Undaunted Love (19 page)

Chapter Thirty-Five

September 5, 1865

L
IVVIE WAS SITTING IN THE Kinney parlor with her sister, the baby on her lap and Sarah at her feet playing with a rag doll. Madeline came in with a tray laden with a teapot, cream and sugar, china cups on saucers, and a plate of lemon cookies. She set it down on the table and handed Sarah a cookie, then poured the tea.

“At least, with Daddy gone all the time, Wyman isn’t there.” Madeline shuddered, remembering what her husband had told her about Wyman Phelps. “He hasn’t hurt you again, has he?”

Livvie shook her head. Wyman Phelps was the least of her problems now. “I got a letter from Rafe. He’d had a boy on the farm where he’s working write it for him, so no one would see his handwriting. Not that anyone noticed all those letters he wrote me during the War. He’s in Georgia. Or leastwise, he was. He didn’t know how long he’d be stayin’.” She bounced the baby on her knee, smiling when she squealed with delight. “I’ve been writing him letters, even though I don’t know where to send them. I guess I’ve been writin’ him letters so long, I don’t know how to stop.”

“He didn’t kill that man… They’ll figure that out eventually, Liv, and he can come back.” Madeline set her tea on the table next to the chair.

“Eventually,” Livvie said sadly. “I know God will make the truth plain. But in the meantime…” She looked at Madeline. “After all this time, I’m finally gonna have a baby, Mad.”

Madeline clattered her cup on the saucer, gaping. “Now? Oh Livvie! I’m sorry!” She seemed to realize what she was saying, put her cup down, and went over to her sister, joining Sarah at her feet. “That’s not what I mean. I know you wanted Rafe’s baby, but with this mess…” She didn’t know what to say.

“I know,” Livvie said sadly. “I wrote a letter and told him, a’course, but I fear he won’t know. And what can I tell Daddy now? You and I know Rafe didn’t kill anybody, but Daddy wants to believe it’s true. He’s been eggin’ Sheriff Gingras on. If I tell him I’m married to a man he believes is a murderer… I don’t know what he’ll do.”

“You can come live with me until the baby comes. Daddy doesn’t have to know.”

Livvie laughed. “Daddy knows everything. He makes it his business to know. Besides, Mama’s so sick now. I can’t leave her there alone.”

Madeline hugged Sarah to her, and tickled baby Rebecca’s belly. “You won’t show for awhile yet. Sad to say it, but Mama isn’t gonna linger, we both know that. You’ll have to quit the school, give them time to find someone else, but I’ll write to Daddy and tell him I must have your help, ‘cause I’m gonna have another baby and am sick.”

“You are?” Livvie said, eyes wide.

Madeline laughed. “No, but I’ll pretend to be the pregnant one. If a rumor gets back to Daddy we’ll just say it was mistaking you for me. We’ll both just have to stay here at the house. Gardner will help, maybe go visit Daddy so he doesn’t think we’re all avoidin’ him. And then, if Rafe is still gone when the baby’s born, well, we’ll just say I’m still unwell, and you’ll stay. When Rafe gets back, we’ll straighten it all out.”

Livvie smiled. The plan was doomed to fail, she knew, but it was better than anything she’d come up with during the three weeks of sleepless nights since she’d realized she was with child. Rafe’s child. She smiled at the thought, her hand straying to her still flat belly.

Rafe had Lucias write another letter to Livvie, telling her that he was well and working, although he would likely head south again once he’d saved up a bit more. Truth be told, he needed to get stronger, too, but he didn’t want to worry her. The War, his circumstances, the false murder charge, leaving her, and making his way south on foot had all taken their toll, and he was exhausted, physically, mentally and spiritually. He was mad at God for letting all this happen. He’d done his duty, he’d fought honorably, he’d taken care of his family as best he could, and all he’d wanted was to go home and live with his wife. Make a life, start over, have children…

Shaking his head, he realized that twelve year old Lucias was waiting for more words. He smiled. “Sorry, I got cobwebs in my head today. Where was I?”

“You said, ‘I’m still working on the farm. We got the barn raised, and are preparing for the cotton harvest. After that, I’ll take my wages and head south.’ Will you really go, Rafe?” The boy looked at him anxiously. His father was the only man left who could work in the Simpson family. His grandfather had suffered a broken leg from an artillery ball, and his right leg now ended just above the knee. He’d also suffered a head injury, and was only a shadow of the man who’d left Sea Island in late 1862.

“I reckon I got to, Lucias,” Rafe said. “This land is your family’s. Somewhere out there, I want some land of my own, to bring my wife to.”

“Is Livvie pretty?” the boy asked.

