“You’re free!” Jordan burst out. “Haven’t you heard of the Thirteenth Amendment?”
“Course I heard that I free,” Sarah replied, heat and indignation in her voice, “but I don’ know what good it do me.”
“You can do what you like, and you can go where you like,” Jordan replied more gently.
“Freedom don’ come with a house. Freedom don’ come with a horse. Freedom don’ come with land. Freedom don’ come with food,” Sarah hissed.
Jordan’s stomach lurched at the truth of the rebuke: freedom didn’t mean very much without the means to exercise it.
“Have you managed to save any of your pay?” Jordan asked carefully, not wanting to sound judgmental.
Mama threw Jordan a harsh look and said quickly, “You don’ need any money to come with us. We gonna take care of you till you get on yo’ feet.”
Sarah shook her head, snorted, and then clicked her tongue.
“You ’magine things so diff’rent now? The only thin’ that change is they ain’t so many of us to do all the work. Massa don’ give us money. We gets food, cloth, and”—Sarah waved her hand around—“this place to live. We don’ get no pay.”
Massa. That word pierced Jordan. Sarah still had a massa, and she didn’t get paid?
“Massa don’t take well to anybody that say they want anythin’ diff’rent than he say we get.” Sarah shook her head, then looked resigned. “Well, you here now. We gonna have a nice visit tonight, and in the mornin’ I gonna fix up the mess you made by comin’ back where you don’ belong anymore. Maybe Massa gonna say you can stay for a visit, but I ain’t gonna leave with you when you goes. I ’preciate your carin’, but I tol’ you in that letter I ain’t movin’ to Ohio!” Sarah declared. “I go get us our supper now. I got a nice stew cookin’ that’ll stretch jus’ fine.” She patted Mama’s hand.
Jordan’s heart sank. They’d come all this way for nothing? She looked at her mama, concerned that Mama was hurt by this news, but the woman watching Sarah leave through the worn door looked more determined than hurt.
After Sarah left, Mama hissed at Jordan, “You ac’ like her food the bes’ thin’ you ever ate. You understand me?”
“Of course, Mama! I’m not going to be rude.” Jordan was indignant that her mother thought she would be disrespectful. “I’m sorry that Sarah won’t take you up on your offer to move to Ohio. As you said, it’s too scary for some people to give up the familiar.”
“This ain’t over yet,” Mama insisted.
Sarah returned carrying a heavy metal pot. She ladled a greasy brown liquid into three dull wooden bowls sitting on the table lit by a small oil lantern. Jordan’s stomach lurched at the thought of spooning the slimy mess into her mouth.
“Thank you, Cousin Sarah.” Jordan smiled, doing her best not to show the trepidation that she felt.
Sarah reached out her hands to each side and spoke grace. “Thanks to God fo’ bringin’ Mattie and Jordan to me safe. Watch over Samuel in the woods. We glad for this food and for yo mercy. Amen.”
Jordan and Mattie followed with amens of their own. Jordan steeled herself for the meal. She held her breath as she spooned the brown liquid into her mouth, swallowing quickly, hoping to bypass her taste buds. She worked to keep a neutral look on her face as the flavor hit her despite her precautions. The stew was as distasteful as she feared.
She forced a smile. “Thank you for supper, Cousin Sarah.”
“It ain’t much, but I happy to share what I got with you,” Sarah replied.
“After so long on the road, this hit the spot,” Mama said.
Jordan wanted water to wash down the food, but there wasn’t any on the table. She considered asking for it but realized that might be rude. She’d have to get through this meal without it.
“I can tell you ain’t from here by the way you talk,” Sarah said to Jordan. “Do all the color folk talk diff’rent there?”
Jordan considered the question. Did Sarah even know about college . . . or high school? She didn’t want to be insulting—either underexplaining or saying too much. Before she could formulate a response, Mama spoke up.
“Jordan and Samuel both went to college. That the most schooling you can get. Emmanuel and I so proud of ’em.” Mama smiled at Jordan.
