by Lynn Austin
“I saw Massa Daniel coming back with his friends in the middle of the night,” Lizzie said. “It was them, wasn’t it?”
“They had handkerchiefs tied over their faces and it was dark,” Saul said.
“But I know that horse and that horse knows me,” Otis said. His words all ran together in a funny way as he spoke through swollen lips. “Massa Daniel was there.”
“They said we was all troublemakers and that we better leave town before something worse happens to us,” Saul added. “But I don’t know what can be worse than getting shot at. They was shooting at us for no reason!”
They reached the cabin. The children had come outside to see what was going on and they watched, wide-eyed, as the men helped their papa inside. Jack and Rufus started to cry. Roselle grabbed the water jug and poured some into a cup for him. “Thanks, Roselle, honey,” he murmured. Then he tried to soothe the boys. “I’ll be all right, don’t you worry. . . . It ain’t nothing that won’t heal. . . . Hey, shouldn’t you be heading off to school now?”
“I don’t want to go, Papa.”
“I’m scared!”
Lizzie was scared, too. If they could do this to Otis—big, strong Otis—what would they do to two little boys or to her beautiful Roselle? She didn’t even want to imagine it.
“You’ll be fine,” their father assured them. “The good Lord will watch over you.”
“Like He watched over you?” Lizzie blurted.
“Yes, Lizzie. I’m still alive and I’ll be fine. Just a little banged up, that’s all.”
She rushed out of the cabin and up to the kitchen feeling as worn and wrung out as an old rag. She might have been sleepwalking as she set the table for breakfast, put food on platters, and served it to Miz Eugenia, Missy Mary, and Missy Josephine, who had moved back home from the Blake plantation a few days ago. Lizzie kept her head lowered the entire time, afraid she would say something terrible if she had to look at their white faces. Thankfully, Massa Daniel didn’t come down to eat with the others. He was all tired out, no doubt, from beating up defenseless people. Lizzie never could have forced herself to serve the man who had hurt her Otis.
At last the meal was over. Lizzie’s kids ate breakfast in the kitchen and headed off to school, huddled close together like little lambs as they walked up the road toward town. Lizzie had just sat down to eat when Missy Jo walked through the open kitchen door. Lizzie sprang to her feet again. “Did you need something else, Missy Jo?”
“No, no. Please, sit down, Lizzie, and finish your breakfast. I just came to ask . . . are you all right? You seemed . . . upset.”
What could she say? She didn’t dare tell Missy Jo that her brother was a horrible man, who beat up innocent people for no reason. “I’m fine.” Lizzie kept her head lowered and turned away from Missy Jo so she wouldn’t see her red eyes, her sudden tears.
“Please tell me, Lizzie. Is there something I can do to help?”
Lizzie decided to take a chance. “I’m worried about my Otis. He had a bad . . . accident . . . last night. If that doctor comes today, do you think he can come take a look at him?”
“Do you want me to see what I can do for him?”
She shook her head. Missy Jo was Daniel’s sister, raised in the same house. Could they really be that different? “No, thank you, Missy Jo. Your mama won’t like it, and I don’t want to make her mad. She promised to let Otis farm the land, did you know that? He went out last night to see about getting more workers and that’s when . . . when he got hurt.”
“But if he’s injured, maybe I could help.”
“Could you tell Miz Eugenia that we’re real sorry, but Otis won’t be able to drive her today?”
Missy Jo seemed to study her for a long moment before saying, “Of course, Lizzie. Why don’t you go down and take care of your husband now. I’ll explain everything to my mother. And please let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m grateful for that. I’ll just finish these breakfast dishes first.”
“I’ll do them. Don’t worry about my mother. Take your breakfast with you, Lizzie, and go.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
But Lizzie left the plate of food behind and hurried down to the cabin, feeling too sick to eat. Saul and the other man were gone and Otis was asleep. She stood by the side of the bed, gazing down at him, longing to get a basin of water and tend his wounds, wash away the blood, but she didn’t want to wake him. She was furious at God for allowing the white men to beat him up this way—but thankful to God that He had spared Otis’s life.
