The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries)

by Tracey Bateman

  Henry had ordered her to stay away from their guests. “If you go anywhere near the Hanson boy,” he’d said the night before, his fingers biting into the soft flesh of Cat’s upper arm, “I’ll kill you.”

  Cat shuddered at the memory of his cold blue eyes. She would have willingly risked death to see Thomas, but clearly, he didn’t want to see her.

  The door creaked slowly open, and Cat glanced up. She stiffened at the sight of her mother.

  “Miss Maddy say for you to get the baby washed and dressed. Master Henry wantin’ to show off his son to their guests at dinner tonight.”

  “Am I to take the baby down there?” Cat asked, horrified at the thought of Thomas figuring out that she had borne Henry a son.

  “No, baby girl. I take him down when Master Henry call for him.”

  Cat nodded. “I’ll have him fed and ready.” She waited for Naomi to leave, but her mother stood there, scrutinizing her.

  Finally she spoke. “Tell me why you was crying.”

  “I wasn’t.” Cat jerked her chin up and glanced away from her mother.

  Naomi placed her hand under Cat’s chin and pressed, forcing Cat to look at her. “Yes, you was.”

  Cat scowled. “I wasn’t.” She jutted her chin.

  Naomi settled next to her on the cot and placed her work-hardened hands over Cat’s. “Sometimes the tears just come and there ain’t nothin’ you can do about it, Baby. Jesus takes dem tears and puts ’em in a bottle.”

  “I’m sick of crying. And don’t tell me about Jesus. He’s a white man’s god, not mine.”

  Naomi gasped. “Cat! Don’ talk that way.”

  “I will talk that way. Do you hear me, God?” Her voice rose and she glared at the ceiling. “I think You’re just like the rest of the white men in the world.”

  Naomi shot to her feet, casting fearful wide eyes around the room as though afraid Cat’s blasphemy might bring the walls crashing down around them.

  Shaking with self-induced fury, Cat rose and paced the floor. “What kind of a god allows people to be work animals for other people? We’re nothing more than dogs or mules, at the whim and mercy of cruel taskmasters. What kind of life is this?” Tears streamed down her face.

  Naomi placed her hands upon Cat’s shoulders. “You thinks you got it worse than other slaves? At least you don’ have to work in the fields from sunup to sundown. Sweating in the sun, freezing in the cold. Then go back to the quarters and lay down with the master or any of the men on the plantation. You might have to put up with Master Henry, but he won’t let any other men nears ya.”

  Cat laughed. Loudly, hysterically. “Do you really think Henry has me hidden away because he cares about me? Lord Almighty, Naomi. I love Thomas Hanson. And he loved me until he found out I have Negro blood. Henry’s just afraid Thomas might want to run off with me.”

  “Oh, Baby. My baby.” Naomi gathered Cat close. Cat resisted, but her mother tightened her hold until Cat relaxed against her.

  “Oh, Mama, why? Why does life have to be this way? Don’t I have skin as white as Camilla’s? Why should she have Thomas?”

  “That’s just the way things be, Baby.”

  “What if the Yankees win and we go free?”

  Naomi held her at arm’s length and looked sadly into her eyes. “Will dat change who you be? Will it change the African blood in your body? You find a strong man of your own kind. A man who know what it is to belong to another man. A man like dat will treat you good because he know where you’s been. He know what you’s come through.”

  Cat snorted. “I’d rather be alone forever.”

  Naomi narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. Cat met her gaze, unwavering. She had not been raised in Miss Maddy’s parlor to throw away her refinement on a man who would never understand her. How could a slave, or even a former slave, ever know how to sit properly at a dinner table? Would he read Lord Byron to her in bed at night? It was out of the question.

  Little Henry stirred in his crib, mewling softly. Cat’s milk let down as he opened his eyes and whimpered. Right now he was the only bright thing in her life. At least as Henry’s son no one would ever know he had any Negro blood. He would be a white man in every sense of the word and would eventually inherit Penbrook. The family Bible listed young Henry next to Camilla as Miss Maddy’s and Henry’s child. Cat nodded in satisfaction. She would endure what she must as long as her son was cared for.

