Meet me at Sheila’s. 9 pm. Don’t stand me up, girl.
“Well? What’s it say this time?”
“Oh, the usual.” Lexie waved her hand as the lie rolled from her tongue. “He wants me to know he’s here for me if I ever want to talk.”
A snort left Mama. Lexie looked up slowly, dreading eye contact. Mama’s eyes were narrowed and her lower lip pushed out with disapproval. “Talkin’ is the last thing on that man’s mind, and you been a married woman long enough to know I’m tellin’ the truth.”
Lexie’s cheeks warmed beneath the scrutiny and frank words. “Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean he’s getting more than talk from me.”
“Be not ignorant of Satan’s devices, Baby. He knows your weaknesses.”
“Weaknesses? Oh, Mama. What are you talking about?”
“You sittin’ home night after night, missin’ your man. Angry ’cause he ain’t telephoned you again. Don’t cast your pearls before swine, girl. You hold out. Wait for your husband to come home, then be the godly wife he needs.”
“The wife he needs? What about the kind of husband I need? Andy’s been running around on me since I had my first miscarriage. I guess I’m just damaged goods to him. I can’t give him a child, so he’ll go make bastard children with whoever will crawl into bed with him.”
A loud crack split the air as pain exploded onto Lexie’s cheeks. Her eyes widened as she started at her mother.
“Girl, I hated to smack you, but I won’t have that kind of language used in my house. I don’t care how old you is. You is goin’ to respect the rules.”
Tears burned Lexie’s eyes. Tears of anger, hurt, humiliation, remorse. Oh, how she had ruined her life by marrying Andy Carmichael. What was she now? A woman past her prime child-bearing years, separated from her husband, and living with her parents. Why shouldn’t she enjoy a night of music and dancing with a man who actually thought she was worth investing some time in?
Her cheek still smarted as she rose, took her daisies, and walked out of the kitchen without a word.
Penbrook House
The old woman curled into a ball on her bed, clutching her chest. The pain was unbearable.
“Not yet, Lord,” she gasped. “Not until he knows. Not until I can make it right. Please. Just few more days.”
Part Two: Bitterness
The heart knoweth his own bitterness. (Proverbs 14:10)
Chapter Eight
Andy leaned against the porch railing, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets. He watched the neighborhood children playing baseball in the street. Buck rocked back and forth in the wooden rocker. “Yessiree, ain’t nothin’ like havin’ a quiver full of little arrows.”
“Excuse me?” Andy turned.
“Children are a heritage of the Lord. Blessed is the man who hath his quiver full of them. That’s from the Bible.”
“Oh.” Religion. He’d had enough of it growing up. Had no need for it now. The thought played his mama’s image across his mind. And Lottie’s mention of her. He still had questions, but thought better of voicing them. Most likely Lottie’s mother and his had become friends after he’d been sent to the Riley’s home in Chicago. He supposed if he really wanted to learn more about her final years, he could round up some of his siblings. They were likely still living in Oak Junction or thereabouts.
“You said you ain’t got no children of your own, huh?”
Buck’s words startled Andy back to the present.
“Well, don’t lose heart. Sometimes it just takes a while.”
Andy turned back to watching the children in the street. “My wife left me.”
“You say she left you? Seemed awfully worried about you that day I talked to her on the phone.”
“Lexie left me awhile back. She’s been living with her folks ever since.”
Buck clucked his tongue. “What are you doin’ about gettin’ her back?”
Andy shrugged. “Not a thing. She’s through with me. Can’t say that I blame her all that much.”
“Divorce is just the same as cutting a man in half. You know that?”
“It feels that way at times.”
“That’s because it is that way.” Leaning forward, Buck clasped his fingers together. “Marriage is like this. Two people becoming one person. To divorce or join yourself to another is like ripping apart that one flesh.”
“Or cutting a man in two.” The way Andy felt when he thought about Lexie pretty much matched Buck’s description.
