All Things New

by Lynn Austin

  “I seen the forest from a distance when I worked in the fields, but I never walked this close to it before.” The tree branches were all tangled together, and the ground beneath them was overgrown with bushes and weeds and fallen logs. She didn’t see how they’d find their way.

  “Here’s the trail.” Otis pointed to a narrow path leading into the woods. “Saul and me used to explore these woods when we were kids—when we could get away with it, that is.” He chuckled softly. How could Otis have happy memories of growing up in this place, when all of hers were filled with fear?

  They walked single file, with Lizzie clinging to the back of Otis’s shirt. Before long she heard voices and saw the faint orange light of a campfire flickering in the woods. Lizzie sighed with relief when they reached the makeshift campground and saw Otis’s brother, Saul, and a bunch of other slaves from the old days sitting around the fire. Beyond them was a cluster of shacks and lean-tos made from old boards and burlap sacks. She heard a stream trickling nearby and a baby crying in one of the huts. The clearing smelled of woodsmoke and roasting meat.

  “Hey, Otis! Lizzie! Good to see you!” Saul welcomed them with hugs and slaps on the back. “I heard you came back from Richmond with Miz Eugenia.”

  “That’s right, nearly two weeks ago. Massa Daniel is home from the war, too, and they have me driving the carriage for them. Nobody’s saying a word about planting cotton, though. I been wondering how you been getting on and decided to come see for myself.” Someone rolled a dead log into the circle of firelight, and Lizzie sat down on it close to Otis, listening to the sound of the creek and the crackling fire, swatting mosquitoes as they landed on her bare arms and legs.

  “You here to stay with us?” Saul’s wife asked Lizzie. “Where’s your boys and Roselle?”

  “They’re back at the cabin. We ain’t decided to leave White Oak just yet.” Lizzie didn’t say so, but living in the woods like wild animals didn’t seem like any kind of a life for her kids. “Why’d you move out here?” she asked Saul.

  “Well, I decided that since I was a free man, I wasn’t going to live like a slave no more or listen to somebody telling me what to do all day.”

  “What happens when it rains or when the weather turns cold?” Lizzie asked.

  “Or when the owner of this property comes and chases you off?” Otis added.

  “We’ll have our own land to live on by then.”

  “Your own land?” Lizzie asked. “Where you gonna get your own land?”

  “There’s a new white fellow come to Fairmont, sent by the government up in Washington. He’s helping all us Negroes. Said we’re entitled to farms of our own.”

  “You sure it ain’t a trick?” Lizzie asked. She liked the idea of living out from under Miz Eugenia, and she’d like to see Otis plowing land for himself. But her fear of the unknown ran too deep.

  “No, it ain’t a trick,” Saul said. “They call it the Freedmen’s Bureau, and the fella who runs it is a Yankee—the same Yankees that won the war. He’s passing out food and clothes and things over in the village, and saying we’re gonna get our own land.”

  “He’s a white man?” Lizzie asked.

  “Yeah, but he says it’s his job to help us get settled and get enough to eat. Talk to him, Otis. Hear what he has to say. He claims we can move out West where there’s lots of land and farm it ourselves.”

  Lizzie knew by the quiet way Otis was staring into the fire that he was pondering Saul’s words. “Next time you go see this man, maybe Lizzie and me can come with you and hear what he has to say.”

  “It don’t work that way. We have to go into Fairmont one at a time. The white folks around here don’t like to see a whole gang of us Negroes all together.”

  “Maybe we can go right after supper some evening when the chores are done,” Otis said. “Think the man will be there after supper?”

  “He lives upstairs above his office. It’s in that little brick building that used to belong to the railroad. Know which one I mean? Right behind the train station?”

  “I think so.”

  “You can’t miss it. And the man should be there most all of the time.”

  They talked for a while longer, catching up on the news and telling stories from the old days. It was good to see Otis laughing with his brother again. The night didn’t seem quite as dark on the way home, but Lizzie still didn’t like the idea of walking all the way into Fairmont. “Can’t you go talk to this Yankee man by yourself, Otis?”

