by Lynn Austin
Daniel looked away. “Yeah . . . How is Captain Blake doing?”
“We haven’t been to see him yet, but he’s finally home from the hospital in Richmond. We should pay him a visit and cheer him up.” They were all standing in the foyer at the foot of the stairs, and Eugenia didn’t know what else to say. She wasn’t ready to talk about Philip or Samuel. “Well,” she said, exhaling. “You go on up and make yourself at home. And if there’s anything you’d like—anything at all—you just ask.”
“How about a hot bath?” He grinned, and for a moment he was her young, carefree son again. But his smile quickly faded.
“Of course, darling. Would you like to shave, too? I can have Lizzie look for some soap and a razor.”
“Maybe,” he said, stroking his chin, “I don’t know. I’ve worn a beard for so long I might feel naked without it. But tell the slaves to throw these clothes away. They’re probably infested with lice and fleas.”
Eugenia shuddered. She couldn’t imagine all that he had suffered. Daniel gripped the banister to go upstairs, then changed his mind and walked into his father’s study. He let his bag drop to the floor as he gazed all around. “It’s hard to believe Daddy’s really gone,” he said.
Eugenia didn’t reply. She didn’t follow Daniel into the room but stood in the doorway, watching as he took in the details.
“Are you all right, Mother?” he asked after turning to her.
Eugenia nodded. “He would expect us to keep going.”
Daniel crossed the room to open the cabinet where Philip kept his liquor. He wouldn’t find any. “The Yankees took it all,” she said before he could ask. “They took nearly all our rugs, too—or at least that’s what the slaves would have me believe.”
“We have to call them servants now, Mother,” Josephine said from behind her.
Eugenia waved her words away. “I know, I know . . . How can I possibly forget when you keep reminding me all the time?”
Daniel went to his father’s desk. He looked exhausted, but he hesitated, as if reluctant to sit in Philip’s chair. He looked up at Eugenia, his expression that of a small boy who had lost his way. Then, to her horror, he covered his face with his hands and wept. Eugenia turned to shoo her daughters away.
“Josephine. Mary. Go find the slaves and tell them to start heating water for Daniel’s bath. Go! Quickly!” When the girls were gone, Eugenia went to comfort her son. Lord knows how many tears she had shed in this room after hearing the terrible news. But Daniel was a man, and men didn’t cry. “I can’t even imagine what you’ve had to endure,” she soothed as she held him close. “My poor Daniel . . .”
How hard it was to watch her children suffer! Soon, very soon, she would start making everything right for them again, making up for all they had lost. Daniel’s weeping gradually tapered off. Eugenia gently guided her son up the stairs to his room. “You’ll feel better after you’ve rested and bathed and changed into clean clothes,” she told him. “I’m certain of it.”
For the next few days, Daniel slept a great deal. Once or twice Eugenia thought she heard him weeping in the night, but she didn’t go to him or acknowledge that she’d heard. When Daniel was awake, Eugenia watched from a distance as he wandered the house or the plantation grounds, often stopping to stare into space or wipe tears from his eyes. She made up her mind that the best way to help him get back on his feet was to encourage him to be with his friends. The other planters and their sons were in the same situation that she and Daniel were in, so perhaps he would draw comfort and courage from them.
“You must miss the camaraderie you experienced during the war,” she said one morning at breakfast. “You fought every battle with your friends, and you must have grown very close after so much time.”
“We were together from the very beginning—those of us who are left.”
“Why don’t I tell Otis to harness the carriage for us? I think we should visit Harrison Blake and his mother this morning. Mary and Josephine, you need to come, too.”
“I would prefer to stay home,” Josephine said.
Eugenia’s temper flared before she could stop it. “Why? So you can work in the garden in the hot sun and talk to that wretched slave again?” She paused to regain control. “You need to converse with people who are our social equals, Josephine. Harrison’s mother is one of my dearest friends, and it has been much too long since we’ve visited with her.”
