Yellow Crocus: A Novel (16 page)
That afternoon Lisbeth ran eagerly to Mattie’s cabin but grew nervous when she got to the door. Standing in the fading sunlight, Lisbeth hesitated to knock. She thought babies slept a lot, and new mothers too. Maybe Mattie did not want her to visit. Then she heard the infant mewling and Mattie cooing. They were not asleep. Timidly she knocked.
Rebecca opened the door and welcomed Lisbeth warmly.
“You can go closer,” Rebecca directed when Lisbeth hung by the threshold. Slowly Lisbeth crossed the room, her eyes never straying from the tiny newborn. Mattie beamed at Lisbeth as the girl grinned in wonder at the small form in Mattie’s arms.
“Look at the little fingernails. They are so sweet.” Lisbeth pointed. “Is it a girl? Mother did not know.”
“Uh huh,” Mattie confirmed.
Lisbeth asked, “Did you pick Jordan for a name?”
Mattie nodded. “I really like the look of that one.”
“Hello, Jordan, I am Lisbeth. It is nice to meet you.”
“She glad to meet you too,” Mattie smiled. “You can touch her.”
Lisbeth gently felt the smooth skin on Jordan’s hand, and she carefully stroked each tiny nail. “She is so soft.”
“Uh huh. They got special cream in there that keep ’em so soft.”
“Look,” Lisbeth said. She showed Mattie the fabric clutched in her hand. “Mother said I may give this to you. It is my first quilt. I made it baby size. It is not so good, but Mother says I am getting better at my stitches.”
“Thank you, Lisbeth.” Mattie gave Lisbeth a careful hug with Jordan sandwiched between them, then she spread the quilt over the baby. “This gonna keep her nice and warm when it get cold out here. We gonna treasure this for always.” Mattie continued, “What fine stitches you made. This some corn?”
“Yes! I wanted you to be able to tell. Mother thought the stitches were too sloppy. It is from the song. You know,
Everybody’s gone in the cotton and the corn
,” Lisbeth sang. Showing off other parts of the quilt, she pointed out, “Here is the cotton. And over here is a shoe. I could not make it red, though.”
Mattie hummed the familiar lullaby.
Go to sleepy little baby
Go to sleepy little baby
Lisbeth joined in with the words…
Your momma’s gone away and your daddy’s gone to stay
Didn’t leave nobody but the baby
followed by Rebecca…
Go to sleepy little baby
Go to sleepy little baby
Everybody’s gone in the cotton and the corn
Didn’t leave nobody but the baby
The three of them gathered around the new baby, singing loud and clear to welcome her to their world.
You’re a sweet little baby
You’re a sweet little baby
Honey in the rock and the sugar don’t stop
Gonna bring a bottle to the baby
Don’t you weep pretty baby
Don’t you weep pretty baby
She’s long gone with the red shoes on
Gonna meet another lovin baby
Go to sleepy little baby
Go to sleepy little baby
You and me and the devil makes three
Don’t need no other lovin baby
Go to sleepy little baby
Go to sleepy little baby
Come and lay your bones on the alabaster stones
And be my ever lovin bab
Standing around this new life, singing with Mattie and Rebecca, Lisbeth felt as if she belonged.
Throughout the winter and into spring Lisbeth slipped away to visit Mattie and Jordan many times a week. Instead of reading under the willow tree she headed down to the edge of the fields in the afternoons. There she often found Grandma Washington tending to Jordan while Mattie worked the fields.
Grandma Washington had been born on an unknown date at Fair Oaks before the turn of the century. Although all the slaves called her Grandma Washington, she was not an actual grandmother. None of the babies that had come from her body had lived long enough to bear children of their own. The three children she had carried, Marie, Bernadette, and William, had been dead for decades. Marie died before she even took her first breath. Sweet, silly Bernadette succumbed to the high fever just before her fourth birthday. Her last child, headstrong William, died from a broken heart. When he was sixteen his love, Rachel, was sold to a nearby plantation. They ran away together with grand plans for a better life far away, but they did not get far. Their bodies were recovered downriver four days after they left.
Perched on Grandma Washington’s lap, Jordan broke out in a grin and reached her arms out eagerly as soon as Lisbeth arrived. Lisbeth beamed back at the baby. Spending time with Jordan, caring for this little girl, was the best part of Lisbeth’s life.
The old woman watched as the young woman held the baby close. Jordan’s small hand patted Lisbeth’s back.
