The Kitchen House (34 page)

Marshall flung open the door with such force that, startled, we pulled apart. He looked at me strangely, then nodded at Sukey. “Who is that?” he asked.

“This is Sukey.” I stood and put my arm around her shoulders. “I’ve known her since she was a baby.”

“Lavinia,” said Marshall, “I’ve had enough. It has been a long trip. Could we finish our meal without further histrionics?”

I obediently released Sukey but whispered in her ear, “I’ll see you later,” before I followed Marshall into the dining room. There, my new husband and I finished our first meal at home in awkward silence.

I
DID NOT NEED
M
ARSHALL’S
encouragement to retire early. I was told that I would have the room opposite the nursery, what had been the tutor’s room. I remembered it as dark and fearsome, and though Mama knew my trepidation, she led me to it nonetheless. When she opened the door, I gasped in amazement at the change I saw before me.

A red and ivory toile covered the walls, while the two tall windows and the four-poster bed were curtained in ivory damask. Two small wingback chairs were upholstered in red silk and set invitingly in front of the fireplace. A small fire burned, and across the room, on a small writing desk, an oil lamp flickered, illuminating two of Meg’s botanical prints.

Mama looked at me hopefully. “It’s beautiful, Mama,” I said, determined to show my appreciation. But everything felt wrong. Since my arrival, I had felt an uneasiness taking over, and somehow, this room epitomized that disquiet. This did not feel like my
home. True, it was lovely, but it did not feel like the home I remembered, the one I had envisioned. My homecoming was nothing I had hoped for.

Mama smiled at me as if to ease her next words. “You don’t call me Mama no more. You best call me Mae. Masta Marshall say that what he want.” I frowned. Mama spoke softly. “This all gonna take some gettin’ used to, but you know we all standin’ by you.”

Fanny came to the door to ask for Mama’s help with Miss Martha. I wanted to go with them, but Mama told me no. “Tonight we take care of her,” she said. “You stay here.”

Fanny peeked in before she left. “Abinia, how you like your room? We all work to get it right for you.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful, Fanny,” I said as sincerely as I was able.

After she closed the door, I wandered the room, then settled on the edge of the bed. I stayed there for a long time until, overcome with loneliness, I crossed over to the window. My room was adjacent to Miss Martha’s rooms, and when I looked out on the familiar backyard, there was enough moonlight to see the kitchen house and the path that led to Mama and Papa’s cabin. I could make out the barns, and when I thought I saw smoke rising from a chimney down at the quarters, I breathed in deeply. “I’m home,” I whispered, hugging myself. “I’m home.”

L
ATER THAT NIGHT, AFTER
I was already in bed, Marshall came to my room. He had been drinking since supper, and it was easy to see that he had overindulged. He came into my room carrying a beaker half filled with brandy, and on his way to me, he stumbled and spilled a good portion of it on one of the red silk chairs. I would have rushed to clean it, but something told me it was better left alone.

I was tense, for we had not yet been intimate. I wondered if he was as virginal as I, but when he discarded his clothes and pulled me to him, I did not wonder further. The act was quick and rough, and he showed no tenderness, but after, when I pulled my gown down, he laid his head on my stomach and drunkenly pleaded for
my forgiveness. I fingered his curls and stroked his head, soothing him until he slept. I wanted desperately to ease away, to run down to the kitchen house to see Belle, but I did not. True, I feared to wake my husband, but there was another reason, one that had haunted me throughout this past year. I could not bear to see Will Stephens sharing Belle’s home.

I sat awake and watched the light from the fireplace die down. Engulfed in darkness, I admitted to myself that perhaps, in thinking this marriage would return me to my family, I had made a dreadful mistake.

W
HEN
I
AWOKE LATE THE
next morning, I saw that Marshall had left a note saying he and Will Stephens had gone out to survey the farm. He would be back to join me for a two o’clock dinner.

I dressed quickly and went directly to Miss Martha’s room. Mama met me in the blue room and fussed over me, telling me to go down to eat, or did I want a tray upstairs?

“Please stop, Mama,” I said. “Please don’t trouble yourself with me. You know I can take care of myself.”

“You call me Mae,” she said firmly.

I didn’t answer. “How is Miss Martha?” I asked.

“Come see for yourself,” Mama said.

Miss Martha was already seated in a chair with Sukey combing her hair. A breakfast tray was pushed to the side, and from all appearances, the patient had eaten a good breakfast.

“Isabelle,” Miss Martha said when she saw me, and I was delighted to see how alert and happy she appeared.

I went to her and gave her a hug. Then I put my arm around Sukey’s shoulders. “Hello, baby,” I said, and we laughed as we hugged. “Mama,” I asked, “can you spare us if we go down to the kitchen house for a while?”

Mama didn’t answer.

“Mama?” I asked again.

“Miss Abinia,” Mama said, “you call me Mae.”

I stood my ground. “No, Mama,” I said, “I won’t.” I had never defied her, and we both looked at each other in surprise.

Mama turned and walked out to the blue room; I followed, leaving Sukey and Miss Martha in the bedroom. “You call me Mae,” she said.

“No,” I said.

“Chil’, I raise you up, and I sayin’ that you gonna call me Mae!”

“No, Mama,” I pleaded.

Mama sat down on a wooden chair and waited awhile before she looked up at me. “Why you do this to me, chil’?” she asked.

