The Kitchen House (37 page)

On the very first day, Miss Martha sensed Jamie’s presence in her outer room. In the weeks before, Mama and I had decided to lessen her laudanum dosage. As a result, though there was an emerging clarity and our patient had become physically stronger, she also was more restless and more easily agitated. That morning, before either Sukey or I could anticipate her move, Miss Martha rose from her chair and walked to the blue room. She stopped when she saw Jamie, then approached him slowly. She stared down at the child, who looked as though he might have been one of her own, then bent to his level.

“I want my mama,” he pleaded.

“Yes,” she said, and he went into her open arms.

O
VER THE NEXT FEW DAYS
, as Miss Martha spent hours distracting the boy, it was remarkable how her agitation eased. We brought many of the old nursery toys down from the attic, and while she rested on
her bed, my mother-in-law encouraged Jamie to bring the toy soldiers and play alongside her. As she had with Sukey, Miss Martha read to him, and it did not upset him that she often repeated the same lines over and over. Clearly, he felt safe with her, and through mutual need, they clung to each other. By the late fall, the two had become so close that Miss Martha had a small bed brought from the nursery, and Jamie began to spend his nights in the blue room.

Mama was uncomfortable with the relationship but relieved that Jamie had begun to eat and sleep once again. He no longer begged to see his mother and appeared to accept Miss Martha as a substitute; perhaps she quieted the anguish of what he perceived as Belle’s abandonment. As well, Miss Martha was more coherent and content than ever.

Sukey and I understood their attachment easier than did the others. I cared for Sukey as deeply as I might my own child, and I knew that she reciprocated my feelings.

I
WAS RESTING ON MY
bed the day Marshall made an unexpected visit to his mother’s room. To this day I do not know why he came. Perhaps he was on his way to see me and saw something that drew him toward his mother’s bedroom. I heard his voice and quickly made my way to Miss Martha’s room. I met a frightened Sukey in the blue room and sent her to the kitchen house for Mama.

“What is this new madness?” Marshall stared at Jamie asleep on the bed next to his mother.

“Shh,” Miss Martha said.

Marshall stepped forward as though to take the child from her. Jamie woke and grasped Miss Martha.

“Sir!” she said. “Leave us!”

“Mother,” Marshall shouted, “that’s a nigra’s boy.”

“He is mine!” she said.

I rushed to Marshall’s side and touched his arm. “Let her be, Marshall, please don’t upset her.”

He swung toward me, his arm raised, and I pulled back in fear. “Marshall!” I cried.

He stopped and looked around as though disbelieving of the scene. When he rushed from the room, I followed him, but he refused to answer my call. That night he did not come back to the house for supper.

I
WAS A FEW MONTHS
along and now certain that I was to have a child. Marshall was still upset at dinner the next day, but before he could begin a tirade, I informed him of my pregnancy. His reaction was immediate. At once he became tender toward me. Was there something I needed? Could he send to Williamsburg for anything? I had not anticipated this response, and to my great relief, we finished the meal peacefully, discussing plans for the child. How grateful I was that with the news of my pregnancy, Marshall appeared to have forgotten about Jamie and Miss Martha.

Following my announcement—and I must admit to no regret on my part—Marshall no longer came to my room for marital intimacy.

T
HEN CAME A SHIFT WITHIN
the household. The very air was charged. Something had happened that I did not understand. All of my family had become more reserved, more withdrawn. Mama Mae was the most changed. She was distracted and easily upset. She didn’t speak her mind as openly as she once had, though she did say that she felt Jamie should be immediately taken from Miss Martha. Foolishly, I did not listen to her but insisted that the two be allowed the comfort they found in each other. Mama gave in, and I tried to please her in other ways.

