Her mother lay there looking just as peaceful as when Julie had left her earlier, except that her eyes were open, staring blankly upward. There was a great roaring in Julie’s ears as she went to the bedside and stared down, her heart heavy. She should close the eyes. But how? She had to do something about those staring yet unseeing eyes. Shuddering, she reached out with trembling fingers to draw the covers up and over her mother’s face.
Still she did not cry. Tears were for sorrow, and how could she be sorry that her mother would not suffer at the hands of Virgil Oates? The lifeless body beneath the covers was far better off than she.
For her misery had hardly begun.
Chapter Sixteen
Sara knew what to do to ready Julie’s mother for burial. First she summoned Lionel to find the washing board, a piece of wood shaped like a table top, on which the body would be prepared for burial. “The board will be wherever the last death was,” Sara told Lionel, for it was community property, used by a family as it was needed, then put away to await the next death.
“That’d be the Peele family, over by the swamp. Mistah Durwood, he passed on a few weeks ago. Ain’t heard of nobody dyin’ since.”
“Well, go along and get it,” Sara said wearily. “Knowin’ your mother, she wouldn’t like to be washed on a board what ever’body else gets washed on, but they ain’t time to make another. I reckon she should’a thought o’ that ’fore it was too late.”
From the kitchen doorway, Julie spoke. “You are right, Sara. Mother would not want to be washed and dressed on a board used by just anyone. She was very prim about such things, you know.”
Sara looked at the girl with the gray-shadowed eyes whose stringy hair hung wildly about her gaunt face. “Miz Julie, it don’t matter, chile,” she said compassionately, her heart going out to the girl. The good Lord was really heaping burdens on Julie’s shoulders, and Sara wondered just how much more her mistress could carry. “You go lie down and get some sleep. Lionel’s gonna stop by the church and ring the bell to let folks know. He done rung it out back. Ever’body’ll start comin’ at daylight. You gonna have to speak to ’em. I’ll take care of yo’ mama and have her all ready by the time they starts gettin’ here. And I’ll get some bakin’ done. I can manage. You run along now.”
“No!” Julie said sharply, straightening. “I will help dress my mother, Sara.” She looked at Lionel and snapped, “Go to the barn, or wherever you can find a door, and rip it down and set it up in my mother’s room. She’ll be prepared there.”
Lionel looked at Sara, who nodded, conveying the message with her eyes that there was no point in arguing with the girl once her mind was made up.
“You heat some water, and I will go up and find something suitable to dress her in. We’ll need help, of course. Get some of the women in to start on the baking. I want more than pies and cakes. I want hens dressed and roasted. I want a hog slaughtered and cooked over the pit. Lionel will ride into Savannah and get the finest coffin available from Mr. William Culpepper, the undertaker.”
Sara sighed, her heart going out to the tiny young woman who was making such an effort to be strong. “Miz Julie, you sure you want all these fixins? I mean, the way things are with Mistah Virgil and all…and Mastah Myles bein’ captured…wouldn’t it be best to just get it all over with as quick as we can?”
Julie slammed both palms on the kitchen table, her face reddening as she cried, “My mother made Rose Hill into the most prosperous plantation in all of Savannah, Sara. Before the damned war came to eat away at her success, she was a proud, refined woman. And that is the kind of funeral she will have, with all the respect given to her that she deserves.”
“Yes’m. Whatever you say. I’ll just bet if we’d ’a gotten away last night, Mistah Virgil, he’d of just dumped her in a hole in the ground without a word said over her by no man of God, even. Maybe it was meant to happen this way, so she’d get a decent buryin’, but it sho is sad about Mastah Myles, and you havin’ to stay here—”
“Oh, I’m not staying here,” Julie looked at her incredulously, “and neither are you and Lionel. We will bury my mother tomorrow, after proper respects have been shown to her by the people of Savannah, and then we are leaving. Lionel will again load a wagon and hide it deeper in the woods this time, and no one will stop us from leaving.”
Sara looked about fearfully, as though at any moment she expected to see Virgil appear from wherever he was eavesdropping.
