All Things New (17 page)

Neither Lizzie nor Otis made a move to sit. It was just as hard this time as it had been the last time to forget everything she’d ever been taught and sit down with a white man. There were probably a lot of things she would have to learn now that she was free, but it sure was hard getting started.

“Please sit down, I insist,” he said. “You’ve had a long walk to get here.”

Lizzie looked at Otis. He gave her a nod and they both sat down, afraid to disobey a white man. But Lizzie perched on the very edge of her chair so she could jump up again real quick. She stared at her shoes, too nervous to start the conversation, hoping that Otis would do it.

“Thank you for waiting to see us, sir,” Otis began. “We’ll try and be quick so we won’t take your time. It seems my wife heard the white folks talking about something the other day. She didn’t mean to listen in on them, but she was working in the hallway and she overheard what Massa Daniel and the other men were saying.”

“You don’t need to call him
Massa
anymore,” Mr. Chandler said. “But please continue. I’m sorry for interrupting.”

“Well, sir, they was making plans to start up the night patrols, like they used to have before the war—”

“I don’t understand. What are night patrols?”

“They used to take turns riding the roads at night with their rifles loaded to make sure none of us slaves escaped. But now that we’re free, they’re thinking we’re dangerous and so they want to keep us off the roads after dark. That’s why we had to come and see you in the daytime. They’ll probably give a good whipping to anyone they catch.”

“They can’t do that! It isn’t legal!” Mr. Chandler said, raising his voice.

Otis stared at his shoes. “Well, sir . . . that’s the way things are around here,” he said quietly.

“I see. Thank you for telling me. I need to let someone in
Richmond know about this right away.” He looked as though he wanted to jump up and ride there this very minute. His willingness to help gave Lizzie courage.

“That ain’t the worst of it,” she said, barely able to stay seated. “Them men was also talking about doing something to the school to close it down—your school.” She gestured toward the back of the building where the classroom was. “They said they didn’t want Negro children learning to read and write, so they’re planning to shut it down for good so we’ll move someplace else.”

He stared at her, and for a moment she saw fear in his eyes. She didn’t think he was afraid for himself, but for his school. Why had the Yankees sent someone so young to do this job? Why not send someone older or stronger or fiercer? Mr. Chandler was a nice man, but he looked like a schoolboy in a grown man’s uniform. Lizzie knew that Yankees like him had won the war, but he didn’t look as though he would stand a chance against Massa Daniel and all his friends. Mr. Chandler opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. Lizzie waited.

“I don’t know what to say,” he murmured. “A threat against the school is very serious. I can’t imagine why they would . . . Did they say what they planned to do, exactly? I’ll need to take precautions. I’m concerned for the safety of our students and our teacher, Miss Hunt.”

“You need to be careful for yourself, Mr. Chandler,” Lizzie said. “Them men all have guns, and they ain’t afraid to use them. They broke up the shantytown back in the woods where some of our friends were living. We were there visiting Otis’s brother the night they came, and they warned us that they’d shoot to kill the next time.”

“We don’t know what became of Saul and the others,” Otis said, “or where they all moved to, but somebody needs to warn them about the night patrols. I tried to tell Saul he should settle down and sign one of your contracts, but he says you’re gonna move him and his family to a piece of land out West someplace.”

“Yes, I’m sorry but that program might take a little longer to
get started than I had hoped. My bosses in Washington have a lot of other things to argue about first.”

“What about the school?” Lizzie asked. “Is it safe to keep sending our kids here?”

“These men will be attacking a U.S. government institution if they do try anything,” Mr. Chandler said with a frown.

“They don’t care about that,” Otis said. “They took on the U.S. government once before, didn’t they? Ain’t that why they fought the war?”

Mr. Chandler’s shoulders sagged. Lizzie felt sorry for him. But then he sat up straight again as if collecting his courage. “I’ll go to Richmond and see about getting some protection.”

“Thank you, sir. We appreciate it,” Otis said. “My family means the world to me.” He looked relieved, but Lizzie didn’t share his relief.

“We want to work someplace else,” she blurted out. “Massa Daniel is the ringleader of these men, and I . . . do you have a place we can move to? Somebody else we can work for instead of the Weatherlys?”

“The Weatherlys? Is . . . is that who you work for?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is Josephine Weatherly their daughter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And her brother is the man you overheard? The man whom you call the ringleader?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Chandler leaned back in his seat and let out his breath in a rush. Lizzie’s heart began to pound. Was he going to get mad at them for telling on Massa Daniel?

