by Jeff Andrews
Tempie settled cross-legged in the dirt between the rows of yellow tobacco, folding her arms across her tummy and blowing out through pursed lips. “Be mighty hot, Aunt Lilly.”
“Sure enough, child. You set there and rest. I’s gonna fetch me some water. You want I should bring you some?”
Tempie nodded.
Lilly tossed aside the stalk of tobacco she’d just cut and walked to the bucket hanging on the back of the wagon. She took a long, slow drink from the dipper, then poured water over the back of her neck. She refilled the dipper and headed toward Tempie.
Tempie stretched her legs and leaned back, twisting to work out a crick in her back. Something poked against her stomach. An elbow? A foot? She patted her tummy. “You be still, child. It ain’t your time. I’s feeling too poorly for your kicking and playing.”
A crack like the shot of a rifle sliced the heavy air. Tempie jerked upright, yelping as the end of the whip seared her shoulder.
“I done told you, girl, Mister Jim don’t tolerate no lazy house niggers in his field.” Big Jim coiled his whip, preparing for another strike. “You’d best get off your ass and get back to work or I’ll . . .”
“Or you what?” Lilly stepped between Tempie and Big Jim.
“The girl’s lazy,” Big Jim said. “And this is what lazy gets you in this field.” He shook his whip.
Tempie rolled onto her side, then struggled to get to her feet. Mama Rose stooped to help her.
“Can’t you see this girl’s close to birthing?” Lilly took a step toward Big Jim. “You lay your whip on that child again and you’ll answer to me.”
“I’s in charge now,” Big Jim said as he retreated. “And I’ll be whipping any nigger what I choose.” He glanced at Lilly, then Mama Rose. “And the two of you got no say.”
“Mama Rose,” Lilly said, wagging her knife in front of her, “does you be remembering last spring, when Massa McConnell bought him that young bull?”
“I sure enough does, Miss Lilly.” Mama Rose stepped around to Big Jim’s side, flashing her knife as well.
“And you be remembering what Massa tells Miss Lilly?”
Mama Rose smiled. “I sure do. He tells Miss Lilly, ‘You cut the balls off’n that young bull, geld him proper like.’”
“And Miss Lilly, she done right for that poor beast—tied them balls off tight so’s they be numb to the knife.” Lilly stepped forward again. “I ain’t tying no balls today, just cutting.”
“You’s crazy, woman.” Big Jim stumbled as he backed away.
“Crazy enough.” Lilly nodded. “And I’ll be cutting all your hanging down things, you ever touch this child again.” She sliced the air with her knife.
Big Jim crabbed backward through the dirt, distancing himself from the two women, then rolled over and regained his feet. “You’s both crazy.” He pointed at Lilly with his whip. “You’s gonna pay for this . . .”
“And you’d best be sleeping with one eye open,” Lilly shouted. “You hurt this child, you’ll wake one morning to find that little thing you likes to play with been hacked off and fed to the hogs.” She wagged her knife.
Big Jim grabbed his crotch and took off across the field.
Lilly motioned to Mama Rose. “Help me lift this poor child to the wagon.”
_____
“That baby ain’t coming just yet,” Mama Rose said, seated on the far side of the bed. “Go get you some air.”
Florence nodded. She placed Tempie’s hand on her round tummy, giving it a gentle pat. “I’ll be back shortly, child. You rest. Mama Rose is right here, if’n you needs anything.” Tempie looked at her and seemed to force a weak smile.
Florence stepped onto the small porch and gazed skyward. The full moon cast a silver hue over the barnyard. “Abraham, I don’t know where you is tonight, but I’s sure needing them strong arms ‘round me right about now. Our baby, she’s trying to birth her own child, and she’s in a bad way.” Wrapping her arms around herself, she leaned against the cook shack wall as tears welled in her eyes. She took a deep breath. “My boy’s off to war, where Abraham is only you knows, Lord, and my baby’s in there struggling with labor. Lord, you don’t never ask Florence to take on no more’n what she can bear, so I knows you’ll be finding a way to give your servant the strength she’ll be needing to endure all this here pain. Be with my baby, Lord. She’s so young . . .”