Wonder on her face, Sarah shook her head. “You really got yo’selves a good life.” Her chapped lips pulled up at the edges. She took a slow breath, and Jordan saw her eyes well up with tears. Jordan watched various emotions cross over Sarah’s face. It was hard to know exactly what she was thinking or feeling, but it seemed that pain and awe, uncommon companions, were wrestling in her heart and mind.
Jordan felt bad that their presence was so unsettling to this woman. She looked at Mama, hoping she would have soothing words, but Mama didn’t disrupt the quiet. The three women sat in the discomfort of this strange situation.
Eventually Sarah gestured with her head and said, “You born right over there.”
Jordan’s stomach flipped. Too many times over the years she’d heard that she was born in a slave shack, but here? In her mind’s eye she’d never imagined something as dreary and primitive as this. She looked at Mama, who nodded. Jordan took in the dirt floor and the rough wood walls. It was hard to see in the dim light, but she doubted the morning sun would make this space less of a dirty cave.
“Right there on that bed stand.” Mama grew wistful. “I held you in my arms after a long night’s work and swore to God we was gonna join yo’ brother and yo’ father. I done it too!”
A chill ran down Jordan’s back as she felt the enormity of what Mama had done. She’d been alarmingly close to having an entirely different life—one where her fingers would have picked worms off tobacco plants rather than turned pages of books. Her head was dizzy with the thought. She gazed at her own smooth hands and then studied Cousin Sarah’s swollen and gnarled fingers. If Mama had stayed here Jordan’s life would have been preoccupied with survival, not emancipation and the women’s franchise.
“You live here all ’lone?” Mama asked Sarah.
Sarah nodded slowly. “Ever since the girls lef’ . . .” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and went on, “And Ma died.”
Mama leaned in and put her hand over Sarah’s. She said, her voice tight as well, “You ain’t never tol’ me how my sister passed.”
Sarah took a deep breath and then sighed. “Four summers ago Massa say Sophia and Ella—they my daughters.” She looked at Jordan as she gave that explanation, then went on. “Massa say they gotta go south. He say he sold them . . . to pay for a wedding!” Sarah hissed, indignation filling her voice. “Can you believe he think a fancy wedding more important than my family!”
Sarah continued. “Mama say, ‘No!’ She say right to his face that they free. We knowed the Emancipation Proclamation say so, that he can’ just make ’em leave. Quick as a flash Massa swung his walkin’ stick at her. He hit Mama hard with that big metal bird.”
Jordan flinched.
“Like I say, he don’ take no stock in our freedom. The next day he grab my girls, put ’em in a wagon, and they driven away. They tears didn’ change anythin’. Mama’s yelling didn’ change a thing. Her head swolled up big, and there weren’t nowhere for the swellin’ to go.”
Sarah fell silent, lost in thought. Jordan waited, anxious for the ending, though she knew the excruciating outcome.
“My mama died three days later.” Sarah swallowed hard. Her face was stony, but Jordan sensed she was overcome with intense emotion.
“Oh, Sarah,” Mama exclaimed. “That’s jus’ awful—the saddest thin’ I think I ever heard.”
“How old were they?” Jordan had to know. “Sophia and Ella?”
Sarah bit her lip. “Sophia had just made eight. Ella still five years old. Just a baby really.”
Jordan imagined the two little girls, crying as they were being driven away, while Cousin Sarah watched helplessly. Her eyes burned at the thought of those children forced from their home
and family—without anyone to care for them.
Sarah looked straight at her and said, “I don’ even know if they was kept together.”
The agony in Sarah’s voice cut straight into Jordan’s heart. Tears spilled onto her cheeks. Jordan’s throat swelled up so tight that she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She took a shaky, deep breath through her nose. Reading about the conditions of the Southern slaves never felt like this. Even the intense and painful details of slave narratives did not compare with hearing this story firsthand from her cousin.
Sarah whispered through a tight throat, “I can’ never leave Fair Oaks till they come back. That hope the only thing keepin’ me going all these years. Maybe they got real freedom where they gone to. Maybe they gonna come lookin’ for me.”
Jordan searched for the right words to say to her cousin, but nothing could be remotely adequate in the face of such horror. Mama was right. Sarah had to get out of this horrible place. She laid her hand over Sarah’s, wiped her cheek, and declared through taut vocal cords, “We will find your children and take you all to Oberlin.”
