All Things New

by Lynn Austin

  “Yes, when I was in Richmond. You said it was a gift from your father, so I knew it must be special to you.”

  She turned it over and over in her hands. It was as good as new. “I don’t know how I can thank you.” She feared she might cry.

  “The best way to thank me is to be my friend. I could use one, Josephine. It gets very lonely with no one to talk to.”

  “How can you ask such a thing? If I become your friend, my family will consider me a traitor. Everyone will turn against me the way they’ve turned against you.”

  “Do you really care what people think? Because you strike me as the sort of woman who doesn’t.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ve watched you work in the garden and the kitchen, doing all sorts of things that women in your social position aren’t supposed to do. I’ve never seen you sitting around expecting a servant to wait on you. And if you cared about what everyone thought, you never would have enlisted my help with the sharecropping agreements. No one else in town has been brave enough to do that.”

  She saw the truth in his words. She had been rebelling against social mores ever since the war ended. “My behavior gives my mother fits,” she said, smiling slightly.

  “Also, the fact that you’re angry with God and you say you no longer believe in prayer makes you different, too. I imagine that really goes against your upbringing. Wouldn’t the people around you be shocked if they knew?”

  “They don’t know.”

  “But I know, Josephine. And I don’t think any less of you. I consider you my friend. Think about what I said, and we’ll talk again.” He sauntered away before she could argue.

  Josephine thought about her odd friendship with Alexander Chandler as she carried her mirror upstairs and laid it on the dresser in her bedroom. For the first time in her life she had found someone she could talk to freely, someone who didn’t censure her for saying exactly what she felt and believed. What a relief it was.

  But it was also dangerous. Not only because he was a Yankee but because there would never be another situation in her future where she would have such freedom again. Women didn’t speak that way to their husbands, and certainly not to their fathers. If she was fortunate, she might find an ally in a sister or a friend, but even a good friend might be tempted to divulge a secret in a moment of anger or weakness.

  She couldn’t say she was entirely comfortable talking with Alexander Chandler, but she knew she would continue to do it, if for no other reason than for the chance to speak her mind freely. But she had no doubt at all that the time would come when even the guilty pleasure of his friendship—if that was truly what it was—would be taken from her, as well.

  18

  MAY 31, 1865

  Every morning and afternoon for three days, Eugenia traveled to the neighboring plantations to invite everyone in her social circle to her spring dance. It would be held in White Oak’s drawing room a month from now on the first Saturday in July. Most people reacted with surprise to hear that she would plan such an event when everyone still struggled to recover from the war, but they promised to attend just the same.

  When Eugenia stopped at the Blakes’ plantation to invite Priscilla, a servant brought them a lovely tea tray with china cups and pressed linen napkins. “I confess I’m envious of your servants,” Eugenia whispered as the girl finished pouring and tiptoed from the room.

  “It’s only chamomile tea, Eugenia. I don’t know about you, but I think we’re all sick of having nothing but mint and chamomile. And that dreadful chicory! But what can we do? I’ll be glad when we have real tea and coffee again. And sugar, of course.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Eugenia said, waving her hand. “I find the ritual very soothing, don’t you? Porcelain teacups and a warmed pot, polished silver and embroidered napkins? And a servant! Those are all wonderful signs we’re getting back to normal. So is the dance I’m planning. I won’t call it a ball because . . . well, we’re not ready for a ball yet. But a simple dance will be lovely, don’t you think?”

  “Do you really think this is the best time for it, Eugenia? Everyone is still suffering.”

  “That makes it the perfect time. Don’t the Scriptures say there is ‘a time to mourn and a time to dance’?”

  “But I’m not certain the mourning has ended.”

  “No, but we can allow ourselves to be happy again—if only for an evening. It doesn’t mean we don’t miss our loved ones. Heaven knows I still grieve for Philip and Samuel. I’ve worn mourning for as long as I can remember, and I will continue to wear it because it’s all I have. But life must go on . . . for our children’s sakes, if not for our own.”

