Under the Tulip Tree

by Michelle Shocklee

  Male laughter greeted me when I ducked into the small tent I shared with another woman. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I found my cot occupied by a writhing couple.

  My blood boiled. “Get outta here!”

  Nell, the laziest gal I’d ever met, struggled up from beneath the man. At least she had the sense to look embarrassed as she tugged the front of her dress closed. The man stood, adjusting his own garments. I’d seen him around camp the past weeks, pretending to have a bad leg in order to avoid working for the Yankees, building their fortifications and digging trenches to keep the Confederates at bay.

  “I told you I don’t want no men in here.” I glared at Nell until her gaze dropped to her bare feet. She couldn’t be more than sixteen years old, but I wasn’t about to share this cramped, moth-eaten, smelly tent with a gal who ended up in the family way and brought a screaming baby into the mix.

  “Now, Frankie, you don’t gotta be cross at Nell here,” the man drawled, offering me a sugar-sweet smile and showing off even white teeth. No doubt it was the same smile he gave every other gal in camp, worming his way into their beds.

  I narrowed my glare on him. “Don’t speak to me. Don’t look at me. And don’t ever come into this tent again, or I’ll tell them soldiers you ain’t got no hurt leg. You been making them look like fools for believing your pathetic story ’bout how you injured your leg runnin’ away from your massa.” My eyes traveled his length. “I seen you plenty of times when the soldiers ain’t looking, walking around without a limp.”

  A flash of concern crossed his face before he masked it. “My leg ain’t none of your business. ’Sides, I really did hurt it comin’ up from Georgia.”

  I took a step toward him. “You make it my business if you come back to this here tent. Understand?”

  He only hesitated a moment before he walked out the canvas opening without another word.

  “Why you gone and done that, Frankie?” Nell whined after he’d disappeared. “Hank said we gonna marry once we get up North.”

  I turned to face her, wondering that a gal could be so addlebrained. “He ain’t gonna marry you, chile. He’s been with half the gals in this camp. The only thing he gonna give you is a sickness in your body if you keep company with the likes of him.”

  Nell pouted but wisely remained silent. I stripped the rough blanket off my cot and carried it outside. No telling what varmints that man might have left on it. While I hung it across the rope stretched between our tent and the neighboring tent, a ruckus from across camp reached me. Excited voices, laughter, calls. I couldn’t see what was happening, but I noticed most everyone headed in that direction.

  Nell exited the tent. “What do you think all that’s about?”

  “How am I to know, girl? Best we see for ourselves.”

  We joined the throng of mostly women, children, and old men moving in the direction of the entrance to camp. When we reached the edge of the gathering, all I could tell was two or three covered wagons had arrived. As people shifted for a better view, a white woman in a black dress and bonnet climbed upon one of the wagon seats. But instead of settling in to drive the team of horses, she turned to face us.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Illa Crandle.”

  Her strong voice reached me where I stood, and a hush went through the crowd. She wasn’t tall or handsome, but something about her demeanor commanded attention.

  “I come from Philadelphia, where many of us have been fighting against slavery for a long time.”

  A murmur lifted from those nearby. Like me, they’d probably never heard a white person speak about ending slavery. Not even the Federal soldiers milling around spoke of it. They were simply here to defeat the Confederate Army and bring the Union of states back together.

  “We’ve come,” she said, her gaze sweeping those standing near the wagons, although I couldn’t see who she spoke of, “to join arms with thee. We hope to establish schools and churches, and it’s our desire to help prepare thee for life away from slavery. God willing, this war will end soon, bringing with it freedom. Freedom to make thy own choices and to live where thee wishes.”

  It took a moment for her words to seep in, but a cheer eventually went up from the crowd. Beside me, Nell hollered and jumped like a tree frog, but I stood unmoving.

