their defeat. What better way to forget their troubles and move on? If Daniel fell in love, he would quickly see the need to start planting cotton.
She would do it. She would organize an event right here at White Oak. It didn’t have to be as lavish as the balls she used to hold before the war. Just a simple dance. But it would lift everyone’s spirits and bring Eugenia one step closer to recovering the life she had lost. And who knows? Maybe she would find husbands for her two daughters, too. Of course, Mary and Josephine had nothing at all to wear—neither did she, for that matter. But no one would see their frayed hems and worn lace in the candlelight. She would call it a candlelight dance or maybe a moonlight dance.
Eugenia would start by making social calls and talking to the other planters’ wives. They could plan it together. No one had much these days, but if they each added what little they did have—some homemade dandelion or elderberry wine—it could be a wonderful evening. She would hold it in her drawing room where she used to hold balls. Maybe Priscilla would let her borrow her servants for a day to get the room dusted and ready.
Eugenia was feeling happier already. Yes, it was time for laughter and love to fill the rooms of White Oak once again.
16
The best part of Lizzie’s day was when Rufus, Jack, and Roselle arrived home from school. The boys would chatter on and on about all the things they were learning, both of them talking at once as they shared their day with her. Lizzie wished she could sit down and pull them onto her lap and take it all in, but there was always too much work to do to get dinner on the table. Besides, she wanted Otis to hear all their stories, too. He was so proud of his children.
“I know you want to talk about your day,” she said, shooing them out of the kitchen. “But you need to go do your chores. You can tell your papa and me all about it at dinner.”
They skipped off to gather kindling wood and pump water, and Lizzie turned back to the hearth, poking the coals and giving the soup a stir. She called to her daughter over her shoulder. “Roselle?”
When she didn’t reply, Lizzie turned around. Roselle had sunk down on a kitchen chair like a rag doll that had lost all its stuffing. “I know it’s a long walk home from town,” Lizzie said, “and I hate to put you to work right away, but there’s just so much to do. Go take the wash off the line, then see if we have clean napkins for the table. You can start setting it for dinner, too, and—”
Roselle interrupted with an angry huff. “I thought we were supposed to be free?”
“I know how you’re feeling, honey, Lord knows I do.” Lizzie rested her hand on Roselle’s he
ad, smoothing back her hair, caressing her cheek. She was such a pretty girl, even when she frowned this way and got that tiny little crease between her brows. “But before you do all of that, go see if you can find that bell Miz Eugenia’s always ringing. It’s supposed to be in the morning room, but she’s been looking for it all day. She’s gonna nag me to death until we find it.”
Roselle’s frown changed into a sly, sweet smile. “I know exactly where that bell is.”
“You do? Where?”
“I took it and I hid it from her.”
“Roselle! You can’t do that!”
“Well, I got sick and tired of hearing her ringing it all the time and bothering you. You need to take it easy because . . . you know . . .”
Lizzie’s hand went to her middle. Yes. The baby.
“Listen, all you’re gonna do is make Miz Eugenia mad,” Lizzie said, shaking her head. “You know how she loves ringing that bell.”
“I don’t care. Maybe if she has to get out of her chair once in a while and she sees what you’re doing and how hard you’re working, she’ll quit bothering you all the time.”
Lizzie tucked a strand of hair behind Roselle’s ear. She hoped her daughter never did find out just how pretty she was. “That’s awful sweet of you, honey, it really is. But you need to go put her bell back now. Pretend you’re finding it under a chair so she’ll think it rolled there by mistake. You’ll get on her good side for finding it, that’s for sure.”
“But she’s so lazy, Mama. She won’t lift a finger to wait on herself. When I was at Miz Blake’s house, she and Missy Josephine didn’t mind doing things for themselves. They cooked and washed dishes and everything.”
“I know, honey. I know. But I found out today that Miz Eugenia’s sick.” Lizzie lowered her voice to a whisper. “She had some kind of spell when the doctor was here, and I heard them talking about it in the front room. She don’t want anyone to know, but the doctor sure seemed worried about it.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know, but maybe she keeps ringing that bell because she’s too sick to get up. We gotta try to keep her happy, Roselle. Something happen to her, no telling what will happen to us.”
“She’s never happy, Mama.”
“Don’t I know it? But give her back her bell, honey. Then come help me finish supper.”
Roselle struggled out of the chair, still looking as floppy as a rag doll, and went into the house to put the bell back where it belonged. She was a good girl, Lizzie knew. Even if she was much too pretty for her own good.
Lizzie tried not to worry about the other things she had overheard while she was polishing the staircase earlier today, but they sat in her stomach like spoiled meat. It was all she could do to wait until later to tell Otis about what those men were planning. After the kids were bedded down for the night, she pulled him outside their cabin so they could talk. Even then she kept her voice to a whisper.
“I overheard Massa Daniel and his friends talking today about how they was the ones who broke up the shantytown and chased everyone out of the woods. He was one of them, Otis!”
“Are you sure?”
“I could hear every word they said from where I was working. They were also talking about doing something to the school to try and close it down and scare us all away. They said they don’t want our kids learning to read and write.”
“We need to go see Mr. Chandler and warn him.” Even in the dark, Lizzie could see the worry on his face.
“I know, but how can we? It’s too dangerous to go to town at night. That’s the other thing they talked about. They’re starting night patrols, like they used to have in the old days, remember? Anybody caught out on the road after dark’s gonna get a good beating—or worse!”