“Because you are Mama.” I began to cry, the stress of the previous day and night fueling my tears. Mama stood, and I went to her open arms. “Nothing’s the same, Mama!” I cried. “Nothing’s the same!”

She pulled a rough handkerchief from her pocket and wiped my face. “This all gonna work out,” she said. “This need time, that’s all. You go on now. You take Sukey down to the kitchen, and I stay here. Somebody down there waitin’ on you.”

B
ELLE, COMING UP FROM THE
orchard, balanced a large basket of apples on her shoulder. A young boy of four or five circled her, tossing an apple in the air. I hesitated, then increased my pace. When Belle caught sight of me, she placed the basket on the ground, called my name, and ran to greet me. We embraced until Belle held me away to see how I had grown. Sukey brought the little boy to me.

“You knows Jamie?” she asked, pulling him forward.

“Why, yes, I certainly do.” I had known him only as a babe, but when I crouched down, I could scarcely believe what I saw. His sandy-colored hair had a soft curl, and his blue eyes looked out from a face that might have been Campbell’s. However, I immediately noted that his left eye was clouded over, and from the way he held his head to look at me, it was clear that his vision was impaired.

“Hello, Jamie.” I took his hand. “The last time I saw you, you were just a wee one.”

He pulled away from me and ran to Belle. She patted his head. “He never sees no lady before.” She sent him on ahead with Sukey, then put her arm through mine as we made our way toward the kitchen. There, Beattie was preparing dinner. She continued her work when we came in, but when I offered to help, she invited me to sit. Soon Fanny came from the big house, where Mama had relieved her of her duties so she could join our reunion. Sukey sat next to me, and I put my arm around her shoulder as she put hers around my waist. I felt a tenderness toward her that I might have felt toward my own child.

It wasn’t long before we all began to talk at once, and soon the kitchen rocked with our laughter. So there, in the kitchen house, I finally felt some of what I had been longing for. But it was short-lived.

Mama was short of breath when she appeared at the door. “Come.” She waved to us, looking back toward the barns. “They back, and Masta Marshall comin’ up soon.”

We could not miss the anxiety in her voice, and we all responded at once. Beattie and Belle went back to their work in the kitchen, while Fanny, Sukey, and I quickly followed Mama up to the big house.

Belle

W
HEN
L
AVINIA WAS A CHILD
, every time you turn around, she’s sick. Somebody looks at her the wrong way, her food comes up. Most of the time, Mama and me don’t think she’s gonna live to grow up. How this girl comes back looking good as she do, I don’t know. Now she’s taller than me. She stands straight up, and when she walks, she moves almost like her feet off the ground. Her bones still look like they’d break easy, but she’s filled out enough to look like a woman. Her hair’s dark, but it’s still red—no question about that. She talks like before, soft and quiet, but now she’s got a way of saying things that let you know she’s a lady. Mama says it’s hard to believe, but if you see her standing next to Miss Martha, except for the eyes, she looks just like her.

The first time I see Marshall, he’s going down to the barns, and I jump back so he don’t see me. Sukey and Jamie are playing outside, and Marshall walks right up to them. He don’t say nothing, just keeps looking at Jamie like he don’t believe what he sees. I know it’s like he’s looking back at hisself. I go out and call to Jamie to come to the kitchen house. Marshall looks up and watches Jamie run to me. My hands are shaking so bad they hardly work to close the door. Then I got to sit down. That’s how much that man scares me.

I know I’m going to Will’s farm, but until I get there, I sleep with one eye open and the kitchen knife under my bed. I know that Mama and Papa are wanting me and Ben to get out of here before something happens. Ben don’t think like Papa. Papa says
Ben got to know his place, but Ben says he knows his place all right, and it ain’t under no white man that don’t do right.

Marshall’s home for only a few days, but already he’s got everybody feeling skittery. It’s like you know a storm’s coming, and lighting’s bound to strike.

Lavinia

A
T DINNER ON OUR SECOND
day, I was alarmed at my husband’s bad temper. As Uncle quietly served the delicious meal that Belle and Beattie had prepared, I tried to eat. Finally, my stomach churning, I set down my cutlery and began to nervously smooth the heavy linen napkin that covered my lap as I listened with growing apprehension to the railings of my young husband. Will Stephens, he said, had made a mess of the plantation. Oh, Stephens was good enough with words, and he had fooled Uncle Madden in Williamsburg, but one only had to look for oneself to see how poorly the place had been run. Marshall interrupted himself only once. “Jacob,” he instructed, “bring us another bottle of wine.”

I saw a momentary look of surprise on Uncle Jacob’s face. I reached for Marshall’s hand. “Might that wait until tonight’s supper?” I asked, but when Marshall hastily withdrew his hand, I realized my mistake.

When Uncle left for the cellar, Marshall turned to me, his face set. “Don’t you ever speak over me again, Lavinia,” he said.

“Marshall, I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what you meant,” he interrupted, “you are my wife. You do not question me!”

I searched his furious face and found no opening for reason. When Uncle Jacob returned and began to pour the wine, Marshall insisted my glass be filled as well. He drank two glasses of wine in quick succession, then sat back and observed me after he had Uncle fill his glass a third time. Too anxious to introduce a new topic of discussion, I made an effort to resume eating. When my
cutlery accidentally scratched against the china, I glanced up in apology and was surprised to see that my husband’s mood had changed. He gave me a pleasant smile, raised his glass, and nodded for me to join him. “Let us drink a toast, Lavinia,” he said.