All Things New (36 page)

“Fine . . . yes . . . just lie still. Try to relax . . . take a few deep breaths.”

She did as he said, trying to calm herself, bracing for the truth. “Philip called for you late at night, not long after Mary was born, to deliver a slave’s baby . . . do you remember?”

He stared down at his lap as if thinking. “So long ago? I think . . .” He looked up, and a glimmer of recognition shone in his eyes. “I remember that Philip had a slave who was very young. Only fourteen or fifteen. The Negro midwife usually delivered their babies, but this girl was so young that she was having difficulty giving birth.”

“Was her name Lizzie?” Eugenia squeezed her hands into fists,
trying to remain composed and not cry. The pain behind her breastbone was still intense.

“I don’t know. I just remember being outraged to see a girl that young giving birth—just a child herself. I confronted Philip and told him he needed to get to the bottom of this and punish the slave who raped her, get rid of him. How could he allow such things to go on? I asked. Couldn’t he or his foreman protect these young girls?

“Philip didn’t say anything. When the baby was finally born, I saw why. She was very light-skinned. Lighter than the mother. It was obvious the baby’s father had been white.” Dr. Hunter paused a moment. “Then the mother started calling for Philip. I saw him holding her hand, comforting her, and I was outraged.”

Eugenia could no longer hold back her tears. “Go away now, David. I want to be alone.”

“Wait. That isn’t the end of the story, Eugenia. When I confronted Philip, he said, ‘It’s not what you think. I’m not the father—not that it’s any of your business. But I’m going to take care of the girl and her baby, and move her up to the house to work. And the child will be cared for, too.’

“I argued with him. I said, ‘If that baby is your daughter, you can’t in good conscience let her grow up to be a slave.’

“‘It wasn’t me,’ he insisted.

“‘Who was it, then? The man who did this needs to be stopped. Punished. She’s just a child, for heaven’s sake. Tell me you aren’t going to allow this to continue?’

“Philip told me that he had taken care of it. I don’t know what became of either the girl or her child, Eugenia. That’s the last time either Philip or I ever mentioned it.”

Eugenia felt no relief at all. “If he wasn’t the father, then who was?”

“Philip wouldn’t say. I thought maybe it was his white foreman.”

“But my slave said that the baby was a Weatherly. Get her in here, David. I need to know the truth.”

“Do you really want to do that? Who are you going to believe, her or Philip? How will you know who’s lying?”

“Tell Josephine to go find Lizzie and bring her in here.”

“Fine. I’ll do that. But please take one of these laudanum tablets while you’re waiting. Whatever this girl says, it’s certain to upset you again and—”

“No. I don’t want laudanum. Just let me lie here and wait.” Eugenia knew that David was right—she would have no way of knowing who was telling the truth. She couldn’t confront Philip face-to-face, but she could make Lizzie frightened enough to never speak that lie again.

A long time seemed to pass before Josephine returned with Lizzie. The servant was trembling from head to toe and clinging to Josephine’s arm as if terrified to let go. She had a welt on her cheek from where Daniel had struck her. “Thank you, Josephine. Please leave us.”

“I can’t, Mother. Lizzie only agreed to come and talk to you if I stayed with her. She’s terrified. She and Otis were packing to leave White Oak. I’m the only person she trusts.”

Eugenia exhaled in frustration and asked David to help her sit up. She didn’t want her daughter to hear this, but Eugenia had no choice. It was the only way she would ever learn the truth.

“You aren’t in trouble, Lizzie. My son had no right to hit you. Now, I heard what you said about your daughter, Roselle. That she’s a Weatherly. I want to hear the whole story from you. Don’t think you need to spare my feelings. I want the truth. Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise. I want you to tell me who Roselle’s father is.”

Lizzie clung to Josephine’s arm while she talked, never lifting her eyes from the floor. Tears ran down her dark face, and she kept brushing them away with her other hand. “It started the same way as Massa Daniel was doing with my Roselle. He kept taking me aside, telling me I was pretty. That’s how I knew . . . That’s why I had to stop Massa Daniel—!”

“Never mind what Daniel did, for now. I want to know your story.”

Lizzie drew a shuddering breath. “Sometimes he would be there,
watching me when we all went out to the fields in the morning or came back at night. When we stopped for lunch, he would tell me to come in out of the hot sun, that I was too pretty to do such hard work. He kept saying such nice things to me, and I believed him. The other slaves tried to warn me, telling me to watch out, but he was our massa, wasn’t he? Ain’t I supposed to obey him?”

