by Lynn Austin
“It’s over now. You can go back to your cabin and tell Otis that everything will be fine.”
But Lizzie was still worried. Massa Daniel was spitting mad, and she was afraid of what he might do. Her legs wouldn’t stop trembling as she walked down to the cabin all alone and told Otis what had happened. “Can you ever forgive me for fighting with Massa Daniel and messing things up?” she asked him.
“Lizzie, nothing that happened today was your fault. I would have done the same thing if I had seen what you did.”
She looked around the cabin. Their belongings were tied up in bundles, ready to go. Roselle, Rufus, and Jack were wide-eyed with fright as they watched and listened. Lizzie saw Roselle’s tears and her heart went out to her. “Roselle, honey . . . I’m sorry.”
“Me too, Mama,” she said softly. “I should have listened to you.” She threw her arms around Lizzie and held her. Lizzie knew she would have to talk to Roselle and explain about her father in a way that she would understand. But not now. Lizzie had relived that ordeal enough for one day.
“Miz Eugenia said we could stay,” she told Otis, “but I still wish we could leave.”
“Everything is packed, Lizzie-girl. We’ll leave right now if you’re afraid to stay.”
“Where could we go? How would we live? There’s no more Freedmen’s Bureau to help us out. You went to all that work planting cotton and corn and vegetables for nothing?”
What had she done? Why had she made Massa Daniel mad that way? But Roselle was safe. Lizzie would do it all over again to keep her daughter safe.
“None of that matters, Lizzie. You and our kids are worth more to me than a field full of cotton. The good Lord will take care of us whatever we decide to do.”
Missy Jo had said they could trust her. Miz Eugenia had been kind to her for the first time Lizzie could remember. There was only Massa Daniel to worry about, and he was going away. Lizzie looked at her family and felt the weight of her decision. Is this what freedom meant? Being able to decide, yet worrying that you might make the wrong choice?
“Miz Eugenia says she’s sending Massa Daniel to Richmond,” Lizzie finally said. “We’ll wait and see if that’s true. I guess we can breathe a little easier once he’s gone. But as soon as the cotton is picked and sold, we’re going. We’ll take our money and the food from our garden, and we’ll go far away from here.”
“Are you sure, Lizzie?”
No, she wasn’t sure at all. But what else could they do?
The next morning after breakfast, Missy Jo came out to the kitchen with good news. “My brother Daniel left early this morning. He’s going to stay with our relatives in Richmond for a while. Things will be better now, Lizzie. You’ll see.” But it took three more days before Lizzie could stop looking over her shoulder or jumping at every little sound she heard. Miz Eugenia was still staying in bed all day, with the two missies keeping her company. The house was so quiet it seemed empty. The doctor came every afternoon to check up on Miz Eugenia, and Lizzie would carry a tea tray upstairs to serve them. There were no more meals in the dining room for now, no more tablecloths and napkins to wash and iron. Lizzie kept busy in the garden or the kitchen with Roselle until suppertime, while Otis was out in the field with the boys, grubbing his plants.
On the fourth day, Lizzie agreed to let Roselle and the boys out of her sight, allowing them go down to the barn alone to take care of the animals and then out to the row of raspberry bushes to pick berries. They had been gone all afternoon and still hadn’t returned when Otis came up to the kitchen for his supper.
“Will you call Roselle and the boys for me?” Lizzie asked him. “Tell them it’ll be time to eat pretty soon, and they have chores to do.”
“Sure, Lizzie-girl. Where are they?”
“Aren’t they down by the shed, picking berries?”
“I didn’t see them.”
Lizzie went to the kitchen door and stood on the step, gazing all around. Her heart had started pounding hard, but she told herself not to worry. They couldn’t have gone far. “I told them not to wander off. Are they working in the garden?”
“I don’t see them. I’ll go look down by the barn.”
Lizzie watched him go, unable to shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. She decided to go outside and search for them herself and ran down to their cabin, her heart a heavy stone in her chest. Maybe they were playing down on Slave Row. Roselle loved to play teacher with the boys, using the books Missy Jo had given them. Maybe they got so busy playing school that they forgot all about the raspberries and their chores, forgot it was even dinnertime. But Slave Row was deserted. Lizzie called their names over and over, but there was no reply. She could hear Otis calling to them, too, in the distance. She ran back up to the kitchen, her panic building.
