by Renee' Irvin
“I heard rumors that your sharecroppers were sick with the fever,” Isabella said.
“Is this what I have to come home to? If so, maybe I’d better get back on my horse and go on over to the warehouse. You’re like a clucking hen, you never hush. Why can’t you just be a wife and leave everything else alone?”
Isabella went into the house and sulked in silence. Jules took a bath and then went into the bedroom to rest. Isabella followed him in there.
“Jules.”
“What now?”
“What happened over in Beaufort?”
“Isabella, I want to get some sleep. Do you not listen to a goddamn thing I say?” His voice softened, “Of course, if you want to make yourself useful you can stay; a while anyway.”
He’s an awful man, thought Isabella. She had rather die than lay down in that bed next to him. In fact, she wished that the Yankees had captured him during the war and never turned him loose.
Isabella walked out and slammed the door.
It was early evening when Isabella smelled the sweet smell of Jules’s cigar and knew that he was awake. She saw his shadow enter the kitchen and then heard him laugh with Priscilla. Isabella walked to the kitchen door and eyed her husband. He had bought her in marriage, never professed to love her, or any woman for that matter and now, had hired an experienced Negro girl to cook for him for no other reason than to make her feel like a fool.
She was a fool. She could not deny that, but she had saved her mama and granny’s farm, so, maybe she was a little less of a fool than she thought. Still, it sickened her to realize that her husband was a crook and a whoremonger. Suddenly, the thought occurred to Isabella that maybe she, too, could be sent to the place for women with unsound minds. Isabella knew that she had sold herself, just like a prostitute. If people knew… but right now she would not worry about what people thought or knew. She didn’t have time for that, not now anyway. She was Isabella McCoy, and there wasn’t no man, or anyone else for that matter, who would destroy her will. She would stay until she found a good reason to leave. And that reason, she was sure, was the woman on Oglethorpe. Isabella knew she had to find her and soon, very soon. She would approach her on amicable terms and tell her that she was not angry with her for being with her husband. In fact, she would tell her that she wanted them to be together hoping that Jacqueline would pour her heart out to her telling her all about Jules indiscretions. Surely, this information alone would be enough to get a divorce even if Jules was not willing.
That night Isabella thought about Priscilla and her being from Norcross. Isabella wondered if Priscilla knew anyone from Shakerag. Elora had been put to bed and Isabella had wrapped herself in a blanket, pulling it tight around her neck. She had felt sick that afternoon and thought perhaps she had a cold. Her thoughts went to Tom and she tried to think about something else. Jesse had gone down to the warehouse to help Hoyt take inventory and there was no one for her to talk to. No one, except Priscilla, but what could she possibly have to say of any interest? Not a thing, Isabella thought.
Priscilla blew out the gas lamp in the kitchen and went to speak to Isabella before she headed for her room. She knocked on Isabella’s bedroom door and then entered. She leaned her head inside and then straightened her spine. With narrowed eyes she said,
“What’s the matter, Miz Isabella, you not feeling well? You chilled?”
For a moment, Isabella thought of asking Priscilla to leave, but she glanced at her and sat back in the bed. Isabella’s face flushed red.
“You poor thing,” Priscilla said with genuine concern. “Mister Jules ought to be ashamed of himself for going off and leaving you here by yourself so much. Course a man’s got to work. Can’t spend all his time fussing over his woman. If he do, then we would all starve.”
“Starve!” Isabella sat up with indignation. “I’d rather starve than have him here all the time.”
Priscilla’s eyes widened. She saw Isabella was about to cry, and went over and placed her arms around her mistress. “Don’t cry; I know it must be hard on you. Having to deal with a man like Mister Jules ain’t no easy thing. You must get busy, no need in you making yourself sick bout things you can’t do nothing bout. You know Mister Jules, he too old to change his ways. Course, it ain’t ne’r too late to change. I know I’se shure nuff did. I’se a Christian woman now; I got myself baptized last Sunday.” Priscilla beamed proudly.
Isabella glanced at Priscilla and thought how silly she looked standing there grinning like a possum. “What would you know about how I feel? Never mind, just forget what I said.”
