Necie shook her head. “Oh, Miss Margaret, she ain’t doin’ so good. She got the rheumatism in her hands so bad they’s no more than crab claws anymore.” Necie mimicked how the elderly woman’s hands moved. “She don’t walk too good neither. Her backbone so twisted up…” She shook her head again and dragged the seashell over the shirt she was washing. “Come winter time, she probably ain’t goin’ to be able to get outta bed at all.”
Margaret thought to tell Mama to check on the elderly couple soon. She sat on the sturdy driftwood log next to the girl. “Necie…Mr. and Mrs. Stoltze bought you from the slave trader after Mrs. Stoltze’s sickness made her unable to keep up with her chores, isn’t that right?”
“Yes’m, that’s right. She’s a mighty sick woman and Massa Stoltze ain’t much better off than her. They so old.” Necie laughed. “Sometime Massa Stoltze can’t even remember where he’s at.”
Oh dear, that doesn’t sound good at all.
“Tell me, Necie, how do Mr. and Mrs. Stoltze treat you?”
“Now what make you want to ask a question like that for, Miss Margaret?”
“I was just wondering if they…well, you know…have they ever beat you?” Margaret fiddled with the hem of her apron.
Necie flung her head back and laughed. “Oh, no! They treats me real good, Miss Margaret. Besides, they so old they can’t even beat eggs, much less me!”
“Well, tell me then, what is it that’s so bad about being a slave?”
The young girl moistened her lips and her cheerful laughter faded. “Well, I s’pose the worst thing I can ever remember is when I was sold away from my family back in Louisiana.” Necie rubbed the seashell back and forth over the shirt in her washtub. Her mind appeared to have gone far away.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Margaret too had been made to leave her home. She at least had her family to comfort her though.
Necie had no one. But if that was normal for a slave, then that was the way it had to be.
“My Moses and me was plannin’ to jump the broomstick fo I got drug off.”
“Jump the broomstick? What do you mean?”
“Miss Margaret, you know slaves can’t get married like white folk can. It ain’t legal. So when slaves fall in love and wanna get hitched, we just jump over the broomstick together to show everybody we’s married.”
This young woman had lived in Louisiana…just as Margaret had. And she was to be married…just as Margaret had planned. Her dreams had been dashed on the rocks of life as surely as Margaret’s own.
“Ye might know that if ye’d ever taken the chance to talk to one of them.”
Thomas’s words stung deep in her heart. What he said about the slaves was true. It hurt all the more to admit that she knew very little about slavery. There was a more important reason than just states’ rights that the war was being fought. And even with all the modern resources available for a person to learn, she’d never taken the initiative to find out. She crossed her arms over her churning stomach as the young woman continued.
“We wanted to get married cause I’s gonna have Moses’s baby.”
Shocked, Margaret’s instinct was to gasp and slap her hand over her mouth, but she made a concerted effort to control her actions.
“Life was hard for the menfolk working at the sugarcane plantation. I’s thankful I don’t have to work in that boilin’ house where they melt down the sugar. My Moses work in there keepin’ the fires going all day, every day. It so hot your skin feel like it gonna drop off your bones. But I got to work in the big house taking care of the missy’s little ones.” A smile crept across her face. “They little, white-haired babies be so sweet…not like the massa.” The edges of Necie’s mouth turned down. Her brown eyes closed to slits.
“What happened? Did the master beat you?” Margaret watched as tears began to roll down Necie’s face. She shouldn’t have made her dredge up such painful memories.
“No! He sold me away so I can’t be with my Moses. I fight hard so I don’t has to leave my mammy and my Moses. I kick and I scratch that man so he thinks I’s so bad he don’t want to take me with him.” Her bottom lip trembled and her voice squeaked. “But then he kicked me so hard and I fell down and can’t get back up. He just scoop me up and throwed me into the wagon and drive away with my mammy layin’ with her face on the ground bawlin’ and squallin’. Down the road a ways, I started to hurt so bad in my belly. I look down and sees blood all over my skirt and all over the floor of that wagon. My baby died and I passed him right there in the back of that wagon on my way to Texas.”