Pain stabbed through Eugenia’s heart at her words. David took her hand, holding it tightly as Lizzie continued.

“My mama said, ‘Do it, girl. Make a better life for yourself. Ask him to get you a job in the Big House.’ No one dreamed we would ever win our freedom. I didn’t have to sleep with him to get a better life. But I was tired of the cotton fields, so I let him start kissing me and holding me. He gave me presents, a nice dress, and food from the Big House, things I never ate before. He made me feel so wonderful. I never felt loved before because my mama was always afraid to love me, afraid we’d be separated and sold to different places. She always told me to make sure I never fell in love, but I couldn’t help it. I loved him, so I let him love me back.”

Eugenia couldn’t bear to hear the rest, but she had to. Would Philip really do all those things? Woo a young girl that way? Seduce her, lie to her? Or is it possible that Philip had loved Lizzie, too?

“He made a special place where we’d go,” Lizzie continued. “A special bed he fixed with pretty blankets and things. Then one day when we went there, it wasn’t just the two of us. Massa’s friend was waiting there, too. I wanted the other man to go away and leave us alone, but Massa said he shared everything with his friend and so he was going to share me with him, too. I told him I didn’t want to. I didn’t love his friend, I loved him. But they laughed at me, both of them. And when I tried to leave . . .”

“Oh . . .” Eugenia moaned.

“Lizzie, stop,” Dr. Hunter said. “You don’t have to finish.”

“Miz Eugenia wanted to know who Roselle’s father is,” Lizzie said, “but I can’t tell her for sure because I don’t know. It might be Massa Samuel, or it might be his friend, Massa Harrison.”

Eugenia closed her eyes as her own tears began to fall. Her son
Samuel had done this terrible thing, not Philip. She was sorry she had ever doubted her husband, but she found no comfort at all in knowing that her son and his friend had raped a young slave girl and gotten her pregnant. And if Eugenia were honest with herself, she knew that Daniel had probably intended to do the same thing to Roselle.

And what about Harrison Blake? Eugenia had been furious at the thought of Josephine and the Yankee, yet she had nearly arranged a marriage between Josephine and a man who was capable of raping a young girl.

“Massa Philip took care of me,” Lizzie finished. “He sent Massa Samuel away for a while, and he gave me a job up here in the Big House. And as bad as it all was, I had my Roselle, and Massa promised that nobody can ever take her away from me.” Lizzie finally lifted her face, looking up at Eugenia for the first time. “Otis and me will be leaving White Oak now. I know Massa Daniel won’t let us stay here anymore. Just give us some time to pack our things and—”

“No, Lizzie. I’m in charge of White Oak. You and Otis don’t need to leave. Daniel is the one who will be leaving.” As her eyes met Lizzie’s, Eugenia saw her as a woman and a mother like herself, perhaps for the very first time. “I promised Otis that he could rent my cotton fields until the harvest, and I intend to keep my promise.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

Eugenia had never apologized to a slave in her life but she knew that she needed to. She met Lizzie’s gaze again. “I’m sorry, Lizzie. I’m sorry about what happened, and I’m sorry for making you relive it.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

As soon as Lizzie and Josephine were gone, she told David to send in Daniel. “Are you all right, Mother? We were so worried about you. I could kill that slave for upsetting you this way.”

“I’m fine, Daniel. Lizzie told me the whole story—”

“You can’t possibly believe her!”

“I do. Dr. Hunter was there the night Roselle was born. It was Samuel and Harrison Blake. They are the ones who . . .”

“What!”

She paused to swallow a knot of grief. “Listen, everyone’s emotions are very high right now, and I think it would be best if you went to Richmond for a while. I’ll write a note for you to take to Aunt Olivia—”

“Wait! You’re sending
me
away? Why not send those Negroes away? They’re the ones who—”

“Just for a while. Your father sent Samuel away when he found out about what he and Harrison had done.”

“But that makes no sense.” Daniel was growing angry, unable to stand still, yet Eugenia could tell that he was trying to restrain his temper so she wouldn’t have another spell. “I can’t leave you and the girls here all alone without protection. You can’t trust those slaves.”

“The girls and I managed when you were away at war, and we can manage now. You need to go to work for your uncle Charles in Richmond for a while. I don’t think you’re cut out for running the plantation. These so-called friends of yours have had a bad influence on you.” Although Eugenia couldn’t help wondering if Daniel, in fact, was the leader.

“I can’t believe you’re sending me away, taking their side.”

“It’s the right thing to do.”

“What about White Oak? You’re going to let that slave run your plantation? That’s crazy!”