Priscilla shrugged her shoulders and started out the door. “I know how it feel to be somewhere and not know where I’se going. First, I’se with Miz Mae, den Miz Jacqueline, over on Oglethorpe and now, here I is with you.”
Isabella’s heart stopped, her eyes danced wickedly. She jumped up from the bed and her feet slid across the waxed wooden floor.
“You know the woman on Oglethorpe?” Asked Isabella, grabbing hold of Priscilla.
“I know dat bad woman,” said Priscilla with a sidelong glance.
“Priscilla, sit down, you must be tired, you’ve cooked and cleaned all day. How do you know her?”
“Miz Isabella, I done said too much. If Mister Jules find out, he’s gonna toss me right out dat door. And I ain’t got nowhere to go back to, do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand, Priscilla, believe me, I understand.” Their eyes met and Isabella took Priscilla’s hand into hers. “Go on; I swear on the life of Tom Slaughter that this will be just between you and me. Here, sit down in this chair. I’m gonna fix you a cup of hot milk.”
“Can you put some chocolate in it?” asked Priscilla.
Isabella dashed to the kitchen and warmed some milk with chocolate. Just as she was heading back to Priscilla, Jesse came in the back door. Isabella had to get rid of him. She turned her face into a smile.
“Where you going with that cup of hot chocolate?” Jesse asked. “You look like you about to serve it to Sherman and it’s got poison in it.”
“Why would you say a thing like that? Ain’t you got chores to do?”
“No,” Jesse said, looking down on her pink cheeks with a suspicious eye.
Isabella squeezed his arm. “Me and Priscilla are talking girl talk, just us two, and I don’t want you in there.” Isabella knew she had to make Jesse leave and be careful not to raise his suspicions. She knew, however, that Jesse was no fool, especially when it came to her.
“What is dis all about? What you up to?”
“Do I have to be up to one darn thing? Can’t I just do a few things I want to without everybody poking their nose in my business?”
“You might as well tell me what you up to ‘cause if you don’t, I’se might just stand here all night. You up to something and it ain’t good.”
“All right!” Isabella swung around with fiery eyes. “You got to promise you won’t breathe a word.”
“I promise. Now what’s got you in such a ruckus?”
Anxious to get back to Priscilla, Isabella said, “That cook knows the woman on Oglethorpe. She even knows her name; it’s Jacqueline.”
“You want to go and mess up your marriage with Mister Jules?”
“Mess up my marriage? You know I did not marry for love and he sure didn’t either.”
“Don’t you care a thing about him?”
“No! I wish the Yankees had hung him, that’s what I wish. Now, I’m gonna take Priscilla this hot chocolate before it gets cold and you stay out of there, you hear?”
“You gonna get yourself in a mess, bigger than the one you already in.”
“That ain’t for you to worry about. I’m working on getting myself out of this mess and us back to Shakerag. And as for any other mess that might happen, well, I’ll figure that out later. And besides, it ain’t a thing in the world but meanness that Jules McGinnis keeps me here. I’ve paid my debt to him and I want to go home.”
“De
n just pack your things and go.”
“You don’t understand a thing. I’ve got to have a reason to leave. And that reason is over on Oglethorpe. I can’t just go tearing out of here like Kate said the Yankees did with her china and silver.” Isabella was silent for a moment. “I suppose you think my good name ain’t worth a thing? My name has already been damaged enough. I was ruined when Jules married me. And now if I just up and take off my name will never be worth nothing, not ever again and it meant everything to my daddy.” A pang went through her.
Days passed, and Isabella was happier than Jules had ever seen her. She spent her mornings working in the flower beds, canning blackberry preserves, and late in the afternoon, she often took Elora to Forsyth Park.
Elora spent hours playing in the garden that her and her mother had planted. She would dart out from behind colorful hydrangea bushes often chasing butterflies. And when she would stop and try to catch one of the butterflies it would escape her while she bent down to smell the fragrant smell of the flowers.