Please, Lord . . . Please don’t let anything happen to my children. Please, please bring them back to me. Please . . .
She checked the chicken yard again, knowing how much Roselle loved playing with her ducks—and saw the three tin pails she had given them, filled to the top with raspberries, just sitting there like they’d been forgotten. Otis came back a few minutes later, and she showed him the buckets.
“Don’t worry, Lizzie. The kids have to be around here someplace. You go on and fix the white folks their dinner, and I’ll keep looking.” He was trying not to show it, but Lizzie could tell he was worried, too.
She finished making supper in a daze. Her hands shook like an old woman’s as she carried the tray upstairs to Miz Eugenia’s room. All the windows were open in the July heat, and she could hear Otis calling for Roselle and Rufus and Jack outside. Please, Lord. Show him where to look, she prayed. But when Lizzie returned to the kitchen, Otis still hadn’t found them. He stood gazing around the yard with a hollow look in his eyes, his arms hanging limp at his sides. She grabbed the front of his shirt and shook him.
“Where are they, Otis, where are they? What are we going to do?”
“I-I don’t know . . . I’ve looked everywhere. . . .” He called their names again, and as he listened in vain for an answer, Lizzie realized how quiet the kitchen yard was. Usually Roselle’s ducks would start quacking and squawking at any little noise but there was no quacking at all.
“Otis, the ducks! Roselle’s ducks are gone!”
“Do you think she took them down to the river to set them free? She’s been talking about doing that.”
Lizzie felt a sliver of hope and a surge of fear. “All that way? How would she know where to go? She’s never been to the river, has she?”
“No, but the boys have. I take them fishing down there. I’ll go look.”
“Wait! I want to go with you.”
“Don’t you have to tend to Miz Eugenia and the girls?”
“I don’t care about them, Otis! We have to find our kids!”
“Come on, then.” He took her hand and led her down the rough, narrow path through the woods to the river. It seemed to take forever. Lizzie didn’t dare to cry as she kept her eyes on the dirt track, watching out for stones and brambles and tree branches in her way. She prayed the whole way there and knew that Otis was praying, too.
She heard the rushing water before she saw it. Lizzie was panting from running so far in the heat. She held her breath, listening for children’s voices and the sound of squawking ducks, but when they emerged from the woods onto the riverbank, there was no sign of life at all. Otis shouted their names. Listened. Shouted again. Lizzie began to moan, fighting hysteria. Otis pulled her into his arms, and she could feel his heart trying to pound out of his chest.
“Shh . . . shh . . .” he soothed. “Oh, Lord, help us! Show us what to do. . . .”
“I’m scared, Otis! I’m so scared! If anything happens to them . . .”
“I know, I know . . . Come on, we better go back.”
They followed the path back to the plantation, running as fast as they could. Every time they paused for breath, Otis shouted the children’s names, then listen
ed. The woods were silent, terrifying. Lizzie wanted to scream.
The yard was still deserted when they returned. Lizzie could hear the cow down in the barn, lowing to be milked, and Miz Eugenia’s bell ringing inside the house. “What are we going to do?” she cried.
“You better go on in and see to the white folks. Maybe ask Missy Jo if she seen them. I’ll go look in the woods the other way, down by that old tree house.”
Lizzie dried her tears and tried to compose herself before hurrying into the house. Her knees felt so weak she could hardly climb the stairs to Miz Eugenia’s bedroom. The three women had finished their dinner a long time ago and the tray was sitting on the vanity, waiting to be taken away.
“Where in the world have you been?” Miz Eugenia asked. “When you didn’t answer the bell, I was ready to send Josephine to look for you.”
“I-I’m sorry, ma’am.” Lizzie hadn’t answered her question, but if she tried to say any more, she would burst into tears. Besides, Miz Eugenia didn’t really want to hear about Lizzie’s missing children. She still looked very weak and gray-faced, lying back against her pillows. There was nothing that she or the two missies could do to help.