Lizzie was still standing there, gazing at the wonderful, terrible sight of him when the cabin door opened and Roselle and the boys crept inside. “What are you doing here?” she whispered. “Didn’t I tell you to go to school? Your papa needs to rest.”
“There is no school, Mama,” Roselle said. “There was a fire last night and everything burned!” She ran into Lizzie’s arms, weeping on her shoulder.
“A fire? . . . At the school?” Lizzie shouldn’t have been shocked, but she was. Hadn’t she heard Massa Daniel and his friends planning to do something to the school? Hadn’t she and Otis tried to warn Mr. Chandler?
“Miss Hunt said we . . . we can’t have school until . . . until it’s fixed,” Rufus told Lizzie between sobs, “and . . . and she sent us home.”
“Oh, Lord, no,” Lizzie moaned.
The commotion woke Otis up, and he tried to sit. “What happened? How did the fire start?”
“Somebody piled all the schoolbooks and tables in the middle of the room and set fire to them,” Roselle said.
“They did it on purpose, Mama!” Rufus said. He and Jack ran to their papa for comfort. Lizzie was afraid she might burst into tears herself.
“Was anybody hurt?” Otis asked.
“The Yankee’s hands were all bandaged up,” Roselle said, “and his voice sounded funny. From the smoke, he said. He and some others got the fire out before the building burned down, but the schoolroom is ruined, and there’s still lots of smoke. We can’t have school until he gets it fixed.”
“And there’s no more books!” Jack wailed. “How can we learn to read?”
“They can’t shut down the school . . .” Otis said as if to himself. “That’s the only way you’ll have a better life. Maybe if we all help Mr. Chandler, he can get it started up again.”
“Otis, no! It’s too dangerous. You want them to hurt our kids the way they hurt you?”
“We’ll be fine, Lizzie. Don’t give up hope. If we ever stop hoping and believing, then they’ll win.” But Lizzie knew the white men would always win. She never should have begun to hope in the first place.
20
JUNE 2, 1865
Something was wrong with Lizzie. The moment the servant had crept into the dining room this morning, Josephine saw that her eyes were swollen as if she hadn’t slept all night. It was obvious she had been crying. As soon as Mother and Mary went upstairs, Josephine had snuck out to the kitchen to help her. Lizzie had been vague about her husband’s accident, but Jo sent her home to tend to him, and now she was content to be alone in the kitchen for a few peaceful minutes. There was something about the smoky scent of the hearth and the aroma of biscuits baking that gave her comfort. Josephine had enjoyed working in the kitchen with Mrs. Blake, doing simple tasks like washing dishes and tending the fire—slaves’ tasks. Now that she was home, she hardly dared to do those things anymore.
Jo finished washing the dishes, then swept the floor, glancing up guiltily as if expecting to see her mother. Eugenia would never understand the simple satisfaction these chores gave Josephine or how thoroughly weary Jo had become of living an idle life. She was on her way to the woodpile for another log when she saw Roselle and her two brothers walking toward the kitchen.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in school, Roselle?”
“We can’t go, Missy Jo.” The girl was close to tears. “There was a fire at the sc
hool last night and everything burned up, the books and chairs and everything.”
Josephine felt a moment of panic. Alexander Chandler lived in the rooms above the school. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Our papa was,” Roselle’s brother said. “Somebody hurt our papa.”
“But that wasn’t from the fire,” Roselle said. She nudged him as if warning him to keep quiet.
Before Jo could ask more questions, Lizzie hurried up the rise toward the kitchen, tying her apron around her waist. “Don’t you be bothering Missy Josephine now. Go on and get your work done.” The children scattered, the younger boy to the woodpile, the older boy to the stables, Roselle into the kitchen. “I’m sorry they bothered you, Missy Jo. I’m giving them jobs to do since they don’t have school today.”