“Did we say something wrong?” Otis asked. He was squeezing his hat so tightly in his hands that he was going to punch his fingers right through it.

“No . . . no, you didn’t say anything wrong. I’m just . . . surprised, that’s all. I should have made the connection when Josephine asked me to see you today. Does she know about the threat to the school?”

“No, sir. I was afraid to tell her because then she’d know I was listening outside the door.”

“I understand. And I understand why you’d want to work someplace else. But the Blake plantation is the only one that has signed a contract for sharecroppers, so far. They have all the help they need for now. I’m sorry. But as soon as someone else asks for help, you’ll be the first ones I ask.”

Otis reached for Lizzie’s hand as he rose to his feet. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “Let’s hope it ain’t too late to plant cotton by then.”

“Listen, I can’t thank you enough for sharing this information with me. And as long as you’re still working at White Oak, maybe you can continue to help the others—and me—by listening in. If you happen to hear anything else, I hope you’ll pass it along to me. Perhaps you could send a note with your children?”

Lizzie nodded, but she knew that was impossible. Had he forgotten that she and Otis couldn’t read or write? They said good-bye and started walking home, but Lizzie didn’t feel any better or safer than she had on the way into town. And it was tiring to walk along the tracks. The rough gravel poked her feet beneath her tattered shoes.

“I feel like we’re rabbits caught in a snare,” she said. “We can’t work someplace else, can’t live in the woods, can’t leave or we’ll all go hungry.”

Otis looked worried, too. “I sure wish I could warn Saul and the others about the night patrols.”

“We got some time before it gets dark. Maybe we can go look for him. Rufus says he sees Saul’s boys at school sometimes, so they can’t be living too far away.”

Otis halted. “Let me think. Where would he go? . . . I do know where his favorite fishing spot is, and it’s on the way home. You mind going there with me to see?”

They found Saul and a couple of others from the plantation fishing by a creek that fed into the Pamunkey River. The glade was hidden by a tangle of weeds and vines and wasn’t visible from the road until you got right up to it. “Am I glad to see you,” Otis told his brother. “We didn’t know how to get ahold of you.”

Lizzie sat down to rest on a large rock near the edge of the creek. It was so quiet and peaceful here that she wished she could build a little cabin and live right here, far away from all the trouble. She dipped her fingers in the creek and quickly pulled them out again. The water was icy cold.

“Are you living here now?” Otis asked his brother.

“No, we’re still in the woods. Farther back from the road, though.”

“That ain’t very smart. You heard what those men said. They won’t fire their rifles over your heads the next time—they’ll shoot to kill. And they’ll probably get away with it. No one’s gonna believe a Negro’s story over a white man’s.”

“We won’t be there much longer. We’re gonna get us some land soon and move away from Virginia for good.”

“You better talk to Mr. Chandler again. Lizzie and me were just there, and he said it might take some time for that land deal to come through.”

Lizzie closed her eyes, listening to the gurgling sound the water made as it flowed over the rocks. If only every day could be as peaceful as this. Meanwhile, Otis told Saul and the other men about the night patrols and the threat to the school. Their voices sounded far away.

“Make sure you tell everybody to stay off the roads after dark.”

“We ain’t afraid and you shouldn’t be, either. We’re free men now.”

“The law might have changed, but Massa Daniel and the others are still thinking the same old way. They’re mad about losing the war and looking for somebody to blame, so they’re blaming us.”

When Lizzie opened her eyes again, the sun was touching the tops of the trees, painting the sky red. She stood and went to where the men were still talking and tugged on Otis’s hand. “We need to get home before dark.”

They walked a little faster as they made their way home, and the peaceful feeling Lizzie’d had by the creek was gone. “Do you think Saul and them will listen to us?” Lizzie asked.

Otis shook his head. “Saul always was muleheaded.”

The shadows were long and purple when they arrived back. The boys were playing a game in front of the cabin using sticks and stones, but they dropped everything and ran to meet them as soon as they got close to home. “Where’s Roselle?” Lizzie asked, looking all around.

“She went for a walk up to the chicken coop to see her ducks.”

Lizzie’s stomach twisted like an old rag. “When did she leave?”

Rufus shrugged. “Not long ago.”

“You boys stay here!”

Otis stayed right beside Lizzie as they hurried up the hill. “Every day after school she runs to that coop,” Lizzie panted. “Her baby ducks are growing bigger and doing good with their chicken mamas. But when they see Roselle, they run to her like they know she was the one who rescued them.” Fear was making her babble. She should have warned Roselle not to wander too far from their cabin, but she didn’t want her kids to feel scared all the time the way she did. Now she wished she had warned her.

