The Kitchen House (16 page)

And Ben, instead of being scared from doing Waters in, now it’s like he’s thinking he’s a man that can do anything. He’s taking too many chances. Last night Ben finds me when I’m working at the storage room in the basement up at the big house. I was pouring brandy on the cakes for Christmas when he slips in and closes the door. I say, “Benny, you best get out of here!,” but he says, “Rankin sleepin’ from the liquor.” Then he asks, real quiet, “Belle, you don’t care about me no more?”

My feet, by their own self, want to run to him, but I stay put. “No, I still like you, Benny, but in summer the cap’n’s gonna take me away to Philadelphia.”

Ben comes over to me. His eyes take me in, and I know I can’t stop myself if he touches me. “Belle,” he says, then goes to kiss me, but Uncle Jacob come in the door just in time. Uncle gives me the eye, but I say, “Benny’s here, just making sure that everything’s all right.” After Benny leaves, Uncle says, “You wantin’ that boy dead?” “No!” I say, but Uncle says, “This whole thing on you, Belle. Somethin’ happen to Ben, Mae and George, they gonna blame you.”

I know I got to keep Ben away, but I’d just as soon cut off my hand.

Lavinia

I
N THE LAST WEEKS BEFORE
Christmas, Miss Martha went repeatedly to the windows and looked out expectantly for the captain’s wagon. Each day Mama reassured her, “He comin’ soon. You put on the good dress today so you look like that pretty girl he marry.”

One morning when Dory was upstairs with the babies and Beattie and I were downstairs helping Miss Martha put holly and cedar greens over the parlor mantel, Mama burst through the doors. “The patrollers here, and they takin’ Jimmy!” she said, gasping for breath.

“Mae, for heaven’s sake!” Miss Martha exclaimed. “You frightened me.”

“The patrollers!” Mama repeated. “They here, down at the barns, and now they goin’ to the kitchen house. They say they lookin’ for that man Waters. They beatin’ on Jimmy! They say he know somethin’ and they takin’ him.” Mama was frantic. “Rankin say next they takin’ Ben!”

Miss Martha tossed down the greens, then called out for Uncle Jacob as she went for the gun case that stood in the library. “Here, take this,” she said, handing a pistol to Uncle Jacob, then taking another from the case. Her hands shook as she loaded it, but it was evident that she was familiar with the workings of a gun. She stepped out the back door into the bright cold day with Mama and Uncle on either side. No one noticed that Beattie and I followed. Horses were saddled and tied beside the kitchen house, where our small party headed. Papa was in back of the kitchen house, loosing an ax from a wood stump.

“You won’t need that, George. Come, take this and stand with me,” Miss Martha said, handing him the pistol that Uncle carried. They rounded the house together. Jimmy’s hands were tied to the saddle of a bay; his head leaned against the horse’s flank, and I looked away when I saw his bleeding back.

Papa spoke low as he passed him. “You hold on, son.”

Shouts and laughter came from inside the kitchen, and it didn’t take long for us to see why. Four men, one of them Rankin, stood in a circle. They were tossing Belle, sending her spinning, one to the other. In a corner of the kitchen, Ben thrashed about on his stomach, his hands and feet tied together and his mouth gagged. Fanny, crying and trembling, crouched next to him.

“Who’s gonna talk first?” one of the patrollers asked.

Rankin laughed roughly, catching Belle and holding her to him. “What are we gonna have to do to this little gal to make that boy on the floor talk?” Marshall watched, his eyes excited. Another man, standing opposite the room from Ben, was not part of the circle. Younger than the others, he looked unsettled by the game.

The blast from Miss Martha’s pistol stopped everything.

“Gentlemen,” she said to no one in particular. “Now that I have your attention, I want to assure you I can use a pistol more precisely than I have just done.” She paused to look up at the splintered ceiling. “Goodness, I’ve blown a hole into my own kitchen!” Turning to Papa, she said, “George, I’m afraid that I’ve added to your work.” She looked back at her stunned audience, then asked, “Would someone be kind enough to tell me the meaning of this?”

Rankin swaggered toward her. “Well now, Miss Martha, these law-abidin’ citizens have come to inform us that the horse Mr. Waters rode out on was found over in Buckingham County. Since Mr. Waters has yet to be found, they were thinking that someone here might have information that they haven’t seen fit to tell.”

Miss Martha stared coldly at Rankin, then turned her gaze to the other men in the room. “I’m afraid that you gentlemen have been misinformed. The matter of Mr. Waters’s departure is waiting
to be settled until my husband’s return. Mr. Rankin has no business up here. He is employed to keep order in the fields, where utilizing some of this treatment”—she looked down at Ben, then up again—“might be necessary. It is, however, unnecessary to do so with my house servants.” She looked at Belle. “You are aware that you are toying with one of the captain’s most prized possessions?” Frost hung from her words.

“She’s just a whore, Mother,” Marshall called out.

If Miss Martha was surprised at his outburst, she did not show it. “Yes, Marshall, that she is,” Miss Martha said, “but she’s your daddy’s whore, and heaven help the man who forgets that.”

