Freedom's Banner

by Freedom's Banner (retail) (epub)

  This was her new home.

  The door opened behind her. ‘Miss Mattie?’ Lucy’s gentle voice. ‘Here’s Samson with warm water for you. Now, why ain’t you-all lyin’ down like Ah said?’ The words were reproachful. ‘After all that journeyin’, a lady should rest! Why, Ah’ve never been further than the old Sloan place, just across the river, where mah Mammy lives an’ Ah swears it wears me out just gettin’ there an’ back once in a whiles! Come on, now – let’s loosen them bones an’ brush that pretty hair. There’s still time for you to close them eyes for a few minutes –’

  Mattie pulled the shutter to and turned, drawing breath, to face the relentless cosseting to which a Southern lady was obviously expected to submit before she could possibly eat supper.

  Chapter Five

  It was while Lucy was helping her to dress for breakfast the next morning that Mattie learned that there was to be yet another celebration of her marriage; more, that the arrangements were already well under way.

  ‘Why, whatever is you expectin’, Miss Mattie? The county ain’t about to miss out on such a chance fo’ a party! It’d nigh be a hangin’ offence around here to have a weddin’ without a party!’

  Mattie laughed. ‘I suppose it’s just that the wedding does seem rather a long time ago now.’

  ‘Maybe to you, but not to no-one here.’ There was a sudden unguarded note, rueful and heartfelt, only half-humorous, in the girl’s voice. Mattie glanced at her, sharply. Lucy ducked her head and turned away, diligently searching in a small box that was set upon the dressing table. ‘Now, where is them pins? I declare your hair’s so heavy, Miss Mattie, you need twice as many as Miss Cissy.’

  There was a long moment of thoughtful silence. Lucy found the pins, came round behind Mattie and began to brush her hair. Mattie watched her in the mirror. Lucy avoided her eyes.

  ‘Lucy?’ Mattie asked at last.

  ‘Yes, Ma’am?’ Lucy made great play of ferocious concentration; her voice was innocent.

  Mattie waited. Lucy, still managing to avoid the steady, questioning gaze, folded her full lips into a stubborn line.

  With an effort Mattie lightened her voice. ‘It must have been a shock? Hearing that Mister Johnny had married in England?’

  ‘Oh, no, Miss Mattie.’ The words came much too quickly. The lustrous eyes flickered to Mattie and away. ‘Folks was real pleased. Real happy. We all knowed Mister Johnny wouldn’t do anythin’ –’ the girl fumbled for a minute, dropped a hairpin ‘– too hasty. Course, iffen it’d been Mister Russ – he’s the hell-raiser all right, no knowin’ what he’d ever do!’ She rolled her eyes in what even Mattie perceived to be a parody of exasperation. But the girl’s face was not happy. She glanced again, obliquely, at Mattie, a clear plea in the look.

  Mattie said no more.

  Breakfast at Pleasant Hill was taken in the dining room, a well-proportioned square room at the front of the house with double doors opening onto the wide porch. Behind it, opening onto the narrower veranda and the staircases at the back was the room, of similar size and proportions, known as the library. On the other side of the wide hall was the parlour, which ran the length of the side of the house. The hall itself, having no staircase, was in fact a large room in its own right, containing several big, comfortable chairs and settles, a table and a piano (which Mattie had already discovered was woefully out of time), and stretched through the centre of the house from front to back. As Mattie followed Lucy down the outside staircase and into the hall, Logan Sherwood, dressed in riding breeches, boots and thick woollen shirt, came out of the library. He made a striking figure, tall and broad-shouldered still, his shock of white hair and pale eyes emphasizing the sun-darkened skin of his high-boned face. In his gloved hand he carried a wide-brimmed hat; at his heels were two smooth-haired black dogs.

  ‘Mattie, my dear,’ he said, courteously, ‘you slept well?’

  ‘Like a log, thank you, Mr Sherwood.’ Mattie found herself warily studying the quality of his smile. Was there a reserve? A trace of disapproval? ‘I’m afraid I’ve overslept quite disgracefully. Johnny’s been up and out for hours.’

  ‘No matter, no matter. You’ve had a very long journey. It will take time to get over it. I thought it best to give orders that you were not to be disturbed. Tell me, do you ride?’

