“What do you want to do about the wallpaper?” she asked, closing the door on the subject.
For the next hour she half-listened to Natalie expound on the merits of more than two-dozen swatches of wallpaper—all the while, Adella dreamed about the mystery man who would one day capture her heart.
Oddly enough, she pictured him with hazel eyes and unruly dark hair.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A dinner gala in honor of Natalie and George’s upcoming nuptials was planned for the end of the week. Guests from all across the county, as well as from Austin and as far away as San Antonio were invited. Servants came from the Langford plantation to help, throwing Aunt Lu into a tizzy with so many strangers in her kitchen. Enormous amounts of food were bought, hogs were butchered, and tables were constructed on the lawn to accommodate the crowd. A group of female slaves had been put to work sewing more linens and napkins while others cleaned and polished every square inch of the big house, inside and out.
It would be the first social event to take place at Rose Hill Manor since Mama died. Adella wasn’t at all certain how to feel as she orchestrated the activity, knowing the bulk of the decisions fell on her now. Though the black crepe and mourning clothes had been put away for several months, she still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that Mama was gone. Papa missed his wife, but he’d thrown himself into the business of the plantation with gusto and had little time for grieving and memories. George, too, had easily moved through the loss of their mother with his eyes firmly planted on his future with Natalie. Neither of them would understand her inner struggle and longings. Neither of them seemed as alone without Martha Jane Ellis as Adella felt.
With no one to confide in and the house in an uproar of preparations, Adella escaped the commotion and wandered down to the quarter. She hadn’t seen Jeptha in several days and wondered if he’d perhaps been moved to field work, although he’d never spent much time hoeing the cotton plants and was usually assigned tasks that took place in the barns or mill. When harvest came, however, he and many of the “petted” slaves, as household staff and those who didn’t work the fields were called, joined the others to pick cotton long before the sun came up, ending when it slid out of sight beyond the horizon. Harvest took many weeks and required every able-bodied servant that could be spared, even children.
The day had already grown overly warm and humid as Adella walked down the well-traveled path. The oppressive heat of summer would quickly be upon them, something she’d grown to dread now that she was too old for swimming in the creek with Jeptha. She much preferred early springtime, when bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush filled the meadows, or autumn when cool breezes and rainy days vanquished all reminders of the summer’s heat.
The happy sound of childish voices greeted her when she neared the double row of small cabins. There she found Mammy, the ancient black woman charged with looking after the babies while their mothers worked. The woman seemed to have her hands full. Seven half-naked children, all around three years or younger, sat in the dirt in a cluster in front of Mammy, who sat on a stump, holding a bowl of what looked like corn mush. Taking turns, she popped a spoonful of the meal into the small open mouths. It reminded Adella of a mother bird feeding her fledglings. A group of children a few years older played nearby.
“Well, lookie who came ta see you, chillens,” Mammy said when she spied Adella coming toward the group. She offered a toothless grin as a few of the little ones who could walk jumped up and toddled to greet their visitor. “Don’t touch Missy Ellis’s purty dress, now,” she admonished, still spooning mush into hungry mouths.
Adella reached out to tousle the soft heads of the youngsters around her, wishing she had a treat for them like the apples she took to Freedom. But Papa forbade the practice years ago when he caught her raiding the pantry for cookies and candied fruit to take to the Negro children. He’d reminded her the slaves received a weekly ration of meat, cornmeal, flour, sugar and coffee. When surplus allowed, they also received eggs and milk. Between that and the vegetable gardens they raised behind the quarter, he’d said, they had plenty and didn’t need her spoiling them.
The youngsters returned to Mammy, babbling about Missy Ellis and her purty dress. Adella settled on a nearby stump to watch.
“Guess there be lotsa goin’s on up to the house, getting things ready for the big shindig.” Mammy used her thumb to clean mush from the corner of one child’s mouth. She wiped it on her soiled apron and continued with the feeding.
“Yes.” Adella sighed. “I am sure it will be a grand party.”