  *****

  Two days later Cat sat in the garden behind Penbrook House, nursing her baby. While Henry took the Hansons on a tour of Penbrook’s extensive fields, Cat had taken advantage of the unseasonably warm December day to allow baby Henry and herself a respite from confinement within the four walls.

  Thomas and his family would leave Penbrook tomorrow. Cat had hoped for a moment to speak with Thomas alone, but there had been no opportunity to sneak in a word with him. Other than his arrival, she hadn’t even seen him. A sigh escaped her lips. There would be no opportunity to thwart any marriage plans Camilla might snag him into.

  “What are we going to do, my sweet baby?” She looked down at her son nursing euphorically, eyes wide open. He grinned in response to her voice. Cat laughed as milk ran from his mouth.

  “That’s quite a boy you have there.”

  Cat gasped. She stood quickly as Mr. Hanson stepped into the garden.

  Baby Henry let up a squeal of protest as her nipple bobbed from his mouth. Cat pulled her dress closed and adjusted Henry to her shoulder. “I--I didn’t know anyone was home.”

  “Ah, yes, I thought I’d stay and prepare for our departure tomorrow.” His eyes reflected the same kindness she’d observed that night in the barn. Still, Cat watched him. If he took one step toward her, she’d run screaming for the house.

  “Don’t worry, my dear. I have no intention of molesting you. Please sit. I can imagine Henry’s had you locked away to keep you out of Thomas’s sight. And it appears with good reason.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean.” She wanted to bolt. To return to the safety of the nursery before anyone found out she had disobeyed Henry’s orders and left the room in the first place. After three days without his abuse, she didn’t relish the thought of what he would do to her.

  “I take it the child is yours and not Mrs. Penbrook’s?”

  Heat suffused Cat’s cheeks and she glanced away. “He belongs to Miss Maddy. I’m his wet nurse.”

  “I’m not a fool,” he said, without a trace of gruffness. “Give me the baby.”

  Fear gripped Cat and she tightened her hold.

  “It’s all right. Let me see him.”

  Reluctantly, Cat released Henry, who now slept peacefully. He didn’t stir as Mr. Hanson held him in his arms.

  “How old is he?”

  “A few months.”

  “How many?” He kept his gaze on the baby. “And don’t lie to me.”

  Cat cleared her throat. “Three.” Dear God, was he going to expose them all? “Please, Mr. Hanson. . .”

  “Surely you’ve noticed the resemblance. I noticed it the moment I saw this child our first night at Penbrook.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  His gaze flicked across hers, and then his expression changed. He handed her the baby and rose, straightening his vest. “It doesn’t matter. Forgive my intrusion.”

  Cat frowned as she watched him turn to head back to the house. Then realization dawned. She glanced at baby Henry and gasped. “Oh.”

  Mr. Hanson spun on his heel and walked quickly back to where Cat sat. He cupped her chin and forced her gaze upward. “I assumed you knew my son fathered this child. The resemblance is undeniable.”

  Joy shot through Cat’s heart like a ray of sunshine slicing through a black cloud. “Thomas?” A smile curved her lips. She glanced down at her son and a new surge of love shot through her. Why had she never seen it before?

  “He must never know.”

  Confused, Cat sought understanding in the depth of Mr. Hanson’s
gaze. There was no anger, no condemnation, only concern. She remained silent, knowing if she tried to speak she would burst into tears.

  With a heavy sigh, Mr. Hanson sat next to her on the bench. “If my son knew he had fathered this child, he would take you both away from here, someplace where you could pass as a white woman.”

  “No, he wouldn’t. You didn’t see the way he looked at me.”

  “He’s seen you since our arrival?” He grabbed her arms. “What did he do?”

  “N–nothing. I only saw him through the window. He--he didn’t look happy to see me.”

  He released her and raked fingers through his graying hair. “I apologize for scaring you.”

  “Y–you didn’t.”

  “Thomas is my only son. My only heir. His sister and her husband live out West, so there is no one else to run the plantation when I’m gone.”

  Tears pricked Cat’s eyes. If she thought Thomas loved her, nothing would keep her from telling him about his son. No one. “I won’t tell him,” she said softly. “You have my word.”

