All Things New

by Lynn Austin

  “Of course I do.”

  “Good. Should I send Lizzie up with a tray? Would you like something to eat, something to drink?”

  “No, I don’t want anything. I just want to sleep.”

  Eugenia heard sounds of activity downstairs. She listened for a moment and thought she heard the front door opening and closing, then men’s voices in the foyer. Had someone arrived? David Hunter, perhaps? She used Josephine’s mirror to tidy her hair before hurrying downstairs to the foyer. The hallway was empty; whoever it was had come inside and then vanished without any proper greetings at all. She heard voices in Philip’s study and listened at the door. It sounded like Joseph Gray’s voice, but it was much too early in the morning for him to call on Mary. Eugenia hoped nothing was wrong.

  She was about to go into the study and greet him when she heard Daniel say, “This is serious, Joseph. That Yankee at the Freedmen’s Bureau is going to investigate the fire. And he’s determined to find out who killed those two Negroes. He has witnesses.”

  “Does your slave know it was us? What about that other slave, your driver? Wasn’t he there, too?”

  “I don’t know if they recognized us or not, but we need to get everyone together and decide what to do. Spread the word. We’ll meet here tonight after my family is in bed.”

  It had been a long time since Eugenia had felt the pain in her chest, but the heaviness began to build as she listened to Daniel’s conversation, the pressure tightening, squeezing the air from her body. She staggered to her morning room, leaning against the walls for support and sank into her chair. Those foolish, foolish boys. She needed to stop them from making a very bad situation worse—but how? Daniel had dismissed her concern the last time she’d tried to reason with him. He’d told her not to worry, to let him be the man of the house. He likely would tell her the same thing now.

  Eugenia wished she had someone to talk to about this, but who? Her friends would all tell her not to interfere, to let the men attend to their own business. That was what she used to do when Philip was alive. But the Yankees hadn’t been occupying the South when Philip was alive. If Daniel and the others got caught, they wouldn’t face a friendly judge who understood why the Negroes had to be kept in their place.

  The only person Eugenia could think of to talk to was David Hunter, but she hadn’t seen him since the night of the dance nearly two weeks ago. She missed him—even though she now had more social activities to occupy her time. But as she closed her eyes against the pain, struggling to breathe, she longed to have him come to her rescue as he had once before. If only she could confide all her worries in him and ask him what to do. She longed to hand the problem over to him and let him take care of it for her the way Philip used to do. But she was too ill to ride into town and talk to him, too ill to visit Priscilla on the odd chance that David would be there with Harrison. If Eugenia sent a servant to fetch him, her children would learn about her spells.

  She sat in her chair for a while longer, waiting for the pain to subside, before suddenly remembering that Josephine was also sick. Why not use Jo’s fever as an excuse to send for Dr. Hunter? Eugenia groped for her silver bell and rang for one of the servants. It seemed to take forever for Lizzie to shuffle into the room.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Tell Willy I need him to go into town to fetch Dr. Hunter. Josephine is ill, and I’m worried about her.” Eugenia thought she saw a look of concern in Lizzie’s eyes before she turned away.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She heard Joseph Gray leave the house a few minutes later, but it seemed to take forever before Eugenia finally heard her own carriage leaving for town. Willy was old and slow. She should have sent Otis. Another eternity passed before Eugenia heard the carriage returning, and by that time the fire in her chest had eased into dying embers. She went to the door herself and saw David riding on the carriage seat beside Willy as if to remind her of his familiarity with Negroes and the gulf between the doctor’s class and her own. Would it be a mistake to confide in him about Daniel?

  “Good morning, Eugenia,” he said as he stepped down. He untied his horse from behind the carriage and tethered it to the post.

  “Will you be needing the carriage again, ma’am?” Willy asked.

  “No, you may put it away.” She turned to the doctor as the carriage headed back to the stables. “Thank you for coming, David. I’m worried about Josephine. She hasn’t eaten since yesterday, and summer fevers can lead to so many terrible things, as you well know. I don’t think our family could bear another loss.”

  “I understand.”

  He was so quiet. He had barely looked at her or greeted her. Eugenia knew she had hurt him the night of the dance and she was sorry. She didn’t know how to make it up to him.

  “I’ll show you to Josephine’s room.” She led him upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door. “Josephine? Please don’t be angry with me, dear, but I’ve sent for Dr. Hunter. It will ease my mind if he has a look at you.”

  “Come in.” Josephine rolled over to face them as they entered. Her eyes were terribly red and swollen. “Please leave us alone, Mother.”

  “Very well. Let me know if you need anything, Doctor.”

  Eugenia went downstairs to wait, pacing the front hallway, wondering what to do about her children. It almost seemed as if God didn’t want her to be happy. Just when things were going so well and she dared to hope her life might one day be happy again, she had cause to worry about all three of her children. She was standing in the open doorway, gazing at the weeds that had taken over her yard, remembering how lovely this view of her plantation once had been when David finally came downstairs. She hurried to the bottom of the steps. “Well? Will she be all right? Do you know what’s wrong with her?”

