Authors: L.S. Young
Ida’s father had given Eric the money he needed to begin his own law practice in town, a venture that was sorely needed in a little place like Willowbend, where one must take the train to Tallahassee to find an attorney. I knew that even without Ida’s money he would be successful, and they would always live in luxury. I couldn’t help feeling a bit jealous of them both, but my jealousy turned to disgust when I visited them the first time in their new home.
A maid let me in and showed me to the parlor. A handsome youth, not more than nineteen, was sitting opposite Ida on the sofa. He stood up as I entered, blushed, and bid her goodbye. His eyes were downcast as he passed me in the doorway.
“It’s not much,” Ida said, as I seated myself in an armchair, “but there’s nothing wrong with small beginnings.”
I looked around at the neatly furnished room and the fine Turkish rug on the floor and pressed back a smirk. “I don’t suppose I call a fine home like this
small
, but what do I know?”
“You’re one to talk, rattling around in that big old house in the middle of nowhere.”
“Oakhurst was practically falling down before Will started restoring it. Many parts of it still are. Ida, who was that? The young man who left as I arrived.”
“Oh,” she said, pouring me a lemonade, “just a neighbor who works at the mercantile. He carries my shopping and trims the hedges sometimes.” She hesitated then leaned toward me with a conspiratorial air. “Isn’t he handsome?”
I furrowed my brow at her. “Ida, you’re four months gone with child and barely married for two.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “What Eric doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
I stared at her. “You don’t mean to say . . .?”
She didn’t respond, but a smile played about her lips.
“Ida, you didn’t!”
“I get so bored, stuck at home all day! Besides, I can’t get into any trouble this way, expecting a baby.”
I banged my glass down on the tea table with unnecessary force, spilling its contents onto the lace cloth. “I’ve never spoken a word of remonstrance to you, Ida. You have always been free and wild, and I never judged you. But did you
really
think I’d encourage your unfaithfulness to my beloved brother?” I shook my head. “I told him years ago to stay away from you.”
“You
what
?”
I stood, brushing crumbs from my skirt and gathering my shawl.
“Don’t you dare walk out of this house, Landra Cavendish,” said Ida imperatively. “Stay and scream at me all you like, but don’t go with your nose in the air. You’re such a hypocrite! I saw the way you looked at Henry Miller at Colleen’s funeral.”
I gave her an icy glare. “I have only two things to say. One is that I rue the day you married my brother. And the second is that Tansy is your sister, and you’re so
selfish
and
stupid
that you’re the only one who can’t see it.”
Ida gasped, her face turning brilliantly red. “You take that back, you hateful—”
I turned on my heel and marched out before she could spew whichever name she had chosen to call me then took my reticule from the foyer and left, my face burning. We did not speak again for many months, until her and Eric’s child was born, and even then things were never the same between us. I never again shared my dearest secrets with her. I certainly never shared with her what was to come, but she had been right in one point: I was a hypocrite.
Chapter 19
Trials
The hurricane season that summer, one of the worst in my lifetime, brought heavy rains. Tobacco, a finicky crop at the best of times, requires the perfect amount of sun and rain to grow, and our young plants smothered in the flooded fields. One hot night when lightning flickered far and wide, Will woke me to say that the barn where we stored the cotton had been struck and was on fire. My first thought was of the children, to get them out of the house in case the fire should spread. I sat with them at a distance from the flames with Card in my lap and Ezra beside me, as Will battled the flames with wet sheets. Seeing his distress, I wrapped Card in a blanket and told Ezra not to let any harm come to him, then ran to assist him.
There were no neighbors near to help us and no fire engine. Within minutes, the windows of the barn were engulfed with billowing flames. I could hear the timbers groaning and creaking in the heat, and I pulled on Will’s arm.
“It’s going to come down!” I screamed, trying to make myself heard over the roar of the flames. I was right. We ran, and I scooped up the baby and grabbed Ezra’s hand when we reached them, pulling him along with me. We were halfway to the great oak when the barn imploded upon itself, collapsing in a great gout of orange flames and black smoke. Will turned and ran back to the house to make sure no smoldering cinders had caught in the roof.
By morning, the barn was a heap of ash, and rain had come to dampen the last of the embers.
Will and I were both covered with soot and had suffered burns on our hands and arms. He had a blister on his cheek, and his eyebrows were singed. We both took a bath and dressed. Emptying the black wash water out the back door, I was reminded of Granny’s story about how she had washed the soot from the mining town off her face and hands forever. “I’d just as soon wash the dust of farming off my hands for good,” I muttered.
I laved our burns in cool well water and dressed them with aloe and butter. Then I brewed strong coffee and sliced bread to go with jam for our breakfast. Will was despondent. I faced him across the kitchen table.
“Ida says they need a new foreman at the cotton gin. I think you ought to apply.”
He shook his head. “I can’t boss the Negroes. I know nothing of them.”
“But you could
learn
. They’re just people, after all. It would be like the time you worked as foreman in your early twenties.”
