But the old life was over. It had been for several years now. She wasn’t a child anymore; she was seventeen, and Jo spoke as often as she had a mind to. She spoke freely because that’s what she was.
Free.
She still didn’t make a habit of speaking to white people. It could be reasonably avoided, now that the family had found their way to the colony. There were so many people around all the time, and if she stayed in the village, which she almost always chose to do, all those people were Black like her. It was glorious, a stunning sight, to look in every direction and see brown-skinned people building houses of their own, or coming and going. When she did see a white person, they were missionary teachers who’d come south to teach the newly free, or they were wearing Union uniforms. That didn’t make Jo trust them, but at least it meant they were on the right side.
She hadn’t meant to think all of that just because of meeting Joseph Williams and finding out that he had no old life of his own. She’d been so caught up in her thoughts and memories that she was halfway to slathering sweet butter over the deep cuts she’d made in the shad fish she’d brought home. She was ready to put the first collection of them in the skillet she’d set on the wood burner when she finally heard the front door open.
“Meg?” she cried, leaping back so she could look down the hall and into the front room. “Meg, are you home?”
“Joanna, it’s Mammy.”
Jo felt guilty at the way her shoulders sank. It was lovely to have a Mammy, especially the one she had. And especially because Papa was away.
“Come and sit near me while I cook, Mammy. You must be tired.”
“If I must be, then so must you,” the woman said, beginning to unpin her hair now that she was home for good.
She moved much slower now and Joanna smiled, though she could not help bristling immediately after at something her mother had once told her. There were no soldiers or officers to demand things of the woman here, and so while it was safe to take a restful posture in the comfort of her home, and despite that this was not a plantation, in the office Mammy dared not appear affected by the heat or the hours spent briskly at a dozen tasks—no matter how many times she was forced by some officer’s error to rewrite a letter or document. On any such occasion, they freely berated her, intimating that she was a lazy cow if she didn’t work twice as fast as they had to.
Though few outside the family would say so, in the March house, Jo was known for her passionate character, and so Mammy had not been surprised by her daughter’s outrage. Joanna had raged that she hadn’t been there when one of the Union men had had the audacity to say such a thing to Mammy, who had for her entire life done more work before sundown than many a white man, and never for a day’s wage or the lavish congratulations they all seemed to require for the slightest effort.
But of course that hadn’t even been the reason Mammy took issue with their complaints. It was that none of them had children to mind in the morning. She’d said that before she could even think of helping a white man sort his correspondences or make a list of supplies or men or the wounded, she had to make sure her daughters were well. She had to know they were fed, even if one of the blessed dears had taken it upon themselves to prepare or set out the food. She had to see them, lay her hands on them, to know that they were all still here.
Few things could silence Joanna March, but that had succeeded. It stilled her to hear her mother admit that daily she had to be convinced anew that the colony wasn’t a dream, and that no one had come in the night to snatch them back. She had to hear her children, she’d said, while Jo held her breath to ensure she didn’t interrupt. More than that, Mammy had told her, she had to remind her daughters that they could be heard. She had to listen to her Jo, whatever her second born wanted to say, because it was a blessing that the girl spoke at all. She had to make sure her children knew they were her treasure. And, like people who knew something of respect and consideration, her four daughters didn’t mind if she moved at a reasonable pace, she’d finished with a smile.
Today, Mammy made it to Jo’s side in her own time. She had a metal pin between her teeth, which she removed before wrapping an arm around the girl’s waist. She kissed her cheek four times, because the other three girls weren’t there to kiss, and then Mammy let her head rest on her daughter’s shoulder and breathed a full and restful sigh—which was when she smelled the skillet and the fish and the butter.
“Oh, Joanna, no!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Not shad, when we’re having a gentleman guest!”
“You love shad fish, Mammy,” Jo contested before turning with a start. “And how was I to know there’d be a gentleman guest?”
The newly arrived Joseph Williams sprang back to mind, but it was too great a coincidence to imagine.
“We’ll either spend half the night picking bones out of our mouths, or choke on them, there are so many.” Mammy sighed again, only this time, it was heavy with agitation.
“How lucky that Mary Pollack came by the build today, then, or we wouldn’t have enough of anything to offer your guest.”
“We have cornbread and smoked fish, and plenty of fruit,” Mammy said, looking around as though to confirm her stock.
“And you’d rather feed a gentleman something hot, even in the dead of June, Mammy.”
That was true.
“I don’t care at all,” Jo added, turning the fish once more. “But I know you do.”
“I do,” Mammy agreed before sighing again. “Thank you, Joanna.”
“Thank Mary Pollack—haven’t you been listening? The boys and I are nearly finished building her house, and she’s so pleased to have been next on the list that she went by the fishery and brought us each a feast of them.”
“I’ll thank Mary tomorrow … if none of us choke on shad bones tonight.”
Jo laughed as Mammy retreated to her bedroom to store the handful of pins she’d fished out of her rolled hair. The night was still warm, so she would no doubt braid and cover it with a crocheted snood so that it stayed off her neck but still looked becoming for their guest.