“He has been running it these past few months, and he has done very well—although he may not want to stay after everything that’s happened. I wouldn’t blame him. But he has a right to harvest what he has already planted.”

“White Oak is my home, not his. I can’t imagine what Father would say about this.”

“I think he would agree that I’m doing the right thing. He took care of Lizzie and her baby after what Samuel did to her, and he brought her into our house to work for us. Your father never laid a hand on any of our slaves—and I just watched you slap Lizzie and knock her to the ground. You need time away from here, Daniel.
Let your temper cool. Then we’ll decide how we’re going to move forward. This is the best solution for everyone.”

“You’ve changed, Mother.” His voice was cold with barely controlled rage. “You’re not the same woman you were before the war.”

“I suppose I have changed. For the better, I hope.” But she didn’t think that Daniel heard her as he stalked from the room. She felt David squeeze her hand and realized he had been holding it all this time.

“You did the right thing, Eugenia,” he told her. “Philip would be proud of you. He hated slavery, did you know that? We used to talk about it. But he couldn’t see how he could run White Oak without slaves. It just wasn’t economically feasible.”

“I don’t know where I went wrong with raising my children.”

“Don’t upset yourself again. You’re not to blame. Our entire Southern culture had an influence on them, too. Now, listen to me, Eugenia. I am your physician, and I’m ordering you to take these two laudanum tablets. Then you need to go to bed and stay there for at least a week until your heart has a chance to recover. You won’t survive many more of these spells, you know. And you’re needed here. Your family needs you.” He handed her a glass of water and the medicine.

“Thank you, David. You’ve been a dear friend to me. I don’t know what I would do without you.” She took his hand again and held it tightly before finally letting go.

34

Lizzie still clutched Missy Josephine’s arm tightly as they left the drawing room. She was afraid to believe what Miz Eugenia had just told her. She and Otis didn’t need to leave White Oak? Massa Daniel was leaving instead? Lizzie had told the truth about Roselle after all these years, yet Miz Eugenia hadn’t sent them away.

“Everything will be all right now,” Missy Jo told her. “My mother will treat you fairly, just like my father did.”

“I done a terrible thing, fighting with Massa Daniel that way and saying what I did. I know that, Missy Jo. But I was just so scared for my Roselle.”

“It’s over now. You can go back to your cabin and tell Otis that everything will be fine.”

But Lizzie was still worried. Massa Daniel was spitting mad, and she was afraid of what he might do. Her legs wouldn’t stop trembling as she walked down to the cabin all alone and told Otis what had happened. “Can you ever forgive me for fighting with Massa Daniel and messing things up?” she asked him.

“Lizzie, nothing that happened today was your fault. I would have done the same thing if I had seen what you did.”

She looked around the cabin. Their belongings were tied up in bundles, ready to go. Roselle, Rufus, and Jack were wide-eyed with
fright as they watched and listened. Lizzie saw Roselle’s tears and her heart went out to her. “Roselle, honey . . . I’m sorry.”

“Me too, Mama,” she said softly. “I should have listened to you.” She threw her arms around Lizzie and held her. Lizzie knew she would have to talk to Roselle and explain about her father in a way that she would understand. But not now. Lizzie had relived that ordeal enough for one day.

“Miz Eugenia said we could stay,” she told Otis, “but I still wish we could leave.”

“Everything is packed, Lizzie-girl. We’ll leave right now if you’re afraid to stay.”

“Where could we go? How would we live? There’s no more Freedmen’s Bureau to help us out. You went to all that work planting cotton and corn and vegetables for nothing?”

What had she done? Why had she made Massa Daniel mad that way? But Roselle was safe. Lizzie would do it all over again to keep her daughter safe.

“None of that matters, Lizzie. You and our kids are worth more to me than a field full of cotton. The good Lord will take care of us whatever we decide to do.”

Missy Jo had said they could trust her. Miz Eugenia had been kind to her for the first time Lizzie could remember. There was only Massa Daniel to worry about, and he was going away. Lizzie looked at her family and felt the weight of her decision. Is this what freedom meant? Being able to decide, yet worrying that you might make the wrong choice?

“Miz Eugenia says she’s sending Massa Daniel to Richmond,” Lizzie finally said. “We’ll wait and see if that’s true. I guess we can breathe a little easier once he’s gone. But as soon as the cotton is picked and sold, we’re going. We’ll take our money and the food from our garden, and we’ll go far away from here.”

“Are you sure, Lizzie?”

No, she wasn’t sure at all. But what else could they do?

