The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries)

by Tracey Bateman

  Lottie gave a short laugh. “At least it’s a higher degree of freedom than the slavery our ancestors had to put up with.” Her voice faltered. “My girls can go to school. College if they want.”

  “Colored schools. Colored colleges. Substandard educations, Miss Lottie. That’s not freedom. If your daughter drinks from a whites-only fountain, you think she can tell the policeman arresting her that she’s free to drink wherever she wants?”

  “Those things will change in time.”

  “Yes, but will it be in our lifetime?”

  Her features softened and her eyes seemed to look past him, as though she were attempting to look into the future. “I don’t know. But for now, I’m grateful my daughters and me don’t have to worry about being raped by our masters. We make our own living. My husband will never be beaten for not picking enough cotton to suit a white-trash overseer.”

  Remembering the young men who had stopped him on the road to Penbrook House on the day he arrived in Oak Junction, Andy shrugged. “There are other things he can be beaten for.”

  Lottie laughed without humor. “Perhaps, for example, insulting a colored girl in front of the white man who loves her so deeply he can’t see straight?”

  Heat shot to his ears at her pointed comment. He sent her a wry grin. “I see your point.”

  “Tell me about your family, Mr. Carmichael. I know your wife must miss you terribly. I’d die if Buck took off for even a few days.”

  Andy closed his aching eyes. Lexie’s beautiful face floated across his mind. Robert’s oily chuckle followed the image, souring it. “No one is dying of loneliness over me.”

  She cleared her throat “What about your parents?”

  “I don’t have parents.” His tone was harsh. He knew it, but he couldn’t find the strength to apologize.

  “You did at one time.” She paused and took a breath. “I knew your mama.”

  “You did?” She was a bit young to have been a peer of his mother. “How did you know her?”

  She shrugged. “I just did. From the day I was born, ‘til the day she died. She loved her children so much. I know she missed you something awful. I’ve seen her cry over you.”

  Andy snorted as memories flooded over him. Begging her not to send him away. Her tearful eyes as she put him on a train bound for Chicago. The last time he saw her.

  “How do you know it’s the same woman?” Oak Junction wasn’t that big, but he’d been gone for decades. This Lottie would have been a little girl when he left.

  “Aunt Delta told us who you are the night she sent you to Buck and me.”

  “Miss Penbrook’s nosy housekeeper?”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything, Andy. Just forget I ever did.” Lottie shuffled to her feet. “Besides, you’re looking awfully tired. I’ll let you rest for now.”

  Andy listened to her soft steps as she made her way across the room and quietly closed the door behind her. He had a lot more questions for her. The sorts of questions more suited to a boy of ten than a grown man. Why did his mama send him away and keep his brothers and sisters? Why hadn’t she wanted him?

  From Camilla’s diary

  September 1864

  Mother has been buried for two weeks. To my great joy, I have discovered her diaries. She wrote in them every day before her illness forced her to stop. There are many, many tablets and books upon which she wrote, from the time she married my pa until only a few months before her demise.

  Reading her thoughts brings me closer to her. To know the depth of her love for me. It disconcerts me to read that she loved Cat as a daughter. She has said it enough times, but somehow the reading of these--her deepest and most honest thoughts--makes it more painful.

  Cat. I admit I can’t abide her uppity ways. But then I suppose now that she perceives herself as free and seems to have taken it upon herself to provide for us, she must feel as though she is justified in disobeying God’s laws. “Slaves, obey your masters.” For that is what the Scriptures command.

  She scoffed when I reminded her of this. I have no choice but to allow the insolent girl to continue as she has. I am ashamed to say that I cannot care for myself. But then, I have not been raised to care for myself, have I? I am only waiting for the war to be over so that Thomas will return and marry me. Then he will take care of me and all the drudgery and difficulty will be over.

  I regretted my hasty outburst of truthfulness with Captain Riley, as I feared it would cause him to turn away and leave us to our own devices. Oddly enough, however, the news does not seem to have cooled his affection for Cat. This relieves me greatly. I only hope he will marry her soon.