  Mr. Hanson’s eyes softened and he reached forward to cup her cheek. “It’s no wonder my son fancied himself in love with you. If only. . .”

  He stood once more, patted baby Henry on the head, and strode to the house without another word.

  Trembling, Cat gathered the baby in her arms and returned to the nursery. How could she allow a monster like Henry to raise Thomas’s son? If only. . . Mr. Hanson’s words hung in her mind. If only she had no Negro blood coursing through her veins.

  She allowed herself a brief moment to dream of what life might be like should Thomas whisk her away like a prince in a fairy tale. She sighed. Thomas was a prince, but she was far from a princess. And he would never leave his kingdom for the likes of her.

  1948

  Ella closed the diary and set it on the nightstand as Buck entered the room.

  “I’ll take over the reading now, Ella. Lottie needs you in the kitchen.”

  “Duty calls, Yankee boy. I’ll see you later.” She ducked out the door.

  “You really don’t have to read to me, Buck. To tell you the truth, I was having trouble keeping from dozing off the last few minutes.”

  “Your wife telephoned.”

  “She did?” Andy’s heart leapt and he started to get up.

  “Lie down, boy. I told her you was hurt and shouldn’t get out of bed.”

  Andy scowled. “You shouldn’t have done that. I would have talked to her.”

  “I figured you might, but she didn’t want you hurtin’ yourself more. Just told me to tell ya she hoped you’d get to feelin’ better soon.”

  Disappointment swept through Andy. She hoped he felt better soon? No words of love and devotion? No offer to come to Georgia and nurse him back to health?

  “Thanks for the message, Buck.”

  “Don’t mention it, Son.” He hesitated a moment, then Andy heard the squeak of his shoes as he headed toward the door. “I suppose if you don’t want me to read, I’ll leave you to your nap. Just holler if you need anything.”

  “Thanks.”

  Andy scooted more deeply under the covers and tossed aside a couple of his pillows until he was comfortable in the bed. His head throbbed and he reached for the bottle of painkillers on the nightstand. He felt around until he found them, took two, and swallowed them down without water.

  Loneliness drifted over him. He lay awake for what seemed like hours, thinking of Lexie and wishing desperately he had never gone with Ella to Georgie’s.

  April 1863

  There are only women in the house now. Henry rode off to fight in the war right after the holidays. If there truly is a God, he will not return alive. Most of the slaves have run away, as there are very few men left to patrol and keep them in hand. The militia is too busy conducting mock drills to bother with the fugitives.

  Many of the women are afraid to step out onto their porches at night for fear the runaway slaves will accost them. I find this amusing. Camilla is beside herself with worry and taxes my patience unendingly. I wear myself out doing her bidding while I try to care for her poor mother.

  I’m afraid Miss Maddy will not be with us much longer. Her strange illness has taken all of her strength and she has lost vision in her right eye. I remain at Penbrook only because she needs me. Camilla is useless, and old Mrs. Penbrook has left us and returned to her childhood home to live with a spinster sister in Louisiana.

  She took Naomi with her. My mother hugged me and cried as though she will never see me again. I try to find it in my heart to miss her. But I spent so many years away from her that I hardly think of her as my mother at all. Maddy has always been more so to me.

  That is why I can hardly bear to see Miss Maddy so ill. If not for her illness I would take my son and travel north, even if I had to walk every step of the way. But I cannot leave her now. Not while she lives.

  Chapter Six

  Summer 1864

  From sunup until sundown the work was endless. The day had barely begun, and already exhaustion weakened Cat’s legs, making the walk up the long staircase tortuously slow. She entered Miss Maddy’s room carrying a basin of water and a fresh cloth.

  “Is that you, Cat?” Miss Maddy’s feeble voice barely carried across the length of the room.

  She made her way quickly to the bedside. “I’m here, ma’am.” Setting the bowl of water on the nightstand, she dipped the cloth and squeezed out the excess liquid. “How are you feeling?”

  Maddy seemed to relax as Cat wiped the cloth across her forehead. “Not quite as bad today. The cool cloth helps. Thank you.”