They reached the top of the rise, and Lizzie’s heart stood still. Roselle stood on the walkway between the house and the kitchen, talking to Massa Daniel. Roselle was smiling and looking all shy and pretty, but the way Massa was looking at her made Lizzie’s blood run as cold as creek water through her veins.

“Otis! Otis, get her away from him!” She held her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.

“Hush. Don’t say a word, Lizzie. Stay right here.”

Lizzie couldn’t breathe. She wanted Otis to run the rest of the way, but he walked calmly toward Roselle as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Massa Daniel turned and saw him coming and his expression turned as hard as ice in January. Roselle turned around and saw Otis, too. Her smile vanished.

Otis removed his hat in respect and looked down at his feet, not at Massa, the way he’d been taught. Lizzie couldn’t hear what they were saying, but after a minute he and Massa Daniel walked off toward the stables. Lizzie beckoned to Roselle and waited for her to walk back down to Slave Row.

“What did Massa Daniel want?” Lizzie asked. Her heart was still pounding much too fast.

“Nothing. We were just talking. He wanted to hear all about my ducks.”

Lizzie could see the outline of Roselle’s maturing body beneath her thin cotton dress—and Massa would have seen it, too. “Stay away from him, Roselle. And if you have to go near him, you be real careful. You hear?”

“He’s our massa. We have to do what he says, don’t we?”

“Listen to me. He ain’t our massa no more. Your papa works for him, Roselle. But we work for Miz Eugenia.”

“Otis isn’t my papa.”

Lizzie grabbed Roselle’s arm as she started to walk away and pulled her back. “Don’t start with all that, you hear me? Otis loves you like his own child. There ain’t a thing he wouldn’t do for you.”

“When are you going to tell me about my real father? You promised, remember?” Roselle was so pretty, even when she was pouting, that it scared Lizzie half to death.

“I’ll tell you about it when the right time comes. But this ain’t it. In the meantime, I’m warning you to stay as far away from that man as you can.”

17

M
AY
28, 1865

Josephine stood before Mrs. Blake’s hall mirror adjusting her hat. It looked so faded and bedraggled after being worn every Sunday for the past five years that she longed to toss it into the trash. The style might have suited her as a girl of seventeen, but it seemed too childish for a young woman of twenty-two. Jo would rather not wear a hat at all, but she lacked the courage to defy convention or the patience to listen to her mother’s rebuke if she came to church without a hat.

“Isn’t it wonderful to have a carriage driver again?” Mrs. Blake asked. “And to be able to attend church on Sunday?” Josephine could see Priscilla’s reflection in the mirror behind her, securing her own hat in place with a hatpin.

“Yes . . . wonderful,” Josephine murmured. But in truth, she had been perfectly happy to avoid church these past weeks. Mother had offered to pick her up every Sunday, but Jo gave the excuse that she didn’t want to leave Mrs. Blake alone—and Mrs. Blake didn’t want to leave Harrison alone. Now that they had servants again, they were both free to attend, much to Josephine’s dismay.

“When Dr. Hunter brings the wheelchair, we must convince Harrison to come with us,” Mrs. Blake said. She looked so happy
and so hopeful that Jo nodded in agreement. But Harrison would never go. A man as bitter as he was would have nothing to say to God. Jo knew because she had nothing to say to God, either.

“Are you certain you don’t want me to stay home with him, Mrs. Blake? I would be happy to, you know.”

“He’ll be fine. He said he would ring for one of the servants if he needed anything.”

Josephine still worried that he would try to end his life again if she left him alone. The servants knew the truth and had promised to keep it a secret—how could they not know when they had seen all the blood? Josephine made sure she went into his bedroom before Mrs. Blake whenever he’d been alone for a while. His mother should never have to face the horror that she had witnessed.

Jo savored the carriage ride into Fairmont on such a beautiful spring day. But as she walked up the church steps, she realized it had been a mistake to come. The tidy little building with its prim pews and colorful windows reminded her of the hours she had spent on her knees here in fervent prayer during the war. And how God had mocked those prayers with His cruel lack of concern.

“Would you mind if I sat in the back?” she asked. “I’m feeling very warm. I’m sure my mother would love to have you sit with her.” Thankfully, Mrs. Blake didn’t argue.

