All Things New (24 page)

“I can help you cook this fish for dinner,” Clara said. “You got any cornmeal?”

“We got some dried corn. Maybe the kids can grind it up for us. But I got to feed the white folks, too. I was just looking around for something for their dinner.”

“How many of them are left?”

“Just Miz Eugenia, Massa Daniel, Missy Jo, and Missy Mary. But them two girls don’t eat very much. They peck at their food like sparrows most of the time.”

“I guess there’ll be enough, then. Now if Saul can get this fish cleaned while I finish moving into my cabin, you and me can start frying it, Lizzie.”

“I’ll help you move in,” Lizzie said. The cabin was small, their belongings few, so it didn’t take long at all to stuff the straw mattresses and hang their jackets and extra clothes on the pegs.

“I thought it would be hard coming back here,” Clara said, “and I didn’t want to at first. But it ain’t so bad. It seems different now, don’t it?” She had a little smile on her face as she looked all around. Lizzie couldn’t recall ever seeing Clara smile.

“No, it ain’t bad,” Lizzie said. “Miz Eugenia works us pretty hard—and make sure you stay away from Massa Daniel. But Missy Mary ain’t no trouble and Missy Jo treats us real nice. At least that old slave bell won’t be clanging every morning and no overseer’s gonna be standing over us.”

They came out of Clara’s cabin just as Willy and Robert were leaving to walk up to the stables to find Otis. “He’s getting ready to go into Richmond on Monday,” Lizzie said. “If he ain’t in the stables, he’ll be out in his cotton fields somewhere. He likes the feel of the dirt in his hands, and he’s been itching to start plowing.”

The children had all gathered around Roselle, begging her to tell
one of her stories. Saul and Clara’s two girls, Annie and Meg, were about the same ages as Rufus and Jack, their boy Bill a little older.

“I’ll tell you a true story,” Roselle said, “but I want to show you something first.” She led the way up the rise, and Lizzie knew she was taking the children to the chicken yard to see her ducks. “See them three little yellow ones? Them’s mine.”

“Those are awful funny-looking chickens,” Bill said. “Their feet ain’t right.”

“That’s because they ain’t chickens, they’re ducks. And they’re my ducks. It’s time for their bath. Want to watch?”

Every afternoon Roselle would fill an old basin with water to make a little pond for the ducks to play in. They splashed and frolicked, their little tail feathers waggling as they shook off the water, their funny flat feet slapping the surface. The children laughed and laughed as they watched, and Roselle told the story of how she’d rescued them. The sun was turning the sky red as it sank below the hills, and as Lizzie looked at the flaming sky and listened to the children’s laughter, she felt almost happy. If only it would last.

That night after the white folks ate their dinner, Lizzie’s new family all gathered around the table in the kitchen to eat theirs, using empty barrels and stools for chairs. The kids spread an old tablecloth on the floor and sat down to eat. “This sure is good fish, Clara,” Otis said.

“The white folks seemed real happy about their dinner, too,” Lizzie said. “Miz Eugenia said it was just as good as what Dolly used to fix.”

“That’s a real compliment,” Clara said. “That gal sure could cook.”

“Ain’t it something, sitting here like free people?” Saul asked.

“We don’t have to look over our shoulder, either,” Otis said, “because we work for ourselves now. And by Monday night, there might be a cow in the barn and some baby pigs to fatten up. And a mule. I sure hope we can find a good mule.”

“I’ll teach all you young ones how to milk the cow,” Clara said.
“That can be your job every day. And separating the cream and churning the butter.”

“We already have a job,” Rufus said. “Missy Jo hired us to pull weeds. She’s going to teach us how to read while we work, too.”

“And she’s paying us with books!” Jack added.

“Can we help you?” Annie asked.

Rufus shrugged. “I guess so. We can ask Missy Jo tomorrow.”

“Papa, she gave us each a book to keep,” Jack said. “And we haven’t even done any work yet.”

Otis shook his head in wonder. “How about that? I can hardly wait until bedtime to see those new books. Maybe you can read them to me one of these days.”

That night, Lizzie finished her work sooner than usual with Clara and her two girls helping. After she said good-night to the others, she and Otis went inside their own cabin and Jack and Rufus sat on their papa’s lap to show him their books. It was too dark in the cabin to read the words, and they didn’t have a candle or a lamp, but they squinted at the pretty pictures together in the moonlight.