  A sense of helplessness crept through Cat. A familiar enemy. If only there were some way she could help relieve the pain. Cat would give almost anything to see Miss Maddy well again. But there was no doctor for miles. Perhaps in Atlanta. But Cat knew even if she walked the entire twenty miles, the chances of convincing a doctor to leave the wounded soldiers to attend one woman were pretty slim.

  A moan brought her back to the present. “What is it? Can I do something?”

  Miss Maddy shook her head. “It won’t be long now. I can feel it.”

  Fear shot through Cat at the very sound of the words. “Don’t say it. I won’t believe it.”

  “Oh, Cat. You must know it’s true. My eyesight is gone. The shape of my head has changed. I can feel the deformity, so I know you must be able to see it.”

  She was right. Miss Maddy’s forehead was almost grotesque in appearance. But Cat refused to acknowledge the statement. She couldn’t bear the thought of telling the once-beautiful woman that she was beautiful no more.

  “Henry Jr. recognized some letters today.” She kept her tone light and airy, knowing Miss Maddy loved to hear about Henry Jr.

  A pleased smile lifted Miss Maddy’s pale, chapped lips. “Already? I’ve never heard of a two-year-old with such intelligence. He must take after you, Cat. You always were so bright.”

  Pain twisted Cat’s heart. She dipped the cloth into the basin again and squeezed out the excess water. “Please. We agreed never to speak of little Henry as my child.” She folded the cloth and laid it across Miss Maddy’s forehead.

  Maddy reached up weakly and pressed at the cloth as though trying to enhance its soothing affects. “Oh, what does it matter anymore? Really. The money from Penbrook estate is all gone. Henry Jr. won’t inherit much anyway. Even if his father does make it back from the war.”

  Cat pushed back the shuddering though. She prayed every night that Henry would die in battle or from any one of the horrific diseases of which they’d heard rumors. “Don’t you see, Miss Maddy?” Cat sat next to her, folding her hands in her lap. “It’s not about money. It’s about this land. I’ll make sure he has something worth inheriting.”

  “What do you mean you’ll make sure?” Camilla’s haughty voice raked through the room as she entered, grating on Cat’s already taut nerves. “What have you to do with any of it?”

  “Camilla,
please,” Miss Maddy pleaded. “Don’t start an argument.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama. But really, who does she think she is?”

  “Come here and sit with me.” She held her hand in the direction of the doorway, where Camilla still stood.

  Cat rose to leave. “I’ll be back in a little while with some breakfast for you, ma’am.”

  “No, Cat. Stay. I wish to speak with you both.” She patted the bed on either side of her.

  Camilla walked around and sat carefully. “I didn’t hurt you, did I, Mama?”

  Miss Maddy attempted a smile, but weakness caused it to falter, reducing the effort to little more than a quiver. “No, Sweetheart. You didn’t hurt me.”

  Camilla took her mother’s hand and pressed it against her own cheek. During times such as this, when Camilla’s eyes clouded with pain and fear, Cat almost allowed herself a moment of compassion. But her dislike for the girl was too strong for any other emotion to last for long.

  “Cat?” Miss Maddy reached for her. Cat sat on her other side and took the outstretched hand between hers.

  “What do you want to tell us?”

  Miss Maddy grimaced.

  “I can see you’re in pain, Mama.” Camilla pressed a kiss to her mother’s palm. “We should let you rest for now. Can’t this little talk come later?”

  “Every minute draws me closer to the end.”

  Camilla gasped. “You mustn’t speak that way, Mama. It’s tempting the fates.”

  “We don’t believe in the fates. You know that, Dear. We believe in divine destiny. If it is appointed for me to die at this time, there is nothing I can say or not say to stop it.”

  Cat squeezed her hand gently. “What did you want to tell us, Miss Maddy?”

  She gave Cat’s hand a weak squeeze in response. “When I’m gone, there will only be little Henry and the two of you left at Penbrook.”

  Camilla turned and stared wide-eyed at Cat as though the thought hadn’t occurred to her. Cat had thought of little else. How on earth could she live in the house with Camilla as mistress?