“You needn’t look so scared, Sara. Virgil has gone to get the parson. He’s playing the role of the bereaved husband.
“But how you gonna leave, Miz Julie?” the old Negress said worriedly. “He ain’t gonna let you…”
Let me, indeed! Julie fumed. Oh, she was sick of having other people and other influences dominate her life. She was going to plunge ahead and face whatever lay ahead. For the first time, she felt she knew the same emotion as Derek when he took that step from the plank into the shark-infested waters. She was not as strong as he—few men could even hold claim to that—but she could make up for lack of size with her womanly attributes. And while she was not plunging into dangerous seas with her hands tied behind her back, many perils lay ahead. If she was cunning enough, she could handle them, just as she was almost confident now that Derek had survived.
A smile touched her lips. She felt it. There was a stirring deep within that told her somehow, by God, Derek Arnhardt lived! Would he help her? He had to!
Sara asked hesitantly, “Miz Julie, you all right? You looks funny to me…”
The smile spread into a wide grin. “Sara, I’m fine. You leave everything to me. Mother is dead now, and I don’t have to take Virgil’s abuse any longer. Perhaps I never should’ve, but at least Mother died in peace. She didn’t drop dead of shock at finding out her husband was raping her daughter. And now I don’t intend to remain in this house one night after she is in the ground. This,” she said tremulously, “I swear on my mother’s soul!”
“He ain’t gonna let you leave,” Sara exploded, fear etched on her face. “That’s one mean man, and he ain’t gonna let you go, I tells you. You see what he had done to Mastah Myles—had him sent off to that prison up in Virginny—”
“Follow my instructions, please, and don’t argue. We’ll bury Mother tomorrow afternoon. Tell Lionel to have the grave dug. I want her placed to the right of my father. That’s a sunny spot too…”
Julie shook her head. Exhaustion was creeping into every bone, every pore. “I’m going to find something to dress her in.”
“She’s got buryin’ clothes,” Sara said quickly. Julie turned to look at her, puzzled, and the older woman hurried to explain. “You been kept from some of the sad parts of life, chile, and you may not know it, but folks keeps buryin’ clothes put back—nice things they have made special to be buried in. I know where your mama’s are. I’ll fetch ’em after we get her washed.”
Julie hurried through the still house, noticing that someone had gone around and stopped all the clocks to mark the hour of her mother’s death. She frowned when she saw that the mirrors had been covered with sheets. This was a superstition she did not believe in: that the spirit of the departed still lurks about, and if it sees itself in a mirror, it will be hindered from going on to another life in the hereafter. Julie sighed. If others believed in such notions, and it made them feel better, so be it.
It was not long before Lionel brought a door he had removed from inside the barn and Sara came with a kettle of hot water. Julie watched as they lifted her mother, still covered by a sheet, from the bed and placed her cold, stiffening body upon the wooden slab. When Lionel left to see to the grave digging, they removed the sheet and began washing the body.
“I can’t stand them eyes a-starin’,” Sara said suddenly. “Get some coins.”
“Coins?” Julie blinked. Sara nodded, and Julie went to her mother’s jewelry chest, where a little money was always kept. She brought the coins to Sara, then watched as Sara closed the sightles
s eyes and placed the coins on top to keep them shut.
Sara found the burying dress, a severely styled garment of gray linen, void of ornaments, with a high neck and long cuffed sleeves. Together they struggled to put the clothing on the body, then Julie labored to brush her mother’s hair and fashion it at the nape of her neck in a neatly braided bun.
There was a noise in the hall, then Lionel was calling up to say that Mr. Culpepper had arrived with the coffin. “We’re ready,” Julie said, a lump in her throat. So far she was handling herself well, keeping one thought burning in her mind through all the sorrow that mingled there: keep moving—it will all be over soon.
Mr. Culpepper entered, a tall, spindly man with a hooked nose and beady eyes. He wrapped long, bony fingers together and spoke in a voice that sounded as though it were echoing in a tomb. “You have prepared the deceased?” he asked.