Mammy’s eyes found hers. “Don’t sound like you is too ’cited ’bout it.”
With a shrug, Adella sought for the right words to describe her feelings: selfish, cranky, and sad all mixed together. “It’s not that I’m not happy for George. I am, truly. I want all the best for him and Natalie. But …” She sighed again. “I wish Mama were here, that’s all.”
Understanding came to the wrinkled face. Mammy poked the last bite into an awaiting mouth then shooed the children to go play with the others. Setting the bowl on the ground, she reached to pat Adella’s knee. “I knows you misses yo’ mama. Wouldn’ be right if ya didn’. Miz Ma’tha was da finest lady I evah met. No one finer than her, ’cept maybe you.”
The praise caught Adella off guard. “I will never be as good as Mama. She loved everyone and had the patience of Job. I have already lost my temper a dozen times since all the commotion at the house began. And if I have to listen to Natalie prattle on one minute longer about her plans to redecorate Mama’s house, I think I will scream.”
Instead of being shocked at Adella’s scandalous admission, the old woman chuckled. “Change ain’t nevah easy, chile. Don’t mattah how old we uns get. It’s hard to ’cept things when change is in da air.”
She bent to scoop up a tiny girl who had crawled over to lick traces from the mush bowl. The child giggled then laid her head on Mammy’s shoulder while Mammy rubbed her back.
“It seems as though everyone has forgotten Mama except me.” Adella watched the little one’s eyes drift closed.
“Dey ain’t forgot, Missy. Some folks—’specially da men—have a easier time tuckin’ away da pain an’ movin’ on.”
Adella supposed Mammy was right. Papa, and even George, had loved Mama. They’d all been happy before Mama got sick. In the long months Adella nursed Mama, the two women had grown closer than ever. Maybe that was why she felt the loss so much more keenly than the men.
Mammy closed her eyes and hummed a low tune, rocking from side to side. The baby was soon fast asleep. “I gonna lay dis sweet thang down, then get you a cup o’ Mammy’s special tea. It perk you right on up an’ he’p you’s feel more like yo’sef.” She stood and looked at the cluster of filthy children nearby, some playing with crude stick-and-rope toys while others dug in the dirt. “You chillens stay put. Mammy be right back.”
The old woman and baby disappeared into the open door of the nearest cabin. Although Adella had lived within yards of the quarter all her life, she’d never been invited into one of the small homes. There were simply some lines that weren’t crossed on the plantation, and that was one of them. Mama had ventured into the slave homes a few times when a servant became ill or when a baby was born, but even then it was for a brief visit to check on the patient. Papa was never happy when she did and reminded her the slaves had Mammy to doctor them with her herbs and poultices. It wasn’t seemly, he’d said, for the mistress of the manor to step foot in a quarter house.
Mammy returned with a chipped teacup and handed it to Adella. “That Mammy’s special tea. You feels right good after you done drink it all.”
Adella wrinkled her nose at the peculiar odor wafting up. “I don’t think I will ask what you put in it.”
Mammy chuckled. “Lotsa this ’n’ that. Da Good Lawd make all kindsa plants ’n’ trees with healing power in dem leaves and roots. He done tol’ Mammy how to use ’em to make folks bettah.” She grew thought
ful. “Sometime, though, not even Mammy’s doctorin’ is mo’ pow’ful than God’s plan.”
With a sad nod, Adella guessed Mammy was thinking of Mama. After the doctor Papa brought in from Austin declared that Mama wouldn’t recover, he’d consented out of desperation to allow Mammy to try her homemade remedies. That was the moment Adella knew her mother was dying.
While Adella sipped on the bitter brew, Mammy washed the bowl and spoon in a bucket of water near the door. “Dat new ovahseeah shore is diff ’rent,” she said, wiping the bowl dry on her apron. “We uns still cain’t believe he gonna let Lucy an’ dem other gals in da family way rest some durin’ the day.”
That drew Adella’s attention. She’d wondered how Seth was faring with the slaves. “What do you mean?”