“I already looked at the words while it was still light outside,” Rufus said, “and I think I know some of them.”

“I can’t wait to hear that, son. I’m real proud of you.”

“Roselle can read it better than we can.”

Otis squinted at one of the pictures, then held it up to the faint light coming through the window. “Say, I just took a closer look at this picture and I think this must be a story from the Bible. See here? This looks like David and the giant.” He and the boys bent their heads together to study it before turning the page. “And this looks like Jonah and that great big fish. And here’s the story of when the walls came tumbling down—see the men blowing their trumpets?” He leaned back with a huge grin. “Pretty soon you’ll be reading the Bible to us.”

Lizzie felt content as she lay down beside Otis that night. “Today was a real good day, wasn’t it?” he whispered. “We’re gonna make this work, Lizzie-girl. All of us together, my brother and the others. Our families are happy and free. Yes, I thank God for this good day.”

“I still wish you didn’t have to go with Massa Daniel on Monday.”

“Don’t spoil today by worrying about tomorrow. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

Lizzie wanted to believe that good things were going to happen from now on, but she was afraid. Truth was, she still had to work for Miz Eugenia and Massa Daniel, and experience had taught her not to trust the Weatherlys. Not a single one of them.

23

J
UNE
5, 1865

On Monday morning, Josephine hurried through breakfast, eager to start the day. Cleaning up the terrace and secretly teaching the children would be new adventures for her, a break from her boring routine. She had been disappointed when she awoke to a damp, cloudy day with low-hanging clouds that threatened rain, but at least the children wouldn’t broil beneath a hot sun. Daniel had already left for Richmond, and she was eager to get started, too.

“May I please be excused?” She rose from the breakfast table before Mother had a chance to reply.

“What are you up to, Josephine? You bolted down your food like a slave with a field of cotton to pick.”

“I’ve hired the children to clear the weeds from your terrace, remember? I want to get started before it rains.”

“Don’t you dare lift a finger or I’ll call off the whole project, do you hear me?”

“Yes, Mother. Now may I please be excused?”

Jo had to force herself not to race up the stairs and further annoy her mother, but she couldn’t help feeling excited about the work ahead. She had enjoyed working in the vegetable garden, planting seeds and watching them grow into rows of leafy green
plants. This project promised to be just as satisfying, taking an overgrown patch of thistles and weeds and making the terrace look clean and new again.

She put on her straw hat and an old skirt and blouse, and went outside to survey the work. How she longed to dig in and get her hands dirty, ripping out weeds and trimming vines, but Mother would be watching. Josephine had learned at dinner last night that the plantation had acquired more workers, and with them three more children. Now she saw all six children coming up the little rise from Slave Row, and they broke into a run when they saw her waiting for them.

“Can our cousins help, too?” Rufus asked. “They just moved back here and they want to learn to read, too.” They were serious children like Rufus and Jack, with dark fear-filled eyes. Their thin little bodies reminded Josephine of sticks of kindling. The cringing way they looked up at her from lowered faces, not quite meeting her gaze, made her feel like an ogre in a fairy tale.

“Of course they may help. The more workers we have, the faster the work will get done.” She would have to find more books to give away, but she didn’t care. She led the way to the gardener’s shed to gather tools, and the children soon went to work raking the leaves, pulling weeds, and gathering dead branches. Josephine had to stuff her hands into her pockets to resist the urge to help. She felt like the dreaded overseer standing idly by, issuing orders, brandishing a whip.

“See if you can lift some of the stones to get beneath them and yank out the weeds by the roots,” she coached. Rufus and the older boy, Bill, competed to see who could lift the biggest flagstones, intrigued by the earthworms and scurrying insects and the maze of ant holes they found beneath them. The new girls, Annie and Meg, squealed.

“Can we keep these worms for fishing?” Rufus asked.

“They’re all yours,” Josephine said. Their curiosity excited her. She thought of the nature books in her brothers’ room and couldn’t wait to share them with the children.

Willy, their old carriage driver, had moved back to White Oak, too, and when he saw them working he limped up to the house with a saw to help. Josephine was glad to see the gentle old man with his wooly white hair and gnarled fingers. He pitched in to help, sawing dead branches and overgrown wisteria vines. Jack and Annie carried the branches to the kindling pile.