The next morning after breakfast, Missy Jo came out to the kitchen with good news. “My brother Daniel left early this morning.
He’s going to stay with our relatives in Richmond for a while. Things will be better now, Lizzie. You’ll see.” But it took three more days before Lizzie could stop looking over her shoulder or jumping at every little sound she heard. Miz Eugenia was still staying in bed all day, with the two missies keeping her company. The house was so quiet it seemed empty. The doctor came every afternoon to check up on Miz Eugenia, and Lizzie would carry a tea tray upstairs to serve them. There were no more meals in the dining room for now, no more tablecloths and napkins to wash and iron. Lizzie kept busy in the garden or the kitchen with Roselle until suppertime, while Otis was out in the field with the boys, grubbing his plants.

On the fourth day, Lizzie agreed to let Roselle and the boys out of her sight, allowing them go down to the barn alone to take care of the animals and then out to the row of raspberry bushes to pick berries. They had been gone all afternoon and still hadn’t returned when Otis came up to the kitchen for his supper.

“Will you call Roselle and the boys for me?” Lizzie asked him. “Tell them it’ll be time to eat pretty soon, and they have chores to do.”

“Sure, Lizzie-girl. Where are they?”

“Aren’t they down by the shed, picking berries?”

“I didn’t see them.”

Lizzie went to the kitchen door and stood on the step, gazing all around. Her heart had started pounding hard, but she told herself not to worry. They couldn’t have gone far. “I told them not to wander off. Are they working in the garden?”

“I don’t see them. I’ll go look down by the barn.”

Lizzie watched him go, unable to shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. She decided to go outside and search for them herself and ran down to their cabin, her heart a heavy stone in her chest. Maybe they were playing down on Slave Row. Roselle loved to play teacher with the boys, using the books Missy Jo had given them. Maybe they got so busy playing school that they forgot all about the raspberries and their chores, forgot it was even dinnertime. But Slave Row was deserted. Lizzie called their names over and over,
but there was no reply. She could hear Otis calling to them, too, in the distance. She ran back up to the kitchen, her panic building.

Please, Lord . . . Please don’t let anything happen to my children. Please, please bring them back to me. Please . . .

She checked the chicken yard again, knowing how much Roselle loved playing with her ducks—and saw the three tin pails she had given them, filled to the top with raspberries, just sitting there like they’d been forgotten. Otis came back a few minutes later, and she showed him the buckets.

“Don’t worry, Lizzie. The kids have to be around here someplace. You go on and fix the white folks their dinner, and I’ll keep looking.” He was trying not to show it, but Lizzie could tell he was worried, too.

She finished making supper in a daze. Her hands shook like an old woman’s as she carried the tray upstairs to Miz Eugenia’s room. All the windows were open in the July heat, and she could hear Otis calling for Roselle and Rufus and Jack outside.
Please, Lord. Show him where to look,
she prayed. But when Lizzie returned to the kitchen, Otis still hadn’t found them. He stood gazing around the yard with a hollow look in his eyes, his arms hanging limp at his sides. She grabbed the front of his shirt and shook him.

“Where are they, Otis, where are they? What are we going to do?”

“I-I don’t know . . . I’ve looked everywhere. . . .” He called their names again, and as he listened in vain for an answer, Lizzie realized how quiet the kitchen yard was. Usually Roselle’s ducks would start quacking and squawking at any little noise but there was no quacking at all.

“Otis, the ducks! Roselle’s ducks are gone!”

“Do you think she took them down to the river to set them free? She’s been talking about doing that.”

Lizzie felt a sliver of hope and a surge of fear. “All that way? How would she know where to go? She’s never been to the river, has she?”

“No, but the boys have. I take them fishing down there. I’ll go look.”

“Wait! I want to go with you.”

“Don’t you have to tend to Miz Eugenia and the girls?”

“I don’t care about them, Otis! We have to find our kids!”

“Come on, then.” He took her hand and led her down the rough, narrow path through the woods to the river. It seemed to take forever. Lizzie didn’t dare to cry as she kept her eyes on the dirt track, watching out for stones and brambles and tree branches in her way. She prayed the whole way there and knew that Otis was praying, too.

She heard the rushing water before she saw it. Lizzie was panting from running so far in the heat. She held her breath, listening for children’s voices and the sound of squawking ducks, but when they emerged from the woods onto the riverbank, there was no sign of life at all. Otis shouted their names. Listened. Shouted again. Lizzie began to moan, fighting hysteria. Otis pulled her into his arms, and she could feel his heart trying to pound out of his chest.