  “I could, but I want you to hear what he has to say, too. Anything we decide, we need to decide together, you and me.”

  “Saul says he’s a white man. You trust white men?”

  “I don’t exactly trust them . . . but I do trust Jesus.”

  “Dolly says that Jesus was a white man, too.”

  “Dolly’s wrong. He’s the Son of God, and He ain’t no color at all. He was born a poor slave, just like us. He knows just how we feel.”

  “That don’t make sense to me. Doesn’t God own the whole world, Otis? Why would He let His Son grow up poor?”

  “I can’t explain it exactly. Besides, we better hush up the rest of the way home. Voices travel a long way at night, and if Massa Daniel wakes up, he might think we’re thieves and get out his shotgun.”

  Two days later, Otis told Lizzie to be ready to walk to the village as soon as she finished feeding the white folks their supper. She had all day to think about it and didn’t know if she was scared or excited. Probably both. All her life, people would come and go from White Oak to Fairmont and back again, but Lizzie had never once stepped foot off the plantation or seen a town for herself.

  She was still fretting about it late that afternoon when Roselle came running into the kitchen, shouting, “Mama, come quick! I want to show you something.”

  “Not now,” Lizzie sighed. “I got too much to do, and I need your help with it.” Roselle was such a fanciful girl that if it poured down rain she’d want to go look for a rainbow and the pot of gold at the end of it. “Just tell me what it is, honey. I got work to do.”

  “Well, Rufus and Jack and me were taking a shortcut past the stables and all of a sudden this great big bird flies up right in front of us, flapping its wings and making an awful racket. It liked to scare me half to death! I started to run, but then I realized it was a duck. A duck, Mama! I looked a little closer and saw it had a nest full of eggs. Eight of them.”

  “Did you get them for me? They’ll taste real good for our breakfast tomorrow.”

  “Mama, no! There might be baby ducks inside those eggs.”

  “Well, there might be baby chickens inside hens’ eggs, too, and we eat those every morning. Duck eggs taste real good.”

  “Mama! Now I’m glad I didn’t show you!” Roselle was outraged, standing with her fists clenched as if ready to defend her nest. “I’m not letting anybody eat those eggs, Mama. I hid behind the bushes and watched for a while, and there’s a mama and a papa duck guarding the eggs, keeping them warm and safe until they hatch.”

  Her daughter’s soft heart amused Lizzie. “Do whatever you want. But don’t be surprised if a raccoon or a fox gets them first. Now wash your hands and help me fix dinner.”

  Lizzie and Otis left for the village right after supper. “How far is it?” she asked as they reached the main road at the end of the lane.

  “Only a few minutes by carriage,” Otis said. “It’ll probably take us close to an hour to walk there.” Before long they passed the woods where the Negro shantytown was, then came to a white plantation house that looked a lot like White Oak—only smaller, with tall pillars and a wide front porch.

  “That’s where Miz Eugenia goes visiting with her friend, Miz Blake,” Otis said. “When we start seeing houses that are real close together, you’ll know we’re in the village.” And sure enough, pretty soon there were houses on both sides of the road, and they were nearly as close to each other as the cabins on Slave Row. Otis pointed to a pretty white building w
ith a tall, pointy tower on top. “That there is the church where the Weatherlys go on Sunday.”

  Lizzie saw more and more houses, and then a long row of shops with big windows out front. White people and Negroes were walking around or riding in carriages, but she drew to a halt when she saw a group of Yankee soldiers gathered on one of the corners. “They look just like the soldiers who lived in the Big House after you and Miz Eugenia left.”

  “We don’t have to be afraid of them, Lizzie. The Yankees in Richmond treated us real good. And if they hadn’t put out the fires, the whole city would have burned to the ground. They gave us food, too. I think we can trust them.”