Mammy’s brow rose. “Why, he done tol’ Monroe to ’llow pregnant gals an extra rest time. Got da massa to ’gree, he did. No siree, he ain’t like dem others, like that ol’ Mistah Haley. That man meaner than dirt. Didn’t care one bit if we uns dropped dead right there on da ground.”
Adella blinked in surprise. “I hadn’t heard about this. You are sure it was Mr. Brantley’s idea and not Papa’s?”
“I sure.” Mammy appeared to want to say more then shook her head. “Dem out in da fields tells me how it happen.” She talked about Lucy nearly fainting and Seth’s ultimate proclamation. “Monroe fit to be tied, dey said, but he has to obey ’cause Massa Luther say so.”
Admiration for their new overseer swept through Adella. Not only had he shown himself a caring human being, but he’d stood up to her father and put Monroe in his place.
She smiled.
Perhaps she wasn’t the only white person on Rose Hill who had a soft spot for the slaves.
“Leave me be, woman!”
Seth heard the angry voice while currying Chester after a long day in the fields. He’d neglected the animal since coming to Rose Hill and determined he’d do his four-legged friend right tonight, despite his own exhaustion. He’d thought himself alone in the barn.
“Why won’t you’s come home?” a female voice whined. “I make it real nice, but heah you is in da barn with da critters. Massa ain’t gonna be happy when he heahs.”
The voices came from the other side of the building, where a second row of stalls was located, but in the stillness of the musty space, Seth heard them loud and clear. Setting the stiff-bristled brush on the ledge, he quietly made his way toward them.
“Don’t you tell no one, you hear? We both be in trouble then.”
The words were said through gritted teeth just as Seth came around the corner. There he found an angry looking Jeptha facing Celia in the middle of the aisle, very near where he and Adella had met the other night. Freedom stood in his stall at the end of the row, watching them.
“What’s going on here?” Seth glanced first at Jeptha then at Celia, whose eyes had grown round. Maybe it was paranoia brought on by Luther’s constant warnings, but Seth hoped the two weren’t planning some kind of escape.
Jeptha lowered his gaze to the ground, but the firm set of his jaw spoke of his agitation. “Nothin’, Mr. Brantley, suh. We’s just talkin’.”
Celia peeked at Jeptha before dropping her gaze as well.
“It sounded more like arguing than talking to me.” Seth watched the two closely. He knew George had informed Jeptha the day before that he was to take up with Celia. Luther ordered one of the small cabins in the quarter cleared of its residents so the young couple could set up house and begin producing offspring in private.
The muscular slave remained silent.
“Well?”
Celia raised her head. “I jest tryin’ to get my man home, is all.”
“I ain’t your man,” Jeptha ground out. His gaze flitted to Seth before he stared at the floor again. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides.
Understanding dawned on Seth. Jeptha was not as pleased to have Celia paired with him as Luther had expected, which was clearly a problem. Luther expected a child from the couple nine months from now. Seth wasn’t sure how to handle the situation. Perhaps a talk with the young Negro man would help.
“Celia, go on back to the quarter.”
She looked up. “By myse’f?”
Jeptha stilled, waiting.
“Yes,” Seth said. Whatever discussion the men had didn’t need to be overheard by the young woman.
With defeat in her eyes, Celia cast one last longing glance at Jeptha before making her way down the long straw-covered aisle. Seth didn’t think she would disobey him and hide in the barn listening, but he waited until the squeal of the hinges told him she’d exited.
The interior of the building was growing dim, with the last remnants of daylight filtering through random gaps in the plank wall. The day had been long and hot, and Seth was ready to be done with it. He knew the sooner he dealt with this, the sooner he could stretch out on the lumpy tick mattress in his cabin.
He studied Jeptha, who remained unmoved, staring at the ground, his muscles tense. There wasn’t a tactful way to get to the bottom of the problem. Despite his disapproval of the plans Luther had for the two Negroes, he had to abide by his employer’s wishes. The slaves were, after all, Luther’s property.
“I understand Master Luther wants you to pair up with Celia.”