She looked at her mama for affirmation. Mama gazed back with her intense and kind caramel-brown eyes and nodded. Jordan smiled a tender, moist-eyed smile back at her mother.
CHAPTER 7
LISBETH
Charles City County, Virginia
Lisbeth and her children traveled on a tree-lined dirt road close to the James River. They were taking a few days away from Richmond to visit Lisbeth’s childhood friend.
Lisbeth had left Virginia before Mary Bartley’s wedding to Daniel. In the intervening ten years, Mary gave birth to seven children, five of whom were still alive, and she was the mistress of a large plantation along the James River. Somehow Daniel seemed to have acquired more land during the conflict between the states.
Strong emotion arose in Lisbeth as they journeyed: excitement or fear, perhaps a mixture of the two. She and Mary had corresponded regularly, but they avoided unpleasant topics like the war. Lisbeth worried that Mary would feel Lisbeth was a traitor to their cause, like her family did. Mary had been nothing but enthusiastic when she invited Lisbeth and the children for a visit—in fact she’d absolutely insisted that they take the time away—but nevertheless, Lisbeth was wary.
“As I’ve mentioned, Mary and I were dearest friends growing up,” Lisbeth told her children.
“Were you desk mates at school?” Sadie asked.
“We did not attend school,” Lisbeth explained. “We each had tutors in our homes. Though we did have comportment lessons together, with all the other girls in the area.”
“Comportment?” Sammy queried.
Lisbeth shrugged. “Lessons on manners and dancing to prepare to be young women.”
“Will I have compamortment lessons?” Sadie wanted to know.
Lisbeth laughed. “Comportment. No, thankfully we don’t have the same kind of system in Ohio. And here we are.” Lisbeth pointed to the grand house.
Sammy’s mouth literally dropped open. The brick façade and large white columns were very impressive. This was the largest house he’d ever seen, and it showed on his face.
“Whoa!” he blurted out. “I thought Grandmother Wainwright’s house was big.”
The glossy white front door opened, and Mary flew out to greet them.
“My dear Lisbeth!” she exclaimed.
She looked just the same and yet so different from the girl Lisbeth had left ten years earlier. Seven pregnancies had left some gray in her hair, and a hint of sadness hid in her sparkling eyes. It looked like a slight breeze could bowl her over because she was so thin, but she greeted Lisbeth with such joy that any fears Lisbeth had about their reunion evaporated instantly.
The two women shared a long embrace. Lisbeth’s heart opened up even wider when Mary hugged Sadie and Sammy as well.
“Come in!” Mary said to the three travelers. “I have arranged for tea in the garden. The children are so excited to meet you, my dearest childhood friend and her children! We can watch the river, and the children can play with one another.”
“Should I get my carpetbag?” Sammy asked Lisbeth in quiet tones.
“Oh, no!” Mary replied. “Leave everything. It will all be taken care of.”
As they stepped into Mary’s grand entry, Lisbeth looked back to see a brown-skinned servant lead her wagon away. Mary hooked her arm through Lisbeth’s and led the way through the back of the house to the grounds. Sadie held Lisbeth’s left hand, and Sammy followed from behind.
“My brother Robert has been living with us since the end of the war,” Mary whispered in her ear as they walked on the wide gravel path. “He will join us until he tires. Please do not comment on his appearance—or mention the conflict. We are striving to bolster his spirits.”
Lisbeth nodded, grateful for the direction to avoid the topic of the war. She breathed in the familiar damp air as they walked in silence toward the river. She took in the trees and the grass. A shiver passed through her when the slow-moving James River came into view. This was home. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it until this moment.
Robert was sitting at a small table by the bank. Lisbeth had seen many young men returned from the war, but never one she’d known as a boy. Robert was utterly transformed from the mischievous young man who had always made others laugh. His shoulders hunched up to his ears, and his chin was curled over to his chest. His eyes darted sideways to watch them approach but returned to stare at the ground as they drew close.
“These are my children,” Mary announced cheerfully. “Danny, Harry, Rose, Hannah, and baby Freddy.”