“How is Otis?”
“He’s resting now. I can get some work done while he sleeps.”
“Please tell me what happened. Do his injuries have anything to do with the fire at the school?”
“No, ma’am.”
Jo waited, forcing her to say more.
“Like I said, he went out last night to ask his brother to help him plant cotton. Only time he could go was after dark, and the night patrols caught him.”
“Night patrols? But—”
“We ain’t supposed to be out after dark. Thank you for helping me, Missy Jo, but I got plenty of help now.”
Maybe this was none of Jo’s business. Was she intruding into their lives if she stayed? Lizzie seemed very uneasy with her here. Josephine was trying to decide what to do when she heard her mother’s bell ringing inside the house. Lizzie sighed and turned to go, but Josephine stopped her.
“Let me see what my mother wants. I’ll explain that . . . that your routine is a little off this morning.” She hurried away before Lizzie could protest and found her mother sitting at her desk in the morning room. “Did you need something, Mother?”
“Oh, good heavens, Josephine! Don’t tell me you’re going to start answering when I summon the servants, are you?”
“Of course not, but—”
“Where’s Lizzie?”
“She has something . . . personal to take care of. I offered to come.”
“Since when do her personal problems matter? She has work to do.”
“Since the war ended, Mother, and the slaves were set free. They aren’t our property to command anymore.”
“I don’t have time for this nonsense, Josephine.” Eugenia pushed her chair back and stood. “I rang for Lizzie because I need my driver and my carriage. Daniel usually arranges all of that for me, but he isn’t awake yet. He must not be feeling well.”
“Otis won’t be able to drive you today. He went out to find more workers for our plantation, and he was stopped by the men on night patrol. They beat him up for being out after dark—even though he is a free man and has every right to be out.”
A strange look crossed Mother’s face before she composed herself again. Josephine tried to read what it was. Not the anger or outrage that Jo felt but guilt, perhaps? Or shame? Was Mother involved somehow? “Do you know who’s organizing these patrols, Mother? Is Daniel one of them? Is that why he didn’t come down to breakfast?” Jo was appalled to think that her brother was capable of attacking innocent people, burning the school.
Mother shook her finger in Jo’s face. “You remember who you are, Josephine Weatherly, and which side you are on! Our men are doing what they must to keep everyone safe. Do you want gangs of shiftless Negroes coming to our home in the dark of night, seeking revenge for their years of slavery? Daniel wouldn’t be able to fight a mob single-handedly.”
“But you know Otis. He isn’t dangerous. Why would Daniel attack him?”
“That is none of our business.”
Josephine saw her mother’s raised chin, her folded arms, and knew it was useless to argue. Her mother was incapable of changing her ways. Fuming, Jo decided to approach the problem from a different direction. “Are you expecting Dr. Hunter today? Otis needs medical attention. Or maybe I could walk over to Mrs. Blake’s house and see if he’s there.”
“First of all, you are not walking anywhere. And second, the doctor attends white people, not Negroes.”
“Otis is your driver! He works for us. Why aren’t you concerned about his injuries? Why aren’t you furious with the men who beat him? Even if you don’t care about the injustice of it, don’t you need him to get well so he can work for you?”
“I don’t know where you have acquired these strange opinions, Josephine, or how I can correct your thinking. You used to know better than to befriend our Negroes, and now you’re expecting them to receive special treatment from a white doctor?”
Josephine exhaled. “Lizzie asked me if Dr. Hunter was coming today, and if so, would he please look at her husband’s injuries. They must be bad if she’s asking me for help.”
“How can you expect him to take care of our families after he dirties his hands with them? He could spread contagion. Don’t you dare ask him such a thing!”
“Dr. Hunter should be the one to decide who he helps, don’t you think?”
