All five slaves kept their heads down. Grandfather had owned them. Owned their bodies. Owned their souls as much as he could. Therese shivered at the offense. They were treated as chattel, a concept Therese found as abhorrent as anything in the entire world. Yes, she and Mother needed to talk the issue through as soon as possible. She’d even tried to bring it up early that morning, before breakfast, but again Mother said she was in no shape to discuss it.
“Frederic LeFevre was also a man who loved his country,” the priest continued. “He didn’t inherit this land. No, he worked hard and bought it. And then built the house, barns, and stables. And then made a good living from the raising and selling of tobacco.” Therese shifted her feet. Yes, he’d done all that—with the help of people he’d owned.
She’d heard the story of the LeFevre family her whole life, how they’d fled France in the late 1600s along with so many other Huguenots and made their way to South Africa. A hundred years later, hoping for a better life, they had immigrated to the New World. But once here they had continued to struggle for decades, barely eking out a living—until Grandfather came along. Smart and industrious, as a young man he’d worked three jobs so that he could invest nearly every cent he made in the Midlothian coal mines, closer to Richmond. When that investment paid off, he sold his shares and used the money to buy what would become River Pines—along with enough slaves to successfully cultivate and harvest the land.
“He’s an example of a man who worked hard, made a good life for himself, and then did the right thing for those for whom he was responsible.”
Therese lowered her head as the priest continued praising her grandfather, fixing her gaze on her tattered boots. She’d shined them with a mix of lard and ashes that morning, hoping that would help. The hem of her dress had frayed in the last year, but she doubted anyone would notice. They were all doing the best they could.
Except for Michael, who stood next to Polly, more handsome than ever in what looked like a new suit. What a shock it must have been for him to return to such impoverished conditions. Now having him near, compared to yesterday, generated no feelings of fondness in her—only intense disappointment.
Her eyes moved to his parents, lovely people both, and she thought of their family history as well. From what she could recall, the Talbots had come to Virginia long before the LeFevres, emigrating from England in the early 1700s to establish an inn and a lumber mill. Their real interest had been in printing and paper, however, and eventually they’d been able to convert their inn to a print shop and the lumber mill into a paper mill. Now, a hundred fifty years later, Talbot Paper and Printing was a solid business with an outstanding reputation.
Best of all, according to Father, the Talbots had done it without ever owning a single slave. These days, the war had taken its toll on the business, of course, as it had with companies throughout the South, but they were managing as well as could be expected. To Therese, they were living proof that it could be done, that a company could succeed without the need for forced labor.
Finally, the priest said, “Yes, Frederic LeFevre was a man who embraced all that had made this country what it is: God’s sovereignty, hard work, and love of family.”
Therese glanced down at her mother, who sat in a chair Badan had carried out from the house. As expected, Warner hadn’t shown up. Mother had said that morning, “He wasn’t able to. It’s as simple as that.” He was thirty miles away, under siege, but it seemed others managed to come and go with passes. Everyone they knew had seen their soldier, if he was fighting nearby, at some point during the war. Everyone except for them.
Therese had never been particularly close to Warner, not the way Polly was with her brothers. But she hadn’t thought he would abandon them the way he had. She had to hope he had a good reason.
After the casket had been lowered and Mother and Therese each dropped a handful of dirt into the hole, they followed the others back to the house. Mother looped her arm through Therese’s and leaned heavily against her. Therese breathed in deeply, taking in the warm scent of pine and pitch, willing herself to be strong for her mother. Thunderclouds gathered on the horizon, and the day had grown even muggier. By the time they reached the house, it was just starting to sprinkle.
The men gathered in the parlor, and the women helped spread the food on the dining room table, with Aggie bringing bowls and baskets back and forth in the rain from the kitchen house. Therese met her at the back door each time to take the items from her and hand them off to someone else to add to the growing spread.
As they worked, Therese saw Miss Amanda, Polly’s mother, lead Mother over to a pair of chairs in the corner where they could sit and talk. Outside, thunder cracked, and a few times lightning flashed, yet Aggie just kept going back and forth between buildings without even seeming to flinch.
Therese was hovering at the door, waiting for Aggie to bring another load, when she heard Miss Amanda ask Mother what their plans were now.
“Therese and I will stay at River Pines,” Mother replied. “There’s no reason for us to live at the cottage anymore—except to be closer to you and your family, but y’all can always come visit us here. Plus, we’ll still see you at church on Sundays, right?”
“Of course.” Physically, Miss Amanda was a tiny woman, but emotionally she was strong and trustworthy. “How will you run things, though, just the two of you? This place is so big.”
“We’ll have the help…” her voice trailed off and Therese froze, waiting for clarification. Surely Mother meant hired help. Paid help. Not owned help.
“Oh.” Miss Amanda sounded startled too. “I just thought, considering your late husband’s views, that you’d free—”
Mother interrupted her. “In time, yes, but for now that wouldn’t be what’s best for them, would it? Where would they go? What would they do? Surely they would starve. No, we’ll all remain here together. That’s what’s best.”