  “There’s no fever. I’m sure she’ll be fine in a few days. Just let her rest until the illness runs its course. If she does develop a fever, send for me right away.” He was moving toward the door. He was leaving.

  “Must you leave? Do you have a moment to talk?”

  He seemed to hesitate before saying, “I have some time.”

  “Would you like something to drink? Shall I ring for a servant?”

  “Nothing, thank you.”

  Eugenia led him into the parlor. He chose a chair, not the sofa, and sat with his leather physician’s bag on his knees. Eugenia remembered how he had lifted her into his arms and carried her in here after she’d had one of her spells. He had been so tender, so filled with concern for her that day. Now he acted as if they were strangers.

  “David, I fear I have offended you, and I want to apologize. When you left the dance without saying good-bye, I knew—”

  “No, I’m the one who should apologize. It was very rude of me to leave that way. I sensed that I had irritated you, and I didn’t want to make matters worse. But I had a very nice time that evening. Thank you for inviting me.”

  “You’re welcome.” There was an awkward silence. Eugenia had been trained to avoid such silences, but she felt tears pressing against her eyes and didn’t know why. Her throat felt so tight that she feared the tears would spill over if she tried to speak. David broke the silence first.

  “How have you been feeling, Eugenia? Any more pain in your chest?”

  She shook her head, lifting her chin to keep back the tears. “Planning the dance was like a tonic for me. I’ve never felt better. And the dance turned out to be the beginning of better days. My girls have attracted the interest of suitors, and I have been entertaining many of my old friends for tea—not that we have real tea, mind you. But we do have cream. And butter for our bread now. And more servants and a new cook . . .” She stopped, her throat tightening again. She hoped he wouldn’t ask what was wrong because she really didn’t know.

  “Everyone could see how happy you were that night. I’m glad you’re feeling better and that my medical services are no longer needed.”

  His words sounded so cold. But what did she expect? Why should he wa
ste his time on a friendship that could never develop into something more? Hadn’t she told him that she didn’t think the traditional class barriers should be erased?

  “You’ve worked hard, Eugenia, and I have no doubt that you’ll accomplish whatever you put your mind to. In a few years, White Oak will be thriving again.” She could only nod, and in spite of all her efforts to hold them back, her tears began to overflow. His features finally softened, and she saw tenderness in his eyes as he leaned forward. “Eugenia. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Daniel. I’m worried sick about him. Please don’t tell anyone I said this, because I-I can’t be certain . . . but I believe he may have been involved in the fire at the slaves’ school. And now . . . I’m afraid he and his friends are planning something else. Joseph Gray is involved, too, and my daughter Mary has her hopes set on courting him and . . . How can I get them to settle down and forget about night patrols and all the rest of it? Why is Daniel wasting his time with all of this instead of helping me get our old life back?”

  “If you want everything back the way it was, then the hatred and brutality toward Negroes is part of that picture. Daniel and his friends have lost control over their former slaves, and this is their way of getting it back.”

  Eugenia stared at her lap. She knew what David said was right, but it sounded so wrong.

  “You have your definition of how you want the South to be,” he continued, “and those young men have theirs. Didn’t you tell me there have been too many changes already? Daniel doesn’t want things to change any more than you do. The only people who want things to be different than they were before the war are the former slaves. They want the freedom to go wherever they please and live wherever they choose. They want to educate their children. But that’s what Daniel and the others are fighting against.”

  “It’s so complicated, isn’t it?” she asked, blotting her tears, ashamed of them. “How do we untangle this mess?”

  “Either we all change or none of us do. Either we start all over again with a new South or everything goes back to the way it was. No one will accept half measures.”

  “I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried talking to Daniel, but he dismisses me. He wants to be in charge and—”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted? For him to be in charge? Isn’t that the way things used to be, with your husband and your sons making all the decisions?”

  “Yes, but how can I stand by and let him take part in violence? The Yankees are policing us, controlling the courts. They don’t understand the South. I-I don’t know what to do, David . . . what should I do?”

  “I’ll give you my opinion, but you won’t like it.”

  He was showing no mercy, refusing to tell her not to worry, that everything would be all right. But she needed advice, and she had no one else to talk to. “Go ahead, tell me.”

  “We have to lead by example. Our generation has to make peace with the Negroes and with the Yankees. We have to show our sons and daughters that the old South was destroyed because it was flawed and that we’re willing to embrace the changes. It will only lead to more suffering if we don’t. We can show our children that many of the changes are good. . . . It begins with us—you and me.”

  Eugenia leaned back in her seat, smoothing her hair off her face with both hands. “How did this happen to us? How did we lose everything we once had?”

  “Pride. We began to believe that we were little gods, expanding our empires, living well at the expense of an entire race of people. The Almighty finally had enough and showed us we were only human after all, that we would bleed and die from cannonballs and bullets. He reduced us to the same poverty and helplessness that we inflicted on the Negroes—but some of us just haven’t learned that lesson yet. Young men like your son and his friends are still hanging on to the illusion of power, stubbornly refusing to let go of a way of life that has been judged as flawed. They’ve lost their possessions, their livelihood, their status as aristocrats—even the pride they once had in our beautiful South—yet they’re still trying to be gods and exercise power over the fates of others.”