Beattie stopped coming up from the kitchen. When I asked for her, Mama made the repeated excuse that she was too busy. Sukey alone remained unchanged, and I clung to her. I used my pregnancy as an excuse to have her with me, and soon had the other nursery bed moved into a corner of my bedroom for her. Fanny was more distant than ever, so when I heard she wanted permission to jump the broom with Eddy, Ida’s son from the quarters, I was anxious to help. To please me, Marshall agreed to Fanny’s wedding
and a celebration. The ceremony was scheduled for Christmas Day, and I took great pleasure in planning the event.

As my girth grew, so did Marshall’s tenderness. To my relief, he did not mention Jamie to me again; nor did he make another visit to see his mother. Although he continued with heavy drink, his bad behavior around me lessened, and our afternoon meals were taken in a more peaceful atmosphere. I grew hopeful that perhaps all was not lost, and I began to wonder if our baby might be the salve for our ailing marriage.

But I was wrong. Insulated as I was, I was spared from learning what I would have been helpless to stop.

As I said, the air crackled of it, but I did not understand.

T
HE DAY BEFORE
C
HRISTMAS, LONELY
and wanting to see Beattie, I decided that I could justify a visit down to the kitchen. If questioned, I would tell Marshall the truth: I needed to know if Beattie required extra help with food preparation for Fanny’s wedding feast.

Papa was at the back of the kitchen house chopping wood, and I was so happy to see him that I dared stop for a minute to tease. The stack of wood was so high that I asked him what he planned to do with all that fuel. He brought down the ax and shattered the log, then brushed the back of his hand over his eyes before he looked at me. I could not mistake the fact that he had been crying.

“Papa,” I said, “what is it?”

“Nothin’, chil’.” He set up another log. “I workin’ hard and the water come in my eyes.”

Unsure what to say, I reached out to touch his arm. “Papa?”

“Abinia,” he said, looking around, “you best get back up to the big house.”

Hurt but determined to have my way, I continued on to the door of the kitchen house. The pleasant aroma of pies and spices belied the heavy atmosphere in the warm room. I walked in to hear Beattie in conversation with Mama.

“Don’t cry, Mama.” Beattie stood with her arm around her
mother’s shoulder. “I don’t fight no more, so he stop hittin’ on me. It not so bad. Come on, Mama, stop this cryin’.”

“Who is hitting you?” I spoke louder than I had intended, startling both women. Mama dried her eyes while Beattie turned to the fireplace.

“Nobody,” Beattie answered, her back to me. “Nobody hittin’ on me.”

“But I heard you say—”

Mama interrupted me. “Miss Abinia, like Beattie say, everythin’ all right. Besides, what you doin’ down here?”

“I came to offer my help,” I said defensively.

“You know that Masta Marshall don’t want you in this house,” Mama said. “Now, you best get back up there.”

Her words stung me so that I left for the big house, passing Papa, who continued to pound his ax into the wood.

I went straight to Miss Martha’s room, where Uncle had a strong fire going and where Sukey and Jamie asked me to join their game of cards. I thanked them, declined, and sat back to watch. But my thoughts were not with them. Was it possible that Rankin could be hurting Beattie; worse, if he was, what could I do about it? I thought to appeal to Marshall, but something warned me not to go in that direction.

F
ANNY’S WEDDING WAS A BIG
event. In the early evening, a bonfire was built in the kitchen yard, and a feast was set out on long wooden tables. As I was in the last month of confinement, it was not considered appropriate that I show myself, so I was not there when Marshall conducted the short ceremony. Later, though, I decided that I had had enough seclusion, and I took it upon myself to go down and watch the festivities from a sheltered spot in the trees.

I had not expected to see Ben and Lucy up for the evening from Will’s farm. When they caught sight of me, they came over.

“When you gonna have that baby?” Lucy asked shyly.

“One more month,” I said.

“Lil Birdie, havin’ a baby.” Ben shook his head as though disbelieving.

I felt warm when he used my pet name. “Not so little.” I patted my stomach, and Ben looked embarrassed. “How is Belle?” I asked, to ease Ben’s discomfort.

“She missin’ her boy,” Ben said, “and I know she missin’ the family, but Masta Will, he good to her.”

