The Kitchen House (18 page)

T
HE SECOND WEEK OF
M
AY,
I was waiting at the front door with Miss Martha when the captain finally arrived. The reunited couple held each other for a long while before they went to the front parlor and closed the door behind them. The house pulsed with life as we all scurried to set the table for a late-afternoon dinner in the dining room.

When the captain and his wife emerged, Miss Martha’s face had a pink glow that set off her sparkling green eyes. Her mouth was red and full, and her hair, which had been pinned up, now was tousled down around her shoulders.

“Mae,” the Captain said to Mama, “you have given me back my girl.”

“She sure back to her old self,” Mama said, smiling.

The captain gazed down at his wife. “That she is.” Miss Martha blushed and leaned her face against his arm. “My bride is still shy,” the captain teased. He looked around. “And where are my sons? Where is Marshall? Where is Campbell?”

So connected was I to Campbell that when Dory handed him over to his father, I felt pride when the captain commented on his son’s healthy appearance. “Martha,” he said proudly, “you have given me another wonderful son.”

“Yes, yes.” Miss Martha motioned for Dory to take the baby away. “Come now, we must go in to eat while the food is hot.”

I disliked that Miss Martha wanted the captain’s attention for herself. I held Campbell for a long while that afternoon, trying to understand how she could care so little for this child whom I adored.

T
HE FOLLOWING WEEK
M
ARSHALL WAS
dispatched to Williamsburg: The captain sent him to stay with Miss Martha’s sister and her husband while he attended school. Marshall left alone in the carriage, and he did not turn back to wave.

At the finish of that green and shining May, another carriage arrived. This one was large and glossy black, a surprise for Miss Martha and purchased new for this very trip. When it left for Philadelphia, it carried away Miss Martha, the captain, Dory, and my darling baby Campbell. Sukey, eight months old, was left behind in our care. When Dory handed her baby over to Mama Mae, she cried so hard that I feared her heart would break. Belle hugged Dory. “You’re gonna be back in a few months,” she said. “We’ll all take care of Sukey, you know that.”

“Abinia.” Dory pulled away from Belle and took my shoulders. “You know what she like, what she want. You watch her for me.”

I nodded, but my throat hurt too much to speak.

“Tell Ida that she like to nurse before she play,” Dory instructed
me, “then after, you hold her. She know you. You play with her.”

I nodded again, wanting only to turn away from the pain on Dory’s face. As we watched them drive away, this time it was Dory, holding Campbell, who did not turn back to wave. Belle had her arm around my shoulders, and I hid my head against her as I began to wail at my loss.

I
DA, NURSING A CHILD OF
her own, came up from the quarters to feed her grandchild, Sukey. Screaming for most of the first day, Sukey wouldn’t nurse. Finally, to everyone’s great relief, she accepted Ida’s nourishment that evening. She nursed, stopped to cry, then suckled again. Later, Mama took her home but returned soon after with the crying child. I must have seemed the most familiar to the baby, for when Sukey saw me, she reached out her dimpled arms and clung to me.

It was decided that she would sleep next to me on my pallet, with Belle watching over us. When Sukey woke during the night, Belle lit a lamp and made her way through the darkness down to the springhouse. On her return, she warmed some of the milk she had fetched. We dipped a corner of a clean cloth into it, and although the baby fussed, she swallowed the warm liquid that dripped into her throat.

It took a full week before Sukey settled into a routine, accepting Ida’s breast morning and evening. Belle and I supplemented those feedings with cow’s milk. That first week I felt alternately flattered by the baby’s preference for me, then overwhelmed by the responsibility of it. I longed to be holding Campbell and could only hope that Dory was caring for him as I was caring for Sukey.

B
EFORE THE CAPTAIN’S DEPARTURE, HE
made a decision that affected everyone for the better. He employed Will Stephens, the young man who had stood back from the patrollers in Belle’s kitchen. I knew that Papa George and Mama Mae had met with the captain about hiring him.

A few nights before the departure, Belle, too, had a meeting
with the captain. I was not there, but the encounter had an unhappy effect on Belle. Even with the frantic preparations to send off the travelers, it was easy to see that Belle was upset.