  It was the question, in this equestrian household, she had dreaded being asked. ‘Not well, I’m afraid.’

  He shrugged a little. ‘We can find somethin’ for you, I’m sure. Johnny shall take you for a look over the place later on. I gather he has his eye on a patch of land down by the river?’

  The directness of the man took a little getting used to. ‘I – yes, so I believe,’ Mattie said.

  ‘We’ll see, we’ll see.’ They had reached the door of the dining room. Her father-in-law turned to leave; the dogs lifted their heads expectantly.

  ‘Mr Sherwood?’

  He waited.

  ‘Lucy – said something about a party? A celebration of some sort?’

  ‘Ah yes. Next month, I believe. A little before Christmas. Joshua has the handlin’ of the arrangements. He’ll give you the details. Discuss them, that is, if that’s what you’d like?’ He settled the hat upon his mane of hair very firmly. ‘Now – if you’ll excuse me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She watched him stride away, dogs obedient at his heels, to where the ever-attentive Sol waited by the door. Together they clattered out into the softly damp November day.

  Mattie breakfasted alone, for which she could be nothing but grateful. It was, she was discovering, a strain to be permanently in company, permanently on guard. The thought caught her by surprise. Against what, against whom, was she guarding? She smiled her thanks to the girl who served her a daunting plateful of honeyed ham, scrambled eggs and pancakes sweet with syrup and a cup of strong, fragrant coffee; with, she considered, no small show of courage she waved away the bowl of grits the girl offered. Her dislike of the strange, rough-textured stuff had caused Johnny much amusement. She would not, he had told her, ever become a true Southerner if she did not learn to appreciate grits. She tinkered with the food upon her plate, sipped her coffee, crumbled a soft muffin between her fingers. The girl who had stayed to serve her watched her, curiously.

  ‘Sum’p’n else you’s wantin’, Ma’am?’

  Brought from her reverie Mattie shook her head. ‘No. No, thank you. I’m – just not terribly hungry this morning, that’s all. I’d like more coffee though.’

  The girl collected her cup, refilled it. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, Ma’am,’ she said, shyly.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Ah sure does like the way you talk.’

  The odd, unsettled mood that had been with Mattie since her conversation with Lucy lifted in laughter, as if by magic. ‘Thank you. I do wonder sometimes if people can actually understand me.’

  The girl regarded her seriously. ‘Oh, t’ain’t easy, Ma’am. Takes some gettin’ used to, I’s tellin’ you that. But it sounds real pretty, even so.’

  Mattie was still smiling when she opened the door that led out onto the porch and stepped into the soft, damp air. It had rained overnight. The leaves of the evergreen live oaks that sheltered the house shone with moisture, and the red earth was dark with it. For the moment the wide, swept dirt clearing in front of the house was empty. Smoke rose from the slave cabins and she could hear the sound of children playing. From somewhere in the direction of the river an engine throbbed rhythmically. In the house a voice was raised, scolding, and another was lifted in laughter. She leaned upon the porch rail, taking in the view.

  The house stood upon a small rise, in a copse of trees. Beyond it she could see the curve of the river and the vast stretches of Pleasant Hill land, some of the arable fields ploughed and ready for planting, the bright earth turned to red mud by the rain. In one of the great barns over to the right a cow bellowed. She moved to the top of the steps and then stopped, listening. There were voices coming from the side of
the house, and footsteps. As she watched, Robert and Johnny came around the corner, deep in conversation, Johnny with his head turned from her, bent towards his brother. She smiled to hear their easy laughter.

  ‘Johnny! Robert!’ Heart lifting at the familiar sight of him, Mattie picked up her skirts and ran down the steps. ‘Johnny – wait –’

  The two men stopped, and turned towards her.

  Mattie’s steps slowed; the man with Robert was not Johnny, though even as she came closer to him it was easy to see why she had mistakenly assumed that it was. Now, however, she could see that his build was rather slighter, his shining hair thick and smooth and without the trace of curl that made Johnny’s so unruly, and his skin, where Johnny’s was always burned brown by the sun, was of a smooth, attractive olive, almost Mediterranean tone. She slowed her pace further, confused, finding herself running swiftly through in her head Johnny’s talk of his family. Will. Russ. Robert. Surely she had met them all? There had been no mention of another brother, yet here, undoubtedly, was a Sherwood – a cousin, perhaps?