“Belle have her own fine house just like this one,” Lucy said, pointing. When we all looked to the kitchen house, we saw Beattie rushing about and Lucy decided to go offer her help. Ben remained at my side.

“Isn’t Will’s big house finished yet?” I asked.

“It done enough that he livin’ in it,” Ben said.

In spite of myself, my voice turned cold. “Isn’t Belle living up there with him yet?”

Ben’s eyes opened wide. “Abinia. What you sayin’?”

My head felt light with anger. “Well, they might as well live in the same house. Everyone knows they have their son …”

Ben looked around uneasily. “Will Stephens not the daddy of that boy, Abinia,” he said quietly. “Sure you knows that.” I must have swayed; Ben sat me on a large rock. “I get Mama for you,” he said.

“No, Ben, don’t go,” I protested, but he rushed off, and soon Mama hurried over.

“Come, chil’, you best come up to the big house with me. Masta Marshall thinkin’ that you up there.”

But I grew stubborn. “No one can see me,” I assured Mama, and told her that I would soon go back up to rest. First, I said, I wanted to watch some dancing; I needed to see some fun.

“Masta Marshall not like this.”

“He doesn’t need to know,” I said.

Mama looked uncertainly back toward the kitchen house. “I gonna help Beattie with the food, but I come back to get you,” she said before she hurried away.

As the music played and I watched everyone dance, my mind
kept returning to Ben’s words. Nothing made sense. Was it possible that Will was not Jamie’s father? If so, then who was?

Ida came into the shadows where I sat, and I knew that Mama had sent her. “Ida!” I said with happy surprise. I had not seen her since before my years in Williamsburg.

She smiled warmly. “They sayin’ that you the one that get this weddin’ for Fanny and my boy, Eddy.”

I made room for her to sit beside me on the large flat rock. I was shocked at how she had aged since I had last seen her. Her hair was now white, and her shoulders were stooped. When she reached over to pat my protruding stomach, I caught her twisted brown hand in mine.

“Ida,” I whispered, “you must tell me something.”

She looked at me with concern.

“Ida. Who is the father of Belle’s child? Who is Jamie’s father?”

When Ida looked away, I saw that she was checking the proximity of others, and I knew that she would tell the truth. She spoke low, close to my ear. “It Masta Marshall. I know this ’cause at that time Rankin still usin’ me to make babies and he tell me. But you don’t say nothin’. They kill me, they find out I say somethin’.”

Ida said nothing further. We sat without words while I tried to absorb this sickening news. Marshall with Belle! How could that be? I had thought that he hated Belle. Then it struck me how alike Jamie was to Marshall in appearance. How could I have missed something so obvious?

Our attention was drawn back to the bonfire by the loud shouts and clapping as Mama Mae and Papa George were singled out for a dance. Off to the side, Rankin slumped against a tree, a bottle of brandy in his hand. My eyes traveled, and as I took in the kitchen house, I saw Beattie emerge and wipe her forehead with her apron. Seeing her, I was reminded of our friendship and of the trust I had in her. I needed to speak to someone of this bitter news and knew that I could take Beattie into my confidence. I was about to turn back to Ida to ask if she might bring Beattie to me when I saw Marshall emerge from the shadows of the kitchen house. He came
to the kitchen door, and in disbelief, I watched him greet Beattie. Her smile was hesitant, but she quickly gave him her hand as they went into the kitchen together and Marshall closed the door behind them. I could not miss the meaning.

Ida saw what I saw, but we did not exchange words. When I struggled to my feet, Ida rose, too. She walked alongside me as I made my way up the hill to the big house; she came up the stairs with me and helped me into my nightclothes, then assisted me into bed. I was grateful that she, having lived through her own unspeakable tragedies, knew that words were unnecessary.

Belle

W
HEN
P
APA COMES TO TELL
me that Jamie’s staying up with Miss Martha at the big house, I start carrying on so bad that Ben goes for Lucy. Every day I’m thinking that I’ll get my boy back. Now I just know I’ll never see him again.