“I was there when Captain Blake lost his leg,” Daniel said, his tone somber. “He and Samuel were right beside each other when the bombs started falling. If I had been twenty feet closer . . .” His voice trailed off, shaky with unshed tears.
Eugenia drew a breath to steady her own voice, aware that her son Samuel had died at his friend Harrison’s side. “You mustn’t think of all the ‘what ifs,’ darling. You’re home now, and that’s all that matters. I’m sure Captain Blake would enjoy visitors. He was in Chimborazo Hospital for such a long time. His mother and fiancée spent months there, taking care of him. I’m certain he’ll be happy to see you.” And maybe Daniel would finally climb out of the doldrums when he realized how much he had to be thankful for—including his life and all of his limbs.
An hour later they were finally on their way, although Eugenia felt as though she was dragging all three of her children there against their wills. When they arrived, a smaller carriage was already hitched to the rail in front of the house. “They have company,” Josephine said. “We should leave.”
“Nonsense. We can at least say hello.” Eugenia’s driver helped her climb from the carriage, and she was relieved when a Negro servant came to the door to greet them. At least her friend Priscilla still had domestic help. “Are we intruding?” Eugenia asked the servant. “I see the Blakes already have company.”
“It’s just Miz Emma, ma’am. She and Miz Priscilla will be happy to see you.”
Eugenia motioned to her children, who were lagging behind. “Come on now. The carriage belongs to Harrison’s fiancée.”
The servant herded them into the former study, now converted into a main-floor bedroom. Harrison’s father had died a few years before the war, leaving the plantation to his only surviving child. The draperies in the study were drawn shut, making the room seem dreary. Eugenia waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, then tried not to reveal her shock when she saw Harrison lying in bed, propped up with pillows. He resembled a corpse, his face as white as the bed sheets he lay on. She couldn’t help noticing the outline of his legs beneath the covers, one stretching full length, the other stopping above his knee.
She moved aside as her children entered the room and was embarrassed to see tears in Daniel’s eyes. Mary and Josephine had quickly looked away from Harrison, unable to disguise their horror. Maybe this visit had been a mistake.
Or maybe Daniel would finally find his strength by helping his former captain. Maybe her daughters would stop behaving like timid mice and learn how to handle themselves with poise and grace. Bashful girls seldom attracted the best husbands, nor did gloomy ones.
“Hello, Harrison,” Eugenia began. “We were so happy to hear that you were home and so we decided to pay you a visit.” She turned to his mother and fiancée. “Priscilla, Emma . . . you must be thrilled to have him home. We know how glad we are to have our Daniel back.” She continued the conversation for several minutes, doing most of the talking and getting mere grunts from Harrison in return. His mother and fiancée seemed unusually subdued, as well. Eugenia had the feeling that her visit had interrupted something dramatic or emotional.
“Well, come on, ladies,” Eugenia finally said. “Why don’t we go into the parlor to chat and let our two men catch up, shall we?”
When they were all seated in the front room, Eugenia noticed that Harrison’s fiancée was close to tears. “It must be very difficult to see the man you love so ill,” Eugenia said, resting her hand on Emma’s in sympathy. “We must pray that he’ll regain his full strength.”
“It’s n
ot his health that worries me, Mrs. Weatherly. Harrison is in such low spirits and I . . . I don’t know how to cheer him.” She retrieved a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes.
“Daniel is dispirited, too. It’s only natural, considering everything they’ve seen and suffered. Imagine losing the war after fighting so hard and paying such an enormous price.”
“Harrison says terrible things to me, hurtful things. It’s as if he’s deliberately trying to drive me away,” Emma said.
“I don’t know what has gotten into my son to talk the way he does,” Priscilla added. She looked fragile and faded, like a flower that has been dried and pressed flat between the pages of a heavy book. Her eyes were as pain-filled as her son’s.
“It’s his illness speaking,” Eugenia said. “People can’t be held accountable for what they say when they aren’t well.” Her own son barely spoke at all, and she wondered which was worse, to have a child who was sullen and withdrawn like Daniel, or one who spewed wounding words like Harrison.