Margaret couldn’t hold back her tears. She’d held her dead baby brother, Jeremiah’s twin, when Mama wasn’t able to. And, oh, how hard it had been when it came time to give him back to the Lord. The memory was painful and it wasn’t even her child. She couldn’t imagine the pain and loneliness Necie must have felt. “Oh, Necie, how can you stand it? My fiancé is dead, but the man you love is still alive and you’re not allowed to be with him.”
Necie wiped her tears on the towel she had draped over her shoulder. “My heart hurt for a long, long time. But I can’t stay sad about it. Mrs. Stoltze told me about Jesus and how when I get to heaven, my baby boy’s gonna be there waiting for me. She say Jesus was God’s little boy, and He love me so much He gave His Son to die for me, and if I believe in Him, I’s gonna go to heaven when I die. I got faith He gonna do what He say He gonna do.” Necie’s words of God’s grace seemed to soothe her and give her back her smile.
It was incomprehensible to Margaret how this young woman managed to go on living after what she’d been through. Guilt and shame washed over her and made her feel sick. What kind of Christian was she that a slave had more faith in God than she did?
Necie wrung water from the shirt she’d so thoroughly scrubbed and placed it on a rock beside the washtub. As she fished for another piece of clothing, she began humming the tune of the song she’d been singing earlier.
“Necie, what is that song you were singing? I’ve never heard it before.” Margaret wiped the tears from her face.
“Oh, it’s a slave song they sings back on the plantation. My mammy sing it all the time. Mrs. Stoltze say it talk about the River Jordan in her Bible where them Israelites crossed over to get to the Promised Land. She say it also the river where Jesus got baptized. I know she right, ’cause Mrs. Stoltze sure know her Bible.” She didn’t look at Margaret as she shook her head. “But back on the plantation they say it a song about a river up north where a slave can cross over and be free.”
“Why would they sing a song about the Jordan River if it was really about escaping their masters?”
“Now, Miss Margaret, if they sing about running away where the massa can hear, they all gonna get a whoopin’.”
Margaret gasped. “Oh, I suppose you’re right about that.”
“But for me, I wanna believe that song is really about that Jordan River they talk about in the Bible. I know I never gonna run away. There nowhere to run to on this ol’ peninsula. What’s I gonna do, swim away?” She gave a contagious smile. “I just stay with Massa and Miss Stoltze and pray someday my Jesus gonna deliver me to the Promised Land.”
Margaret was amazed at how Necie could have any faith at all in the midst of such a hopeless situation, but somehow…with Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior…she was able to overcome.
How had she not understood before? The Bible said God had made man in His own image. Not just the white men—all men. Slowly, the idea sank in. A Negro was capable of having feelings like anyone else. To think she’d believed what a few people had said…that Negroes were soulless like the animals.
Oh, Lord, how could I have been so ignorant? Of course Necie has a soul…a loving and caring soul. And a good heart that loves unconditionally…not like me, putting provisions on everyone. Oh, Father, please, please forgive me!
The Lord’s cleansing forgiveness came as suddenly as the words had poured from her heart. She rose from the driftwood log and put her arms around Necie in a long embrace. She didn’t deserve the soft patting she felt on her back, but it comforted her to know she’d made a new friend.
“Goodbye, Miss Margaret. Tell yo sista, Miss Elizabeth, I says hello.”
Margaret was taken by surprise. “Elizabeth has been here?”
“She come by here earlier today. She come by all the time when she goin’ up to the Langley place. Sometime I be outside tending to our vegetables and she come by and say hello.”
So that’s where she’s been going.
“Goodbye, Necie. I’ll have Mama come by and check on Mr. and Mrs. Stoltze soon.” Margaret waved as she walked away from Necie’s washing place. She wanted to feel the cool water around her feet and the soft, squishy sand beneath them. There was much she needed to think about on her way back home.
So many things had happened in such a short span of time. Everything she’d known as truth about the slaves and the reasons for the war had changed. Thomas had been right. He understood so much more than she.
Maybe the Yankees aren’t such horrible people after all. Maybe Thomas isn’t the monster I’ve made him out to be. Maybe it’s OK that I have…feelings for him.
Her mind drifted to what Necie had said about Elizabeth.
How long has she been going up to the Langley place? There is no reason for her to be there.
Both of Widower Langley’s sons went off to fight in the war. Only one came back, and he was one of the hard cases. The war left him limbless, save for one arm, and that wasn’t the worst of it.