  They eventually came to a dirtier part of town with run-down shacks and warehouses and the railroad station. “I believe that little brick building is the one Saul was talking about,” Otis said. “Come on.”

  The front door stood open, and a young Yankee soldier sat behind a desk inside. Lizzie and Otis knew better than to go through the front door, so they walked around the building and knocked on the back door. A moment later, the same young man opened it.

  “May I help you?”

  Otis removed his hat and gave a little bow. “Good evening, sir. We’re looking for the Yankee who’s helping all the slaves. Is this the Freedmen’s Bureau?” He spoke the title clumsily, as if unused to the strange words.

  “Yes. You’ve come to the right place. I’m Alexander Chandler.”

  Lizzie stared as the man extended his hand for them to shake. When neither of them took it, he lowered it again. Mr. Chandler looked much too young to work at such an important government job. He was tall and skinny, and instead of a beard he had a lot of bushy whiskers on both sides of his face but not on his chin or below his nose.

  He smiled, and his light blue eyes looked kind. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, sir. I’m Otis and this here is my wife, Lizzie, sir.” She could tell that Otis was nervous. She was, too.

  “Pleased to meet you both. Come on in. And listen, you don’t need to use the back door. Come in the front way next time.” He led them through an unlit room crowded with boxes and into the office in the front of the building. A big desk, piled with papers, filled most of the space. “You know, this is really your office, ” he told them.

  “My office?” Lizzie echoed. What in the world did she need with an office?

  “Yes. It was set up to help freedmen, like you. Have a seat.” There were two chairs right in front of his desk, but neither Lizzie nor Otis dared to sit in them.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Otis said, “but I never have sat down with a white man in my whole life. It ain’t allowed.”

  “I understand.” Mr. Chandler nodded and remained standing, as well. “Where are you folks staying?”

  “We belong to one of the plantations just outside of town called White Oak.”

  “You mean you used to belong to them,” Mr. Chandler said with a smile.

  “Yes, sir. Well, we’re still working and living there, even though everyone else is gone. My brother, Saul, said we should come talk to you. He says we need to hear what you have to say.”

  “I’m glad you did. We know there are a lot of freedmen like you who are wondering what to do and where to go, so this agency was set up by the government to help you get a new start. And since food is scarce down here, we’re trying to make sure you’re all fed, too.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Otis said. “Miz Eugenia says she’ll feed us if we keep on working for her, but the white folks don’t have much to eat, either.”

  “You can take some supplies home with you tonight. Do you have children?”

  “Yes, sir,” Lizzie said. “Three of them.” Mr. Chandler smiled again, and she thought he must be a contented person, deep inside. She couldn’t get over the fact that he was talking to them as if they were as white as he was and they were all sitting around his parlor having a chat. Couldn’t he see they were Negroes?

  “How old are your children? School age?”

  Lizzie had to think for a minute. She kept track of their ages by counting how many planting seasons had passed since they were born. “Jack is six, Rufus is eight, and my daughter, Roselle, is fifteen.”

  “The reason I ask is because we’re opening a school here in the village next week for all the Negro children. The American Missionary Association sent us a teacher, and we’re going to use the empty storage room in back as a classroom. Your children can start attending school on Monday. You may attend, too, if you’d like.”

  The news stunned Lizzie. “You mean . . . learn to read and write?”

  “Yes,” he said, laughing. “And all the other school subjects, too.”

  Lizzie covered her mouth, afraid she might burst into tears.

  “I want my children to go to your school,” Otis said. “It’s the only way they’ll ever have a better life than we do. Lizzie and I will gladly stay and work at our old plantation if it means my kids can go to your school.”

  “Wonderful. They will be welcome here. What is the current working arrangement where you’re living? Are you tenant farmers? Sharecroppers?”

  “I don’t know what any of that means, sir. Massa Daniel only got back from the war a little while ago, and nothing’s been planted yet except the kitchen garden. I’m the only field hand left, and besides, we don’t have any mules for plowing.”