The children lined up to shake their hands; even Hannah, who couldn’t have been two yet, followed her siblings.
“Oh, Mary. They are precious!” Lisbeth exclaimed. “May I?” Lisbeth gestured toward the baby in the servant’s arms.
“Certainly.” Mary grabbed the baby and passed him to Lisbeth.
Lisbeth cuddled Freddy. She loved the feel of the baby’s warm, soft head against her chest.
“Can I touch him?” Sadie asked.
“Just his toes,” Lisbeth instructed.
“Nonsense,” Mary corrected. “He cannot afford to be fragile. Not as the youngest of five. You can hold him if you like.”
“Really?!” Sadie looked eager.
“He is not a toy,” Lisbeth admonished her daughter. “You must take care.”
“I will. I promise!”
Mary pointed to a blanket a few feet away. “Louisa will help you hold him on the blankets. Truth be told, my children are as comfortable with her as with me. She’s been their nurse since they were born.”
“Like me . . . with Mattie,” Lisbeth told Mary. Her childhood friend nodded with a small smile.
Lisbeth passed the baby to the tall woman with light-brown skin and watched her herd Mary’s children to the blankets. Like being served by Emily, it was familiar, but surprising that the end of slavery hadn’t impacted their household more dramatically. Lisbeth wondered if Louisa was paid, or if she too worked for room and board like Emily.
“You too,” Mary instructed Sadie and Sammy. “Your mother will be right here if you need anything. Go on!”
Lisbeth nodded in agreement, and her children scampered off to join the others who were playing a chasing game.
“Louisa is such a dear. My life would be intolerable without her. You traveled without your nurse?”
“We do not have one.”
Mary’s blue eyes went wide, and then she blinked away her surprise. “Life is different in Ohio! Tell me everything!”
“It’s not so different. We have a nice home and farm. Since the war ended we’ve grown flax, which is highly in demand, as well as oats, in rotation.” As soon as the word war was out of her mouth, Lisbeth regretted mentioning the conflict. She continued quickly, hoping her error would go unnoticed. “As I wrote, Sadie started first grade in the autumn, so the house is quiet in the middle of the day. We have a public s
chool system in Oberlin divided by grades. We attend church as a family on Sunday.”
Robert looked up suddenly. He’d been stony silent since they arrived, and she had nearly forgotten about him. He stared hard at her, giving her a good look at his craggy face. He had the scared, angry, and confused look of so many returned soldiers. Once again she felt the terrible cost of the conflict.
“You! Had the war? In Ohio?” he challenged.
“There was no fighting near our home,” Lisbeth said gently, “but so many men were gone that we felt the effects.”
“Felt the effects,” Robert whispered. “Felt . . . the . . . effects,” he continued slowly. He nodded. “Me too. Your husband? He was in the war?”
Robert’s eyes bored into Lisbeth as if his life depended upon her answer. She nodded silently.
“Blue or gray?” he asked, his voice charged with emotion.
Lisbeth’s heart skipped a beat. She was trapped between the evil of a lie and the harm of the facts. In Ohio the Union felt entirely noble. She never imagined she’d feel shame about Matthew fighting in the war, but here, along the bank of the James River, telling the truth to Robert was problematic.
Lisbeth looked at her childhood friend. “Sorry,” she mouthed. Mary gave a small shrug.
“Blue or gray?” Robert insisted, fury in his question.
Fortunately Mary spoke up so Lisbeth did not have to select the correct path. “Robert, I think you know the answer to that question.” Mary patted her brother’s hand. “It’s over now, dear.”
“Is it?” he asked, staring off into the distance, his eyes watching something visible only to him. Robert shook his head and slowly turned his gaze to his sister. “It may be over to you, but not to me. It will never be over for me.”
Robert stood up and joined the children on the blankets.
“Oh, Mary. I am so sorry.”
“This is actually a good day for Robert. Some days he is so agitated he frightens the children, and others he doesn’t speak a word.”
“How long has he been like this?” Lisbeth inquired softly.
Mary looked at Lisbeth, her fingers twisting the white cloth napkin on her lap. She seemed to be wrestling with herself.
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