“Shh . . . shh . . .” he soothed. “Oh, Lord, help us! Show us what to do. . . .”

“I’m scared, Otis! I’m so scared! If anything happens to them . . .”

“I know, I know . . . Come on, we better go back.”

They followed the path back to the plantation, running as fast as they could. Every time they paused for breath, Otis shouted the children’s names, then listened. The woods were silent, terrifying. Lizzie wanted to scream.

The yard was still deserted when they returned. Lizzie could hear the cow down in the barn, lowing to be milked, and Miz Eugenia’s bell ringing inside the house. “What are we going to do?” she cried.

“You better go on in and see to the white folks. Maybe ask Missy Jo if she seen them. I’ll go look in the woods the other way, down by that old tree house.”

Lizzie dried her tears and tried to compose herself before hurrying into the house. Her knees felt so weak she could hardly climb the stairs to Miz Eugenia’s bedroom. The three women had finished their dinner a long time ago and the tray was sitting on the vanity, waiting to be taken away.

“Where in the world have you been?” Miz Eugenia asked. “When
you didn’t answer the bell, I was ready to send Josephine to look for you.”

“I-I’m sorry, ma’am.” Lizzie hadn’t answered her question, but if she tried to say any more, she would burst into tears. Besides, Miz Eugenia didn’t really want to hear about Lizzie’s missing children. She still looked very weak and gray-faced, lying back against her pillows. There was nothing that she or the two missies could do to help.

“Well, kindly remove the tray, Lizzie. And stay where you can hear the bell the next time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Otis still wasn’t back from searching when she returned to the kitchen. She should wash the dishes and clean the kitchen. The cow needed to be milked and the chickens fed. She and Otis still hadn’t eaten their dinner. But Lizzie was too sick with worry to do any of those things. She stood in the doorway, watching the path, waiting for Otis to return.

When she finally saw him, he was alone.

Lizzie’s knees gave way. She sank down on the step and wept.

Otis sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms. “I ran all the way into Fairmont,” he said, still panting for breath. “I thought they might of gone to the school. I asked everyone I saw along the way, but . . .”

“What are we going to do, Otis? What are we going to do?” He didn’t reply. She knew he was praying. Lizzie was too upset to think, let alone pray. He would have to talk to God for the both of them.

It seemed like a very long time passed as they sat huddled together on the ground. The sun had sunk below the treetops. It would be dark soon. Lizzie felt hollow and empty inside, like one of the discarded shells on the riverbank. At last, Otis struggled to his feet and pulled Lizzie up with him.

“I need to milk the cow,” he said, his voice hoarse. His eyes were red, his face wet with tears.

“I’ll come with you. I-I can’t stay here all alone.” He nodded and went into the kitchen to fetch the milk bucket. Lizzie gripped his hand as they walked down to the barn together. She stood in
the barn doorway while he worked, watching him milk the cow one minute, watching the ever-darkening path the next. When she heard the faint cry coming from the woods, Lizzie thought she had imagined it at first. Then she heard it again.

“Otis, come here! Listen!”

It was the sound of a child crying and calling “Mama!”

She and Otis ran from the barn together, racing toward the woods, following the sound. And then—a miracle! Rufus was running toward them, calling to her. Lizzie reached him first and lifted him into her arms, squeezing him tightly, rocking him.

“Thank you, Lord . . . Thank you, Lord!” she breathed. “Oh, Rufus, baby! Are you all right?” He mumbled something in reply but he was crying so hard that Lizzie couldn’t understand him. She set him on the ground and knelt in front of him. “Where are the others, baby? Where are Jack and Roselle?”

“The . . . the men st-still have them.”

“The men . . . ?” Lizzie’s joy and relief vanished in an instant.

Otis grabbed Rufus’s shoulders. “Talk to us, son. Tell us what happened.”

His story came out with agonizing slowness between tears and sobs. “We-we heard Roselle’s ducks in the woods. . . . They got out of the fence. . . . And so, and so, she said for me and Jack to help her . . . to help her catch them. We kept following the sound, Papa. We kept going farther back in the woods. And then . . . and then the men grabbed us!”

“Oh God, no . . .” Lizzie moaned.

“What men, Rufus?”

“I don’t know. They have their faces covered. They . . . they had the ducks, but it was just to trick us!”

“Where are the men now?” Otis asked. “Do they still have Jack and Roselle? How did you get free?”

“They . . . they let me go!” Rufus started to wail, and Otis took him into his arms, rocking him gently.

“Hush, son. It’s all right now. It’s all right. Tell me why they let you go.”