“A woman just wants to be treated with a gentle hand. Wants to know she’s the most important thing in the whole world to ya. I bet it wouldn’t take much soft talk from you to get her back.”
A short laugh spurted from Andy’s throat. “At the moment, another man is giving her enough soft talk for the both of us.”
“Another man, eh?” Buck fell silent for a few minutes. Then he stopped rocking and sat forward in the chair. “What brings you to Georgia, Andy?”
Expelling his breath, Andy faced his newfound friend. “You already know. The chance to write old Miss Penbrook’s memoirs.”
“Ain’t got much writing done yet, though, have ya? What with the beatin’ and all.”
Andy’s neck warmed. “Are you ready for me to leave?”
Buck chuckled. “Nope. You’re more than welcome here for as long as you pay your rent. But if you don’t mind my sayin’ so, it sounds like you have things to take care of at home.”
Ah, so the man hadn’t dropped the subject after all. “If Lexie’s still my wife when I get home, I’ll try to do right by her. If not, there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Buck resumed his rocking, but didn’t speak. The silence made Andy as uncomfortable as if Buck had come up with another sermon.
They remained silent until the door opened and Lottie appeared on the steps. “Aunt Delta just called.”
Andy perked up. “Did she leave a message for me?”
Lottie nodded. “Miss Penbrook would like to see you in the morning.”
Excitement, combined with a sense of dread, knotted into a ball in Andy’s stomach. He wasn’t sure why he felt such anxiety. But he did.
The diaries, the women, the history. They tore at him. He felt he knew these people. Wanted to know them better.
After a few more minutes of polite conversation, he retreated to his bedroom.
He rose before dawn after a fitful night’s sleep. The town of Oak Junction didn’t stir as he quietly left the Purdues’ rooming house and began the five-mile trek. He was sitting on the steps of Penbrook House as the sun made a grand entrance on the eastern horizon.
“Nothin’ as pretty as a Georgia sunrise,” his mama used to say. “Unless it’s a Georgia sunset.”
He leaned back against a thick white pillar and stretched out his legs as he watched the orange and pink fingerprints slide across the sky.
He could hear his mama’s voice, but no matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t able to connect a face to the soft tones. He leaned his head back against the pillar and closed his eyes. Sketchy memories invaded his mind.
“What are we going to do about him?”
Desperate whispers in the night.
“Elijah’s gonna kill ’im if I don’ get my boy outta here. I knows dat’s what he’s plannin’.”
“Calm yourself, Rae. We won’t allow Elijah to harm the child. You’ll both stay here until I work out a solution.”
“He’ll find me.”
“He won’t try anything here. You know he hasn’t the gumption.”
Mama’s wet tears on his neck. Shadows and whispers. That was the extent of his memories of that night. Nothing he could put his finger on to make any sense of.
Andy opened his eyes and looked out across the green field beyond the house. The dew lifted as he stared. His heart raced for no reason.
Finally, when he thought the hour acceptable, he rang the bell.
“Took you long enough.” Delta’s amused scolding greeted him when she o
pened the door.
“You mean to tell me you knew I was out there?”
“Naturally. Nothin’ happens around here that I don’t know about.” She looked him over. “I’m guessing you ain’t had a bite of breakfast. Follow me.”
“What about Miss Penbrook?”
“She ain’t had no breakfast neither. Her mind works better when her stomach’s full.”
Then by all means feed her. Please.
He followed Delta to the back of the house, into a large kitchen.
“How are you getting along at Buck’s?” Delta asked, waving him into a seat at the long wooden table.
“Fine. They’re exceptional people.”
“What’s exceptional mean?”
Andy heaved a sigh. “It means extra special.”
Delta beamed. “They sure are that. Every single one of ’em.” She eyed him. “’Specially that Lottie. Now, she’s one exceptional gal. Don’t you think?”
“Mrs. Purdue is a woman any man would be lucky to have as a wife. Buck’s got himself a winner.”