  Why would I put my trust, my hope, in a white person? Illa Crandle’s speech sounded nice, but I didn’t need a white woman’s help. I didn’t need anyone’s help. As soon as the white man’s war ended, I planned to shake the dust of Nashville off my feet and never look back. Where I would go was still a mystery, but it would be my decision, not some white woman’s.

  I turned and headed back to the tent while the crowd pressed forward to hear more of Illa Crandle’s promises. Her words were wasted on me. When I approached the entrance, a rustling noise came from inside. With a jerk, I opened the flap, and my mouth slackened.

  There stood Hank, a burlap sack holding my meager possessions in his hands.

  “What do you think you’re doin’ in here?” I marched in and snatched the bag from him. “You got no business comin’ in here, rifling through my things.”

  Neither Nell nor I owned anything of value, but I still felt violated. Anger rushed through my blood.

  “I told you never come to this tent again.” My glare went from the bag in my hand back to him. “Worthless. That’s what you is. While that white woman out there prattles on about freedom and ending slavery, you in here stealing what little we got.”

  I turned my back to him. “I guess them Yankees be right glad to hear your leg is all healed up and you can start digging them ditches.”

  I hadn’t taken two steps toward the tent opening when I felt his arm snake around my neck and yank me backward. I landed on the dirt floor at his feet, the breath knocked out of me.

  “You best shut that mouth o’ yours, woman. Or maybe I’ll shut it for you.” Gone was the even-toothed smile from earlier. Now he snarled at me like a rabid dog.

  Although I’d received my share of beatings in the past, I wasn’t prepared when his boot slammed into my jaw. Stars filled my eyes, and I tasted blood. Before I could gain my bearings, he kicked me again and again.

  I had one last thought before I blacked out.

  I was going to die before I’d truly lived.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I woke to activity and voices around me, but I couldn’t see a thing.

  At first, I thought I’d gone blind, but with a little work I was able to force my eyelids open enough to let in the tiniest hint of light. Pain shot through my head, and I quickly shut my eyes against it.

  Was I back on the plantation? Had I received yet another beating? “When are you gonna learn, Frankie?” Mammy used to say. It was a question I still asked myself all these years later.

  “Thy eyes are quite swollen, my dear.”

  The voice was kind, yet I couldn’t place it.

  Familiar sounds reached me. Conversations. Laughter. A stern command. I realized then I wasn’t on the plantation. I was still in the contraband camp.

  “Here,” the voice said. “Have a sip of water to quench thy thirst.” Blessed moisture touched my tongue, but she took it away before I’d had my fill.

  The voice of the mercy giver didn’t belong to Nell or one of the other women from camp I’d become familiar with. I tried once again to see who spoke, but the same pain prevented me from seeing anything.

  A cool, damp cloth went across my forehead and down my cheeks, soft and soothing. Whoever tended me had a gentle hand. I couldn’t begin to guess who it was.

  “Thy wounds shall heal, but I wonder if thy spirit shall require more from the Lord than what I can give thee.”

  The words failed to make sense, and I was too weary to ponder their meaning. I hoped whoever saw to me wouldn’t leave. Despite the raw pain swirling throughout my head, oddly enough I felt safe.

  I drifted to sleep and awakened again some time later to the same voice.

/>   “I have some broth for thee, my dear.”

  The stranger proceeded to carefully lift my shoulders and wedge a pillow in to prop me up. I didn’t cry out for fear she’d leave me alone. I wished I could see who the woman was because I couldn’t begin to guess. No one in camp had ever demonstrated this kind of concern for another.

  “Who are you?” My hoarse voice was unrecognizable.

  A soft laugh. “Eat first; then we’ll talk.”

  She spooned delicious warm broth through my swollen lips until I was pleasantly sated. A sip of cool water followed.

  “My name is Illa Crandle. I’m with the Religious Society of Friends in Philadelphia.”

  Surprise washed over me. The white woman I’d seen on the wagon. What was she doing in my tent?

  I tried to force my eyes open, but they wouldn’t respond. “What do you want with me?”