  “But look at us! We have nothing but weeds in a cup.” Priscilla held out her teacup as if to display the evidence before replacing it in the saucer. “Any dance you hold now can only be a shadow of happier times. Won’t we feel worse after comparing it to the old days?”

  “Of course the first dance will be difficult—remembering how it used to be, remembering all the young men we’ll never see again. But we have to begin somewhere. No one is expecting it to be the same. But I do believe it will lift everyone’s spirits a little after so much grief.”

  “Please don’t be angry with me, Eugenia, but I don’t think I’ll come.”

  “Priscilla! Of course you will! You’re my best friend, and you’re also the only person who has refused my invitation. You must come. I could use your help.”

  “I’m afraid I won’t be much help.”

  “Nonsense. You’ll be invaluable to me by simply standing at my side. We’ve both lost our husbands. We need each other.” She reached for her friend’s hand and squeezed it before letting go. “And I was also hoping you’ll let me borrow your servants for a day. Lizzie will need help cleaning the drawing room and moving the furniture aside. I’ve been warning everyone that I won’t be serving a midnight dinner like I did in the old days, but I do think if everyone brings a little something, it will turn out to be very festive. It’s like that old children’s story Stone Soup. Remember? They started with a pot of water and each person added something to it, a carrot or a potato, and pretty soon they had soup.”

  Priscilla managed a smile. “I wish I had your strength—and your optimism.”

  “Well, you could have both. It’s your choice, you know. I cheered myself up enormously simply by planning this dance. Imagine how we’ll all feel the night of the party? Please, Priscilla. Say you’ll come.”

  “Very well. You’ve been so good to me, sending Josephine to help me.”

  “Harrison must come, too.”

  Priscilla’s smile vanished like smoke. “You can’t ask a crippled man to attend a dance. That’s horribly cruel. He won’t come.”

  “I’ll tell David to encourage him.”

  “Who?”

  Eugenia laughed to hide her embarrassment. “David Hunter . . . Dr. Hunter. As you’ve probably heard, he’s been taking me for carriage rides occasionally.” Eugenia had gone out with him several times and each time they had encountered people she knew. No doubt the gossip had spread.

  Priscilla reached for the teapot and refreshed their cups. “Now that you mention it, I did hear that you were seen together. Millicent Gray mentioned it after church last Sunday, but I didn’t believe her. You’re not courting Dr. Hunter, are you, Eugenia?”

  “No, of course not. He’s hardly from our social circle. But he knows the people of our community very well, and he’s been kind enough to allow me to air my ideas with him. He’s as concerned about restoring the South as we all are.”

  “He has been an enormous help with Harrison.”

  “I can think of several other men besides Harrison who were wounded in the war, and they have agreed to come to my dance. Harrison won’t be alone. Tell him the music will lift his spirits.”

  “Where in the world will you get music?”

  “I’ve been asking everyone I know who can play an instrument if they would kindl
y volunteer. Laurence Schreiber plays the violin—did you know that? He promised to ask a few other people he knows. Josephine and Mary will play the piano, although not for the entire evening. They deserve a chance to dance. We’ll have quite a nice little ensemble of musicians. Don’t you feel happier just thinking about it?”

  Priscilla smiled. “You’re right. You always are, you know.”

  “I have another motive, too. I want to see the young people getting together again. The men are still so gloomy. They need to fall in love and start thinking about their futures, their families—to look ahead instead of back. Daniel is the gloomiest one of all, and the best remedy I can think of is for him to dance with a pretty girl and fall in love. I’m also hoping to find husbands for my two girls. Since there is a shortage of men, I intend to make the first move by holding this dance before any of the other mothers do.”

  “You are incurably romantic, Eugenia.”

  “Oh, I hope so! I hope we have moonlight and starlight that night. They make an evening so romantic, don’t you think?”

