“Of course, Miss Bledsoe,” Jolie said politely. “It’s upstairs, the second room on the left. Mr. and Mrs. Bledsoe, your room is right across the hall from Miss Bledsoe’s.” Jolie turned and led the Archers into the parlor.
“Just a moment, Jolie,” Leona said curtly. “We are going to need some hot water and brandy. And my mother and I will need your assistance with unpacking and attending us.”
Jolie said evenly, “Soon we’ll have supper. Evetta and Ketura are cooking right now. After supper I’ll be glad to take you out to the kitchen, so that you will know where the pots for heating water and the cookstove are. Mr. Tremayne does keep brandy in the house, but it is strictly for medicinal purposes. However, warm mulled wine will be served at supper. Perhaps that will do. And Miss Bledsoe, I plan on doing everything I can to help all of our guests here at Rapidan Run. But I am not your maidservant. I’m afraid you and your mother will be obliged to look after yourselves while you are here.”
As Jolie spoke, Leona’s face grew stormier with each word. When Jolie finished, she said in an ominous tone, “We will talk about this later, Jolie.”
“Yes, Miss Bledsoe,” she said and turned again.
Mrs. Bledsoe was aghast. “What did I just say? What did I just say! That child is not fit for polite company! The impudence! I would say to her—”
“Mother,” Leona said between gritted teeth, “shut up.”
Jolie worked hard getting the Archers warmed up and their little bundles of clothing sorted out. She sat Mrs. Archer in a rocking chair right next to the fire and fetched hot bricks wrapped in flannel for her feet. “I would like for you to take one of the other bedrooms,” she told Connie Archer. “One has a generous double bed, and we could fix comfortable pallets for the children.”
Mischievously Connie looked upward to the second floor, where they could hear a muffled high-pitched constant drone coming from the bedroom upstairs. “Thank you, Jolie, that’s very generous, but I think we’ll be much more comfortable down here.”
“I can’t possibly walk up the stairs anyway,” Mrs. Archer said with ill-disguised relief. “I never thought I’d be glad of that, but there you are. The Lord can turn even the rheumatism into a blessing in disguise.”
It was after nine o’clock when Rosh and Santo got back with the wagon. They brought six adults and six children with them. Will Green, the saddler, rode his mule. All told, there were twenty-six people that found Rapidan Run a blessed haven on that terrible night.
Jolie was surprised, but she found the next few days enjoyable. She had never been around a group of women, and she had never been around children. She immediately found that she loved children, and she hoped that she might have four or even six children herself. It was also a revelation that the company of genteel, kind women was pleasant and an education in itself. Jolie, of course, had never had a mother or sister. Cleo and Evetta had been mother substitutes, but they weren’t the real thing. Ketura had become much like a sister, but she was exactly the same age as Jolie, and so she didn’t know the benefits that an older sister might bring.
The refugees at Rapidan Run were a varied group. There was Bert Patrick of Patrick’s General Store, and his cheerful, garrulous wife, Maisie. The Patricks had never had children, and it had come about that they had virtually adopted a neighbor’s son, Howie Coggins. Howie was twenty-eight now, and he had been in the army and lost a leg at First Bull Run. He had a wife, Greta, and three children. Bert and Maisie’s wagon had been stolen the previous night, and they had gotten stranded in the city.
Jolie’s dressmaker, widowed Sally Selden, had come with her four-year-old son, Matthew, and six-year-old daughter, Deirdre. Silas Cage’s wife, nineteen-year-old Ellie, whose daughter was now eight months old, had wept with relief when Rosh and Santo came to get her. Old Will Green, the saddler, had decided to stay in Fredericksburg and tough it out, but then he decided that he didn’t want the bluebellies to get his mule, Geneva, and he had saddled her up and plodded along with the wagon.
Jolie especially enjoyed Connie Archer, an average, rather plain woman with mousy brown hair and weak eyes. But she had a smile that positively made her face glow, and she was gentle and kind. She cared for her mother-in-law with the utmost tenderness, though Mrs. Archer was a rather stiff, formal woman who complained when her arthritis was especially painful. However, Mrs. Archer melted and became positively jolly with her grandchildren, Sully and Georgie. She seemed a different woman when she was with them.