“Landra, I can do this, I know I can.
I sighed deeply, my face hardening with anger. “The cotton burned last night! All of it! Are you going to sit there and pretend it didn’t happen?”
“And now you’re displeased,” said Will.
“
Yes
.”
He took me by the shoulders.
“I can do this, Landra. Farming takes time is all, work and perseverance.”
“You think I don’t know that? I believe you can farm Will, but fate has dealt us a shoddy hand this year. Perhaps you should consider turning your hand to something more secure.”
“Please, my darling, give me one more chance.”
I turned from him to look out the window, sighed again, and left our argument at a stalemate.
When a few months passed and he made no effort to look for work in town, I was dismayed. Things had come to a pretty pass with our finances, or what I knew of them. We had our kitchen garden and what preserves I could put by, but unlike the Pines, our livestock were restricted to the heifer and a few chickens. We did not often get meat. I lost weight from continuing to nurse the baby and took to wearing some of Ida’s old hand-me-downs, as my old dresses hung on my thin frame. Thus, my once abiding affection for my husband turned slowly toward discontent. My unhappiness had rankled bitterly within my heart, and I came at last to love and hate him by turns.
“What’s for supper?” asked Will one evening.
“Gopher stew.”
He wrinkled his brow. “Truly? I’ve never had it.”
“I came upon one on my walk with the children yesterday. They’re better than no meat at all.”
“What about the salt pork from the mercantile?”
“We ate nearly all with the potatoes yesterday. I used the rest to season the stew.”
He came behind me and rubbed my shoulders as I stirred the pot over the stove, but I shrugged him off. “You know I hate when you pester me as I’m working round the fire,” I snapped.
“Begging your pardon!” returned Will, sounding hurt. He lifted the baby and began to throw him into the air until he shrieked with laughter. “What’d you learn today?” he asked Ezra, who was setting the table. Ezra shrugged. “Sums n’ ‘rithmetic, and some of a primer.”
“He’s an enthusiastic scholar, as you see,” I said.
“He’ll get there.”
We sat down to the stew with a pan of cornbread. I had seasoned and browned the gopher in a pot with salt pork then cooked it with tomatoes, onion, potatoes, and broth.
“This is quite good,” said Will in surprise. “Gamey, but not so different as beef.”
I nodded. “I hope you plan to take up fishing and hunting for deer and quail over the winter. That or develop a taste for tough squirrel and swamp cabbage. Without our cotton . . .”
“We’ll make do. I’ve money put back.”
“Mr. Hamilton at the mercantile said we’ve bought a lot of goods on credit, including seed.”
Will crumbled cornbread into his stew and stirred it. “We’ll pay it.”
“I think you ought to consider other employment. Everyone in town likes you. You’re friendly and educated. I’ll bet you could make a decent clerk at the bank. Or . . . you could write to Gabriel. Ask him again about the job at the firm?”
William’s brother owned an insurance business and had once, in a burst of friendliness, offered him a position, but he had declined.
“I’ve told you he and I don’t get on.” He frowned for a moment at what I imagined was a remembered slight, but I was unmoved.
I slammed my spoon down on the table, making Ezra jump. I immediately regretted the action, as it seemed like something my father might have done, but I was angry.
“I won’t put up with it any longer,” I said. “I’ll go to work if you don’t.”
Will regarded me doubtfully. “Who’ll look after the children and help me with the planting?”
“I don’t know! Maybe I’ll leave and take them, and you can see to it all on your own!”
“I tell you, there is nothing here for a gentleman to attempt.”
“You mean there is nothing you
will
attempt.”
“Not when I should be certain of failure. None of my efforts please you, Landra.”
“Efforts?” I scoffed. “They’d please me if they resulted in a warm house and a full table, with a bit extra for something fine now and again. But you’re content to do without, to forego sugar and see me dressed in rags.”
“I hardly call Ida Monday’s castoffs
rags.”
“The fact I’m thin enough to wear her things ought to tell you how little you provide for us to eat. It takes everything I have to nurse this child. I shall have to wean him before age two! My milk is drying up.”
A spasm went through him, and he threw his head in his hands, moaning. He murmured that I was cold-hearted and cruel, but I stood resolute as he wept, until he sought refuge out of doors.
That night, I put Ezra and Card to bed in the room they shared and went to sleep in the spare room bed. It smelt of must and the damp, and I could feel the small, hard pieces of mouse droppings beneath the linen sheets, but I was too beside myself even to sweep them away. Will begged me to speak to him and come to our bed, but I turned my back to him. The following morning, I rose as usual to make breakfast. When he came down to the fireside dressed, I brought him his coffee. He looked up from his whittling with a wary smile that lit his pleasant features, and my civility to him returned, but my amity did not.
I went to seek Granny’s advice. The farther I walked, the more upset I became. I ran the last quarter mile to her cabin with Card clutched tightly in my arms and arrived at her door weeping and out of breath, with my hair tumbled and my hem torn. She was seated in her rocker on the porch, as ever, and I knelt and put Card in her lap.