  Eugenia looked up as the morning room door opened, expecting to see Priscilla’s servant. But it was Josephine. “Hello, Mother. I didn’t realize you had come for a visit until I saw our carriage outside.”

  Her appearance appalled Eugenia. She had obviously been doing some sort of work outside and her face was sweaty, her dress soiled around the hem. She hadn’t even arranged her hair properly but wore it pulled loosely back with the hairpins falling out. Her disheveled state highlighted her plainness and made her look like a common girl. This could not continue. It was time for Josephine to come home and behave like a proper lady again. Eugenia started to speak, to chastise her, then changed her mind. She would have plenty of time to deal with her daughter’s appearance once she returned home.

  “Would you care to join us for tea?” Priscilla asked. “Shall I call the servant?”

  “No, thank you. I don’t care for any right now.” She remained in the doorway instead of taking a seat, leaning against the doorframe. She wasn’t wearing stockings, and Eugenia could see bare toes peeking through the sole of her ruined shoe. Eugenia forced herself to remain calm and not scold.

  “Josephine, dear, I’ve come to invite you and Priscilla and Harrison to the dance I’m giving in July.”

  Jo gave a short laugh. “A dance? That’s ridiculous!”

  Again, Eugenia held her temper with great effort. “Kindly tell me why it’s ridiculous, Josephine.”

  “Oh, never mind,” she said, shrugging—another bad habit. “I can never win a debate with you, Mother. But I hope you don’t expect me to attend. I think it’s absurd.”

  “I want you to tell me why.”

  Jo gave a huff of frustration. “Because, as I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks, we can never go back to the old days. Things are never going to be the same, and it’s a waste of time to try. We would be like little children, playacting.”

  “That’s your opinion, dear. I don’t happen to share it.”

  What had gotten into her? Josephine used to be such a quiet, compliant girl. She never used to talk back this way. Eugenia drew a breath to remain composed. “I believe I know what’s best for my family, and I happen to think it will be good for you and Daniel and Mary to meet other young people your age. A dance is the perfect place to do that.”

  “Our future spouses, right?”

  “It occurred to me that it might happen.”

  “Well, I don’t care if I ever get married.”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

  “No, Mother, I’m resigned to it. I know I’m plain—and besides, there just aren’t enough eligible men to go around.”

  Eugenia was certain now that it would be in Josephine’s best interests to return home. She had too much freedom here and had acquired too many bad habits and attitudes. “I will need your help with the dance, Josephine. It will be an excellent opportunity for you and Mary to practice your hostess skills. I know you remember how to make our guests feel welcome, am I right?”

  “I have nothing to wear.”

  “Neither does anyone else, dear. We’re all going to wear our Sunday dresses. Fancy clothes don’t matter. Getting together with friends and neighbors is what’s important.”

  Josephine didn’t reply; she was gazing through the window with a distant look in her eyes. She may have stopped voicing her rebellious thoughts, but Eugenia knew she was probably still thinking them. “Listen, dear, now that Priscilla doesn’t need you full time, I think you should move back home.”

  She jerked to attention and stared at her mother. “But I . . .”

  “Of course you will come over to visit Harrison and Priscilla often, but Dr. Hunter tells me that Harrison will soon be getting out more. I think it’s wonderful that you are no longer needed here.”

  Josephine sighed as if aware it was useless to argue. Eugenia was accustomed to having her own way.

  By the time she arrived home again, Eugenia felt tired. Arguing with Josephine had wearied her, but her daughter had agreed to move home by the end of the week. The driver stopped the carriage in front of the house and helped Eugenia down. But she was surprised when he stood in front of her, blocking her way up the porch steps.

  “Miz Eugenia? May I please have a word with you?” He was hemming and hawing, staring at his shoes. He was a courteous, docile slave, the kind every owner preferred. Why did Daniel insist that she needed to be afraid of him?

  “Yes, Otis? What is it?”

  “I may be out of line and I’m sorry if I am . . . but we need to start planting cotton soon, and Massa Daniel won’t listen to me.”