Within three days they had established a routine. Everyone except the Bledsoes got up early. The women helped Evetta with breakfast, Mrs. Cage and Mrs. Archer kept all the children, the men helped Amon and Rosh and Santo with their chores.
Jolie managed to keep the dawn for herself. She still went out and mucked out Rowena’s stall and exercised her and then groomed her. Her cooking skills had not improved much, and Evetta was happy to excuse Jolie from it. Jolie got back at breakfast time.
The women ate in the farmhouse, and the men ate in the kitchen. After the washing up, Maisie and Sally Selden helped with the baking and roasting meat and other cooking for dinner and supper, while Jolie, Ketura, and Connie Archer cleaned the house and did the laundry. After dinner in the afternoon, they all sat at the dining room table and sewed.
Jolie would have been very happy during this time if it were not for two things: the constant worry over the war and the Bledsoes. Basically the family would have nothing to do with any of them. They came down to eat, heat water for washing up, and to get tea or coffee. That was all. All three of them stayed in their bedrooms all day. The only exception to this was that Leona sought out Jolie once or twice a day to make demands on her.
“Jolie, it’s ridiculous for my parents to have to come down to simply get a cup of tea. I assume Morgan has a tea service. Where is it?” she said the day after they arrived.
“It’s in use, Miss Bledsoe. We keep tea available to everyone in the afternoons. You will find the teapot and cups on the sideboard in the dining room.”
“Jolie, I need these petticoats ironed.”
“Jolie, my mother says that her sheets are scratchy. Don’t you have any finer-quality linens?”
“Jolie, it is simply impossible for us to carry enough hot water for baths. I insist that Amon and those two boys provide us with hot water for baths every other night.”
“Jolie, Mrs. Cage’s baby kept us up half the night last night. Why doesn’t she stay in one of the servants’ cottages? There are two cottages, and only five in that family. Why are we all stacked up in here like tinned sardines?”
And on and on. Jolie always politely refused her demands, and she was puzzled that Leona never argued. She simply turned on her heel and stalked back upstairs. She was relieved, however. Regardless of how much she told herself that Leona was a hateful snob and that she didn’t have to cater to her or her caterwauling mother, Leona still intimidated her frightfully. Jolie was only sixteen years old and had no sophistication or cleverness about people. And Leona was a very striking woman.
Two years ago, after she had gotten to know Amon and his family well, she had asked Amon about her.
“Is she very beautiful?” Jolie had asked wistfully.
Amon shook his head. “Nah, she’s the kind of woman that white men calls handsome. Don’t ask me why. That’s just white folks for you, I guess. Mebbe it’s cause she’s tall and proud and has those kinda eyes that spark. And she dresses like the Queen o’ Sheba, too.”
Jolie had to agree with all of that. Leona was five feet ten inches tall and slim. She stood with her head held high, her neck long and graceful. She had rich, abundant hair and always wore jeweled combs and hair ornaments. Her clothes were all of the finest fabrics, her tailoring exquisite.
She made Jolie feel like a little ragpicker, for once again Jolie had blossomed out since the previous winter, and all of her blouses were too tight. Her work shoes were worn, and her nice shoes were too small. Most of her skirts were th
in from hard wear and constant washing. Jolie had four nice wool ensembles, but they couldn’t compare with Leona’s clothing. And Jolie never would have worn them on the farm anyway. It wasn’t practical. She determined that she would keep out of Leona’s way if possible, though she wasn’t about to hide on her own farm.
But on the fourth day, Leona sought her out for the “talk” she had promised on the night of their arrival. Though the Bledsoes never came downstairs until breakfast was on the table, Leona must have been awake to see that Jolie went to the stables early in the morning. It was, in fact, the only time she was alone.
She had just started clearing the soiled hay out of Rowena’s stall when Leona came into the stables, wearing a gorgeous chocolate-brown hooded mantle with black grosgrain trim. Throwing back the hood, she said with apparent gaiety, “So here’s where you get off to every morning, little girl. Mm, such hard work. Your hands are going to be as rough as Amon’s. Come here, Jolie, I want to talk to you.” She looked around, up and down the long row of boxes. “Isn’t there anywhere to sit in this place?”