“It smells wonderful,” Meg said in salutation before anyone knew she’d come home. “But I couldn’t bear to stand before a stove in this heat.”
On her way out to the yard, Meg poked her younger sister in the ribs, and then she was back outside. Jo heard her working the pump and then giving a quiet prayer of thanks when she brought the cool water to wet her face and neck.
Jo smiled. “We’re all lucky I had the conviction, since Mammy’s invited someone home.”
Meg reentered the house. “Oh?”
“Meg, you’re home!” their mother exclaimed when she returned to the kitchen. “I meant to send word to you at the school, but I couldn’t get away again, and now he’ll arrive at any moment. And with Beth and Amy still not back!” She was speaking excitedly, and though she’d seemed tired before, now Jo could guess at the prayers her mother might have said throughout the day.
“You have high hopes for this gentleman, whoever he is,” she said, somewhat incredulously.
“Gentleman?” Meg wrapped one arm around her own waist and straightened.
“She’s invited someone to supper and hasn’t even told us his name,” Jo explained, “but he must have impressed you, Mammy. You sound ready to commission Meg’s wedding gown.”
Now both of Meg’s arms tensed at her sides, and if Jo noticed, at least she didn’t make a show of it. It would be embarrassing to find it common knowledge how distracted Meg had become this past year, wondering when she’d marry, and whom. She was nineteen, and Mammy assured her it would be several years before anyone wondered why she wasn’t. It was meant to put her at ease, but the problem was that Meg wished to be courting and couldn’t help being disappointed not to be. Worse, men poured into the colony on almost a daily basis, but few were prospects. They were too young, or else they came with wives already or women they intended to marry. Others were concerned w
ith the war, and when they would be allowed to enlist in the Union; they had no head for romance, and Meg had every desire to be a wife, but none to be made a war widow.
“Don’t be dramatic, Jo,” Mammy said, but then she covered her mouth with her hand, and both her daughters knew that Joanna had been right.
“I thought I was the only one desperate to find me a husband,” Meg said, doing only slightly better at seeming calm. “Well. At least tell us who he is.”
Mammy looked between her two eldest daughters, whose eyes were wide and expecting, one with nervous anxiety, the other with curious excitement.
“If ever I were going to make a perfect husband for you, Meg, it would be him,” she said, taking her eldest daughter’s hand. “He’s the kind of man Papa would adore; I know it. That’s the first thing I thought when we met.”
“Which was only this afternoon,” Jo said with a smirk that made Mammy drop her chin a bit, as though embarrassed.
“That’s true. I shouldn’t have let my imagination get away from me. It matters more what Meg thinks of Joseph than your father or me.”
“Joseph?” Jo asked incredulously. “Joseph Williams?”
“That’s right.”
Now it was Meg whose attention volleyed between the other two women.
“Will someone please tell me who this Joseph Williams is?”
In reply, Jo grabbed her sister’s wrist from Mammy’s hand, and pulled her from the kitchen and toward their bedroom.
“It turns out Mammy might be right, Meg,” Jo explained, closing the door behind them and pushing her older sister backward until she had no choice but to drop onto the bed they shared. Then she opened the trunk where Beth kept all the lovely pieces she fashioned for her sisters, among the scraps that were not yet completed.
“You know something of this Joseph Williams, too?” Meg asked, unbuttoning the blouse she’d worn all that very hot day.
Mammy burst into the bedroom with a tin wash basin and a rag thrown over her shoulder, both of which she placed on the stand between the two beds where all four of her children slept.
“I’ll see to supper, Jo,” she said, submerging the rag before wringing it and handing it to Meg to wash her face and neck. When she left, she closed the door behind her, and at the sound of the front door opening, both Meg and Jo froze. They waited and listened, but soon they heard their youngest sister shriek in telling Mammy about her day. Relieved, they set back to the task of beautifying Meg.
“Put this one on,” Jo said, tossing a delicate blouse onto the bed before taking the rag and submerging it again. “But wash under your arms first.”
She wiped her damp hands on her skirt and went back to the trunk for a belt, and then knelt down and felt underneath Amy’s pillow before retrieving something wrapped in lace.
Meg was nearly put back together now. She stretched her neck to see around Jo’s shoulder at the contents of the lace bundle.
“I hope she won’t mind,” she said, smiling at the revealed hair comb.
“If she does, she’ll mend.”
Jo came back to their bed, and Meg turned so that the comb could be fitted into her hair. It was lovely and ornate, with seven long teeth, and a scrolling floral design hand carved into its metal. It was also not the kind of thing any of them would have owned before finding shelter at the abandoned big house en route to the colony. There had been so many treasures there, left behind when the previous residents fled. The best had been hidden for safekeeping, as though someone intended to return one day. It had become a daily pastime while the March family sheltered there, the girls searching for nooks and crannies where something else might be tucked away.
Amy had come upon the hair comb beneath a loose bit of flooring in the largest bedroom, and claimed it as her own. It was fair that she should consider it hers, but they were sisters, Jo thought, and she shouldn’t be bothered to share things.
“How do I look?” Meg asked when they were finished.