What kind of business would Elizabeth have with an old man who hates everyone on earth and his son, who doesn’t even know he lives on earth? Dear Lord, help us all.
10
Thomas told Mr. Logan what happened between him and Margaret, but the man already knew, admitting he and Mrs. Logan had seen the whole exchange from the kitchen window. Thomas searched through the shed for the tool he needed, deciding the work would keep his mind off Margaret.
Forgive me, Lord, and protect her, please…
He checked the old saw’s sharpness and returned to the work at hand. The piece of wood had been used many times before, judging by the nail holes scarring its rough grain. But even scraps of wood had to be reused. Supplies were a scarce commodity, especially wood. He searched for the right-sized piece of driftwood to use, but the hunt was fruitless.
“Beeehhhh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh!”
“Hush now, Nanny Sue. I’ll have yer pen fixed up nice and new before ye know it and then ye won’t have to be tied up anymore.”
Thomas talked to the goat as if she understood what he said. He’d done the daily milking since regaining his strength. But Nanny Sue’s milk was beginning to dry up. They’d need to breed her soon if they were to have milk in the coming year. He would have to discuss their options with Mr. Logan.
Thomas overheard Mrs. Logan talk about trading some of the fall vegetables to Mr. Milton in exchange for a pair of chickens so they would have their own source of eggs and eventually a nice chicken dinner. Images of baked poultry floated through Thomas’s head.
He knelt and rested the plank across his knee to saw it. That was another chore. He would make some hay bales directly after finishing the goat pen.
It eased Thomas’s mind that he could repay their kindness in giving him lodging and caring for him during his recovery. He couldn’t understand the abundant generosity of the Logan family. Surely God had brought him to this place for a reason.
The grass rustled behind him. Someone was coming.
He instinctively picked up the saw for protection. A glimpse of raven hair came into view. Thomas dipped his head in acknowledgement of her presence and carried on with his work.
She leaned against the shed, watching him.
Thomas retrieved a hammer. He returned to the goat pen, picked up the broken piece of wood, and pulled the nails holding the chicken wire in place.
Oh, Lord, did Ye hear my prayer? Did Ye work on her heart?
“Good afternoon, Mr. Murphy.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Margaret. Ye know, lass, I’m fine with ye calling me Thomas, if you’d like.”
“All right then…Thomas, I was wondering if you might have time to talk.”
The sound of his name on her lips was indeed a pleasure. He put down the hammer and rose, trying his best not to show the pain from his still healing body. “Of course. I’d be happy to talk to ye.”
“Can you come out back? I don’t want little ears listening in.”
He couldn’t be sure, but Thomas sensed a break in the ice. He followed her as quickly as the rainbow follows the rain.
Margaret made her way to the back of the property. When she came upon a felled log, she sat on it, facing the saltwater slough at the back of the Logan land.
Thomas joined her, careful to keep his distance. He surveyed the property. No one was within earshot.
“Thomas…” A long pause followed as she plucked a lone sea-oat stem and twirled it between her fingers. “I…I’d like to apologize to you.”
Oh, forgive me, Father. Why do I never seem to expect an answer when I pray?
Thomas touched her hand. “What on earth for, lass?”
Margaret didn’t look at him. “You were right, and I was wrong.”
“About what, Miss Margaret?”
“I took your advice and talked to a slave. A slave I’ve always known, but never took the time to talk to.” Her body began to shake. She lowered her face into her hands. “And you were so right—slavery is awful!”
Thomas inched closer and put his arm around her. “There, there now, lass.” To his surprise, she didn’t withdraw. Even more unexpected, she turned toward him and continued her cry on his shoulder. He never wanted to let go of her.
“It’s OK, Miss Margaret. How could ye know how bad slavery is when ye have never seen it first-hand?”
Margaret wiped her tears with her apron. “But now I know how horrible it is. And to think, I’ve hated the Union all these years for no good reason. If they actually are fighting against slavery, then they fight for a noble cause.”
“Aye now, but ye did have a good reason for your feelings. After all, yer fiancé died at the hands of the Union army. That would cause anyone to have hatred in their heart.”
“I don’t know what to feel anymore. I’m so confused. Everything I’ve always believed as truth doesn’t seem to make sense anymore. Why does God let these things happen, Thomas?”