Resigned, Jolie said, “In the tack room there are some stools.” She threw her shawl back around her shoulders and led Leona to the far end of the stables. The stove was next to the tack room, and it was warm and smelled of leather and horse. Jolie liked it, and she was sure that Leona hated it.
Leona bent and dusted off the stool with one gloved hand, then sat and regarded Jolie for long moments.
Jolie became very uncomfortable under such scrutiny. Nervously she clutched her shawl tighter and hooked her boots on the stool’s rungs and smoothed her skirt over and over.
She looks amused….She’s laughing at me, Jolie thought bleakly.
Finally Leona cleared her throat with a tiny, delicate sound. “First, Jolie, I must apologize for my and my parents’ behavior the last few days. I assure you, we are normally polite, well-spoken people. It’s just that we were in such shock, with the Yankees threatening to bombard us, and then having to leave all of our possessions. In particular, my mother is suffering, which explains why she’s been so impatient and cross.”
An apology, no matter how insincere and incomplete, threw Jolie completely off guard. She swallowed hard. “I—it’s fine, Miss Bledsoe. You don’t have to apologize.”
“Perhaps not, but I do, anyway. Now. I have come to see in the last few days that I don’t quite understand your role here, Jolie. Please explain it to me,” she said peremptorily.
“I—I beg your pardon? My role?” Jolie repeated, bewildered.
“Yes. You don’t know that word? I mean, your position in Mr. Tremayne’s household.”
Jolie knew what the word role meant perfectly well, but it seemed silly to bluster about it now. “I don’t know about a position,” she said slowly. “He’s my guardian.”
“Has he formally adopted you? Legally?”
“No, that is, I don’t think so,” Jolie said with difficulty.
“So basically he took in a penniless orphan, as an act of charity,” Leona said with a condescending smile.
Stung, Jolie started to fling her inheritance in Leona’s face. She was far, far from penniless. But a tiny little voice in her head suggested that it was none of Leona Bledsoe’s business, and she shouldn’t try to fight Leona on her own ground. She was sure to lose. It startled Jolie to realize that she was, somehow, in a fight with Leona. Though Leona was speaking pleasantly, even warmly, she was definitely attacking Jolie. What did she want? What was she trying to win? Jolie had no idea.
She was quiet for so long that Leona continued, “That is so like Morgan. He’s a generous, charitable man. But I must admit that I’m rather surprised he chose to take in an octoroon. Heaven knows there are many poor white children who desperately need a benefactor.”
“It’s—not like that,” Jolie said in confusion. “Mr. Tremayne was very good friends with my father, and he—helped me because of him.”
“Ah, I see,” Leona said. “Yes, Mr. DeForge, I remember him. I believe that he didn’t actually tell you that he was your father? Yes, now I recall Morgan telling me that Mr. DeForge was quite embarrassed to have a black child on the wrong side of the blanket, as it’s said.”
Jolie stared incredulously at Leona. Then her eyes filled with scalding tears. She dropped her head, buried her face in her shawl, and sobbed.
Leona stood and patted her lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t cry, dear. I’m sure Morgan has made up for all of that. I know he must be a wonderful father to you.”
“He is not!” Jolie cried. “He’s—he’s not old enough to be my father!”
“Yes, of course,” Leona said soothingly. “Calm yourself, Jolie. There’s really no need for such dramatics. I can see that you have had a good life here. Why should you be crying when so many people are suffering so much more than you are?”
“Yes, that’s true,” Jolie said woefully, making a valiant effort to stop the helpless flow of tears. “Mr. Tremayne has taken very good care of me. And I am grateful and happy. Usually.”
“Yes, Morgan has taken care of you, but he’s a single man, and he has no idea how to raise a little girl,” Leona said, smoothly taking her seat again. “You see, Jolie, Morgan has obviously indulged you, and it’s made you proud and rather smug. Such unattractive qualities in children. I mean, you seem to think that you are fit to be a hostess for Morgan’s household! It’s preposterous to see you, a little black girl, lording it over me and my parents. No, no, Jolie. I’m sure that Mr. Tremayne would be extremely upset if he knew of your behavior since we arrived here.”