  Before Thomas returns from the war.

  Chapter Seven

  December 1864

  Cold wind bit through Camilla’s threadbare shawl and whipped at her thin dress as she gripped her rifle and crept stealthily toward the moving bushes. Her stomach growled and hope rose in her throat. Only last week Mrs. Cates’ last remaining slave had knocked on the door, asking Camilla if she’d seen a loose pig. Apparently the animal had broken its rope on the way to the slaughter house and had gone missing.

  She had not seen the pig. And if she were to find such a treasure, she certainly wouldn’t be returning it to Mrs. Cates. How could she forget the woman’s insulting words to her on the day Mother was buried? Besides, the thought of roasted ham made her mouth water and her stomach ache.

  The bushes moved again. Camilla cocked the rifle, ready to plug a hole into the pig as soon as it stuck its little pink snout out of that brush.

  “Lawd Almighty, don’ shoot, miss.”

  Fear shook Camilla from her head to her toes and she nearly dropped the rifle. “Wh–who is it?”

  “Now, I be coming out wif my hands in the air. You gonna shoot me?”

  “I’m making no promises. Show yourself immediately.”

  Slowly, a young man appeared, as black as night. Obviously a runaway.

  “What are you doing on my land?” Forcing a bravado she was far from feeling, Camilla pointed the gun barrel at the slave. “I insist you tell me where you’ve come from. Who is your master?”

  “I don’ got no master no more.”

  “Fiddlesticks. You must tell me so that I may send you home immediately.” Perhaps there was a reward for such a strapping young buck as this.

  He smiled, the flash of his white teeth making a startling contrast to the darkness of his skin. “I guess you ain’t heard. Pres-ee-dent Lincoln done freed all us slaves. You cain’t send me nowheres.”

  Alarm shot through Camilla at his audacity. “Yes, well. That fool Lincoln doesn’t make the rules for the Confederacy.”

  “Miss, I–I’d be beholden to ya if ya’d point dat dere gun somewheres else than at my gut.”

  “You’re in no position to be asking for favors, boy.”

  “Yes’m, I knows dat. But seein’ as how dere’s a mean-lookin’ hawg over by dat tree lookin’ like he might charge, I’d like da chance to mebbe hep ya.”

  “Wh–what?” Camilla turned and came face to face with an angry hog.

  “Now, miss, don’ run.”

  Ignoring the soft words, Camilla screamed, dropped the rifle, and took off toward the house.

  Behind her, she heard the squeals and grunts of an angry hog, mixed with a scream of pain. She stopped short, tears flowing, and turned. Horrified, she observed a wrestling match between man and beast. And the beast seemed to be winning.

  Fighting the urge to plug her ears against the sounds, Camilla knew what had to be done. Strength from deep inside flooded her and she flew into action. She raced back to where she’d flung the rifle. Her movement drew the hog’s attention.

  The man lay still. Even from her distant vantage point, Camilla saw his bloody arm.

  Stuffing the rising fear, she grabbed up the gun, which miraculously had failed to discharge when she dropped it, despite the fact that it was cocked. Her heart beat furiously in her ears.

  The beast barrel
ed toward her. As though time slowed, she worked methodically. She raised the rifle, aimed carefully, remembering Cat’s instructions, and squeezed the trigger. The hog let out a bloodcurdling squeal and dropped dead at her feet, a bullet lodged between its open eyes. Camilla dared not move. She held her breath and stared unblinking at the hog until her lungs screamed for air. Only when she was sure the thing was really dead could she find the courage to look past the beast.

  “Boy, are you alive?”

  A weak moan came in reply.

  Shaking violently, she took an unsteady step toward the slave. She kept a tight grip on the rifle, eyeing the hog as though it might come back to life and attack.

  “Camilla?” Cat’s voice called from the edge of the woods. “Where are you?”

  “O–over here, Cat. I need help.”

  Seconds later, Cat crashed through the brush. She stopped short, and stared. Camilla relished the priceless look of surprise on her face.