  Then she saw the men’s expressions and for a moment was more confused than ever. The stranger had turned to her and stood, suddenly immobile and no longer smiling. The dark eyes were utterly expressionless. Robert stepped forward quickly, a hand stretched to her, swift understanding and then some small flash of anger, quickly subdued, and not she felt directed at her, on his face.

  ‘Mattie,’ he said, rapidly, ‘this is Joshua. We spoke of him last night, remember? He’s been over at the Brightwell plantation, across the river, came back just this morning.’

  Mattie felt as if the ground had dropped from beneath her feet. She stood, struck to silence. Joshua. This was Joshua? If Robert had hit her she could not have been more taken aback.

  ‘Joshua, this is Miss Mattie. Mister Johnny’s new wife.’

  The tall man nodded, still unsmiling. ‘How do you do, Miss Mattie. Welcome to Pleasant Hill.’ His voice was very deep, his accent, unlike that of the other house servants, no more pronounced than Robert’s own.

  She cleared her throat. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You were looking for Johnny?’ Robert asked, gently.

  ‘I – yes – Mr Sherwood suggested – that we might ride around the plantation this morning –’ Try as she might, she could not keep her eyes from Joshua’s face. The resemblance to Johnny, and indeed to Russ, who like Johnny had inherited his father’s high, slanted cheekbones and lean good looks, was positively startling. The planes of the face, the line of the jaw, the set of the handsome head was the same, and, indefinably, something about the expression. There could be no doubting the startling likeness.

  ‘Johnny was down by the dock a little while ago,’ Robert said. ‘Joshua, perhaps you’d go fetch him for Miss Mattie?’

  ‘Yes, Mister Robert.’ Joshua nodded, turned, strode off. Mattie and Robert stood and watched him go in a silence that held, on Mattie’s side at least, acute embarrassment.

  They turned and walked slowly towards the house.

  Robert made no attempt to deny the obvious. ‘Johnny didn’t tell you?’ he asked after a moment, quietly. ‘About Joshua?’

  ‘No. No, he didn’t.’ A slow anger was beginning to burn beneath her confusion, and a terrible mortification that churned her stomach like sickness. Why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he told her? Why hadn’t he foreseen her shock, the possibility of embarrassment? ‘Robert,’ she said, ‘I don’t understand – I thought – I thought Joshua was a slave?’

  ‘He is.’ The words were quiet.

  She stopped walking. Turned to look at him. ‘But – surely?’ She could not go on.

  ‘These things, I’m afraid, tend to happen in the best-regulated of families,’ Robert said, after a moment, his voice dry, all but expressionless.

  ‘Joshua is –’ Mattie struggled for a moment both with the enormity of the idea and with the problem of expressing it ‘– is your father’s son?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She had stopped and was staring at him, horror in her eyes. ‘He’s – your brother? – Johnny’s brother?’

  ‘Yes.’ He was watching her calmly.

  ‘And – and a slave?’

  ‘Yes. As his mother was a slave. He also, as it happens, is the best friend I’ve ever had, though I can see you’d find that hard to believe.’

  ‘I find the whole thing hard to believe.’

  ‘Yes. I expect you do.’ They walked on, up the steps and onto the porch. ‘Johnny should have told you.’

  ‘Yes, he should.’ Embarrassment and anger seethed still. The thought occurred to her: what else? What else had he not told her?

  ‘Mattie, listen. This is the South. There are attitudes here that you’ll never change. Deeply held convictions that nothing will ever shake, no matter how wrong – evil, even – they might be.’ Robert caught her sudden, startled look and grinned wryly. ‘Oh, yes, something else Johnny obviously hasn’t told you. He has an Abolitionist brother. But an Abolitionist who at least knows and sympathizes with both sides of the argument, which is more than any Yankee outsider can possibly do. You think Pa should have freed Joshua.’ He shook his head. ‘Pa won’t – can’t – do that. He can’t do it because it would go against everything he believes in, would undermine a way of life he has fought for, and loves. If you look at one Negro and see a man, then you’re lost; for if he is a man then so are his brothers. If you free him, you must free them also.’

  ‘Even if that man is your son?’