  “Yes . . . Go on.”

  “Planting cotton is what I know how to do best and my hands are just itching to get started.” He paused, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Now, I know that Massa Daniel was away before the war, and he never did have a chance to learn how to grow cotton like Massa Samuel did. And that’s okay. I just want to borrow a piece of land that he ain’t using and grow cotton on it by myself. And maybe another little patch of land where I can grow food for my family and extra vegetables I can sell. I’m willing to work hard in my spare time when you don’t need me to drive you around. I may even know a few others who can help me out.”

  “Have you talked to Daniel about this? What did he think of your idea?”

  “He won’t listen to what I have to say, ma’am.”

  Eugenia looked down, frustrated. Why was Daniel being so stubborn? Was it from fear of filling Philip’s shoes? Was he afraid he would fail?

  “I’m grateful that you give my family a place here and provide for us,” Otis continued. “But I want to provide for them myself, like the Negroes are doing over at Miz Blake’s place.”

  “My son will never sign one of those contracts. He won’t work with a Yankee.”

  “Well, ma’am, maybe we don’t need the Yankee. Massa Philip always kept his word, so I know you will, too. I could maybe find a few more workers if you let them live here. My Lizzie could use some more help in the house.”

  “Yes, she certainly could. And I would be very grateful to have Ida May back, if you can find her.” Eugenia’s initial reaction to her servant’s proposal was one of relief. At last, someone else was as concerned about restoring the plantation as she was, even if he was a mere slave. With more household help she could begin to restore her home, too. But how would she get Daniel to agree?

  “I’ll think about your idea, Otis, and let you know my answer soon.” She started to move forward to go inside, but he stopped her again.

  “Ma’am? . . . Excuse me, but the other thing is animals. We sure could use a mule to help with the plowing. And we could do with some pigs and maybe even a cow, too. I’m willing to take care of them, ma’am. All I ask for my pay is maybe some of the milk for my boys and some salt pork for my family come slaughtering time.”

  His initiative surprised her. Eugenia would love to tell him to go ahe
ad and plant cotton and buy farm animals, but she feared Daniel’s reaction.

  “I mean no disrespect, ma’am, but Massa Daniel won’t hear me out. He has his own things he’s busy doing . . . but I wanted to let you know I’m willing to work hard if you give me a chance.” He was begging now, and it made Eugenia uncomfortable.

  “As I said, I’ll have to think about it. I’ll let you know.”

  He had the grace to back away, bowing in respect. “Thank you, ma’am. And thank you for hearing me out.”

  Eugenia went into the house and removed her hat and gloves in the front hallway. She had been so happy and excited about her dance, but her enthusiasm had been dampened, first by her daughter and now by this reminder of her son’s stubbornness. How was she supposed to accomplish her goals if they kept fighting her? Didn’t they realize she was making plans for their own good and for the good of White Oak?

  She barely had time to remove her hat and gloves when Dr. Hunter arrived out front, driving himself, of course. His carriage wasn’t enclosed, and her clothing had become coated with dust every time she went riding with him. He saw her in the doorway as he climbed down and called to her.

  “Are you ready for our ride?” He gave a shy smile, hat in hand, reminding her so much of a young suitor coming to call that he made her feel like a girl again. Dozens of men had pursued her when she was young, coming to court her in a steady stream. It had been such a happy time in her life, so long ago.

  She walked out onto the porch to talk to him. “I’m sorry, David, but not today.” His smile changed into a frown of concern.

  “Are you unwell?”

  “I’m fine, but I have been riding all over the countryside these past three days, and I just returned home a few minutes ago. Would you be terribly disappointed if I didn’t ride with you today?”

  “Not if you invite me inside and tell me how you’ve been. You’ve been well, I hope? Not overdoing it?”

  “Shh . . .” She glanced behind her as she descended the porch steps. “My children are home. I can’t invite you inside because Mary or Daniel might overhear us.”