Elora’s eyes were big and blue; not like Isabella’s, but to Isabella Elora’s eyes had a lure to them much like Tom’s. Her wispy hair was a white blond that always had a little pink bow in it. She was a happy child and loved to laugh when her mother would pick her up and swing her around and around. There was innocence to Elora that reminded Jules of Isabella. On warm days Elora would be out in the yard; often barefooted and Jules would laugh and call her his little dancing girl as she played and danced in the yard. If she was outside when he was about to leave to go to the warehouse he would grab at her and chase her around the yard. It was obvious to anyone who saw them that Jules loved this child. And to some Kate and Priscilla in particular, it seemed that Jules loved Elora more than Isabella. If the baby was restless and unsettled it was usually Jules or Priscilla that was able to calm her down. Jules would often head out the back door and take her for a little walk before her bedtime. He had confided in Kate about Isabella’s lack of mothering when it came to her own child. In a sympathetic voice, Kate told Jules that Isabella had been through a lot and that in the beginning, Isabella did not want the baby. In Elora’s first few months Kate and Nell had been the one’s to care for the child. So Kate attributed this to the fact that Elora seemed more like a baby sister to Isabella than her own child. Even so it was obvious that she loved Elora very much.
To Isabella’s relief, Jules continued to work long days and nights. Several evenings a week Jules opened the warehouse to his poker buddies. Isabella pictured him and the men, looking like a bunch of prowling cats. Of course, Jules could prowl as late, and as often, as he wanted.
Isabella managed to look concerned when Jules left for work. She would smile and nod and kiss her husband on the cheek. With a wrinkled brow, Isabella told Jules that he needed to take better care of himself and that she wished he would get more rest. She praised his work ethic and his moneymaking abilities. And she always reminded him what a smart man he was. Why, he was the smartest man she had ever known, she told him. Jesse would look at her in disbelief, wondering if Tom Slaughter had taken ill or died.
Isabella had a plan. She sat on the verandah, just before twilight, plotting and planning what she would do next. She watched the old ladies stroll past her house and thought she would rather die than end up like them. They bored her, and the young women who lived on the street were rude to her. Isabella wondered how they stood being laced up in corsets all day. Some of them were fat as pigs, but it was no wonder, for a few of them did nothing but sit out on their verandahs, drink tea, eat cobbler, iced pound cake, and gossip. And more often than not, she suspected the gossip was about her.
She bet most of them had never slopped a hog, or wrung a chicken’s neck to cook for supper. Isabella was certain the younger women had not. They were too frail, and most of them looked as bad as a sick cow. She reckoned all they did was prance around in Forsyth Park showing off their new clothes and bonnets.
Isabella missed going to church and she even convinced Jules to go with her one Sunday. Granny told Isabella right before she died that she should always go to church, but Isabella wondered if Granny would want her to go if she knew how mean the women there treated her. They made belittling remarks about her; Isabella could hear their loud whispers and snickers. However, when the same group of women found out where she lived they became friendlier, even complimenting her on her “simple taste.”
As she sat on the porch in the quiet twilight Isabella closed her eyes and wished things had never changed. She imagined that she was back in Shakerag and that she and Tom were on the banks of the Chattahoochee River. Her daddy was across the river fishing, Tick was there and Granny held little Henry while she told him stories about a loggerhead turtle.
The next morning after Jules left for work and Elora had finished with her eggs and grits, Isabella asked Priscilla if she wanted to go with her and Elora to the park. Priscilla fussed about there being breakfast dishes left for her to clean up and Jules had poured coffee grains in the sink, but she told Isabella that if she could wait for her to clean up and change her skirt, that she would go to the park with her and the baby. Priscilla finished her morning chores and hurried to the porch where Isabella watched Elora as she played on the front steps with her doll. Priscilla looked down the steps and said, “Oh lawd, Miz Isabella, dat child gonna have worms—she got a whole fistful of dirt in her mouth!”
Isabella jumped up and looked at Priscilla who had on a green and white checked dress and a straw bonnet that tied on the side with a red ribbon.