As if on cue, Josephine heard a carriage arriving out front, and when she peered through the window she saw it was the doctor. She hurried to the door, but her mother followed right behind her, both of them watching as he climbed from the carriage and came up the steps.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said, sweeping off his hat. He was about to say more, but as he looked from Josephine to her mother and back again he must have read the anger on their faces. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No, David. Do come in.”
He remained on the porch. “Actually, it’s such a lovely morning that I thought I would see if you wanted to go for a ride, Eugenia. And I didn’t realize you had returned home, Josephine. Harrison’s wheelchair has finally arrived, and I’m delivering it to him today.” He gestured to his carriage where a wooden chair with large, spoked wheels had been tied onto the back. “I hoped you could help Mrs. Blake and me manage him the first time.”
Jo hurried to reply before her mother. “I would be happy to, Dr. Hunter, but there’s another matter first. Our Negro driver was injured last night. His wife, who is our housekeeper, asked if you could see him—”
“And I told Josephine that your patients are respectable white people. Please don’t feel you have to placate my daughter. She has acquired some very odd ways of behaving lately.”
Dr. Hunter seemed to be weighing his thoughts before answering. He was such a considerate man, a true gentleman, and they were forcing him to take sides. “Eugenia,” he said, addressing her first, “there was a terrible outbreak of violence against some local Negroes last night, and several of them suffered very serious injuries. While you’re correct in saying they aren’t usually my patients, it might be wise if I do have a look at your servant. I know how very short-staffed you are right now and how much you depend on this man to work for you. Isn’t he the one who’s going to plant cotton on your land?”
“What kind of violence?” Jo asked before her mother could reply.
“Four Negroes who had been savagely beaten were brought to my office last night. Two more suffered gunshot wounds. One of the men died this morning, and I’m afraid the other one might, as well.”
“Why the violence? What did they do?” Josephine asked.
“It seems they were living out in the woods, and the night patrollers came to break up the camp. Unfortunately shots were fired. The Negroes had been warned to leave the woods, but they didn’t.” He looked down at his feet for a moment, then up again. “There was also a fire last night at the school for Negro children.”
Josephine swallowed. “Do they think the fire was deliberately set?”
“It looks that way. I woke up when I heard the fire bell ringing. I’ve known for some time that there are people in our community who don’t want the Negroes attending school, and I find those sentiments very tragic.”
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p; “How bad was the fire? Was anyone hurt?” Josephine asked.
“The agent at the Freedmen’s Bureau suffered burns and inhaled a great deal of smoke, but he’ll recover.”
Jo felt a rush of relief. She was surprised to discover that she cared about Alexander, that he had become a friend in a strange sort of way. “Lizzie’s children told me the school had to be closed.”
“Yes. Someone will have to see if the structure is still sound, and even if it is, it will be some time before it can be repaired, from what I could see.”
Jo saw her mother standing with her typical haughty stance, head lifted with pride. How could she not be moved? She was a caring woman, capable of deep concern for others. Why didn’t she care about the Negroes? But Jo knew better than to ask in front of their guest.
Dr. Hunter briefly touched Eugenia’s arm as if pleading with her to understand. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I’ll go fetch my bag so I can check on your servant. I’ll only be a moment.” He was doing his best not to insult Mother. He respected her, Jo realized. Her opinion mattered to him. Perhaps too much.
Josephine started to follow him, intending to show him the way to Slave Row, but her mother pulled her back. “Don’t even think about going down there with him.”
Jo fought to control her temper, to be the dutiful daughter. She was walking the same narrow path that Dr. Hunter was, her conscience telling her one thing, her sense of duty and her ingrained respect for her mother telling her something else. “May I please go with him to help Harrison with his new chair?” she asked.
“Of course.”
Josephine turned to go into the house, but her mother stopped her again.
“Josephine, I know you think I’m being harsh and unreasonable, but I want what’s best for you. It’s important that you continue to be accepted as part of this community, and that means you can’t go against our established values.”