Julie nodded, then stepped back as he and Lionel carried in the plain wooden coffin and set it on the floor, then gingerly lifted her mother’s body from the washing board and placed her in it.
Sara went to her mistress’s wardrobe and brought back packets of crushed rose petals that had been used to make her lingerie smell sweet. These she placed along the sides of the casket. Mr. Culpepper folded Julie’s mother’s hands across her chest, then motioned to Lionel that he was ready to take her downstairs.
“I told Annie Bell to fix up the parlor,” Sara said as she and Julie followed the procession down the stairs.
They entered the room, and Mr. Culpepper and Lionel took the coffin to the spot beneath the heavily-draped window, where two straight-back chairs waited to hold it. At each end of the coffin, Sara lit candles and placed them so their illumination would cast a peaceful glow on her dead mistress’s face.
Lionel left to return to the grave digging, and Sara went to oversee the goings-on in the kitchen. Julie excused herself to go to her room and change into a proper dress. She was crossing the foyer when the front doors opened, and she found herself staring into Virgil’s sparkling eyes. He had brought the parson, who quickly stepped forward to clasp her hand warmly and offer his sympathies.
Thanking him, Julie said she wanted the service that afternoon. “Of course,” he murmured. “We will send runners to spread the word. Is three o’clock agreeable?”
She looked beyond him, through the long, narrow windows on either side of the doors. The sky was getting light. Soon it would be dawn. “Yes. Three will be fine. The servants have their instructions. Now, if you will excuse me—”
Virgil stepped forward. “Julie, I would like a word with you—”
She turned frosty eyes on him that made him stop in his tracks. “I have nothing to say to you, Virgil. This house is in mourning. Excuse me.”
She was aware of the puzzled glance the parson gave her, but she hurried on her way. Virgil Oates would not touch her again! This she had vowed, and nothing was going to prevent her from keeping her word, even if it meant dying.
By mid-morning, the circular drive in front of the mansion house was crowded with buggies and wagons. Grooms wandered about the lawn talking with each other, while their masters remained inside to pay their respects and attend the afternoon funeral services. It was a cold day, and the sky was gray and overcast, with a hint of rain. Julie peered out and wished she had set the time for the service even earlier, for darkness would come sooner than usual with the threatening weather bearing down upon them.
The house smelled of fresh-baked goods and hot vegetables. People had brought food in covered dishes, and the dining room table was laden with it. Sara and the other house servants were kept busy bringing tea and coffee and constantly washing dishes.
The atmosphere in the parlor was somber, and Julie gave Virgil a glance of contempt each time she entered the room. He sat in a chair next to the casket, playing the role of the bereaved husband. Once she nearly gagged when she heard him murmur to a solicitous neighbor, “If it weren’t for Julie, I could not have made it through these weeks. She has been the light of my life. She’s so much like her mother, God rest her soul…”
But the atmosphere in the other rooms was quite different. There the men talked of the war. Some still exulted over the December 13th battle on the heights overlooking Fredericksburg, Virginia, when the Federal General Ambrose E. Burnside had ordered six grand assaults against General Robert E. Lee’s entrenched army. The result was useless slaughter, and some said Burnside had wept over the killing and wounding of ten thousand of his men. Lee had lost less than half that many.
The damned war, Julie swore, as she moved through the crowd. Soon she would be out of all of it. She and Myles would go west and start a new life, and they could turn their backs forever on all this grief and suffering.
Glancing up, she saw Sara motioning to her from the rear hallway. She followed the servant to the little sunroom at the back of the house. As soon as the door closed behind them, Sara asked, “Miz Julie, you sure you gonna want to leave tonight? Lionel’s scared Mistah Virgil gonna be suspectin’ something. He done said we gonna get a beatin’ for what we did last night, after all this is over with, and if’n he thinks we gonna try it again, he might just shoot us…”
“He would be least suspicious tonight of all nights. He thinks I’m too grief-stricken over both Mother and Myles to make any plans to run away so soon. We must leave tonight. We have to get to Wilmington without delay.”