“Florence,” Mama Rose called out, “the baby’s coming.” Tempie moaned, followed by Mama Rose’s soothing murmur.
As Florence hurried into the cabin, Mama Rose moved to the foot of the bed and pushed the covers aside. Tempie lay there, small and scared, her knees raised, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clutched her stomach.
Florence took her station at the head of the bed and held Tempie’s hand. “Mama’s right here. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”
Tempie tightened in pain.
“Wait,” Mama Rose said. “Don’t be pushing just yet.” She moved the lantern so it cast light over her shoulder. “You puff, like what I showed you. Now, child. Puff.”
“Mama, it hurts . . .” Tempie cried out, squeezing Florence’s hand.
“I know, baby. I know. It’ll be over shortly. Listen to Mama Rose.” Florence wiped Tempie’s forehead with a damp cloth.
“Head’s showing,” Mama Rose said. “Next pain, you takes a deep breath and push.”
Tempie tensed, then groaned and pushed. And pushed. And pushed.
Florence studied the worry on Mama Rose’s face. Been taking too long. That child had to be worn out. Florence leaned close and looked into Tempie’s eyes, forcing a smile. “You’s doing just fine, child. You’s doing just fine.”
“Again. Breath deep and push,” Mama Rose said.
Tempie rose up on her elbows as she strained.
“Push again. Push. Push.”
Tempie fell back against the pillow.
Mama Rose shook her head. “Ain’t so good.”
Florence stroked Tempie’s forehead. “It’ll be all right, baby. Mama Rose is gonna fix you up.”
“Cord’s wrapped,” Mama Rose whispered. “Stop your pushing, child.” She worked on the baby, then glanced at Florence and nodded.
“Now, like before. Do like Mama, come on . . .” Florence began blowing short, quick puffs.
“All right, Tempie, give Mama Rose a big push . . .”
Florence supported Tempie as she rose up and strained.
“There’s your baby, Tempie, there’s your baby boy.” Mama Rose paused, staring at the newborn child; she gave Florence a grim look, then lifted the baby by his ankles and slapped his backside.
Florence cradled her exhausted daughter and stared at the quiet baby, its wet skin a bluish hue.
Mama Rose wiped the baby’s face then draped him across her forearm and pounded on his back. “You breathe, child, you hear me?” She wiped a finger through the baby’s mouth, then massaged his tiny chest. “Come on, boy, you’s gonna make it.” She slapped his bottom once again. The baby hung limp in her hands.
Tempie drifted in and out of sleep, unaware. Florence placed her hand on Mama Rose’s shoulder. “It’s the Lord’s will, weren’t nothing you could do.”
Mama Rose laid the baby in the cradle of Tempie’s arm. “I’s sorry, child.”
“M-mama?”
“Sh-h-h. It’s all right, child.” Florence held Tempie’s face in her hands and leaned close. “The good Lord knows best.”
“My baby?”
“The Lord, he decided Tempie needed more time before she was a mama. This was his will.”
Tempie looked at Florence. “I hurts so bad . . .”
“You rest.” Florence patted her hand. “Everything be all right now. I’s right here.”
Tempie sighed and closed her eyes.
Florence wiped her daughter’s forehead with a damp cloth, then kissed her on her cheek. “Sh-h-h. You sleep now, child.”
Mama Rose pulled aside the blanket. “She’s bleedi
ng some.”
Florence stared into Mama Rose’s eyes. “Can you make it stop?”
“I prays I can.” Mama Rose massaged Tempie’s stomach. “The afterbirth needs to be coming out.”
Florence lifted the baby from the bed and wrapped him in a small blanket, then hesitated. Finally, she placed the tiny bundle on the table and turned back to Tempie. “That baby done wore her out. She’ll be sleeping good.”
Tempie groaned.
“Praise the Lord, the afterbirth delivered.” Mama Rose grabbed for rags as the flow came. “All we can do now is wait and pray.”
_____
“You seen that baby?” Mama Rose stood on the porch, her thumb pointing toward the cook shack door.
Florence nodded. “Don’t be telling nobody, hear?”
“I won’t, but why you wanting to keep that a secret?”
“Folks don’t have no need knowing her dead baby was white. That’ll just bring trouble.”