Rafe grinned. “She’s the most beautiful gal in South Carolina. She’s got long chestnut hair that smells like roses, and big brown eyes that crinkle in the corners when she smiles. And when she looks at me, I feel all the love in her heart blowin’ against me like a soft summer breeze.”

“So why’s she still in South Carolina, then?”

Shrugging, he said, “Some things happened, and a carpetbagger took my house. It was better for Liv to stay with her family while I tried to get settled.” He knew it was an inadequate explanation, but hoped it would suffice for a twelve year old. He’d said much the same thing to Mrs. Simpkins upon arriving at the farm, and he could tell by the look in her still-sharp eyes that she didn’t believe him. But she’d let him stay, given him a place to sleep in one of the empty slave cottages, and kept him fed and clothed as they worked toward harvest.

“Okay, so say, ‘I hope you are well. I think of you every day, and pray that God will bring us together soon. Please give my love to Nackie and Mama, and take good care. I love you, Liv. Rafe.’ Got that?”

The boy had his tongue out to one side, squinting as he worked at the letters. He wrote Rafe’s name with a flourish and thumped the pen down on the paper when he was done. Rafe folded it up, put it in the envelope, sealed it, and handed it back to Lucias. “Olivia Byrd, Byrd’s Creek, South Carolina.”

In painstakingly neat writing, the boy spelled it out. When he was done, Rafe said, “Can you take it into town?”

Nodding, Lucias took off running. Rafe shook his head. That boy had unending energy. He put his hat on, left his small quarters, and made his way back out to the field. The weeds were particularly bad this year, with the hurricane having dumped so much water on the land throughout the Georgia coast. It was a never ending task that bent his back and tore at his hands. But there was only Robert, the son-in-law, seven of the older slaves who’d stayed with the family after they were freed, and Rafe. And fifty acres.

Chapter Thirty-Six

September 30, 1865

L
IVVIE SAT ON THE SIDE of her mother’s bed, holding her hand. Clara lay propped up by pillows, but her breathing was ragged and gasping, her face was grey, and her lips and nails had a blueish tint. Hugh Byrd was in Aiken drumming up support for his run for Senate. Madeline should be on her way, but Livvie didn’t expect her til at least noon. Which might prove too late.

Clara’s eyelids slowly opened, and she took a moment to focus on her daughter. Livvie smiled at her and squeezed her hand.

“Liv?” her mother said.

“Yes, Mama. I’m here.” She could feel a weak squeeze as Clara acknowledged her.

“Daddy?” Clara asked. She had been in and out of consciousness for several days.

Livvie shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mama. He’s not back. I sent a telegram yesterday, but he’s travelin’ around some.”

Her mother smiled wanly. “That’s all right, honey. It’s ever been that way with your Daddy. Always a new plan, a new scheme…” She started coughing, and Livvie helped her sit up straighter in an effort to open up her lungs. When the spell ended, she gently laid her back on the pillows. “Listen, Liv…” her mother began, but Livvie interrupted.

“No, Mama, don’t talk. It’s too hard. You just rest now. Emmy’ll be bringing some hot tea and your tonic up in a little bit. That’ll be nice, won’t it?” she asked anxiously.

Her mother squeezed her hand more tightly than Livvie thought she could. “You listen, child!” she said urgently. “Don’t you marry that Wyman Phelps, you hear me?”

Livvie stared at her, shocked. “No, Mama, I won’t.”

“Your daddy, he doesn’t see people. He sees land, money, status. Not people. He doesn’t see the kind of person Wyman is, but I do. He’s selfish, mean… He’ll hurt you if he gets a chance.”

Flashing back to the night in the parlor, Livvie just nodded. Her mother continued, “You’ll meet a nice young man, someone who will love you and treat you nicely. You’ll see. Maybe not in Byrd’s Creek, but Charleston or Savannah. He’s out there for you, Liv. God prepared him for you even before you were born. I promise you…” Clara closed her eyes and struggled to breathe. This long speech had taken most of her remaining strength.

Livvie stroked her hand, tears running down her face. “I know, Mama.” They sat there for a long time, and Clara opened her eyes, smiling at Livvie. Livvie took a deep breath. “Mama?”

“I’m still here, darlin’,” Clara answered softly.

“I… I got married. Four years ago, to Rafe Colton. And, and Mama, we’re gonna have a baby.” She realized as she said these words how much she’d longed to share her marriage, and now her pregnancy, with her mother. Without Hugh Byrd, she would have, but she knew that, while her mother loved her with all her heart, she was first and foremost a dutiful wife, and she wouldn’t have been able to keep the secret from her husband, nor celebrated with her.

Clara stared at her, astonished, but then her pale lips formed a big smile. She tried to laugh, but was seized by a fit of coughing. Livvie helped her again, wiping spittle from her chin as she helped her get comfortable again.

