The Kitchen House (19 page)

Belle

F
OR A COUPLE A DAYS
after we hear Dory’s gone, Mama don’t act like herself. She walks up to the big house, then she comes down again to the kitchen, forgetting why she’s going up there. She says, “Maybe Dory comin’ home… maybe they got it wrong… maybe when that carriage come back, Dory come runnin’ down to get her Sukey.”

Papa says Mama just needs some time. It’s hard on her, he says, not to see for herself, not to have Dory here to put down next to baby Henry. I know Dory’s gone. I feel it when I hold Sukey. Dory’s like my own sister. But I don’t show my feelings. I try to stay strong for Mama.

Sukey’s hanging on to Lavinia, who’s good with her, but I know that Lavinia’s waiting on Campbell. I don’t know why she cares for that baby like she do. I wonder what happens when we go to Philadelphia and she got to leave him behind.

Papa don’t look me in the eye when he sees me. I know he got Ben to jump the broom with Lucy. When I think of Benny’s lips on her, I want to stomp that girl’s head. She’s just some ugly thing up from the quarters! One night I go down to Ben’s place, just to know for sure. I hear them together, and they’re sounding like animals, but I stay to listen ’cause I can’t move, my feet won’t take me. My heart’s banging so hard I sit right down in the high grass, never mind the snakes. I stay till Benny’s snoring, then I go back to my house. I can’t see for crying. Next day Ben’s working here in my kitchen when Will Stephens comes with a letter. I talk to Will like he’s one fine man. Ben’s eyes are spittin’ fire when he runs out of here! Makes me feel good.

Everybody’s thinking that when I go to Philadelphia and get with the cap’n’s shoe man, then I’m gonna be happy. But I don’t want no ugly shoe man. I want my Benny. If they just put Lucy back in the quarters and give Benny to me, I won’t say a thing about it. I don’t sleep at night, thinking how to do Lucy.

Lavinia

T
HE LAST OF THE LEAVES
were falling the mid-November afternoon of 1793 when the black carriage rolled up the drive. The captain and his party had finally come home. Fanny and Beattie were in the big house with Mama and Uncle Jacob, preparing for the travelers’ arrival. While Sukey napped, I worked alongside Belle in the kitchen, where we were about to put the finishing touches on plum cakes. To make them, we had added currants and raisins to a pound cake recipe, then poured the batter into small tins. The little cakes were still warm from baking, and before Belle gave me one as a treat, she drizzled a white-sugar coating over the crusty top. When I heard the carriage roll up, I gulped down the cake in a few large bites as I ran for the big house. I was beside myself with excitement. Campbell was home!

Uncle Jacob and Mama were already at the carriage; Fanny and Beattie stood to their side, prepared to help. Miss Martha was the first to emerge. It was hard to believe the toll that the past difficult months had taken on her. Before, I had seen her ill, but this was different. Now her face was drawn and deeply lined, and she squinted into the light as she stepped heavily down from the carriage. Nothing, though, prepared me for the appearance of the emaciated, aged-looking man Uncle Jacob helped from the carriage. The captain had survived yellow fever but looked to have lost his very person. After the captain and the mistress were taken into the house, I waited alone with eager anticipation for Campbell and his nurse to appear. Finally, I could wait no longer and approached the carriage.

“Campbell,” I called softly, certain he would recognize my voice.

The interior of the carriage was surprisingly small and smelled horribly of sickness. After my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw it was empty. I raced in through the front door and caught the small party as they headed upstairs.

“Where’s Campbell?” I called after them.

Mama turned back and shook her head to silence me. “He with Dory,” she said.

I stood for a long moment, trying to take in the meaning of Mama’s words. Then I ran out again to look once more in the carriage. Stunned, I made my way down to the kitchen house. Belle had Sukey in her arms when she found me out beside the woodpile, where I was vomiting up the plum cake.

Belle’s eyes filled with compassion when I recovered enough to tell her about Campbell. Sukey put her arms out for me, and to my own shock, I hit at her. She was startled, for she had never been struck. Confused, she began to scream for me, wanting me to hold her. I couldn’t bear her tears and reached for her through my despair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I cried, taking her in my arms. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Belle held my chin and turned my face to hers. “Don’t you go blaming yourself,” she said. “You had nothing to do with that baby dying.”

With Sukey’s arms clinging tight round my neck, I wept. Through the next weeks, it was her need for me that brought me back.

F
ANNY, AS IT TURNED OUT,
became the captain’s favorite nurse. He was drawn to her quick ways, and when she expressed her observations coupled with her wit, she frequently coaxed from him a smile and even, on occasion, a chuckle. The doctor came often to bleed his patient, but after he left, the captain appeared more lethargic than before. Mama observed this for a few weeks until she finally convinced the captain to refuse the doctor his bloodletting treatments. After the captain agreed, she worked hard to stimulate his appetite. In the morning before the sun rose, Mama went out
with one of the twins, and while they held the lantern, she killed a chicken. Then she brought it to the kitchen, cleaned the bird, and simmered it with a large handful of fresh green parsley from the garden, cloves of garlic, onion, and a generous amount of salt. Throughout the day Fanny spoon-fed him the broth. Chamomile tea was another of the liquids that Mama had the captain drink, and in the evenings she gave him a glass of sweetened and watered-down wine to help him rest. After a few days he was asking for bits of chicken, but Mama refused him. Instead, she mashed and stirred cooked carrots into the broth and promised that soon he could have the chicken. When that day came, Fanny carried back his empty bowl, as proud as if she had eaten it herself, and Mama breathed a deep sigh of relief. “He comin’ back,” she said.

Uncle Jacob did not leave the captain’s side but slept on a floor pallet at night. It was through his intervention that Belle was able to visit with her father when the mistress was asleep in her own bedroom.