Sara blinked. “Wilmin’ton? What for? I heard they took Mastah Myles to Richmond. You ain’t goin’ there an’ try to see him, is you? Won’t be no need, nohow. Thing fo’ you to do is just run and get as far from that sinful man in there as you can, Miz Julie. Run from the devil hisself, that’s what you do!”
“I’m going to Wilmington to find Captain Arnhardt—”
“Arnhardt?” Sara cried, stunned. “You tol’ me—”
“I know what I told you, but I also know the man, Sara, and I have a feeling that he escaped. He’s not like other men. He’s strong, both in spirit and in body. Oh, you’d never understand. But we are going to Wilmington and somehow, we’ll find him, and he’ll help me.”
“If’n he is alive, how do you know he’d help you?” Sara looked at her suspiciously. “You ain’t got time to dig up none o’ that silver and jewelry to pay him with. And he’s after money. Ain’t that why he held you for ransom?”
A warmth moved through Julie’s body. She wondered if that was the real reason. Perhaps at first it had been, but after awhile, when it became obvious no ransom would be paid, he had not been anxious to be rid of her. “Let me worry about that, Sara. Now I must get back to our guests. If Virgil sees us talking this way, he will get suspicious.”
She turned to go, but Sara called out to her worriedly. “They is somethin’ else, Miz Julie. Me and Lionel, we afraid. If’n somethin’ happened to you, folks’d say we run away. He’s got a brother, a free man, what works on a farm up in a place called Pennsylvania. Lionel say he knows right where it is. If’n we could go there—”
“Of course, Sara,” Julie said without hesitation. True, she would miss the two Negroes, who had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember, but she acknowledged that they too had a right to pursue happiness. “I’ll sign papers stating that you are free, and you can make your way north. There should be no problem. Lionel is too old to worry about conscription once he crosses the Mason-Dixon Line. And you’re getting on in years. I doubt anyone would try to make a slave of you again.”
Returning to the front of the house, Julie, nodding and saying the appropriate words, graciously accepted condolences from those who had just arrived. All the while, she was wishing time would pass quickly so she could escape.
“We really would have liked to wait longer to bury her,” she heard Virgil saying in that mock mournful tone he had so quickly acquired. “It’s a tragedy, but she wasted away. She was sick for so long, you know. Julie and I discussed it and decided it would be best to put her to rest as quickly as possible.”<
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Julie glared at him to let him know she could hear his lies. She had made the decision to have the funeral as soon as possible, not he—and that was so she could be on her way. Only he did not know that yet, and, she hoped, would not till she was safely gone.
Now and then Julie would glance toward her mother’s coffin, silently offering a prayer of thanksgiving that she had never known what a defiled spawn of Satan she had really married.
“It’s such a shame about Myles,” someone said. The voice came from the parlor, and Julie paused on her way to the kitchen to listen. “After coming all the way back to visit his mother, only to be captured. Did he get to see her before she died?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Virgil answered, his voice oozing pity.
Pharisee! she wanted to scream out at him for everyone to hear and know what he really was.
“Myles is my stepson, you know,” Virgil went on, “but he was wanted by the law, and I couldn’t stand the thought of him being hunted for the rest of his life, perhaps being hung by vigilantes. I did what I felt was best for all concerned and informed the sheriff that I suspected he was lurking about.”
His listener gushed, “Oh, that must have been a very difficult thing for you to do, sir. You are to be commended for having the courage.”
She could see Virgil in her mind’s eye, belly thrown out, head held high, probably with a cigar in one hand and a snifter of brandy in the other.
“Well, I did persuade the sheriff to turn him over to the Confederates. As high as the feelings in town have been against the boy, I knew he’d never make it to trial. Why, he’d be lying in a coffin next to his dear mother here.”
“Possibly. The riffraff of the waterfront can be a surly lot, and I’ve heard they were still after Myles. I wonder what the Confederate authorities will do with him.”
“Well, he did run from the South to fight for the North. Obviously he deserted the Yankee Army. The Confederates will send him to Libby Prison in Richmond, where he’ll likely be for however long the war lasts. The Yankees won’t want him in a prisoner exchange, not if he deserted them.”
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