  The need to remain in control bolstered her courage. She resisted the urge to run crying into Cat’s arms and turning everything over to her. If only Mother could see her now. She, Camilla, had killed a hog and possibly saved a man’s life. Even if he were just a slave.

  “What on earth happened here? Who is that?”

  “I don’t know, but he needs our help.”

  “He’s fainted.” Cat knelt beside the Negro man. “His arm is bleeding badly. Give me your shawl.”

  “I’ll freeze!”

  Cat scowled deeply, turning flashing brown eyes on her. “I need something to tie up his wound before he bleeds to death. Give it to me before I take it away from you by force.”

  Indignation rose in Camilla. She removed the shawl from her shoulders and stomped toward Cat. “Move aside. I will bind the wound myself. You ride for the Yankee doctor in town. The Northerners came all the way down here and fought this war to free slaves like him; surely they’ll travel five miles to offer medical help.”

  Cat made no move to do as she was told. Rather, she stared up at Camilla. “How will you get him inside?”

  She hadn’t thought of that. “Bring me some blankets to keep him warm. Then hurry to town and bring back the doctor and your Captain Riley to help.”

  “All right.” Cat nodded and stood. “But bind the wound tightly. As badly as he’s bleeding, he’ll be dead before I get back.”

  Camilla’s stomach weakened at the sight of the bloody arm. She gathered a deep breath and fought against the swimming in her head. This was no time to faint. But suddenly, her bravado fled.

  Cat shook her arm. “Can you do this? Or should I stay here while you go for the supplies and Captain Riley?”

  “I–I’ll do it. Just show me--”

  “For mercy’s sake, Camilla.” Cat snatched the shawl and knelt beside the wounded man.

  The man’s eyes shot open. He snatched at Cat’s hands.

  “Shh.” Cat took his hands and laid them on his chest. “I must bind your wound or you’re going to lose too much blood before I can return with help. Do you understand?”

  “My eyes thought dey be starin’ straight at a angel of de Lawd.”

  Cat smiled. “Your eyes are going to feel mighty foolish when you get well. I’m no angel.”

  “’Bout as close as dey come.”

  Over Cat’s shoulder, Camilla observed the wounded man slide his massive hand over Cat’s. A bold move for a slave to do to a white woman. Or one who looked white anyway. Somehow, he held Cat’s gaze and the young woman ceased her ministrations.

  “For heaven’s sake, Cat. Are you going to finish binding the wound, or sit and stare at him all day? You’re the one who said we had to hurry or he’s as good as dead. Here, I’m feeling better. I’ll finish up. You go.”

  The sharp words had their intended affect, snapping Cat from her trance. She stood. With a lingering look at the stranger, she took off through the woods.

  The man’s eyelids shuttered down, and Camilla knew he teetered between consciousness and unconsciousness. She knelt and resumed where Cat had left off.

  Blood immediately began to seep through the white shawl. Frantically, Camilla yanked tighter, eliciting a groan from the patient.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “God bless ya, miss.” His eyes rolled back in his head and consciousness lost the battle.

  By the time Cat appeared with blankets, Camilla had bound the wound. Cat looked it over and patted Camilla’s shoulder. “You did a good job. More than likely saved his life. Your Ma would be proud of you. Here, take some snow and wash your hands.”

  Camilla looked down at the blood on her hands and burst into tears.

  1948

  A surge of pride shot through Andy. For the past week and a half, he’d come to know the young Miss Penbrook only through Madeline Penbrook’s disappointment and Cat’s animosity. He felt a bit more sympathetic toward the old lady now that he saw she wasn’t completely useless, selfish, and downright mean. Perhaps there was something of interest in her early years after all. The fact that she’d saved a black man’s life increased his opinion of her tremendously. Well, he supposed she did have other redeeming qualities. Perhaps the rest of her life had softened her. After all, when he was a boy she had welcomed him into her home, given him cookies without fussing at him over spilled crumbs and had taught him to love literature. The memories weren’t crisp they way his older years in Chicago were, but he did remember. And he wasn’t afraid of her.