After a moment, the black man gave a brief nod. “Yassuh.”
“And that doesn’t please you?”
Another long pause. “No suh, it don’t.”
The answer confused Seth. “Why not? There is nothing wrong with Celia. She is young, healthy, attractive.” He didn’t continue.
“Ain’t nothing wrong with Celia, suh. I just don’t want to pair up with her, is all. She deserves someone who care for her.”
Seth’s brow rose in surprise. He’d always heard Negroes didn’t have feelings the way white people did, especially when it came to intimate relationships. A neighbor once told young Seth slaves were like animals, mating with each other without the need for marriage or love.
Now a healthy young slave stood in front of him exposing that fact as myth. Jeptha had been offered a woman for his own pleasure, and yet he wasn’t happy about it.
“Is there a gal you care about?” The question was out before Seth could stop it.
Jeptha’s head came up. If a black man could blush, Jeptha’s guilty face is what it would look like. “There is, suh.”
The quiet admission put Seth in a difficult position. If Jeptha ignored Celia and pursued a relationship with this other woman, Luther would be livid. “Who is she?”
The slave hesitated.
“I give you my word this information will be kept between us.” Seth sensed Jeptha’s distrust. “It is important I know. You will save us both a lot of trouble if you’re honest about this whole affair.”
After a long moment, Jeptha took a deep breath. “Zina, suh. I been sweet on her since we’s chillen. With her over to the Langfords, weren’t no way to court, like you white folks. Now with her moving back to Rose Hill, I hoped …” His shoulders drooped as his words faded. Much like his hope to pair up with Zina must have faded when Luther made it clear he wanted Jeptha and Celia together.
Seth looked up to the barn rafters. He understood Jeptha’s attraction to Aunt Lu’s daughter, yet what could Seth do about it? Luther wanted Jeptha and Celia to produce offspring. In order to do that, they had to live together and sleep together. At least temporarily, until Celia became pregnant.
His gut twisted with disgust. The whole thing felt wrong, yet he had no choice but to go along with it and make certain Jeptha obeyed. An overseer didn’t express his opinions of what is right or wrong where the master’s wishes were concerned.
“Whether you care for Celia or not, Master Luther wants you with her.” Seth steeled himself to finish Luther’s sordid edict. “Once Celia is with child, you don’t have to sleep with her again until after the baby is born.”
Jeptha’s eyes lifted then and met Seth’s straight on
. In that brief moment, Seth saw anger, hopelessness, and something else he couldn’t quite define before Jeptha looked away.
“Yassuh.”
The quiet submission rang in Seth’s mind for hours afterward.
CHAPTER NINE
The delicious aroma of roasting pig filled the cool night air while laughter, music, and happy voices echoed throughout the house and yard. The gala was starting to wind down, with many of the nearly one hundred guests slowly beginning to head home, although those who’d traveled quite a distance would spend the night in Rose Hill’s guest rooms or at a nearby inn.
Adella let out a satisfied sigh from her place outside, at the edge of the gathering. The evening had been a success, and even Natalie’s cheeks flushed with happiness as she and George bid good-bye to the departing guests. Most would return the following week for the wedding at the Langford plantation, which promised to be an even bigger affair. Aunt Lu and many of the Rose Hill servants would be dispatched to help, sharing the workload as the Langford servants had done tonight. Celebrations like this didn’t take place often, so everyone looked forward to the festivities with great anticipation.
Glancing about to make certain no one noticed, Adella slipped off her shoes, relishing the feel of the cool grass on her tired, stocking-clad feet. Acting as hostess was far more exhausting than she’d expected, and she wondered how Mama had done it so effortlessly for so many years. Greeting guests with her father, trying to remember names and faces, and making sure the food and drink never ran low proved to be an arduous task. To make matters worse, Marshall Brevard, her father’s friend from Rusk County, hardly left her side after arriving ahead of the other guests. She supposed he thought himself useful, but she found his constant attention annoying at best. Thankfully, Papa had him occupied in the library now, giving Adella a rare opportunity to be alone.
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