“They can’t keep us from going where we want. We’re free now. They got no right to stop us. Are you sure you heard right?”
“I was listening to every word and I know what I heard. That’s what they were doing in Massa Philip’s room all afternoon—making up a list of men who could take turns patrolling.”
“This is bad . . . we gotta do something . . .”
“I know, I know!” Lizzie twisted her hands together like she was wringing water out of cloth. “Oh, I wish we could leave White Oak and go work for somebody else! And I wish we could send our children to school without looking over our shoulder all the time, waiting for something bad to happen.”
Otis took her hands in his to soothe her. “We have to talk to Mr. Chandler. Maybe we can go into Fairmont this Sunday on our half-day off. Think he’ll be there?”
“I don’t know, but we better try. I don’t want them white men to close down the school.”
Otis pulled her into his arms. “The Lord knows what to do,” he murmured. “He’ll show us.” Otis knew a lot more about the good Lord than Lizzie did. His daddy used to be a preacher-man before he passed on, and he would hold meetings in the woods on Sunday afternoons. All the slaves would flock there to hear him. Otis’s faith seemed to grow stronger every year, like the big oak trees that gave this plantation its name, in spite of all that he’d been through. His dream, Lizzie knew, was to learn to read and to own a Bible of his very own.
Lizzie was airing the bed linens the next day when she saw Missy Josephine arrive at the house in the neighbors’ carriage, wearing her Sunday dress. Lizzie waited until Missy Jo finished talking to her mother and sister, then followed her upstairs to her bedroom.
“Anything I can do to help you, Missy Josephine?”
“I don’t know . . . probably not.” She was rummaging through her wardrobe as if searching for something. When she didn’t seem to find it she sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed. “Can you sew, Lizzie?”
“No, ma’am. That’s one thing I can’t do. You need Ida May for that.”
“But Ida May is gone.” She sighed again. “I came home because I need something to wear, but there aren’t any clothes that will fit me.”
Lizzie liked Missy Josephine. She wasn’t nearly as pretty as her mother and sister were, so she didn’t walk around with her chin up in the air the way they always did. She had been kind to Lizzie after the other slaves all left, helping her in the garden and talking to her. And Roselle said Missy Jo had treated her real nice when she’d worked at the Blakes’ plantation. Lizzie decided to take a chance and ask her for help.
“Can I ask you something, Missy Josephine?”
“Certainly, Lizzie, what is it?”
“Otis and I need to talk to that Yankee man about something. Do you ever see him? Roselle says he comes to Miz Blake’s house sometimes.”
“He’s there today, in fact.”
Lizzie looked around to make sure no one was listening. She didn’t see anybody, but she lowered her voice just in case. “When you see him, could you ask him to stop by here to see Otis and me? It’s important.”
Missy Jo’s expression changed, and Lizzie could tell that her answer would be “no” before she even spoke. “That’s not a good idea, I’m sorry.” Lizzie nodded and started to leave, unwilling to let Missy Jo see her disappointment. “No, wait, Lizzie. I want to help you, but if my brother sees a Yankee riding up our lane he’ll get out his gun. But I can give Mr. Chandler a message, if you’d like.”
Lizzie hesitated, remembering her mother’s warnings about never trusting the white folks. She had made that mistake once before and was afraid of what might happen if she made it a second time. “Thank you, Missy Jo. But never mind.”
“You can trust me,” she said, “even if it concerns my family. I promise I won’t say a word about it to them.”
Lizzie was in deep water now and didn’t know how to get out. If she didn’t confide in Missy Jo, it might make her mad. But Massa Daniel was her brother. She wouldn’t listen to bad things about him, would she? Besides, Lizzie would have to admit that she’d been eavesdropping, and that would cause a whole peck of trouble. She searched for a way out of the mess she had made a
nd decided to tell Missy Jo only part of the story.
“We can’t go into town and talk to Mr. Chandler ourselves because we have to work all day and there’s men patrolling the roads at night.”
“They’re not patrolling anymore. . . .”
“Yes, ma’am, they’re gonna start again. Ask Massa Daniel. Otis and I will get into trouble if we go out at night. That’s why we need Mr. Chandler to come see us.”
“He can’t come here, Lizzie. I’m sorry.”
“Only other time we can go see him is on Sunday afternoon, and what if he don’t work on the Sabbath day?”
Missy Josephine seemed to think for a moment. Lizzie held her breath. Was she really going to help solve her problem or would she answer like a white person? And what if she asked how Lizzie knew about the patrols? Oh, she wished she had never started down this winding road in the first place!
“Listen, Lizzie . . . how would it be if I told Mr. Chandler that you wanted to see him and asked him to wait in his office on Sunday? Could you do that? That way you’ll be sure he’s there to see you that afternoon.”
Lizzie could breathe again. “Thank you, Missy Jo. Thank you.”
In the meantime, Lizzie continued to worry about whether or not it was safe to send her kids to school. The men wouldn’t come around in the daytime and scare them all away, would they? Were they that mean? “Maybe we should keep the kids home from school for a few days,” she told Otis that night. “Tell them we need their help around here. Lord knows it’s true enough.”
“No, Lizzie. We can’t let the white men scare us off and get their own way.”
So Lizzie whispered a prayer as she sent Roselle and Rufus and Jack off every morning and prayed some more as she waited outside in the garden every afternoon, watching and worrying until she finally saw them walking down the path toward home. Could she ever make herself forget the old days and start believing that nothing or no one could take her husband and children away from her? Lizzie should have listened to her mother and never dared to love anyone so much.