  “Miz Eugenia says we can keep on living in our cabin,” Lizzie added, “if I keep on working for her up at the Big House.”

  “I see. Well, if you’d like, I can help you draw up a working contract with the plantation owners. You’ll work the land for yourself, and when the crops are harvested, you’ll give a portion of the profits to the owners. The rest will be yours. You earned it. Each individual case is different, but the contract also spells out the arrangements for food and lodging.”

  “Like I said, Massa Daniel just got back from the war,” Otis said. “He ain’t got hisself together yet.”

  “I understand. You can let me know whenever you think he’s ready. And of course your children may start attending school right away.”

  Lizzie felt like she was in a dream, afraid she might wake up any minute. She wanted to sit down but didn’t dare. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  “Sure, anything.”

  “Does being free mean that nobody can ever take Otis or my children away from me again?”

  “That’s right. Only the good Lord has a right to separate you from each other.”

  Lizzie covered her mouth again to hold back her tears. It was too much for her to take in. By the time they said good-bye and left for home with a sack of provisions, she felt dizzy. “Am I dreaming, Otis?” she asked.

  “If you are, then I’m dreaming, too. Wait till I tell Roselle and the boys that they can learn to read and write! . . . But that means staying on with Miz Eugenia, you know.”

  “I know. I guess I can stand it there a while longer.”

  She trusted Otis. He was the only sure thing in her life, and the only source of love she’d ever known. With him, she felt like somebody. She slipped her hand into his, determined to do whatever he thought was best.

  7

  MAY 10, 1865

  Josephine sat at the breakfast table listening to her family’s litany of grievances. Their endless complaints were wearing holes in her threadbare soul like a constant scrubbing. Mother complained the most of all. “If only we had bacon to go with these eggs,” she said with a sigh. “I can’t even remember the last time we ate bacon, can you? It’s bad enough the chickens barely squeeze out enough eggs for breakfast every morning, but it’s hardly a proper meal without bacon or ham.”

  “I would dearly love some of Dolly’s strawberry jam to go with these biscuits,” Mary said. “They’re so dry.”

  Josephine tried not to think about such luxuries as bacon and jam.

  “I would like a cup of real coffee for a change,” Daniel said before disappearing behind his week-old newspaper again
. More than a week had passed since he’d returned home, and Josephine kept hoping that he would climb out of the doldrums and get the plantation running again. He could never take Daddy’s place, of course, but it seemed to her that Daniel wasn’t even trying.

  “I can remember when our smokehouse was filled to the rafters,” Mother continued. “And oh my, the hams! Remember how Dolly used to baste them with molasses and stud them with cloves? The fragrance was just heavenly.”

  Yes, Josephine remembered. But she didn’t want to be reminded of how happy their life used to be before the Yankee invasion. They might never have bacon or strawberry jam again, so why not fold up those memories and store them away for good?

  “Listen, Mama—” she began, but Mother interrupted.

  “Remember all the guests we used to entertain at our dinner table? Your father knew such interesting people. They used to rave on and on about our smoked hams.”

  Josephine wanted to beg her to stop. God had told the survivors of Sodom and Gomorrah not to look back after they’d been rescued from death and destruction, and if Jo’s family continued to gaze into the past, they were going to become stuck in place like pillars of salt, too. In order to get them to move forward with her, Josephine feared she would have to chip away at their rock-hard stubbornness one bucketful at a time and haul them toward a new future against their will.

  “Those disgusting Yankees not only cleaned out our smokehouse,” Mother continued, “but they ruined our dining room table. I cannot sit in this room without becoming furious at their boorishness.”

  “Then why eat in here at all?” Josephine asked. “Why can’t we eat in the morning room like we did after Daddy died?”

  “Because we must reclaim our home from our enemies,” she insisted. “We will eat our meals in here the way every generation of Weatherlys have since Granddaddy built the house.”

  Daniel looked up from his paper again. “Father would have fought to the death before allowing a single one of those savages into our home.”