Jolie was horribly confused. She had tried to do her best to make everyone feel welcome and to make sure that they were comfortable and well fed. True, she had refused to be Leona’s house slave, but surely Morgan never meant for her to be that! Did he? She had thought she knew exactly what Morgan would expect from her, but now she wasn’t sure.
Leona was watching her coolly.
Jolie said, “Maybe what you say is true, Miss Bledsoe. I’m just not sure. I need time to think. But anyway, I have some questions, too.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do, but I’m certainly not going to be interrogated by you,” Leona said, rising and pulling up her hood. “As you said, you do need to take some time and think this through. I would hate to have to tell Morgan that you insulted me and my family while we were guests in his home.” She started toward the door but then turned back, and now Jolie saw the touch of malice in her. “I will answer one of your questions, Jolie, because you apparently have a very mistaken idea of my relationship with Morgan. He is in love with me. He has been for years. That’s why I have much more right than you do to say what happens in this house.”
“No, you don’t,” Jolie said, too loudly, she knew. In a less panicky tone she said, “Besides, Mr. Tre—Morgan told me that you and he weren’t together anymore. That you told him you didn’t want to be with a private. You wanted him to be an officer, and you got mad at him when he wouldn’t, and you told him you didn’t want to see him anymore.”
“Lover’s squabbles,” Leona said, waving her hand. “You can’t possibly understand the complex relationships of adults, particularly since you’re black. Besides, just think, Jolie, who did he think of first when the whole city was in danger? Me. Do you doubt me? Ask Rosh. And know that this is the last time I’ll make any explanations to the likes of you.” She whirled around, her mantle billowing, and walked out.
CHAPTER TWENTY–ONE
Jolie,” Ketura whispered, laying her hand on Jolie’s shoulder gently, “are you crying?”
The two girls were sleeping under the dining room table. Jolie had worked out the sleeping arrangements. Ellie Cage, with her eight-month-old daughter, Janie, had the spare bedroom upstairs, and Bert and Maisie Patrick, who were in their sixties, had taken Ketura’s bedroom. The Bledsoes were in Morgan’s room, while Leona was in Jolie’s. Will Green and Howie Coggins slept in the barn. The other women and children were all sleeping in Morg
an’s study/sitting room.
Although there had been room in the study for Jolie and Ketura—it was the largest room in the house, taking up over half of the first floor—they had decided to sleep in the dining room, finding that under the table, right by the fireplace, was a cocoon of warmth.
Now Jolie turned over, and by the golden flicker of the flames Jolie could see her friend’s concerned face.
“You are crying,” Ketura said. “I’ve never seen you cry, Jolie, not even with everything you’ve been through. Whatever is wrong?”
“I don’t think I can talk about it,” Jolie said helplessly. “Every time I think about it I just cry. I hate to cry. It gives me a such a headache.”
Ketura sat up and crossed her long legs. “Sounds like you better talk about it. Maybe if you can tell someone, you won’t cry anymore. You can tell me anything, Jolie. You know that.”
Slowly Jolie pulled herself up into a sitting position, hugging her knees close under her chin. “I know. I’ll try, but it’s all kind of like this big red blur.” Jolie did cry as she told Ketura about her conversation with Leona Bledsoe, but by the time she was finished, she had stopped weeping. Her headache had even lessened.
Ketura’s big round eyes grew more and more distressed as Jolie talked. “Oh Jolie, what are you going to do?” she asked anxiously.
“Do? I don’t know what to do! You’ve got to help me, Ketura! I’m—I’m afraid!” Jolie said, grabbing the girl to her and hugging her close.
Ketura clung to her, then pulled back and wiped the remnants of tears from Jolie’s face. “I don’t know what to do, Jolie. That lady scares me, too. Maybe we should go talk to one of the ladies, tell her what Miss Bledsoe said and did to you. I know, what about Miss Connie? She’s the nicest, sweetest lady I’ve ever met, and she’s smart. She’d know what to do.”
“She is nice and she’s so kind, but I barely know her. I had a hard enough time telling you, Ketura. I couldn’t possibly tell a stranger all this. Besides, she doesn’t know Morgan, she—she couldn’t help me decide what he wants and what he means for me to do. Why don’t we go talk to your mother? She’s smart, too, and she knows Morgan. Evetta could help.”
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