“These railings sure could use a coat of whitewash,” Willy said as they began to clear away the bushes that had enveloped them.

“Where would we get whitewash?” There was so much that Josephine didn’t know and wanted to learn.

“Most folks make it themselves, ma’am, out of crushed oyster shells.”

“There’s some shells down by the river where we go fishing,” Rufus said. “Want me to get some for you next time we go?”

“Yes, please. That would be wonderful.”

Willy took a handful of dead leaves and used them like a brush to sweep off the stone benches. “Be nice to clean these benches off real good, too.”

“I’ll ask Lizzie if she knows of something to scrub them clean.”

It began to rain as they worked, a light, gentle mist, which no one seemed to mind at first. But as the morning wore on and Josephine began to feel the dampness soaking through her clothes, she knew it was time to quit—to avoid her mother’s ire if for no other reason. “That’s all the work for today,” she said. “Now go wash your hands and meet me in the kitchen, and we’ll have a reading lesson.”

Josephine hurried inside, taking the back staircase to her bedroom to retrieve the books she had chosen to give away and a small slate to write on. She stopped at the door to her brothers’ room on the way back. Should she borrow some of their books, too? Josephine rarely went into their room, not only because it made her sad to remember Samuel but because she had been avoiding Daniel, outraged by what he and his friends had done. But Daniel was on his way to Richmond with Otis. She turned the knob and went inside.

There was a scent in the room that reminded her of Samuel, the same way the scent of tobacco and leather in the downstairs study reminded her of Daddy. Samuel had been much older than Josephine and had always seemed like a grown man to her. But as she studied the treasure trove of books and other artifacts on his shelves—birds’ nests and arrowheads and a woodchuck’s skull—she saw her brother as the curious boy he’d once been. His life seemed much too short, his death such a waste. And now Daniel and Harrison, whose lives had been spared, were wasting theirs on bitterness and hatred.

She selected two of her brother’s books to share with the Negro children today—one with pictures of insects, the other with plants native to Virginia—and hurried back to teach them their first lesson. It was raining hard now, and she held the books under her apron as she sprinted from the back door to the kitchen. She found the children waiting for her, seated on the floor in a semicircle in front of her empty chair. Lizzie’s boys had their books on their laps, and when Jack saw her, he held out his hands to her to show they were clean.

“That’s good, Jack. You did a good job washing them.” She sat down, feeling nervous suddenly, and not only because Mother would be furious if she found out what she was doing. Josephine had tutors of her own over the years, but what did a spoiled rich girl like herself know about teaching school? The subjects she had studied were much different from what these children needed to learn. She glanced at Lizzie, busy at the hearth with Roselle and the new servant, Clara, then cleared her throat.

“I wish I knew of a better place to meet,” she said, “so we’re not bothering you while you’re trying to work, Lizzie.”

“That don’t matter, Missy Jo. Maybe I can learn something, too. Roselle, you go sit down and listen. I’ll answer the bell if Miz Eugenia starts ringing it.” Roselle gladly dropped what she was doing and sat down with the other children.

“Let’s begin with the alphabet,” Josephine said. “Did you all learn that yet?”

After a very nervous start, Josephine soon lost herself in the work, surprised by how much the children already knew. She tried a few simple addition problems, using the slate and chalk, and discovered that Rufus was very quick with numbers. But the children loved books most of all and loved to practice their reading with her. She couldn’t wait to teach them again.

“I’m afraid that’s all for today,” she said after an hour. She didn’t dare go any longer or Mother would come looking for her—and would probably make good on her threat to send her to finishing school if she discovered what Jo was doing. Mother had agreed to the project of weeding the terrace and paying the children with books but not to starting a school in her kitchen with Jo as the teacher. She would be appalled.

Josephine gave each of the new children a book as their pay, then pulled Roselle aside. “I’ve noticed you learn much faster than the others, Roselle. Since I can’t spend very much time teaching every day, how would it be if I taught you some things and then you could teach the younger children?”

“Really, Missy Josephine? I sure would like that. It’s fun being a teacher. Before the school burned down, Miss Hunt used to let Cissy and me teach the younger kids, and she said I could be a teacher someday if I wanted to. Do you think that could ever happen, Missy Jo? Do you think I could be a teacher like Miss Hunt?”