  Eugenia looked around at her once-beautiful parlor and saw the dust, the shabbiness and cobwebs. “We used to believe that our wealth and prosperity were God’s blessings, signs of His favor.”

  “It’s impossible to believe that anymore, isn’t it? The war has exposed our false beliefs and the moral rot that accompanied slavery. All of our prideful decisions and the shameful way we treated the Negroes have been exposed. We were flawed, Eugenia. God said so. It’s time to let go of our old attitudes and rebuild the South with compassion for others and with the belief that’s at the core of our Constitution—that all men are created equal. And it’s up to us to lead by example.”

  Could she do that? Could she discard a lifetime of beliefs and suddenly pretend that she saw the Negroes as equals instead of as an inferior race that could never be educated or given responsibility? “How do I decide which changes are necessary and which ones will bring my world toppling down?” she asked.

  David exhaled, taking a moment to think before he replied. “When the Yankee invasion came and you left for Richmond, you had to decide which things in your life were truly valuable and which things had to be left behind. Now is your chance to do it again.”

  “My family, my children were the most important things to me—then and now. That’s why I’m so worried about Daniel not facing his responsibilities. That’s why I’m trying to make sure my daughters find husbands who will provide for them and take good care of them.”

  David shook his head again. “That’s the old way of thinking. You are a strong, intelligent woman who has proven that you don’t need to be taken care of. You can decide for yourself what’s best for White Oak, and you can teach Daniel that his way of thinking about Negroes is wrong. You can allow your daughters to think for themselves, too, instead of arranging marriages for them—especially with young men who think murdering Negroes is perfectly fine. Isn’t your daughters’ happiness more important than family connections and social classes and maintaining old alliances?”

  “Change is so hard,” she murmured. “I’ve endured too much of it already.”

  “I know. But some of the things that seemed so important in the old days just aren’t worth dragging along into your new life. They’ll hold you back and weigh you down. Ask yourself what’s worth fighting for, what’s worth hanging on to in God’s eyes, and leave the rest. You’ll be happier and freer without it.” He stood, preparing to leave.

  Eugenia rose to face him, resting her hand on his arm to plead with him. “Will you talk to Daniel for me? Stop him before he commits more violence? You can explain it to him just like you explained it to me.”

  David slowly shook his head. “He won’t listen to me, Eugenia.”

  “Of course he will. Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Because he’s a Southern aristocrat, and I’m not.”

  29

  Josephine tossed in her bed, unable to sleep. The sticky summer night glued her skin to her nightclothes and plastered her hair to her sweaty neck. She was still furious with Mary, and the sound of her deep, untroubled sleep in the bed across the room added to Jo’s restlessness.

  After remaining in bed for two days, Josephine had no tears left to cry. She had mourned the loss of her friendship with Alexander and grieved the inevitable prison sentence of a marriage to Harrison Blake. Dr. Hunter had guessed that she was in bed because of grief, not illness, but she hadn’t trusted him enough to confide the reason for her sorrow. “I wish I could help you,” he had said.

  When she couldn’t stand the heat a moment longer, Josephine grabbed her pillow, pulled the gauzy netting from around her bed, and walked down the hall to the upstairs porch, hoping for a breeze. In the stillness she heard the low mumble of men’s voices, coming from the porch below her.

  For a moment she feared that a band of vagabond Negroes had come to break into her home and take vengeance on her race. White
planters and their families had long feared this would happen and that they would be slaughtered in their beds. Jo remembered how terrified she had been in the chaotic weeks after her father went away to war, leaving her and Mother and Mary alone and outnumbered. But Daniel was here to protect them now, and as she listened she was relieved to recognize his voice among the others. She let her pillow and the netting drop softly to the floor and stood still, straining to hear.

  “. . . scare him off but not hurt him—”

  “He won’t scare! We’ve tried before, remember?”

  “Shhh! . . . My family’s asleep.”

  The floorboards creaked beneath her bare feet as Josephine crept to the edge of the porch and peered down. The men stood on the porch beneath her, out of sight. She could see a drooping clump of horses tied to the hitching post, but it was too dark to distinguish whose they were.

  “. . . Freedmen’s Bureau out of town for good . . . I know for a fact that he’s investigating the shootings and the fire.”

  “We have to keep the slaves from testifying.”

  Jo sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged, hoping to hear better, but the conversation was very soft and the incessant scrape and buzz of crickets and cicadas drowned out some of their words.

  “Chandler has caused trouble since the day he arrived.”

  “We have to get rid of him for good. Agreed? The slaves will be too scared to testify when they see what happens to him.”

  Josephine heard murmurs of assent, and her heart began to race with fear.

  “Okay, but how?”

  “Accidents happen . . . look like an accident.”

  “. . . make him disappear . . . bury the evidence.”

  “The bureau will send someone else, so what’s the point?”

  “Maybe they will . . . or maybe the others will be too scared to come.”

  “When should we do it?”

  “Tonight. Why waste more time?”

  Josephine heard more murmuring as several men talked at once.