“Yep.” She placed slices of bacon into a skillet and lifted the coffeepot from the stove. “Want some? Miz Penbrook only drinks tea. But I can’t abide it. I prefer me some strong coffee.”
“Yes, ma’am. Me, too. Thanks.”
She set a couple of cups on the table and poured the steaming black brew. After returning the pot to the stove, she sank into the chair across from him.
“How long have you worked for Miss Penbrook?”
Her face clouded as she tried to recall. “Let’s see. Your mama hadn’t yet married that no-good Elijah. . .”
Andy stared. “What do you mean? You knew my parents? Then you must’ve been here all the times I came to the house when I was a boy.”
Her eyes grew round and she stood quickly. “I best check on that bacon. If it’s too crisp, Miz Penbrook tosses it on the floor. And the good Lord knows my back aches when I got to bend over too much.”
“It’s too late to pretend you didn’t just say something about my mother, Delta. Turn around here and finish your thought.”
“It ain’t none of my business, boy. And don’t think you can bully me into telling things I ain’t got no business tellin’.”
Andy took a deep breath. “I’ve been having memories, Delta…flashes in my mind about my past. My mama’s voice, all afraid and whispering. Somehow I know I’m linked to Miss Penbrook. Maybe I can figure out why I keep having these memories if you at least tell me what you know.”
“You ain’t here to figure out nothin’ about you. You’s here to write down Miz Penbrook’s life so she can be remembered rightly.”
“True.” Still, he couldn’t resist the memories trying to surface in his mind. Whether he wanted them to surface or not, his mind seemed to be ready to share hidden parts of his life.
If only Delta were as ready to share what she knew. But she became a rock wall. Impenetrable. After a couple of attempts at conversation, Andy gave up. He sipped his coffee, his mind mulling over Delta’s slip-up. He would definitely get more information out of her another time. When she wasn’t on the defensive.
Delta set his breakfast before him, then made up a tray. “I’ll be back when Miz Penbrook is ready to see you. Help yourself to more of that coffee if you run out.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Andy finished his breakfast and washed his dishes. He went to the kitchen door and stepped outside. From the back porch, he could observe the smoke house, stables, and a path that he instinctively knew led to slave quarters. The woods beyond called to him.
Remember.
Somehow he knew that acres and acres stretched across the vast Penbrook lands. Remembered walking, no running, across the field to Penbrook House.
The door groaned open behind him. “Miz Penbrook is asking for you now.”
Andy nodded and returned to the house. He followed Delta through the kitchen and toward the long staircase. “Are the Penbrook lands sharecropped?”
“Some of ’em. Miz Penbrook sold some of the land to faithful tenants long ago.”
“Were my parents sharecroppers?” He knew his heritage was tied to this place. His vague memories were growing more prominent as he allowed them admittance. “I have brothers and sisters. Are they still living? Do you know where they are?”
Rather than giving him the angry reply he expected, Delta stopped short, causing him to halt his steps. She placed her hand on his face, much as a mother might. “I know you be wantin’ answers. You’re gonna get ‘em one way or another. But you best get on in to see Miz Penbrook while her mind’s all there. Don’t forget to talk loud so she can hear ya.”
Delta pushed open the door at the end of the hallway. “He’s here, ma’am.”
Andy stepped into the dark room and across the floor until he stood over the old woman. “Good morning, Miss Penbrook. I hope you’re doing well today.”
“As well as can be expected at my age.” She gave a tired wave. “Sit down. Are you finding the diaries helpful?”
Andy took the chair she indicated. “I am enjoying them very much. I’m only just to the entries you made, though.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, ma’am. Until yesterday, everything I’d read was written by Madeline Penbrook and Cat, the slave girl.”
“And what do you think of Cat?”
Andy shrugged. “I admire her spirit. She was a survivor.”
Miss Penbrook emitted a broken sigh. “Yes. And much of what she did went beyond morality and good judgment.”
Andy chuckled. “Even now, you can’t see your way clear to be kind to Cat?”
“You feel sorry for her?”