  He set the diary aside and carefully sat up, his legs hanging over the side of the bed. Other than bruises and a few painful spots in his ribs, he was feeling almost well. No one needed to read to him anymore. At first, he was relieved by that fact. But after three days of seeing Lottie or Ella only when they brought his food trays, he had to admit, he missed the long hours of company with various members of the family. Even ten-year-old Titus had been allowed to take a turn reading, though the others were too young to read parts of the disturbing history in such detail.

  The delicious aromas wafting through the floor vents tempted his stomach and caused his mouth to water. He stood, snatched a white shirt from the chair next to his bed, and made himself presentable enough to join the family for supper. It was a bit early, but he relished the thought of joining Lottie for a chat while she finished up dinner preparations.

  Her smile brightened the day as he stepped into the kitchen. “Andy! What a nice surprise. I was just about to fix your tray.”

  “I thought I might join your family tonight, if you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? We’d be thrilled.”

  Andy found himself the center of attention once the meal began. How was he feeling? Did his eye feel as bad as it looked? Bet he wouldn’t smart-mouth ol’ Rafe again any time soon.

  The last comment, spoken by Titus, received a stern rebuke from Buck. “What do you know about Rafe Cooper?”

  Titus shrugged. “I hear stuff.”

  “Well, don’t you go believing everything you hear.” Lottie sent Andy a silent look of apology.

  He smiled. He’d lived in a private world for so long, the thought of having anyone care about his life felt like being on foreign soil.

  “Any word from Miss Penbrook this week?” Lottie asked.

  Andy shook his head. “I suppose I should telephone Penbrook House and make sure they haven’t forgotten about me.”

  “My aunt Delta ain’t forgot,” Buck said. “She asked about you yesterday during service.”

  He was glad to hear it. If he’d known Delta would be at church, he might have gone himself just for the chance to speak with her. “Did she say if I should come back to the house?”

  Buck speared a slice of ham from the platter in the middle of the table. “Nope. Just asked how you was gettin’ along after Rafe’s beatin’.”

  “Does the whole town know about that?”

  “This end does.” Buck shook his head. “It takes a lot to rile ol’ Rafe. You must have really lit into Ruthie for
him to tear up your face like that.”

  “It was the booze talking.”

  “The devil’s drink.” Miss Lottie scowled. “Maybe you’ll think twice before you give in to that temptation again.” She gave him a pointed look. “Or any others for that matter.”

  Silence thickened the air as the children, obviously recognizing their mother’s stern tone, waited to see if Andy would respond. He glanced around from one wide-eyed brown face to the next. Finally, he gave a broad wink that encompassed all six children.

  “Miss Lottie, you make me want to be a better man. I will certainly think twice before succumbing to any devilish wiles from now on.”

  Buck snickered. Lottie raised her eyebrow and shoveled a spoonful of brown beans into little Lester’s baby mouth. “Good. Children, stop gawking and eat your supper before it gets cold.”

  Andy’s heart lifted. A week ago, he might have suggested she mind her own business. But he was growing fond of Lottie, Buck, and their large, rowdy, fun-loving family. Even Ella’s playful seduction had become part of his everyday life, though he didn’t take it seriously anymore. Not too seriously, anyway.

  Lexie’s face came to mind less and less, and when it did, anger always followed, so he tried to push her memory away. If she hadn’t already given in to Robert, he imagined it wouldn’t be long. Robert wasn’t the sort of man to wait forever. Neither was he the sort to give up easily. He’d be laying it on thick. Flowers, compliments, love letters. It wouldn’t take much for Lexie to be seduced.

  Andy shifted uncomfortably at the thought. Was he ready to give up the only woman he’d ever loved? Was he willing to toss her to another man? If Lexie surrendered to Robert, it would be Andy’s fault. Only he could stop it from happening.

  Chicago

  “A boy delivered these.” Lexie’s mother slung a bouquet of daisies on the table as though it were a sack of baking flour. “When’s that fool man gonna get it through his head that you is a married woman?”

  “I don’t know, Mama.” Lexie tried not to show her excitement as she nonchalantly slid her hand to the attached card.