Josephine found a seat in the very last pew. She stood when everyone else did and opened the hymnal to the right hymn, but the cold anger that filled her made her unable to sing a note. If she could just get through the service today, she would make up a string of excuses to never come back. The minister talked about faith as if it were as colorful and clear-cut as the scenes portrayed on the stained-glass windows, but Jo knew it wasn’t true. The Savior who looked down on her from the windows seemed as flat and cold and lifeless as the glass. The world, as it turned out, was not as neat and orderly as Josephine had been led to believe—
simply follow the rules, do what’s right, and your life will be happy. . . . Good people are blessed, bad people are punished. . . . Ask and it will be given unto you. . . .
None of it was true. God didn’t answer prayer.

Josephine’s anger churned and swelled inside her until she couldn’t breathe. What was she doing here if she no longer believed any of it? As the congregation stood to recite the Apostles’ Creed, she pushed her way to the aisle and hurried out.

Fresh air! It smelled of hay and woodsmoke and horses, but at least she no longer felt trapped. She hurried down the church steps and away from the building, longing to walk all the way home. But it was too far and her shoes were in terrible condition. She would have to wait for the service to end.

A row of carriages stood parked by the hitching posts, the horses flicking insects with their swishing tails, the Negro drivers relaxing in the sunshine, talking quietly. Josephine decided to follow the path around to the rear of the church and visit the cemetery. The hinges on the rusted gate squeaked loudly as she opened and closed it. The air felt cool in the shade beneath the trees, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

Some of the graves dated back a hundred years or more, their stone markers barely legible after a century of wind and rain. But there were far too many new ones, all casualties of the war. She knew that for every soldier buried here, two or three more young men had been laid to rest in cemeteries far from home, never to return. She followed the path to her family’s burial plot where Daddy and Samuel were buried alongside three generations of Weatherlys. She sat down on Granddaddy Weatherly’s blocklike tombstone with her back to the church, waiting for the service to end.

She had only been seated a few minutes when she heard the cemetery gate squeak open and shut behind her. Jo didn’t turn around, hoping whoever it was would have sense enough to respect her grief and leave her alone. She didn’t want to talk to anyone or explain why she had left the service. She waited, holding her breath.

“Are you all right, Miss Weatherly?”

She exhaled in dismay, recognizing the voice behind her. It was the Yankee. She had seen him as she’d hurried out of the church, standing against the rear wall near the door. He had watched her as she’d walked past him.

“I’m fine,” she lied. “I needed some fresh air, that’s all.” He didn’t reply, but she could tell he was still there, standing a short distance away. “I would like to be left alone, please.” Instead, she heard him moving closer. He stopped and crouched down beside her. He wore a plain dark suit and white shirt instead of his Yankee uniform. “Didn’t you hear me? I said I would like to be alone.”

“I know. That’s what people always say when what they need more than anything else is someone to talk to.”

“Please go away, Mr. Chandler.” But she said it softly, without conviction.

He took it as an invitation and sat down cross-legged on the grass in front of her. “You promised to call me Alexander, remember?”

“I came out here to be alone . . . Alexander.”

“When I first came back from the war, I couldn’t bear to go to church, either. I felt as though I had no right to be there worshiping God. I had broken His commandment ‘Thou shalt not kill’ and gone against all the tenets of my faith by taking up arms. Surely God would never welcome me back after I’d broken His rules. And I didn’t feel welcome in my congregation back home, either. But as you can see, I’ve finally made it through the door of a church again, even if I do stand alone in the back.” He paused, waiting, plucking up a clover blossom and tearing it into bits.

Politeness dictated that Josephine respond, but she was tired of being polite. She wanted to shock him into leaving. “I don’t believe in God anymore.”

“Why not?” He sounded curious, not shocked.

“Are you truly that dense? Look right in front of you! That’s my father’s grave, and that’s my brother Samuel’s. We lost the war! You have no idea how hard I prayed—how hard everyone in that church prayed—for protection for our loved ones, for victory over an enemy who had invaded our land. But does it look to you like God answered us? Or that He was even listening? Either there is no God, or else He doesn’t care about us and our needs. As far as I’m concerned, going to church, sitting in there, going through the rituals . . . it’s nothing but a sham.”

“Have you ever read the book of Job in the Bible?”

“Please leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that any more than you could leave Harrison Blake alone when he wanted to kill himself.”

“I assure you that I do not intend to kill myself.”

“Maybe not in the same way that he tried to do it. But despair will have the same result, Josephine, if you let it run its course. You might still be walking around like the rest of us, eating and conversing, but you’ll be dead inside.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” But he was dangerously close to describing how she already felt. How did he know? And what right did he have to speak to her about it?