“Yore a plum mess, chile,” she said, dandling him on her knees. “Whatcha doin’ away from home at midday?”
“Granny,” I sobbed, “help me. Tell me what to do. I’m heartbroken!”
“Pshaw.” She spat a stream of brown tobacco juice over the porch. “Broken? Naw, chile. You settle down. All you need is a cry. You’ve got my iron will.”
I shook my head. “I haven’t . . . or I’d do something.”
“Ya do. I seen it for m’self the day Elizabeth died. I left my Ma and Pa at age fifteen, never to see ‘em agin. I seen a husband an four sons die. My heart still ain’t broke. Calloused over mebbe. An yore the same way. That man been treatin’ you ill?”
I sniffed. “No, but I fear he’s a fool, and his hands turn to idleness. And he’s given me a son.”
“A fool, eh? Perhaps he is that. After all, he’s wedded to a trollop, who couldn’t keep her legs closed for the marriage bed and got a bastard to prove it.”
I recoiled from her. “How could you say such—”
“The truth? Wouldn’t know it if it spat in your face wouldja?”
I stood up and leaned against a post, wiping my eyes with my hem.
“What am I to do?” I asked again, flatly this time, without pleading.
“G’wan home. Hoe the garden and cook supper. Do the washin’.” She bounced Card on her lap and pretended to nip at his hands when he touched her mouth. “Look after yer young’uns. You’ve a right fine way with chillun. And last, you remember well whut you’ve learnt—whut you can and cain’t git outta him. Have ya learnt?”
I nodded. My lips trembled as I thought of what I’d never get out of Will, and what I would: some work, a bit of whittling, a bit of banjo picking, and a heap of affection.
“Well, then, learn to get the goddamn upper hand once in a while.”
“But he’s a man, and my husband! He’s supposed to rule, and work, and provide. But he’s got no wisdom, nor sense.” This was not entirely true, but my emotions had overridden any memories I held of Will’s practicality or his stalwart presence in a crisis.
Granny’s lip curled. “Ain’t met a man yet got sense. What’s between their legs takes all the sense right out of ‘em.”
I stared at my shoes, downcast.
“There’s more to be said for a lovin’ man,” Granny continued thoughtfully, “than most young gals think. A warm bed and a kind word is more than most folks get.”
“More perhaps, but not enough. Not for me.”
She glanced at me shrewdly and chewed her lip but made no reply. This was a puzzle I must solve alone. Joy and discontent would rise and fall within me, bickering like enemy sisters, flipping back and forth like two sides of the same coin. My desire and my ambition would war with my heart until I was as hard as iron. Granny was right when she spoke of callouses instead of cracks. I thought of my words to Daddy the night he had whipped me. “You cannot break me.” My heart could not be broken, but it could become as tough as dried leather.
In May, Henry wrote to tell me that Della would be absent the whole month of June, attending festivities for her sister’s wedding to a stockbroker in New York. He had enclosed a train ticket to Tallahassee and the address of a hotel there.
You are Mrs. Jones
, the note said in his spidery hand. It was not the first time he had sent me such instructions. I knew he had sat alone waiting for me several nights, wondering if I would appear. Up to that point, I had never once considered leaving my children for such a deed, not in earnest. This time, the idea set my heart beating with an unprecedented emotion; it was ambition, but with a darkness around its edges.
I spent the remainder of that month weaning Cardinal. My milk was nearly gone already, but it was sorrowful nonetheless, refusing him the breast when he cried for it and giving him cow’s milk instead. I told myself it would benefit him in the end. I thought of Mama’s diary and how she had called the Mondays trash, yet she had sent me there for an education and so had Colleen, knowing I would benefit one day from their connections. To override one’s principles was not as unheard of as people pretended, I told myself. People did it every day.
I left the children with Lily, under pretense of visiting Aunt Maude in Monticello. I could tell she was suspicious of such a visit in the middle of the year, but she did not question me. Seeing her and Laramie together for the first time since their wedding, I saw, as I had suspected, that their marriage had been almost purely for carnal reasons; they could barely keep their hands from one another.
If only a girl could marry once for lust and once for love,
I thought,
and keep them both
. I wondered if it were a profane thought, or perhaps, if all thoughts were free from censure.
I was jealous of Lily’s abandon to those early months of bliss and pleasure. With a pang, I remembered my own days as a new bride, being made love to in the library, the smell of lignin and old books, and Will’s hands, strong but gentle in my long hair.
I wore my best gray silk dress to the hotel in Tallahassee. It had a fine patterned carpet and an ornate ceiling. A gold and crystal chandelier hung in the foyer, which was full of ferns and fresh flowers. When I registered as Mrs. Jones and said I was meeting my husband, the clerk did not bat an eye. He gave me my room key, and a bellhop carried my carpetbag up the sweeping staircase.