“Like you haven’t been standing on your feet all day in a tent, teaching freedpeople their letters despite the heat, because you know how important it will be that we all know how to make our marks.”
The two held each other’s arms, cradling elbows, and smiled.
“Although I think Mr. Williams should know,” Jo added. “How else will he understand how lucky he’d be to win your attention?”
“If by some miracle he doesn’t, I trust my Joanna to set him straight.”
They each took in a deep breath, and then reopened the bedroom door.
“Mammy wouldn’t let me go inside my own bedroom,” Amy huffed as she barreled past them. Surely she had no need to occupy it, but was offended at the restriction.
Beth, on the other hand, had two heavy bundles to stow—one she held in her arms, and the other she pushed with her foot down the hall before nudging it into the room.
“Do you like the blouse, Meg?” she asked. “It’s the thinnest material, I was worried I’d ruin it.”
“It came out perfectly, Bethlehem. It’s refreshing to wear in this weather.”
Everyone milled about, at their various tasks and rarely in the same room, but kept up several conversations at once, as they always did.
“Come and help clear the table so we can set it,” Mammy said to whomever had free hands, and Amy came bounding out of the bedroom where she had flounced on her bed and watched Beth organize what they’d brought home.
“Where did this come from?” Jo exclaimed, coming down the hall with a pie in her hands.
Meg leaned close to smell it. “Is that molasses apple?”
“Florence at the big house made it to thank Beth for the way she mended a dress that must’ve belonged to the master’s wife,” Amy replied.
It was only that that caused the house to quiet, three of the sisters and Mammy halting and looking at each other before looking back at Amethyst. Jo put the pie on the table and then held the youngest’s hands. No one else was ready to speak, or else would need too many moments to decide how best to redress the conversation, so it came to Jo.
“I know that’s what we called them, Amy. But not now. Words are so terribly important, you know I think so. And it matters what we call each other, and what we call everyone else.” Her usually excitable baby sister looked small with her eyes wide and wondering, as though she weren’t certain whether she was being chastised, but Jo was only correcting her. Jo spoke gently now so that the young girl wasn’t confused into thinking she’d done anything wrong. “No one was ever a master, dear heart. They were only enslavers, and they aren’t now. Not anymore, and never again.”
“But they might be,” Amy replied. It was more timid than her usual nature, and her eyes roamed a bit without landing on anyone too long. “The war’s not over.”
It was just like her to say something that no one else dared, but it didn’t mean she was the only one to think it. In the front room of this home built just for them—before there were groups of men young and not so young organized to do it, and while the five had still been living as refugees on the mainland in an abandoned big house with nearly a hundred others—the March women huddled closer without thinking to. Arms wound around waists and hands landed on shoulders after touching a cheek or a coil of hair.
Jo knelt down, even though it meant that the youngest was above her now. She kept Amy’s hands in hers.
“It is here,” she said. “Here, and New Bern, and as far as Corinth, Mississippi, where Papa’s gone, the war’s been won.”
She felt Beth, Meg, and Mammy close behind her, and she nodded up at Amy.
“This is a freedpeople’s colony. That’s what they call it, all over the country. They know about us and this place, and what we’re building. Everybody knows we’re free now.” She smiled so she wouldn’t cry. That wouldn’t do. Her sister would be confused and think she was telling one of her tales, meant to pacify the young ones but not meant to be true. And this was . “That’s the way it’ll stay, Amethyst. I
give you my word.”
It was quiet after that, Jo on her knees, and Amy’s hands in hers, the other three standing close enough to share a breath. It was still enough to hear an angel pass overhead, until there came a knock at the door.
They’d all but forgotten Mr. Joseph Williams, and now a guest felt almost like an intrusion.
“Well,” Mammy said, breaking the spell, after which everyone breathed again and stood a little ways apart. “Bethlehem, would you see to the door? And Amy, help Joanna in the kitchen.”
They dispersed at her command, except for Meg, who wove her fingers through her mother’s.
When Bethlehem invited him in, Joseph Williams took off his hat before entering, and Meg March was already smitten.
III
If Joseph Williams had heard tell of the genteel nature of Southern women, the Marches did not dissuade him of its validity. They ate so carefully and hardly spoke, even though they made polite expressions to mask the way they ran their tongues along their teeth to clear the shad bones. Only Amy reached into her mouth before Beth tapped her sister’s leg under the table to bring her to her senses. The young man was the gentleman Mammy had promised—he pretended not to notice, though he almost immediately begged their pardon before doing the same. That made Amy and Beth exchange smiles, and caused Meg to wistfully sigh.
Beneath the jacket he’d worn to supper, Joseph had square shoulders, despite which he also had long arms and soft hands. There were no marks on the back of them and few calluses on the front, which every sister noticed, from youngest to eldest. It was a strangeness they couldn’t have predicted, because until him, they’d only ever met Black men with workmen’s hands. He was no more handsome because he’d been born free, but the clay-brown skin of his face and neck had fewer lines. He hadn’t spent every day of his life at the mercy of the weather, as far as they could tell.
So Many Beginnings: A Little Women Remix: 2 (Remixed Classics) Page 2