“I declare. I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that,” the old woman said with a shake of her gray-haired head. “A white girl huggin’ on and carin’ for a negro baby.”
APRIL 1849
T
wo weeks before Lisbeth’s twelfth birthday, she sat with her family in the drawing room after dinner, stitching on her last piece of “practice” work before she began in earnest on her trousseau.
“Elizabeth, I have news. We know the date of your first dance. The Parkers have announced they will be hosting at Willowbrook on the first of May.”
Lisbeth blurted out, “We only have a month to prepare. What shall I wear? Mother, I am so nervous!”
“Do not be silly, Elizabeth. We have known for quite some time you would begin attending dances this spring. You are well prepared to do what is expected of you. Your father and I are counting on you to make a marvelous impression. As for your dress, I have arranged for the seamstress to come here tomorrow to take measurements. Be prepared to choose a fabric and style.”
“Mother, can Mattie come in to dress me on the day of the dance?”
“Elizabeth, it is sweet that you are still so attached to Mattie, but Emily will make you presentable for the dance. You were fortunate to have your mammy until you were so old. Most of us give up our nurses long before you did. Why, I was only four years old when my nurse was sold.” Mother went on, “Mattie is like your old baby quilt: she was important to you when you were little, but you have outgrown her now. I hope we did not make a mistake in letting her stay with you so long.”
“No, Mother. I understand. What color do you think I should wear?”
“Deep blue is my first choice, if the seamstress has one. Such an elegant color will accentuate your eyes and make your skin appear to be fair. I can tell you have not been wearing your hat when you go out of doors.”
“I will now. I promise. I want to be as beautiful as I can for the dance.”
Mother corrected her, “Focus on bearing, and beauty will follow. Your looks will not remain with you for life. But your bearing will go with you to the grave, Elizabeth.”
“Yes, Mother,” Lisbeth agreed with her mouth but not her heart.
The seamstress carried a red and beige carpetbag bulging with swatches of fabric and patterns of dresses into the drawing room. Lisbeth watched eagerly as small rectangles of material were pulled out and sorted by material and color. Bright blues were followed by paler blues transforming into deep and pale greens, then reds, yellows, and, finally, boring white, black, and brown. She yearned to touch the smooth silks, but did not dare take such a liberty.
Mother had no such hesitation and fingered each of the fabrics in turn, inquiring about the cost and content when she found one she might choose.
“Printed cotton is quite in style for the young ones this year,” the seamstress informed them. “These ones are twenty-four cents a yard, and these are twenty-eight cents per yard.”
“They are lovely, but I prefer something more elegant for Elizabeth. Have you taken the order for Camilla Anderson?” asked Mother.
“Yes. They chose this silk chiffon in a pale yellow,” the seamstress pointed out the fabric.
Mother fingered it idly. “How much is the silk?”
“The domestic chiffon is eighty-eight cents and the imported is one dollar per yard.”
“This is terribly thin. She would have to be very careful not to tear it. Elizabeth, can you manage that?”
“Absolutely, Mother. It is very lovely,” Lisbeth enthused. “I would be very happy in a gown from this material.”
The seamstress suggested, “This taffeta is heavier and only slightly more expensive than the domestic chiffon at ninety-two cents per yard.”
Lisbeth reached out to touch the material. “Oh Mother, this is so lovely!” Lisbeth dared not say more. She watched as Mother made social as well as financial calculations.
The seamstress broke the silence. “If you prefer, this linen, which has a heavy texture and will wear well, is fifty-five cents a yard. However, your color choices will be limited.”
“No. We shall go with the silk taffeta. In the deep blue, I believe. What do you think, Elizabeth?”
“Oh, thank you, Mother!” Lisbeth beamed. “Yes, I am very fond of the blue. I promise I shall take very good care of it.”
Mother smiled in approval at Lisbeth.
“Show me your patterns,” instructed Mother.
“This is the one the Andersons chose,” the seamstress explained, pulling out a drawing. The fabric puffed out over a full-length hoop skirt. The hem of the gown was gathered into a series of scalloped rows tied by large bows.
“No. That is too frilly,” Mother declared. “I want something more elegant. What did the Cunninghams choose for Emma?”
“I will be taking their order tomorrow.”
“That is unfortunate,” Mother murmured under her breath.
Mother sorted through the patterns. All the gowns had fashionable hoop skirts and tight bodices. She rejected any dresses with long sleeves and high necklines as unsuitable for an evening event.
“Elizabeth, do you care for either of these?” Mother asked, holding out two drawings.