The men stared at her, their startled eyes reminding me of the peacock dinner plates.

“Gentlemen,” she addressed them, “I appreciate the fact that you are all such law-abiding citizens. However, now I’m asking you to leave my property. I expect you to untie the boy outside and leave him to me.”

The young man from the corner stepped forward, removed his hat, and ran his hand through his straight dark brown hair. “We do apologize for disrupting your day, Mrs. Pyke. It appears that we’ve been misinformed.”

The others glared at him. “This is a matter for the law,” one of them mumbled.

“And what is your name, sir?” Miss Martha addressed the young man who had apologized to her.

“It’s, ah… Stephens,” he stammered. “Will Stephens.”

“Stephens?” she said. “That is a familiar name. Does the captain know your daddy?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, fingering his hat. “We rent the property from the captain down the east side.”

“Don’t tell me you’re the little boy who helped us out here at the barns the year that Marshall was born?” she asked, her voice taking on a lilt.

His face flushed. “Yes, ma’am. One and the same.”

“My goodness! You’ve grown up,” she said. “It makes me feel so much better knowing that I have you watching out for us up on the hill. And you tell your daddy I said that, won’t you?”

He assured her that he would.

When Rankin made his exit, the others quickly left with him. Papa remained at Miss Martha’s side when she followed. As the others rode off, Rankin headed toward the quarters.

Miss Martha’s voice caught him. “Mr. Rankin.”

He turned back.

“I don’t want you to worry about a thing up here,” she said. “My house servants will be armed.” She indicated Papa standing to her side with the pistol. “I expect they’ll be nervous from this excitement. I do hope that my sleep will not be interrupted by the sound of gunfire, but they shall be encouraged to use the firearms should they suspect an intruder on the grounds of the big house.”

Rankin’s face darkened, but he said nothing as he turned back toward the quarters. To my surprise, Marshall ran to follow Rankin, but his mother called him back. For a moment it looked as though he was going to disobey, but when she called again, Marshall kicked the dirt and ran up toward the big house.

“I need to sit.” Miss Martha had suddenly lost all her color. Mama reached for her and supported her into the kitchen, where Uncle was helping Ben to his feet. Once free, Ben rushed out the door. Belle, leaning on the table, struck it over and over again with the flat of her hand. From outside, Papa called for Mama to come help with Jimmy. Uncle Jacob seated Miss Martha before he went to Belle.

“Belle,” he said, placing a hand on her arm and speaking firmly, “Jimmy out there needin’ help. Come now.”

“It’s fortunate that no one was hurt,” Miss Martha said.

Belle swung toward her, eyes blazing. Uncle stepped between them. “Miss Martha, we best get you back up to the big house. Mae and George take care of everythin’ down here. If the cap’n come home, he want you up there waitin’ for him. Come, I take you back.” He extended his elbow, and Miss Martha rose to take his
arm. Uncle signaled with his eyes for me to follow. I didn’t want to go; I was scared and I wanted to stay with Belle. I wondered where Ben was and if he was all right. I could not erase the look I had seen on his face when he lay bound, unable to help Belle.

In spite of my reluctance, I was obedient, but when our small party had almost reached the big house, we heard muffled crashes coming from behind us. It sounded as though pots were being hurtled against the kitchen house wall.

Belle

E
VERYBODY’S FULL OF NERVES.
E
VERY
day now we’re all waiting on the cap’n to get home. Since Rankin and the men showed up here in the kitchen house, Ben don’t come to see me no more. It’s better this way, but I think he stays away because he shamed hisself. The day Rankin was throwing me around, Ben run out of here stinking like a privy. It’s not his fault. After they take his ear, I know how scared he’s got to be. That day here in the kitchen house, there was nothing Ben could do, I know that. But he’s a man, and maybe he don’t see it that way.

Everybody’s stepping real careful. Rankin’s just looking for something to get ahold of.

Lavinia

A
WAGON PULLED UP THE DAY
before Christmas, and the mistress joyfully ran to the front door. Piles of gifts and a letter arrived, but the captain did not. Miss Martha went pale when she learned that he had not come, and Uncle Jacob quickly led her to a sofa in the parlor, where she sat in disbelief, clutching an unopened letter.

“He isn’t coming,” she said to herself. “Dear God, he isn’t coming.”

Mama rushed in.

“He isn’t coming, Mae.” Miss Martha looked at Mama as though she might say otherwise.

Mama looked as upset as Miss Martha. Finally, she said, “You best read that letter.”

“Yes.” Miss Martha looked down at it in her hands. “The letter.” She seemed to have forgotten that she was holding it.

Marshall appeared at the door. “Where’s Father?” He looked around the room expectantly.

“Give me a minute, Marshall,” his mother answered. “I’m reading his letter.” Her eyes skimmed the beginning paragraph. “He has sold the ship!” she cried. “But he cannot finish the business of it yet. He begs our forgiveness, but he won’t be home until spring.” She set the letter down in her lap.