“I may not know much about you, it’s true. But I do know we were all created to love and serve God. He loves us deeply and passionately. And so any time one of His children decides to walk away from Him, it can only lead to despair. And spiritual death.”

“Should I sit in there and go through the motions, even though I no longer believe any of it? Wouldn’t that make me a hypocrite?”

“Not at all. It would make you His child. If you sensed that your real father was angry with you, if he stopped talking to you, stopped giving you things, wouldn’t you want to at least sit down with him and ask him why? That’s all I’m suggesting you do. Sit down with God and ask Him the reason for your suffering, the reason why He didn’t answer your prayers.”

“Am I supposed to expect a voice from heaven?” She couldn’t help sounding scornful.

“No, you probably shouldn’t wait for a voice from heaven.” He smiled as if she had been making a joke, not speaking sarcastically. “But—”

“If God never answered any of my previous prayers, what makes you think He would answer me this time?”

“Because now you would be asking the right questions. And while I’ve never heard an audible voice, God does speak to me through the words of Scripture—which is why I suggest that you read the story of Job. And He sometimes chooses to speak through
your friends . . . and I beg you to consider me your friend. When we cut ourselves off from God and from other people, it always leads to despair. Isn’t that what happened to Harrison Blake?”

“He has even more reasons to be angry than I do. He lost his leg. He’ll never walk again.”

“And yet you’re trying to convince him to keep on living, aren’t you? That’s all I’m saying, Josephine. Give God another chance. He was gracious enough to offer me a second chance.”

The windows of the church were open, and Josephine heard music as the organ started up, then the sound of the congregation singing. The service was drawing to a close. “You need to leave, Alexander. We shouldn’t be seen alone together without a chaperone.”

“I understand . . . I’m the enemy, right?”

“Yes. I’m surprised you have the nerve to show up in church.”

“It’s difficult, I assure you. This is only the second time I’ve come. But I’m trusting that at least a few people will respond like Christians.”

“You may be disappointed.”

He sighed and rose to his feet. “I’ve enjoyed talking with you, Josephine. I hope we’ll have an opportunity to talk again.”

She watched him saunter away, hands in his pockets. She couldn’t help thinking that it was easier for him to believe he had all the answers since he had won the war.

Even so, Jo decided to take his advice. Later that afternoon she borrowed Mrs. Blake’s Bible and carried it up to her bedroom to read while everyone else napped, opening it to the book of Job. It was a heartbreaking story, one she couldn’t stop thinking about after she finished it. She felt angry and upset with Mr. Chandler and was anxious for him to return to the plantation. But he didn’t come on Monday. Or on Tuesday, either.

On Wednesday morning Josephine carried her sewing box out to the front porch where the sunlight was bright to try her hand at sewing a seam. As she suspected, Harrison’s blood hadn’t washed out of her dress, but she had scavenged some of the lace and enough cloth to fashion a skirt. It couldn’t be much
different than embroidery, could it? All she had to do was sew in a straight line.

She was making headway with her task when she looked up and saw Mr. Chandler riding up the road on horseback, his dark Yankee uniform stark against the green trees. She laid her sewing aside as he tied his horse to the hitching post and hurried down the steps to talk to him, unwilling to have Mrs. Blake overhear them. She saw a smile forming on Mr. Chandler’s lips as he swept off his hat, and she quickly said, “I’ve been waiting to speak with you.”

“Oh, dear. You don’t look very happy about it, either.” His smile faded. “Is it the workers? Aren’t they cooperating? I would have come sooner to check up on them, but I had to make a trip to Richmond and—”

“It has nothing to do with the workers. I’m angry about that story in the Bible that you told me to read.”

“You mean Job? What about it?” He looked as though he wanted to smile but was afraid to. He stood idly patting his horse’s neck.

“The Bible says that Job was a good man, a righteous man. God loved him and he loved God. So how could God stand by and allow Satan to take everything away from him? His wealth, all his children, his health. That’s horrible, Mr. Chandler!”

“Please, it’s Alexander—”

“Why should I trust in a God who is so cruel? Does He truly allow us to be pawns in a stupid contest?” Josephine felt so much pent-up anger, she could barely speak. “It’s a terrible story!”

He looked around as if the answer to her outrage might be found in the yard, then beckoned for her to follow him. “Please, let’s walk toward the barn as if we’re talking about the workers or something. You don’t want to risk being overheard talking to a Yankee as if we’re friends, do you?”