“Well, kindly remove the tray, Lizzie. And stay where you can hear the bell the next time.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Otis still wasn’t back from searching when she returned to the kitchen. She should wash the dishes and clean the kitchen. The cow needed to be milked and the chickens fed. She and Otis still hadn’t eaten their dinner. But Lizzie was too sick with worry to do any of those things. She stood in the doorway, watching the path, waiting for Otis to return.
When she finally saw him, he was alone.
Lizzie’s knees gave way. She sank down on the step and wept.
Otis sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms. “I ran all the way into Fairmont,” he said, still panting for breath. “I thought they might of gone to the school. I asked everyone I saw along the way, but . . .”
“What are we going to do, Otis? What are we going to do?” He didn’t reply. She knew he was praying. Lizzie was too upset to think, let alone pray. He would have to talk to God for the both of them.
It seemed like a very long time passed as they sat huddled together on the ground. The sun had sunk below the treetops. It would be dark soon. Lizzie felt hollow and empty inside, like one of the discarded shells on the riverbank. At last, Otis struggled to his feet and pulled Lizzie up with him.
“I need to milk the cow,” he said, his voice hoarse. His eyes were red, his face wet with tears.
“I’ll come with you. I-I can’t stay here all alone.” He nodded and went into the kitchen to fetch the milk bucket. Lizzie gripped his hand as they walked down to the barn together. She stood in the barn doorway while he worked, watching him milk the cow one minute, watching the ever-darkening path the next. When she heard the faint cry coming from the woods, Lizzie thought she had imagined it at first. Then she heard it again.
“Otis, come here! Listen!”
It was the sound of a child crying and calling “Mama!”
She and Otis ran from the barn together, racing toward the woods, following the sound. And then—a miracle! Rufus was running toward them, calling to her. Lizzie reached him first and lifted him into her arms, squeezing him tightly, rocking him.
“Thank you, Lord . . . Thank you, Lord!” she breathed. “Oh, Rufus, baby! Are you all right?” He mumbled something in reply but he was crying so hard that Lizzie couldn’t understand him. She set him on the ground and knelt in front of him. “Where are the others, baby? Where are Jack and Roselle?”
“The . . . the men st-still have them.”
“The men . . . ?” Lizzie’s joy and relief vanished in an instant.
Otis grabbed Rufus’s shoulders. “Talk to us, son. Tell us what happened.”
His story came out with agonizing slowness between tears and sobs. “We-we heard Roselle’s ducks in the woods. . . . They got out of the fence. . . . And so, and so, she said for me and Jack to help her . . . to help her catch them. We kept following the sound, Papa. We kept going farther back in the woods. And then . . . and then the men grabbed us!”
“Oh God, no . . .” Lizzie moaned.
“What men, Rufus?”
“I don’t know. They have their faces covered. They . . . they had the ducks, but it was just to trick us!”
“Where are the men now?” Otis asked. “Do they still have Jack and Roselle? How did you get free?”
“They . . . they let me go!” Rufus started to wail, and Otis took him into his arms, rocking him gently.
“Hush, son. It’s all right now. It’s all right. Tell me why they let you go.”
“Because . . . because they want you and Mama to come. They said . . . they said they’ll let Jack and Roselle come home if you and Mama come and talk to them.”
“Oh, Lord!” Lizzie wept.
“Where are they, son? Did the men tell you where we should meet them?”
“Uh-huh . . . They said . . . where the slave camp was.”
“We have to go, Otis. Come on. They have Roselle and Jack!”
Otis set Rufus down again and pulled Lizzie near. “It’s a trap,” he whispered. “They’ll trap all of us.”
“Then we’ll get help. We’ll find Saul and Robert and Willy and the others and get them to come help us.”
“We don’t know where they are. Besides, we can’t put them in danger. If we come armed, the white men will say that we attacked them first. It’ll be just like before.”
“But . . . but what are we going to do?”
“I don’t know, but let’s go on back to the kitchen and get the boy something to eat, get him calmed down. While you’re doing that, I’ll pray. Maybe the Lord will show us what to do. Maybe He’ll send someone to help us.”