Josephine didn’t know what to think. She had been raised with the same prejudices as Mother, believing slaves were fit only for manual labor. Of course she knew it wasn’t true, but could the world change fast enough to allow Negroes to be accepted as teachers? Jo thought it was ironic that while the war had forced her to do slaves’ work, it allowed the former slaves to dream of doing white men’s work. Once again she thought of Alexander’s question,
“What do you want for your life . . . for your future?”

“I think you would make a wonderful teacher, Roselle.”

“Really, Missy Jo?” She beamed at Josephine, and for the first time Jo realized what a pretty girl she was, with features as fine and delicate as her sister Mary’s, as fine as any white woman’s.
“Miss Hunt said that up north where she comes from, Negroes do all sorts of jobs and live in nice houses and everything. Is that true, Missy Jo?”

“I don’t know, Roselle. I’ve never been there.” She would ask Alexander about it when she saw him tomorrow. Tomorrow! She had agreed to meet him beneath the tree house early in the morning before the Freedmen’s Bureau office opened, before Mother and Mary noticed she was gone.

Jo awoke the next morning as soon as the rooster crowed and climbed out of bed. Her room seemed very dark as she tiptoed around, dressing quietly, and she realized it was raining again. The clouds seemed to touch the barn roof and looked like smoke among the trees as she stepped outside into a light drizzle. She had wrapped a shawl around her shoulders against the chill, and she lifted it over her head as she hurried down the path to the tree house as fast as her torn shoe would allow.

Alexander Chandler was already waiting for her beneath the tree, his horse grazing nearby. He held his saddlebag in his hands, and he broke into a smile when he saw her. She ran to join him beneath the tree house, which acted as a roof to block the rain.

“I’m glad you came, Josephine.” She noticed his voice was no longer hoarse.

“Yes . . . me too.” It was an awkward moment. Neither of them seemed to know how to begin. Rain pattered on the floor of the tree house above them and dripped from the leaves. Alexander broke the silence first.

“I brought you something. Here, have a look.” He opened the mouth of his saddlebag, and she saw it was filled with shoes. She couldn’t speak. “It was my fault you tore your shoe because you were running away from me,” he said, “so I brought you some new ones. Well, they aren’t actually new; they’re secondhand. I hope that isn’t insulting to you.”

“Where did they come from?”

“They were collected by my church up north and donated to the Freedmen’s Bureau for needy families. I didn’t know your size,
so I put several sizes in here. Maybe someone else in your family needs shoes, too?”

“My mother would never allow us to accept charity.”

“She doesn’t have to know.”

“She isn’t blind, Alexander. She’s sure to notice me wearing different shoes.”

“But you need them. Would she rather you go barefoot than to swallow her pride and accept charity?”

Yes
, Josephine thought. She probably would.

“Please, try on a pair. Take more than one pair, if you’d like.”

Jo looked into the bag and saw that although the shoes were used, they were obviously well made and in good condition. And she did need them. She was desperate, in fact. She selected a pair that looked to be her size and leaned against the damp tree trunk as she slid one of them onto her foot. It fit comfortably. So did its mate. They would keep her feet warm and dry.

“I’ll think of something to tell my mother,” she said. “Thank you, Alexander. I appreciate your kindness.” He relaxed and smiled with relief. “And just so you know,” she continued, “I don’t blame you for my torn shoe that day. They were old and wearing out. It was my own fault running away so gracelessly. But thank you.”

“You’re welcome to take more than one pair.”

“Not for me. But if I may, I’ll take a pair for my sister, Mary.” She rummaged through the bag and chose a pair of slim, dark shoes that appeared to be Mary’s size.

“I can bring you other things, too. The churches up north are eager to help the South rebuild—”

“No, please don’t. It will be too hard to explain. I think it’s best to keep our meetings and our friendship a secret.” There was another awkward silence. This time Josephine broke it, desperate to change the subject. “How are the repairs to the school coming along?”

“I’m afraid they’ve become mired in bureaucratic problems. I’m forced to wait for funds for the building materials, and the wheels of government move very slowly. They’ve promised to send more schoolbooks right away, but they haven’t arrived yet.”