“Been trouble enough, for sure.” Mama Rose put a hand on Florence’s shoulder. “I needs to check on her.”
Florence followed Mama Rose into the cabin. Tempie appeared to be in a deep sleep, her breathing shallow but regular. Florence took Tempie’s hand as she turned to Mama Rose. “It’s the Lord’s will. You done all you could. Now get on back to the quarters and get you some sleep. Morning will be here soon enough.”
Mama Rose nodded. “I’ll be back to check on her come dawn.”
_____
A pale glow filtered through the cabin window. Florence lifted her head with a start. Was she late? The big house would be wanting breakfast. She eased away from the bed where Tempie lay quietly and rubbed her eyes.
“You’s had a rough night, child.” Florence touched Tempie’s forehead, then drew her hand back quickly and placed her ear next to Tempie’s mouth. Slowly she shook her head as she straightened. With trembling hands, she lifted the blanket. A dark stain covered the bedding. “No, Lord . . .”
Florence gathered Tempie in her arms. Her tears fell onto the sweet, lifeless face. “Not my baby. Lord. Not my baby . . .”
Chapter Forty-one
September 1862
“Off the road. Step aside,” the sergeant yelled. “Clear the way for the artillery.” He directed the regiment into an open field. Ahead, predawn fog silhouetted the rooftops of a small village.
“We been marching all night,” Isaac said. “My feets is wore out. Is we in Maryland yet?”
“Been in Maryland since we left Harper’s Ferry last night.” Henry pointed north, toward the sound of sporadic musketry already rupturing the early morning quiet. “By the sounds of it, we’re fixing to go straight into battle.”
“Ain’t much shooting, ” Isaac said. “Least ways, not yet. Maybe today will be quiet.” He adjusted the satchel hanging over his shoulder as he stepped off the road. Philadelphia wasn’t but a few days’ walk from Maryland. What would Raleigh think if she opened her door and found him standing on her step?
The Fourteenth Virginia followed the rest of the brigade across the field, halting along a road that led out of town toward the west. Tents filled an orchard on the far side of the road. A rider galloped in from the east, dismounted, and ran to a table set under a large tarpaulin. Men in gray huddled over what must have been a map.
“General Lee’s headquarters.” Henry pointed to the flag hanging limply beside the tarp. “Reckon we’ll be safe enough here.”
“Company, fall out,” the company commander ordered. “Food and sleep. We’re in reserve.”
Henry spread his blanket, tossed his haversack on one end, and dropped to the ground. “I’ve been marching since before midnight. Don’t any of you wake me—unless the Yankees start coming down that pike.” He jerked a thumb toward the town.
“Aye, and I’ll be more’n happy to join ye, lad,” Sean said. “I don’t know how you talked me into this here infantry. Me thinks a mature condition such as my own would earn a fellow a fine little wagon.” He spread his blanket beside Henry’s and lay down, tipping his kepi over his eyes.
To the north, cannons answered volley with volley, drowning the crackle of musketry. Smoke drifted above the trees. “The fighting’s commencing. Appears to be a might heavy up yonder,” Isaac said. He sat on his blanket staring at flashes of artillery exploding in the distance.
“Ain’t our problem,” Henry replied. “Catch some sleep while you can.” He rolled to his side, pulling a corner of the blanket over his head.
_____
“McConnell, wake up.”
Isaac opened one eye. The first sergeant stood over Henry, poking him with his boot. The sun, high in a bright blue sky, warmed the plowed field. Mid-morning? Cannon fire and musketry filled the air. The fighting had grown heavier. Isaac sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“Wake up, McConnell. I need you to get a detail together, gather up the canteens and head on into Sharpsburg village yonder and fetch us some water.” The first sergeant pointed in the direction of the small hamlet. “We’ll be moving out soon, so get your tails back here quick as you can.”
“Tarnation.” Henry sat up, scratching his head. He squinted at the bright daylight, then turned toward town. “Battle’s shifting some, listen.”
“North and east o’ town, if yer asking me.” Sean rolled his blanket.
“Isaac, gather up as many canteens as you can carry. You too, Sean.” Henry poked two soldiers asleep beside him. “Fraley, Akers, on your feet. You’re coming too. Maybe we’ll get lucky and one of those fine Maryland ladies we’ve been hearing about will invite us to breakfast.”