“Any decent person would. She had it rough.”
“How far into the diaries have you gotten?”
Andy told her about the hog in the woods and the runaway slave.
Miss Penbrook smiled. “Shaw was a godsend.”
“Shaw?”
“The slave who was almost killed by the hog. He never left us. Just like he promised. At least not until thirty years ago.” Her voice seemed to come from far away. “He died.”
“Did he sharecrop?”
“Sharecrop? For a time, but he was the first of the darkies to buy part of Penbrook.”
“When did you start to sharecrop the land?”
She fixed her gaze on him. “I suppose that’s a good story to tell.” She paused a second, then nodded. “Yes, let’s start there today.”
Andy settled into his chair as Miss Penbrook retreated eighty years, to a time when she was a young, beautiful, and strong.
1866
Sunlight streamed through the long windows, illuminating Camilla’s fair skin as she stood, arms folded across her chest, looking out at the weeping willow in the yard.
“Camilla,” Cat bellowed at the young woman, “use the brain God gave you!” She was beyond her wit’s end with the stubborn ignoramus.
Camilla whipped around, anger flashing in her wide blue eyes. “How dare you speak to me that way?”
“How dare I? I dare, my dear, because you are hoarding the money your grandmother sent you for nothing! It must be invested back into the land or it will soon run out again, and then where will you be?”
“Grandmother Wilson said she sent only a portion of my inheritance early, so there is plenty more where that came from.”
Cat gathered a breath and looked to Shaw for help.
He clutched his hat tightly between massive, scarred hands. “Miss Camilla.”
Camilla turned to him and her face softened. It was beyond Cat what sort of relationship these two had. And frankly, she couldn’t care less. But it did come in handy on occasions such as this one where she needed someone who could talk sense into Camilla’s thick head.
“Do you agree with Cat?” Her blue eyes pleaded for him to be on her side. “Should we use all my money to plant cotton?”
“Well, Miss,” he said, carefully choosing his words, “the f
acts be dat dis here money ya gots. . .well, if ya was to spend it on purty clothes and furniture and sech, ya’d just be sprucin’ things up around here and makin’ yo’self look even purtier than ya already are.”
Camilla preened like a peacock at his praise.
“But, if ya use jes’ a little bit and buy the fixin’s to make a nice dress for yo’self and one for Miss Cat, then ya might have enough left to buy the plow and a couple o’ mules, like Miss Cat suggests.”
“And seed.” Unable to keep quiet any longer, Cat reentered the negotiations. “Listen, Camilla, we have to get the land going again. That’s the most important thing. Shaw has been talking to some of the other free darkies. Lots of them are talking about going back to the plantations where they were slaves.”
“If they had any gratitude, they would never have left to begin with. I think they should go back and beg forgiveness.” She looked at Shaw. “Not you, of course. You belong with us.”
His face softened to what Cat could only describe as pure affection. She pushed the odd relationship away once more. “The point is, Camilla, that if we can get extra plows and mules, we can sharecrop the land.”
“Sharecrop? Whatever is that?”
Camilla’s frown irritated Cat. Was the girl completely ignorant?
“We give the slaves a certain amount of land to work. In exchange, they owe us a percentage of the profits from their crops.”
Camilla gasped. She glared at Cat, her eyes blazing. “I might have expected you’d want to give all my land to your darkie friends. No. I will not do it.”
Cat had to fight to keep from slapping the foolish girl across the cheek. “Shaw, try to explain it to her, will you? Though I sincerely doubt she has enough brains to understand.” She turned on the worn heels of her boots, leaving Camilla sputtering in anger.
The low tones of Shaw’s deep voice followed her from the room.
The war had been over barely a year. Soon after Lee’s surrender at Appomattox, Captain Riley and his company had been called to Atlanta to help keep the peace there. He came to see her often. Cat had grown fond of him. He didn’t concern himself with her heritage. He told her she looked every bit as white as his own mother, who was of French descent.
The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries) Page 12