On her first visit, the captain told Belle that her young man from Philadelphia would not be coming for her after all. He told her how, on their arrival, yellow fever was just beginning to take hold, and when the disease was later determined to be contagious, thousands of terrified citizens fled. Over that summer, even the president, George Washington, left the city, and the government was shut down. The captain spoke of Miss Martha’s struggle, how she nursed first her father, then Dory, and finally, himself. He failed to mention Campbell, and when Belle asked about him, the captain hesitated but then seemed relieved to confide in someone.

“After Dory died,” he said, “Martha was overcome with fear, certain I would die, too. I was too ill to help, but I knew that Martha wasn’t herself. The baby cried for days. One morning when I no longer heard his cry, I insisted that she bring him to me. But he was already gone.” He took a deep breath. “Thank God, help arrived. Your young man was one in a community of free black people who helped us. At first it was thought that Negroes
couldn’t contract yellow fever, but after Dory died, we knew otherwise. There was little food, and farmers wouldn’t come into the city markets, but when your young man came, he brought us food and took away… He proved again and again to be the man I thought he was. He would have been a good husband, Belle. I would have been proud to have you marry him. But he, too, died of the disease…” The captain’s voice shook. “We visited hell, and now I fear for Martha.”

As did everyone. Her behavior had no meaning. She wandered from room to room, moving furniture and household articles from place to place. Mama took me to her, thinking I might bring her what I once had, but the vacant look in her eyes frightened me, and she did not react to me as Mama had hoped. Once again the doctor made his appearance and prescribed doses of laudanum. If the truth be told, we were all relieved to see her take the medication that helped her to sleep.

I
N THE FOLLOWING DAYS, BELLE,
believing that she might now remain here, was almost giddy with relief. Taking her lead, I, too, began to hope again that my future here was secure. I did, however, intend to go to Philadelphia when I was older. My child’s heart would not accept the loss of Campbell; I convinced myself that a mistake had been made. Certain that he was alive and being cared for by loving people, I resolved one day to find him. I had never forgotten my brother and now decided that when I was old enough, I would be reunited with both Cardigan and Campbell.

Sukey’s need no doubt saved me. She continued to share my pallet; hers was the first face I saw in the morning and the last I saw before I slept. She relied on me more than ever, and her first spoken word was Binny, her version of my name. I slept at night with Sukey clutched next to me, determined never to lose her.

M
AMA SENT
B
EATTIE FOR ME
the cold December morning of hog-killing day. The squeal of the dying pigs had affected Miss Martha in a way that had her asking for Isabelle. Beattie and Sukey came
with me and stayed behind in the blue room while I went in to see the mistress. When I entered the bedroom, Miss Martha appeared more lucid than before but, on seeing me, insisted that I bring the baby to her. I was at a loss until I heard Sukey’s giggle from the blue room. I had a sudden thought and looked to Mama. She read my intention and nodded, so I left and returned with Sukey. Miss Martha reached for the baby as though she were the very babe she’d asked for. Sukey, an outgoing child, was unafraid and readily went into the arms of the lost woman. The child sat back on the bed to study the surroundings, and when Miss Martha tickled her tummy, she giggled and clasped her fat little hands over Miss Martha’s. When Sukey caught sight of the Williamsburg moppet poised on the dresser next to the bed, Miss Martha had me get it for her. Sukey took the doll and inspected it carefully, gingerly fingering its finery. That day Miss Martha watched the baby play with the doll until they both fell asleep.

Following that visit, Miss Martha asked for the baby almost daily. When Sukey came, anticipating play with the beloved moppet, Miss Martha held open her arms and was always satisfied when Sukey willingly obliged her.

T
HERE WAS INCREASING DISCORD DOWN
in the quarters. With the captain home, Will Stephens had returned to his father’s farm. Rankin, puffed up with power, was back in control. According to Ida, Rankin used her son to vent his frustrations, and Jimmy, fueled by his loss of Dory, threatened to fight back. Ida feared for his life, and in desperation, she asked Papa George to appeal to the captain.

Beattie and I were polishing the furniture on the upstairs landing when Papa George entered the captain’s bedroom. He left the door ajar, so when Rankin followed soon after, we saw him listen, unnoticed, outside the bedroom door. When Papa made his case for Jimmy, the captain refused him. Rankin, Papa was reminded, had been on the plantation for the past five years, and although the captain knew that he was a tough taskmaster, the plantation was
doing well. The captain said that until he was in better health, he must support Rankin in his decisions.

When Papa emerged, he looked startled to find Rankin in the hallway. Rankin, unseen by the captain, stretched his foot across the doorway, forcing Papa to step over it. I wondered why Papa didn’t pick up the smaller man and heave him to the side; instead, Papa nodded to him. I noted, though, Papa’s stiff gait and how he clenched his fists as he walked away.

A
T
C
HRISTMAS THE CAPTAIN, STILL
not strong enough to go down to the quarters for the celebration, sent Papa and Ben with a barrel of apples, three large hams, and four jugs of brandy. We learned later through Ida that Rankin had sold two of the hams and kept two of the jugs of brandy for himself. There was growing discontent among the workers, as Rankin was again taking half the daily food rations and trading the corn and fatback for liquor for himself. The people were hungry, she said.

Ben confirmed the grim conditions in the quarters. Although he was able to provide food for Lucy, he wasn’t able to keep her from the hard labor in the fields.

New sections of land were being cleared for tobacco growing, and the women as well as the men took part in the demanding physical labor. Rankin was becoming increasingly bold and dangerous, and no one dared speak up.

Ben had distanced himself from his family and most especially from Belle. At night he took his food from Mama’s house and ate alone, or he waited in his shed for Lucy to come back up from the quarters.