“I ate dirt when I was little and I didn’t have any worms. Dirt ain’t gonna hurt her. Besides, Granny used to say that if a young-un ate dirt, they needed some sort of mineral that they weren’t getting in their food.”
“I knows, I heard dat too, but I ain’t taking any chance with Miz Elora coming down with de worms. Only white trash young-uns have worms and ain’t no child of Mister Jules gonna be called white trash.” Isabella sighed and Priscilla picked up Elora and carried her into the house where she washed out her mouth and hands with warm water and lye soap. Then Priscilla changed Elora’s clothes, put a white lace bonnet on her curly tow head and placed her in a wicker baby buggy still kicking and screaming from the taste of the lye soap.
Isabella and Priscilla strolled down the street; women and children were coming from all directions. A little Negro boy, trotted past them pushing a red wheelbarrow full of apples and a sack of potatoes. Isabella gathered up her crisp pink skirts with one hand in fear of the boy running over them with the wheelbarrow. The crowded street gave way to carriages, white faced ladies with hair piled high on their heads under feathered bonnets and black mammies clutching the hands of young children. Through the tangle of people, under the un-merciful sun, sat Forsyth Park, with its timeless allure.
Isabella felt sick; the crowds of people and the humid air nauseated her. She walked over to the fountain and raised her skirt to cool the perspiration. A drunken man lay on a bench close to the fountain; Isabella smelled his odor and knew that she would throw up if she didn’t get a drink of water soon. The man had on a tattered gray uniform; he was a war veteran. How sad, she thought. She sat down next to the fountain and put her head between her legs. She heard Priscilla’s voice, but did not recognize who she was talking to. Suddenly, Isabella felt strong arms around her and heard a deep whisper.
“Are you hurt?” asked the man.
“No, I feel sick, but I’m okay. I just need some water.”
The man looked up and motioned for Priscilla to come near. “Go over and look in my carriage. There’s a jug of water on the passenger seat; bring it to me.”
“Yessuh, Mister Patrick, I’se be right back. Will you watch the baby?”
“I’ll be glad to.”
Patrick looked at Isabella sideways, extended his hand and said, “I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Patrick O’Brien.”
Priscilla ran up with the jug of water and dropped it in Patrick’s hands. He p
ut the jug of cool water to Isabella’s mouth and she drank. Patrick removed a kerchief from around his neck and soaked it with the water. He then dropped the kerchief on Isabella’s forehead and blotted away the perspiration. Isabella pulled herself to her feet, shook Patrick’s hand, and looked at him with a slightly disoriented look.
“I don’t think you should try and walk back home, Miss…?”
“Isabella,” she said, raising her eyes.
“Okay, Miss Isabella, but regardless I don’t think you should try to walk home. I’ll take you in my carriage.” Patrick turned to Priscilla and smiled. “Well, I see you found other employment in a hurry.”
“Mister Patrick, I done all I could do for Miz Jacqueline; dat woman is as crazy as a fox and I couldn’t stay dere no mo’. Besides, I done gone and got baptized. I’se a Christian woman now.”
Isabella leaned forward; she could not believe what she just heard.
“Priscilla, take care of the baby and I’ll take Isabella home,” Patrick ordered.
“Yessuh, Mister Patrick. I hope you ain’t mad at me, but I done the best I could do.”
Patrick laughed. “No, Priscilla, I’m not mad at you.”
Thoughts darted in and out of Isabella’s mind. Was this the Patrick O’Brien, Mrs. Kate’s son, and if so, what did he have to do with the woman named Jacqueline and was this the same Jacqueline that lived on Oglethorpe? Jules’s Jacqueline? It couldn’t be, or could it?
Just as Patrick helped Isabella into his carriage and she loosened her grip, someone called out his name. The voice came nearer and then Isabella saw her. She carried herself like a princess. Isabella turned to Patrick and noticed his eyes sparkle. The woman swayed when she walked and her green eyes narrowed.
“Bonjour,” she said with an accent. She smiled in a way that made Isabella feel uncomfortable. Her raven hair tumbled down her shoulders and she looked at Isabella with a smirk.