  “Only to serve. Thy friend Nell found you. We brought thee here to tend thy wounds. Does thee recall what happened?”

  I did.

  Hank had done this to me, but I wouldn’t tell the Crandle woman. It was none of her affair. As soon as I mended, I’d get my revenge on Hank.

  “Thee should rest.” I felt movement beside me and heard the rustle of her skirts as she stood. “I will return later. Perhaps thee will feel more like talking then.”

  She spoke in low tones to someone nearby, but I couldn’t make out the words. I wondered what the extent of my injuries were and who else knew about the beating.

  When the room grew quiet and I felt I was alone, I let my bruised body relax, but my mind swam in a murky pool of emotions. I’d been robbed and beaten by my own kind, yet a white woman caringly tended my wounds. Anger and hatred for Hank swirled through me while confusion over the Crandle woman’s kindness threatened to edge it out.

  Helplessness washed over me, and I hated myself for it. Ever since the day I was sold away from Mammy, I’d despised helplessness. When overseers beat me and chased me down like an animal, I’d been helpless. When men used my body for their own pleasure and babies died, I’d been helpless to prevent it from happening.

  But the one thing I’d fought to maintain control over was my emotions. No one could force me to love or hate. They were mine to decide. I wasn’t about to allow this white woman to steal that away from me, no matter her attentive ministrations.

  The next time she came to visit, I refused to speak or eat. I thought she would leave in a huff, but the minutes ticked by with only the soft sound of her breathing to let me know she still sat next to my cot.

  Finally my taut nerves had enough. “Leave me alone.”

  It seemed an absurd thing to speak into the silence, considering she hadn’t uttered a word or attempted to touch me.

  More silence filled the space between us before she spoke. “When I was a girl, I found a robin with its wing broken. My father told me the poor thing would die, but I refused to accept that.” She chuckled softly. “Papa always said I was stubborn. I put the bird in a cage and tended it. By some miracle it survived. I cried the day Papa said it needed to return to the wild.”

  Despite my declaration of wanting to be alone, I waited to hear the end of the story.

  “I carried the cage to the edge of the cornfield. When I opened the door, the robin didn’t fly away. For a moment I thought she wanted to stay with me, and that filled me with great joy. But suddenly she found the opening. I’ll never forget watching her take flight, as though she’d never been injured. She soared higher and higher before she finally disappeared into the woods.”

  She paused a moment before adding softly, “I only wish to help thee take flight.”

  The next day I let her spoon broth into my mouth. I allowed her to bathe my face and arms. She didn’t speak and neither did I, but the silence wasn’t heavy. I still couldn’t make out her face, yet I knew her hands well.

  On the third day, I opened my eyes to her happy smile. “Good morning.”

  She looked different than what I remembered from the day she arrived at camp. That day she’d worn a large black bonnet and a black dress. Today she wore a simple sheer day cap over her graying hair and a dark-blue dress without the adornments most white women preferred.

  “Perhaps today thee will want to rise from thy bed.”

  I did, but I didn’t want her to believe she had charge over me. Even in my helpless state, I refused to surrender to the whims of a white person.

  While she fed me, I glanced at my surroundings, surprised to find myself in a well-made tent. It was far larger than those we slaves occupied. A curtain separated my bed from the rest of the space, but I could see past it to two cots with colorful quilts, along with several trunks and a small writing desk and chair. Boxes and crates sat neatly stacked, and I wondered at their contents.

  My study of the tent continued until my breath caught, and I found myself staring at a stack of books sitting on the ground near the desk.

  The Crandle woman turned to see what had captured my attention. “Ah, I see thee has noticed the books for our school.” She faced me again. “One of the most vital skills we wish to impart to freemen and -women is the ability to read and write. Some believe school is only for children, but I daresay every adult can benefit from learning their letters.”

  I stared at her, not believing what I’d just heard. “You gonna teach slaves to read?”