“Listen, Emma,” Priscilla said. “I meant what I said earlier. If you’re having second thoughts about the engagement, no one in the world would blame you for breaking it. Least of all me.”
“But I love him, Mrs. Blake. He wrote such beautiful letters to me, saying how much he loved me and that he looked forward to starting our new life together after the war. I saved all of them, and I read them over and over again. I was so afraid I’d never see him again, and now . . .”
“War changes people,” Priscilla said. “None of us are the same people we were. And Harrison has changed most of all.”
“We must not give up,” Eugenia said. “We’ve all had our share of grief and sorrow, Lord knows. But we can’t give in to it. Our men need us to be strong now more than ever. I honestly believe we’ve finally touched the bottom of this deep well, and we can begin to climb out. We must climb out.”
“How?” Priscilla asked. “I don’t think I have the strength.”
“Then we’ll help each other. And maybe that’s what our men need, too. Daniel misses talking with the other men around the campfire at night. After all, they traveled and fought alongside each other for five years. I told him to invite everyone over to White Oak some evening. I have nothing at all to serve them, mind you, but it will do them good to be together again. Harrison should come, too.”
“He won’t go,” Emma said. “He’ll hate the idea. Harrison hates having everyone see him this way, lying in bed, helpless. He said he doesn’t feel like a man anymore.”
“That’s just the illness talking. He’ll cheer up now that he’s home.”
“I pray you’re right, Mrs. Weatherly.”
“We so enjoyed making social calls before the war, didn’t we, ladies? And now we simply must see one another more often. It will lift our spirits if we do.” And Eugenia was reminded that she must work hard at finding husbands for Mary and Josephine. So many young men had died that competition for husbands would be fierce. Josephine was a plain girl, truth be told, but charm and personality could make up for a lot of faults. She simply must make more of an effort.
They chatted for a while longer until Eugenia began to feel the strain of carrying the conversation. Daniel’s visit with Harrison was lasting much longer than a usual social call, and she was running out of small-talk. She rose to her feet, smoothing her skirt. “We mustn’t keep you, Priscilla. I’m sure you have so much to do. Emma, would you mind telling Daniel we’re ready to leave?”
Emma left the room but was back again almost immediately with a strange look on her face. “Daniel is gone, Mrs. Weatherly. Harrison said he left a long time ago to walk home.”
How odd. And how rude. But Eugenia didn’t voice her thoughts. “Of course, Harrison needs to rest. And Daniel probably didn’t want to make us feel rushed. I promise we’ll come back another day, Priscilla dear. And it was so nice to see you again, Emma.”
Eugenia thought they might catch up with Daniel on the way home and give him a ride, but there was no one on the road at all. How long ago had he left? Where had he gone?
“You girls were certainly quiet today,” Eugenia said as they removed their hats and gloves in the foyer. “I fear you have forgotten how to engage in polite conversation.”
“I didn’t know what to say,” Josephine said.
“Me either,” Mary added. “Harrison looks like he’s dying, and everyone seemed so sad. I wouldn’t blame Emma if . . .” She didn’t finish.
“It’s wrong to desert the people you love in difficult times. Things will get better, eventually. Do you girls remember the thunderstorms we used to have during the summer months, and how the wind would blow all the leaves and branches down in our yard? Sometimes the lane would flood, too, remember? But in time, everything would get cleaned up and the water would disappear, and we could forget all about the storm.”
“Harrison Blake isn’t going to grow a new leg.”
“Josephine! What a thing to say! What has gotten into you lately?”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”
Eugenia exhaled. “What am I going to do with you?” She felt as though she had lost touch with her daughter during the long years of war, the way they had lost touch with Daniel when Petersburg had been under siege. Yes, the war had been long and terrible, and sadness still lingered over the South like fog. But Eugenia made up her mind to bring in fresh air and sunlight to drive it away. She would help Daniel find a wife and see that her daughters were settled in their own homes with husbands to watch over them. And in time, White Oak Plantation would be restored to the way it once was.