Therese felt as if she might be sick. She turned her gaze on her mother, but the woman patently ignored her.
“I see,” Miss Amanda said.
Mother took her friend’s hand. “I’m afraid I owe Michael an apology.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I was rude to him last night. I… overreacted.”
Therese almost laughed out loud at her mother’s attempt to change the subject and curry favor in one fell swoop. She hadn’t changed her opinion of Michael. She was just throwing Miss Amanda—and her own daughter—a bone.
“Don’t give it another thought,” Miss Amanda said. “You’ve been under duress. I know he understands.”
Therese simply glared until Mother finally met her eyes, but her face was void of expression. Therese’s heart broke. Was there no one she could trust any longer? No one left who shared Father’s ideals?
What was she going to do?
It wasn’t until most of the mourners had left that Therese finally found the chance to speak with her mother in the corner of the parlor by the piano.
“Why won’t you free them?” she demanded. “That’s what Grandfather wanted. What Father wanted. What we wanted all along.”
“It’s not what Warner wants, and it’s up to him now. I’m merely the administrator of the trust.”
Tears flooded Therese’s eyes.
“Stop,” Mother said. “It’s not that simple.” Her voice was growing hoarse. “I don’t expect you to understand. You’re too idealistic—and sensitive. But I have a responsibility to protect them and Warner’s future too.”
Therese blinked hard. “At least let Mr. Porter go so he can’t hurt any of them again.”
“Oh, he’s harmless.” Mother kept her head down.
“Mother, he’s not. Don’t you remember when he beat Badan? And haven’t you seen him leering at Aggie?”
Mother lifted her red, weary eyes. “Please don’t talk coarsely.”
Therese shook her head in disgust but did her best to keep her voice calm. “Perhaps you need more time to think about thi
s.”
Mother shook her head. “I have no husband, no father. Someday Warner will care for me, and you too if you never marry. We’re just doing what we must.”
“No. We’d be fine at the cottage.”
“That’s enough. I don’t know how we’ll survive here, let alone back there, without any income.” Tears filled Mother’s eyes. “We were idealistic far too long. My love for your father clouded my judgment. This is what’s best—for all of us. Auntie Vera and Aggie too. And Badan and the rest. None of them would be safe if we turned them out.”
Her mother knew that wasn’t true. There were ways to get them to the North. But before Therese could say as much, Mother dropped her voice to a whisper and added, “We’ll all take care of one another. I promise.”
Therese stepped away, aghast that she would be willing to leave such a legacy. That was one of the things Father often talked about. He said it was one sin for a person to purposefully do the wrong thing, but it was a far greater sin to purposefully do wrong and leave an unworthy legacy for one’s offspring.
Miss Amanda started toward them but then must have decided she shouldn’t interrupt. “It’s all right,” Therese said. “We’re done.”
“We just wanted to say goodbye. We need to catch the ferry back.”
“Of course,” Therese said.
Mother stood and hugged her friend. Mr. Stephen, Michael, and Polly all offered their condolences again and then their goodbyes. Therese walked them to the door and gave Michael a letter for her brother, avoiding eye contact with him. She’d only written a short note, asking Warner to come when he could. As the Talbots headed down the front steps, she could feel anger at her mother building inside her, like a roaring furnace freshly loaded with coal.
The rain had finally stopped, but in her mind she kept seeing Aggie from earlier, arms loaded down with food for the master’s funeral, sloshing through the muck back and forth, back and forth, her dress heavy with water, her face impassive, her world so dictated by others that even lightning had to be ignored. Poor, sweet Aggie, who had always been Therese’s friend. Who was one of God’s beloved children. Who was no different from anyone else here, save for the circumstances of her birth.
Suddenly, heart pounding, Therese knew what she had to do. She flung open the door and raced down the steps. Badan had hitched the Talbots’ horse to their buggy and now held out his hand to help Miss Amanda into it.
“Wait!” Therese called out. Both Polly and Michael turned toward her.
“Polly,” she said, nearly breathless.
Her friend started toward her. “What is it?”
Therese stopped and waited until her friend drew near, and then she spoke in a voice low but urgent. “I’m interested in the governess position in Richmond after all.”
Polly glanced at the house. “But what about your mother?”
Therese felt her hands ball into fists. “Mother can stay here with her… choices. But I won’t be a part of it. I can’t.”
Polly’s brow furrowed with concern.
“Could you speak with the family and tell them of my credentials?”
“Yes. Of course I’ll do that.” In a softer voice, Polly added, “You’re sure this isn’t too much too soon?”
Therese shook her head, feeling a resolve as solid as the pines for which the plantation had been named. She stood up straight, deeply grateful for this trusted friend and the lifeline she had thrown without even realizing it.
“Quite the opposite, actually,” Therese said. “It’s not enough, not nearly enough. But it’s all I can do for now. And I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
There was no reason to tell Mother of her plan until Therese heard back from Polly. But it was all she could think about, her anger eventually giving way to sadness and then to a deep sense of longing. Maybe for what could have been had Mother not allowed herself to be ruled by her own anxieties. Maybe for the dream of Michael that she’d finally let go. Maybe for something more.