“That’s the least they can do after we liberates ‘em from them damned Yankees.” Akers was on his feet, canteens already draped across both shoulders.
“Come on, move out.” Henry grabbed his rifle and headed toward the town. Isaac, Sean, and the others trailed behind.
They entered the village of clapboard one- and two-story buildings set on gently rolling hills. A few houses bore evidence of the battle, plaster knocked off walls or broken panes of window glass. A large house on the south side of the road displayed trappings of wealth. A half circle window high on one end separated two large chimneys. Henry walked to the front door and knocked.
A middle-aged gentleman answered.
“Begging your pardon, sir. We’re looking for a well to fill our canteens, and a taste of breakfast too, if it’s no trouble.”
“Well’s around back. Won’t deny water to anyone.” The man waved toward the side of the house. “I’ve been a Union man all my life. I’ll be damned if I’ll break bread with you rebels. Fetch your water and be gone.” The man stepped inside and slammed the door.
“I expect he ain’t partial to being liberated, Henry.” Akers grinned at Isaac and Sean.
Henry waved his small patrol onward. “That damned Yankee most likely poisoned his own well, just for spite. We’ll move on.”
They walked through the village, stopping at a house on the eastern side of town. A mile to the north, smoke blanketed lines of gray and blue blazing at one another across newly harvested fields.
Once again Henry knocked on the door. No one answered. He tried the latch. The door swung open into a parlor. Henry peeked inside, then motioned the others to follow.
Isaac brought up the rear, stepping into the front parlor as Fraley came around the corner with his mouth full of food.
“Biscuits. Still warm.” Fraley motioned toward the back of the house. “Best get you some, boy. There’s plenty.”
Henry sat at a table in the small dining room with Akers to his left and Sean to his right. They busied themselves with a ham roast in the center of the table.
“Folks must of got scared off by the shooting.” Henry waved his knife toward the din of battle echoing through the open window. “Cut some ham and have one of these here biscuits. Not as good as your mama’s, but right tolerable for Yankee fare.”
Isaac sliced off a thick piece of ham and placed it inside a biscui
t. As he ate he studied a tapestry hanging on the wall. A large animal, not a deer, but similar, standing on a snowy mountain peak, his head tilted as if braying to all within earshot. Beneath the tapestry, a book set on a small table. Isaac flipped open the cover. The printed page was senseless gibberish. “Massa Henry, can you read this?” He handed the book to Henry.
Henry opened the cover of the leather-bound volume and studied the title page. “German. Looks to be a Bible.” He handed it back to Isaac.
A thump sounded in the floor beneath them. Akers jumped from his seat, grabbing his musket. Henry studied the floor, then lifted a corner of the tattered blue rug under the table. “It’s a trap door. Cover me.” He drew back the carpet.
Akers and Fraley aimed their muskets at the opening in the floor.
“Out. Come on, we ain’t going to hurt you.” Henry motioned to someone below. In a moment, an old woman, her head wrapped in a scarf, appeared in the trap door. She climbed out, followed by a young girl, possibly nine or ten years old. The girl cowered behind the old woman, her wide eyes darting first to Henry, then Akers. Her gaze fell upon Isaac and her mouth dropped open.
“We won’t hurt you, ma’am,” Henry said. “We’re just looking for food and water—we need to fill these.” He pointed to the pile of canteens in the corner.
“Ya, ve have vater out back in da vell. Help yourself, just please, don’t be hurting mien kleindochter.” The woman placed a hand on the little girl’s head. The child hugged her, hiding behind pleats in her plain black dress.
“We won’t be hurting anyone, ma’am.” Henry tipped his hat. “Fraley, take them canteens out back and fill ‘em.”
Fraley looked at Isaac and pointed to the canteens. “Boy, fetch them up and follow me.”
_____
“Thank you, ma’am. Your gracious hospitality has been more than kind.” Henry tipped his hat as he backed out the door clutching a leg of fried chicken. The old woman smiled and waved.
“Nice folks,” Akers said as he wiped crumbs from his beard. “For Yankees, that is.” The patrol turned west on the dirt road, heading toward the center of town.