“Rafe Colton. He was always such a handsome, polite boy. And his mama and daddy were so happy before his daddy took sick.” She frowned. “I was furious with your daddy when he took Mariah’s land. We quarreled…” She coughed once, and then it eased. “Does he love you, Liv?” she asked.

Smiling, Livvie answered, “Yes’m. He’s good and kind and brave. And I love him, more than anything.”

Clara closed her eyes but nodded. “Then you don’t listen to what anybody says. You listen to what God put in your heart.”

“I will, Mama,” Livvie promised.

After a moment, Liv realized that her mother had fallen asleep. She brushed back her brown and grey hair, and settled the white sheet and multicolored quilt around her to keep her warm. She sat with her for another quarter hour, and then left to find Emmy and tell her to delay the tea.

Madeline arrived at half past noon, flustered and upset. “I’m sorry it took so long. I had to take the children to Mrs. Kinney, because all the negroes were in the field with Gardner. We only have eight now, workin’ for wages, so Chloe has to go into the fields sometimes, like for harvestin’. Is she all right?” She looked up the stairs, then back at her sister. From the sad set of her face, Madeline knew.

“Is she gone?” she asked in a whisper.

“Not yet, leastwise, not a few minutes ago. But it won’t be long. She can’t breathe, and she’s got no strength left. You go on and see her, spend this time, Mad. I’ve said goodbye.” Her sister nodded and headed for the stairs.

A half hour later Madeline found Livvie and Emmy sitting at the kitchen table, holding cold cups of tea. They hadn’t spoken in ten minutes, both waiting for news that it was over, that the sweet, generous Clara Byrd had gone to be with her Maker.

“It’s over,” Madeline said, sitting down. She dabbed her eyes with a crumpled handkerchief. “She was peaceful, smilin’, excited to see Jesus.” She smiled a brief smile. “She asked me to sing for her, so I sang a new song we learned at church, ‘Shall We Gather at the River.’ She seemed to like it, to take strength from it.” She exhaled deeply.

“How’s it go, Miss Madeline?” Emmy asked through tears.

Straightening a little, fighting back tears of her own, Madeline sang,

“Shall we gather at the river,

where bright angel feet have trod,

with its crystal tide forever flowing by throne of God?

Yes, we’ll gather at the river,

the beautiful, the beautiful river;

gather with the saints at the river

that flows by the throne of God…”

She paused, and Livvie didn’t think she’d go on. After a deep breath, she continued,

“On the margin of the river,

washing up its silver spray,

we will talk and worship ever,

all the happy golden day.”

She broke down and put her head in her hands, weeping.

“That’s beautiful, Mad,” Livvie said, putting her arm around her sister. “Truly.”

“The last verse,” Madeline finally said. “It was right after the last verse. Mama smiled wide and her cheeks got pink, and then she just closed her eyes and… and passed.”

“What does it say?” Livvie asked quietly.

Madeline sung softly,

“Soon we’ll reach the silver river,

soon our pilgrimage will cease;

soon our happy hearts will quiver

with the melody of peace.”

She looked at Livvie. “She knew then, didn’t she?”

Emmy and Livvie both nodded. “She knew, and she was ready, Miz Madeline,” Emmy said, getting up and taking the tea cups. She put on the kettle and set about making new tea, putting crisp ginger cookies on a plate, and refreshing the sugar. The sisters were quiet until she had put everything back on the table and they had helped themselves.

“I told Mama about Rafe, and the baby,” Livvie said, looking into her own cup at her reflection.

“Did you?” Madeline exclaimed. “What did she say?”

“She was glad. She was warning me not to marry Wyman, no matter what Daddy said, and I told her I wouldn’t, and that I’d already found the man God had prepared for me.” She smiled at the memory. “She told me to listen to my heart.”

Emmy chuckled. “That’s yo mama for you, that’s for sure. She knew what she knew about the Almighty, and she never let nobody tell her no different.”

“I’m glad she knew before she passed, Liv,” Madeline said. “I know it made her happy.”

Livvie nodded and bit into a cookie, enjoying the spiciness of it. She chewed thoughtfully and then said, “I feel like I’m free. I can go to your house now, Mad, and have the baby, and I never have to come back. Mama’s gone now.” She looked at Emmy. “Except for you, Emmy. I don’t want to leave you!”

The old woman waved a tea cloth at her. “Don’t pay me no mind, Miz Livvie. I been with yo daddy his entire life, and I ‘spect I’ll be here for the rest a’mine. He gonna need someone to take care a’his house, and tend to him when he’s here all alone. I was born out back in that cottage out there, and I cain’t see dyin’ nowhere else. You go on, live this life, love that husband a’yours, and that baby what’s comin’.”

Smiling, Livvie reached out and covered the old woman’s hand with hers. “And I’ll bring the baby to see you, I promise.”