  ‘Even then. Pa’s done what he believes is right by Joshua. He has his own quarters, he has a position of trust and responsibility – in fact he more or less runs the household; I guess you could say he has more of a say in what happens at Pleasant Hill than the rest of us put together. And if this girl he’s taken a shine to over at the Brightwell place turns out to be the one he wants, Pa’ll buy her for him. But he’s still a slave, because his mother was a slave, and whilst there’s a breath in Pa’s body he always will be. Mattie, if you’re going to live here you have to understand; there are many good people who are convinced that the institution of slavery is God-given and right. Who truly believe that the Negro is an inferior being, no better than an animal, incapable of thinking or caring for himself. They can’t – daren’t – believe anything else.’

  ‘And what does Joshua think of that for an idea?’ Mattie could not keep the acid from her voice.

  Robert turned to face her, held her eyes. ‘That isn’t for me to answer, is it? Ask Joshua.’

  She nodded, biting her lip. ‘I’m sorry. That was unforgivable.’

  He turned back to the rail, leaned his elbows upon it, looking to where two tall figures, deep in conversation, were walking across the clearing. Johnny and Joshua were exactly of a height; even their gait was similar. ‘No, Mattie. There are a few things that are unforgivable. Anger at injustice isn’t one of them.’

  They watched the oncoming figures for a moment in silence. As the implications of what Robert had just said took on a sudden clear meaning, the brutal dilemma in which he surely must stand became clear. Mattie felt a swift surge of sympathy for the quiet young man, so unlike the other Sherwood boys, who stood beside her. ‘Robert?’

  He glanced at her enquiringly.

  ‘What will you do if there is a war?’

  His face closed as surely and as sharply as a slammed door. He pushed himself from the rail, standing to his full height. Johnny saw them, lifted a hand in greeting. ‘There isn’t going to be a war,’ Robert said, flatly. ‘It’s all talk. We’re a nation; a civilized nation. No-one could be that stupid.’

  Johnny and Joshua had reached the bottom of the steps. They stood in a moment’s further conversation then Johnny raised a friendly hand to Joshua’s shoulder before he turned and walked towards the stables. Johnny took the steps two at a time and dropped an easy kiss on Mattie’s cheek, apparently completely unaware of any tension. ‘Good morning, Mrs Lie-a-bed Sherwood.’ He looked young, healthy and full
of vigour. ‘Joshua tells me you want to survey the kingdom. He’s gone to tell ’Ziah to saddle the horses – all right, don’t worry – there’s a little old pony over there who’d carry a newborn babe without dropping him! Coming, Robert?’

  Robert shook his head. ‘I’m going into town; Pa’s not happy with the new cotton factor and wanted someone to go talk to him.’

  ‘You’ll be back this afternoon, though?’

  Robert shook his head. ‘No. No, I won’t. Thought I might go visit the Morrisons while I was about it. Well, enjoy your ride, Mattie. Don’t let this young scoundrel get you jumping fences just yet.’ He put a hand upon Mattie’s arm, very lightly. There was, she saw, clear warning in his level gaze, one that she had no difficulty understanding. She swallowed her anger. Robert was right; this was neither the time nor the place to take Johnny to task. She turned to her husband, who, a small, straight furrow between his dark brows, was looking after Robert, who had disappeared into the house.

  Mattie, still struggling with her own precarious temper, had the sudden, certain feeling that she had missed something. ‘Johnny? What’s happening this afternoon?’

  ‘The boys and I are riding over to Silver Oaks, to see the Colonel.’

  ‘Which Colonel?’

  He turned to her, smiling again. ‘Colonel Bransom, honey. He’s raising a troop of local boys. We reckon to be in it.’

  Mattie glanced towards the door through which Robert had gone. ‘All of you?’

  ‘Reckon so. We’ve always done things together. Can’t see goin’ to war should be any different.’ His voice was flippant.

  ‘Johnny!’ She stared at him in horror.

  He laughed aloud, his arm about her shoulder. ‘I’m jokin’, honey. Just jokin’! Of course it won’t come to that. But if there’s fun to be had, we’ll have it, you can count on that. Hey, look, here comes ’Ziah with the horses. Now just don’t you worry, Patsy’ll do you fine. She’s the most docile creature I ever did come across. Run up and change. We’ll ride upriver to the place I told you about.’