6
MAY 3, 1865
It wasn’t just the inky-dark night that frightened Lizzie. Truth was, she had never left White Oak Plantation in her life, and the thought of leaving it now terrified her. But Otis had kinfolk among White Oak’s former field hands and Lizzie knew he longed to see them. The only family Lizzie ever had was her mama, and she had died long before the war. Lizzie never had known her father.
“Why do we have to go at night?” she asked him, stalling a moment longer.
“It’s the only time we have off. I want to see my brother and find out how he and the others are all doing,” he said. “I ain’t seen Saul since I came back from Richmond.”
“Can I come with you?” Roselle asked.
“No,” Lizzie said quickly. “You stay here with Jack and Rufus.” Roselle might sweet-talk Otis into letting them come along, but Lizzie wanted them home where it was safe. She couldn’t shake the idea from the old days that Negroes who left the plantation got hunted down with dogs and punished with whippings.
“I haven’t seen my friends in a long time, either,” Roselle said, sulking.
“They’ll all be asleep by now—like you should be.”
“But it isn’t fair—”
“Come here, Roselle.” Lizzie pulled her daughter real close, speaking quietly so the boys wouldn’t overhear. “Listen to me. This is only our first time out at night since . . . well, since they’re saying we’re all free. Wait and see what happens and maybe you can come next time. Now, be a good girl and mind what I say.”
Lizzie grabbed Otis’s hand and hurried out of the cabin before Roselle could argue—and before Lizzie could be tempted to change her mind and tell Otis to go by himself. She had to get used to being free, and this was a good first step, small as it was. The crickets were making a big racket as she and Otis walked up the small rise from Slave Row and crossed the backyard by the chicken coop. Lizzie wasn’t expecting to see a dark shape hunched on the back step of the Big House, and she gasped in fear.
“Who’s there?” a voice called out. Missy Jo’s voice. It took a moment before Lizzie’s heart slid back down out of her throat so she could speak.
“It’s Lizzie. Me and Otis was just taking a little walk. You needing something, Missy Jo?” Lizzie held her breath, half wishing that Missy Jo did need her so she would have an excuse to stay home.
&nb
sp; “No . . . I’m just admiring the pretty evening. You all have a nice walk.”
“Thank you, Missy. I-I will.”
“See?” Otis whispered. “I told you everything would be fine.”
“You don’t think she’ll tell on us, do you?”
“Ain’t nothing to tell. We can take a walk if we want to.” He gave Lizzie’s hand a gentle tug, and they started forward again, passing the stables and continuing down the lane away from the house. “I know a shortcut through the cotton fields, but it might be too hard to cross that rough ground at night.”
“Sure is dark out here,” Lizzie said, clutching his arm.
“Why’re you so nervous, Lizzie-girl?”
“Can I tell you something?”
“You know you can.”
“This . . . this here is the first time I ever been off the plantation.”
“That can’t be.” He looked down at her, frowning. “You ain’t gone on errands with Miz Eugenia sometimes?”
“No sir. She’s always saying I’m nothing but a field hand like my mama, and she always took Ida May or Cissy with her.”
“I never knew that. Next time we’ll have to go in daylight so you can see the world better.” They kept on walking, their shoes scuffling in the dirt, kicking up little clouds of dust.
“Ain’t it strange,” Lizzie asked, “that something we get punished for all our life, like walking off the plantation after dark, is fine all of a sudden? I can’t get used to it.”
“Things always seem scary the first time.”
“Well, how long will it be until I feel free? Until I know we can walk away from here whenever we want to without somebody chasing us down, making us come back?”
“Gonna take some time, Lizzie-girl. That’s for sure.”
They reached the end of the tree-lined lane and turned down the wider road that led into the village of Fairmont. A carpet of stars filled the sky, shining clear down to the horizon above the barren cotton fields. The moon was behind Lizzie’s back, and she and Otis cast long shadows on the dirt road in front of them as they walked. Before long, they reached the end of the cotton field and the beginning of the woods. Lizzie halted.