  She smiled. “Yes. Young and old alike. Reading is not only for pleasure; it will be essential to securing employment and assuring one is not being taken advantage of. There are those who don’t believe thee and thy friends should learn to read, but I am not among them.”

  Memories flooded my mind, taking me back to the day the overseer found me with Charlotte’s book. I’d longed to know what the letters and printed words meant back then, yet that book had cost me dearly. Now this white woman and her kind were offering to teach slaves to read. I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  “Would thee be interested in learning thy letters?”

  My attention jerked back to her.

  Although she looked nothing like my former mistress, all I could see was Miz Sadie’s wide, pale face, smirking as the overseer dragged me from the house.

  “No.” I turned away, my appetite gone. “I ain’t interested in your books.”

  She stood after several moments. “I understand. But if thee changes thy mind, thee is most welcome to look through them. We have some on science and history, as well as storybooks. The illustrations are quite good.”

  I didn’t acknowledge her comments, and she finally turned and left me alone.

  She and several other white ladies came and went from the tent throughout the day. A younger version of the Crandle woman brought me a noon meal consisting of bread soaked in milk and small bites of boiled chicken. Although my jaw was quite sore and swollen, thankfully it hadn’t broken.

  Nell came to visit me that afternoon. Her gaze darted around the spacious tent before she settled on a chair next to my cot.

  “Miz Crandle made the Yankees put Hank in one of their prisons.”

  This news surprised me. “How’d she know it was him who beat me?”

  “Someone seen him leaving the tent and come and told her. When the soldiers went looking for him, they found him with your bag.”

  I chuckled, then grimaced at the pain it caused. “Guess he’s wishing he was digging them trenches right about now instead of sittin’ in a Yankee prison.”

  Nell shrugged. A moment later, however, tears sprang up in her eyes. “I sorry, Frankie. It’s my fault he beat you. If I had listened to you, this woulda never happened.”

  I almost reached for her but stopped myself before the pain got too bad. “It weren’t your fault, girl. He made up his own mind. Just watch yourself, you hear? Men like that are worthless. Next time it be you all bruised up, or worse.”

  She nodded, then glanced into the other area of the tent. “Miz Crandle gonna start up a school. Says we all need to learn to read and write so�
��s we can make something of ourselves after the war ends. Sam already knows how to read real good.”

  I didn’t care to discuss the school, so I settled on a new topic. “Who’s Sam?”

  Nell sighed and took on a silly look in her eyes. “He be the most handsome man I ever did see. And he’s free. He come with Miz Crandle from Pennsylvania. He’s been reading to us from the Bible in the evenings. I tell you, it’s something listening to him read.”

  A free black man. There hadn’t been many of those in Nashville before the Federals arrived. It was far too dangerous to be free in the South. You could be snatched up and taken to auction. But now that the Union Army occupied the city, quite a few freemen had turned up and were working for the army building fortifications around the city. Yet from Nell’s description of and ridiculous mooning over this one, I’d just as soon pass. I had no need for a man, free or slave, who had book learning.

  I shooed her away, suddenly exhausted. Nell promised to return, no doubt still feeling guilty for bringing Hank to our tent. My eyes drifted closed and I dreamed about Charlotte’s book. I woke with a start to the dim light of dusk.

  “I’m sorry to wake you, ma’am.”

  The deep voice surprised me. A large figure on the other side of the curtain moved to the table. He struck a match and lit the lantern. When he lifted it, illuminating his face, I knew immediately who the man was.

  Sam.

  The freeman.

  Nell was right. He was the most handsome man I’d ever seen.

  And I didn’t want anything to do with him.

  Alden picked me up the next evening after work and drove to Frankie’s. She’d invited us to join her and Jael for supper again, and I was anxious to find out more about Sam.

  “Why do you think Frankie was afraid of Sam?”

  Alden maneuvered the car through the darkening streets of Hell’s Half Acre. Thick clouds had filled the sky all day, giving the neighborhood a shadowed, ominous feeling tonight despite soft light coming from windows.