After they left, she withdrew into herself until, after a few days of isolation, Mama came for an evening visit. Sukey and I were already in bed, but I was wide awake as I listened to the conversation.

Belle steered questions away from herself. She asked Mama, “So why did the cap’n hire Will Stephens?”

“He gonna work with Rankin, but he mostly here if we needin’ him up at the big house. He gonna write to the cap’n and tell him what happenin’ while the cap’n and Miss Martha away.” Mama forged ahead. “Belle, I’m wonderin’ what the cap’n say to you ’bout you leavin’?”

“Mama, he got a man for me to marry!” Belle began to cry. I felt better when her sobs became muffled because I knew then that Mama’s arms were around her.

“What he tell you ’bout him?” Mama said.

“He’s a free black man living in Philadelphia. He has his own business making shoes, and the cap’n says he’s gonna buy us a good house. He’s coming for me when the cap’n comes back.”

“We always know this day comin’, Belle,” Mama said.

Belle blew her nose. “Make sure Ben stays away, Mama. The cap’n said again that Rankin got the right to sell him off.”

“Papa makin’ sure to keep Ben away.”

“I don’t want to go, Mama,” she wailed.

“You got to do this, Belle. You gonna be free,” Mama said.

“The cap’n said that he sent my free papers at Christmas.”

“He send them?” Mama said. “Where they at?”

“I don’t know. He say he send them with Miss Martha’s packages.”

“Did you tell him that you don’t get them from her?”

“No, but they got to be up at the house.”

“Belle, you got to find those papers!”

“I know, Mama, but there’s somethin’ else.”

“What’s that?”

“I asked to take Fanny or Beattie, thinking they’d get their free papers, but he said no. I got to take Lavinia,” Belle said.

“He gonna let her go free?” Mama asked.

“That’s what he said,” Belle said.

“Well, then, that be that.”

I sat up, my heart pounding with this news. I didn’t want to leave. This was my home! When Sukey fussed, I lay back down and stroked her dimpled hand for comfort until I finally drifted off to sleep. But I woke again in the night, nauseated with fear. I had dreamed that I was riding away from the plantation in a large black carriage and that I was all alone, like Marshall.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
I
ASKED
Belle if I was going away with her. “I think so,” she said, “but we’re here now, so there’s no need to worry.” When I pressed for more information, she answered me sharply. “Look, Lavinia, I don’t want to talk about this no more. We’ll see what happens when the cap’n comes home.” I knew from her tone that Belle would not discuss it further, so I told her about the package that I had forgotten about—the one addressed to her, the one I had seen at Christmas. She and Mama had me show her the desk drawer that I thought Miss Martha had put it in, but it was not there. Together they searched the house for the papers, but they were nowhere to be found. The two finally gave up, knowing that on the captain’s return, the matter would be resolved.

With Will Stephens in place, life for us that summer was easy. If it hadn’t been for the knowledge that Belle and I were being sent away, it might have been the happiest of times.

Mama took the opportunity to teach the twins and me how to clean the big house. She showed us how to sprinkle fine sand on the yellow pine floors, then to sweep them clean with water. She instructed us on how to polish the furniture using linseed oil or beeswax, depending on the wood. Then came the day that Mama took us to clean out the nursery. Before he left, the captain had asked Mama to move Sally’s things to the attic and have the room
ready for Campbell on their return. After Mama opened the door to the children’s room, the twins and I entered, mouths agape. There were two beds, two chests of drawers, and more playthings than I ever could have imagined. A child’s table was draped with a small linen cloth and set with a miniature pink and white china tea set. A gray and white rocking horse stood at the ready, his black mane swept to one side, his dark eyes inviting us to ride. On one of the two child-size chairs, I recognized Sally’s porcelain doll. The room was filled with the little girl’s presence.

Mama nodded, giving us permission to examine the toys. We did not hesitate and soon were caught up in the excitement of touching so many treasures. I picked up a picture book and was delighted to find that I could read it. Fanny tried on a wide-brimmed straw hat that had been on one of the beds. Then she went to peer at herself in a small mirror that hung on the wall over a low dresser. Beattie reverently picked up the doll and held it in her lap while stroking its blond curls. We shared our finds until Mama, looking uneasy all the while, told us it was time to pack Sally’s things away. After Uncle Jacob carried the boxes away to store them on the third floor, there was an odd, empty feel to the room, and we were happy to leave.