Therese had wanted to return to Richmond ever since she left. She’d loved her time there—walking along the James River past the flour, cotton, and iron mills and the tobacco factories and warehouses. Watching the water tumble over the falls, the fish jumping in the pools, and the birds swooping down over the river. Exploring the different neighborhoods. Learning everything she possibly could in school. Now, God willing, that dream would actually come true. If only it could happen under different circumstances.
They spent the next few days at River Pines, Therese distracting herself with a book she’d found near her grandfather’s chair. It was the recent memoir of the famous spy, Rose O’Neal Greenhow, and the story of how she used her charms and social connections to gather and convey important military information to the Confederacy during the first two years of the war.
Therese had heard of the book, which was all the rage in England, and of Mrs. Greenhow, who had become an international celebrity. Therese found herself fascinated by the story, especially its account of the five months that Rose and her daughter, Little Rose, spent locked in prison. Apparently, the woman continued to pass along messages even from there. Though Therese couldn’t imagine such audacity, she was impressed by it. Misguided as Rose’s loyalties were, she was still a brave and daring woman, and she’d acted on her beliefs without thought for her own safety or well-being. Once released from prison, she spent time in Richmond, where she was hailed as a heroine. Then, a year ago, she ran the blockade and had been in Europe ever since.
Early the following Monday, Therese finished the book and then Badan drove her and Mother back to the cottage to collect what they needed and to close it up. As Therese knelt at the bookcase in the tiny parlor, boxing up books—her schoolbooks and also Father’s much larger collection—she decided to give her mother one more chance to change her mind. Surely here, among Father’s most important abolitionist materials, Mother would finally admit the wrongness of keeping Aggie and the others enslaved.
But when she brought it up, Mother snapped at her sharply, telling her the subject was closed. Therese’s eyes began to sting, and she returned her attention to the books. She felt as if they, along with the articles Father had written, were all she had left of him. After she closed the box, she retreated to the back room for her clothes and personal items. When she returned, she saw that Mother had opened up the box and removed a stack of books, magazines, and papers from inside.
“What are you doing?” Therese knelt. “I already packed those.”
“We’re only taking what’s appropriate.”
“Appropriate,” Therese echoed, not believing her ears as she looked at the stack of rejects. Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Twelve Years a Slave. All of Longfellow’s poems, as well as Thoreau’s essays and Dickens’s work too. Mother certainly remembered which authors were abolitionists. Therese could feel the knot of rage solidifying again inside her.
Copies of magazines—the National Anti-Slavery Standard and The Liberty Bell—were there too, issues in which Father had articles published. The papers were those he’d been working on at the time he fell ill. “We can’t dispose of these.” Therese held up Father’s last article, appalled at the very thought.
“We’ll leave them here and collect them after the war.”
Therese knew they wouldn’t survive. Someone would soon realize the cottage was empty and set up housekeeping—and she wouldn’t blame them. They’d most likely be displaced by the war, looking for a safe place to squat, or soldiers who oversaw the stash of munitions in the academy building. The cottage would be occupied in no time.
For a moment, she almost stood up to her mother and insisted they bring these things to River Pines. But then she thought of what lay ahead, the larger stand she would take as soon as she got confirmation about the job from Polly, and decided to hold her tongue. Mother could have this battle.
Therese would win the war.
She hid the books and papers in the attic as best she could. As she d
id, her father’s carte de visite of the escaped slave fell from between the papers. She quickly picked it up and slipped it into the pocket of her apron.
Next she turned her attention to Warner’s things, packing up a couple of books, a compass, a watch Grandfather had given him, and his clothes. He’d need these items when the war was over.
With Badan’s help, they loaded the wagon with everything, including a few boxes of household items and the rest of their threadbare clothing. Then, while Mother waited in the shade of the porch, Therese and Badan dug up the potatoes and harvested the beans, okra, and greens. The corn wasn’t ripe enough for them to eat, but they took it anyway to feed to the hogs.
Badan helped Mother into the wagon while Therese stared back at the cottage, thinking of Father. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Perhaps Mother overheard her because she said, “Hurry along.”
Badan extended his hand. The breeze picked up as Therese stepped high. She thought she heard Badan say, “Things will work out.” Then again, maybe she imagined it, or perhaps it was the wind. Either way it was good advice.
On Wednesday, Therese was practicing scales at Grandfather’s piano and Mother was on the settee, taking her turn reading the spy memoir, when Aggie brought a letter into the parlor.
“For you.” She handed it to Therese.
“Who’s it from?” Mother asked.
“Polly.” Therese opened the letter and read quickly. The Galloways were delighted she wanted to work as a governess, and they desired her to come to Richmond as soon as possible.
She pulled in a breath, her heart suddenly pounding. This was what she’d been waiting for, the logistical solution to her moral and ideological problem. It was time to reveal her decision to her mother.
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