Lizzie did what Otis said, even though her every instinct screamed at her to run into the woods and save her children, her babies. She fixed Rufus a slice of bread and butter and held him on her lap, stroking his face, his hair while he ate. Otis sank onto his knees beside them, then fell forward on his face, silently praying. It seemed to Lizzie that hours and hours passed while she waited, sick with grief and fear.
“Lizzie . . . Lizzie . . . Lizzie . . .” Someone was calling her name. The voice sounded very far away, but when she looked up, Missy Josephine was standing in the kitchen doorway. “Oh, Lizzie, what’s wrong!” she asked when she saw Lizzie’s face. Otis had looked up, too, his face wet with tears. He slowly rose to his feet. “What happened?” Missy Jo asked again.
Lizzie hadn’t meant to tell Missy Jo, but the words just came rushing out all at once. “They took my children! My babies! They have my Roselle and Jack in the woods, and they won’t let them go!”
“Who does, Lizzie?”
She knew the answer. Massa Daniel. It had to be. No one else hated them that much. But she was afraid to say it out loud.
“We don’t know who they are,” Otis said. “But they have our kids, and they sent Rufus back here to tell us to come get them. They say they only want to talk and then they’ll let them go, but—”
“Don’t go,” Missy Josephine said. “It’s a trap.”
“I know, I know . . . but we don’t know what else to do. I’ve been praying for an answer and—”
“And then I came,” Missy said. “Don’t you see? God answered your prayer. You need to stay here while I go get help.”
“But who, Missy Jo? Who’s gonna help you? Everybody in this town hates us Negroes.”
“I want my children back!” Lizzie said. “Please, Otis! Please don’t make me wait anymore. I need to go to them. Before the men hurt them.”
Missy Jo covered her mouth as if to hold back her own tears. She stared at Lizzie and Otis and Rufus for a long moment. “No, neither one of you can go. You have to trust me and stay right here. I’ll go into town and ask Dr. Hunter for help. He must know some other people who would be willing to help us.�
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“How’re you getting to town?” Otis asked. “Massa Daniel took the horse to Richmond.”
“I’ll take the path through the woods again, like I did the last time. You can lead me to it, can’t you?”
“No, Missy Jo. No. That’s where them men are, back in those woods. They’ll hear us coming and neither one of us will ever get through.”
“I’ll take the road, then. It will take longer, but I’ll get help, Otis, I swear I will. Promise me that you and Lizzie will stay right here and wait until I get back. Don’t try to rescue Roselle and Jack yourself. Promise?”
Lizzie couldn’t speak.
At last, Otis nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I promise. It’ll be the hardest thing I ever done, but I’ll wait. And I’ll be praying for you.”
35
Josephine ran out the kitchen door and around the house to the long, gravel driveway. Her bulky skirt hampered her movements, and her legs felt like stones were tied to her ankles as she raced up the lane and out to the main road. She didn’t have time to think about the ever-darkening night or the dangers along the way as she sprinted toward Fairmont as fast as she could go. Josephine knew she should have told Mother or Mary where she was going, but she didn’t want to add any more strain to her mother’s heart. And she didn’t trust Mary to keep quiet.
The summer night was as hot as White Oak’s kitchen when the hearth was burning, and her garments quickly became drenched with sweat, plastering the fabric to her skin. If only she could run faster. If only she didn’t have to stop so often to catch her breath and ease the stitch in her side. This was taking much too long. It would be more than an hour at this rate before she reached Dr. Hunter’s house in town—and what if he wasn’t even there? Then what? She prayed—really, truly prayed—that Otis and Lizzie would have the patience to wait and that the men wouldn’t harm Jack and Roselle—and she kept on running.
Daniel was behind this kidnapping, Josephine knew it. If he could plot one murder, he was capable of this, too. Years of shooting Yankees during the war had made him immune to killing. He would lure Lizzie and her family into the woods and make them disappear. Everyone would assume they had left White Oak on their own like all the other Negroes had. Otis had to die because he could testify to Daniel’s guilt. The children were bait in the trap. Jo shuddered, knowing he would kill them, too. Lizzie would die because she had dared to tell the truth about Samuel. Daniel would kill her to keep her from ever telling anyone else what Samuel and Harrison Blake had done.