In the following days, Mama had us help her clean out the blue room, too. I was not prepared for the feelings of melancholy when I was surrounded by Campbell’s things. I wondered how I could bear to be without him if I were to leave for Philadelphia.

We carried Campbell’s cradle and supplies to the nursery, but now that room seemed dark and overlarge for a baby. I couldn’t help feeling we should have left the room as it was, for with the removal of Miss Sally’s belongings, we seemed to have taken away what had been left of her pink light.

B
EN SURPRISED EVERYONE IN EARLY
June when he announced that he had jumped the broom with a girl from down in the quarters. She was a field worker, and her name was Lucy. Mama seemed hesitant to tell Belle of the union, and when she did, though Belle said
not a word, she could not keep the look of betrayal and hurt from her eyes.

The newly married couple spent the following nights in Ben’s sleeping quarters down by the barn, but the bride left early every morning at the sound of the horn to join the others from the quarters as they headed out for the fields. Rankin had agreed to the wedding, providing that Lucy remain a worker under him.

A
T THE END OF JUNE,
Will Stephens brought Belle the first letter from Philadelphia. He was a striking man with deep-set brown eyes, a firm jaw, and an easygoing smile. Of average height, he was strongly built and carried himself with assurance. He always took off his hat when he came indoors and had a habit of pushing back his thick brown hair before he spoke. Will’s directness was his greatest charm. He looked into your eyes, and when you looked back, you knew he was incapable of deceit. When Will brought that first letter, I heard him apologize to Belle for the episode in the spring when Rankin had ahold of her. Will said he had shamed himself by not stepping forward to help her, and he asked her forgiveness. Belle was shy with him but accepted his apology. He then asked if he should read the letter to her, though he did not seem surprised when Belle declined and instead presented her open hand. After he left, she sent me to the big house to get Mama. On our return, I held Sukey while we listened to Belle read the letter aloud.

It told of the travelers’ safe arrival and it carried alarming news as well. Miss Martha’s father was ill, but worse, it was feared that Philadelphia was in the midst of a yellow fever epidemic. The captain stated his desire to return home, but Miss Martha refused to leave her sick father. Another letter was promised within two weeks.

True to his word, two weeks later, we received further correspondence from the captain. Will Stephens came again to deliver the letter, and this time Belle invited him in. Ben happened to be replacing the iron crane in the kitchen fireplace, and when he
walked in and heard Belle cheerfully conversing with Will Stephens, he quickly rushed back out. I wondered why he looked so angry.

Again Belle waited to read the letter until Will Stephens left, then sent me in search of Mama. This time the news was grim. Miss Martha’s father had died. The captain was now ill, and although he was still able to dictate the letter, he was unable to travel. Miss Martha, Campbell, and Dory were all well—Mama gave a sigh of relief—but they were not likely to return in August, as scheduled.

At the end of July, Will Stephens came to the kitchen house, holding open a letter that had been addressed to him. Mama, seeing his solemn approach, ran up from the chicken coop.

“I have bad news,” he said, looking first to Belle, then to Mama. “I’m sorry to tell you… Dory has died from yellow fever.”

Mama sank to a chair, and Belle rushed to her side.

“I’ll get George,” Will Stephens said. After he left, the silence was so deep that I held my breath, fearing the least sound would catapult us into pain. My arms felt weak, and I slowly set Sukey on the floor. Used to attention, she pulled my skirt to her eyes and played peekaboo, breaking the silence with her laughter. Mama gave a low moan and pulled her apron up to her face, trying to hide her anguish. Sukey, thinking this part of a game, crawled over and pulled herself up to stand beside her grandmother’s knee. “Boo. Boo,” she said with an expectant smile.

When Mama lifted up her grandchild, Sukey laughed and threw her arms around her grandmother’s neck. When Mama Mae began to cry, we all began to cry.