Mrs. Harper snapped the reins, startling the horse and making Ruth grab onto the side of the buggy. They left at a quick trot, passing the next field without stopping. Farther and farther on they went. Ruth wanted to scream. Would Mrs. Harper do nothing at all? How stupid she’d been to hope otherwise.
They turned down a small trail that snaked through the trees, bouncing the buggy over exposed roots and pushing through low-hanging limbs. They came to a stop at the edge of a small meadow deep within the wood. Mrs. Harper dropped the reins and put her head in her hands. Ruth chewed her lip.
Mrs. Harper gathered herself, a blank expression plastered on her face. They stared at each other for a long time, Ruth hoping that she would say something to show she cared. Disappointed, Ruth slipped down from the buggy and did the only thing she could think of to occupy her trembling hands. She grabbed the reins and secured the horse to a tree, even braving a small stroke on the animal’s smooth neck, and then fetched the picnic basket.
When Mrs. Harper finally spoke, her voice wavered. “There was nothing I could do.”
Ruth turned her back and walked to the edge of the clearing, looking out over the beautiful things God could make and trying to forget the ugly ones. Tears burned the back of her eyes and she let them fall freely down her cheeks. So much pain in this world. So many hurt and lost, and there was nothing she could do. No! She had to find a way. Something.
Your will be done.
The line from grandmother’s secretly whispered prayer settled heavy on her heart. To trust in the pain seemed too hard. How could she face it all again now that she was alone?
Mrs. Harper stood beside her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t.”
The anger surged again, and she no longer tried to hide it. She turned her eyes on Mrs. Harper and let her pain shine through them. She no longer cared the consequence. “White people know and don’t care, or they just don’t care to know at all. Y’all live in big safe houses where no one comes to take from you the only thing you got left that’s yours to own!”
The mask dropped, and Mrs. Harper looked every bit as enraged as she. “Big houses don’t save you,” she said through clenched teeth, words tumbling from her lips like they had too long been trapped inside. “They don’t keep you safe from guests who come to your room in the middle of the night. Their doors are not strong enough to keep them out! And when that big, fancy house is just another place for a party, who is there to protect you or hear your screams when all the adults are dancing and drinking in the ballroom? And when it is all over, who can you tell when the man is an old family friend? There is no one to tell, and no one to keep you safe when he comes the next time and the next. All you have left is who you are supposed to be!
“No. No one can know when your worth and hope for marriage is based off your purity. Because who would ever want a wife who is tainted? Who could ever love one who is soiled, torn, and broken?” Her face deepened to a bright red, and her pulse throbbed in a vein on her forehead. Mrs. Harper’s knees weakened, and she held onto a sapling for support. Her chest heaved.
Ruth lost her ability to breathe. How foolish she’d been. She’d hated people for making up their minds about her when they knew nothing of her soul. Yet, she’d done the very same thing. Without thought she grabbed the woman who’d bought her as if she were worth nothing more than livestock and pulled her close.
Mrs. Harper stiffened and then returned the embrace, sobs wracking her body. Ruth held her and prayed. What did God see? Slave and master? Or two of his daughters hurt by a world they couldn’t control?
When their tears were spent, Mrs. Harper—Miss Lydia in her own thoughts now for the tender moment they’d shared—lifted her face from the crook of Ruth’s neck and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her fancy dress.
Ruth gathered Miss Lydia’s hands in hers. “Maybe you and me have more in common than we thought.”
“Did that…?” Miss Lydia’s voice cracked. She cleared her throat but no longer tried to hide the sorrow from her eyes. “What we saw at the cabin, did something like that happen to you?”
Ruth took a deep breath. Her voice radiated with pain, but she spoke with a quiet strength she knew came from somewhere other than herself. “Most days, when my daddy was in the fields, the white man would come ’n take from me and my sister what he said was his by right. I never told my daddy because I know he’d try to kill him. I didn’t want to see my daddy hanged, so I never said nothin’.”
Miss Lydia chewed her lower lip, shame crossing her face. “Was this man the plantation owner?”
“No. His son. He weren’t no more than a youth but acted like he owned the place and everyone on it.”
Miss Lydia picked at her fingernails. “Do you think…is this something that happens all the time?”
She looked completely terrified of the answer Ruth would give. Ruth almost wanted to tell her that no, maybe it wasn’t like that everywhere. But there would be no truth in it.
Ruth sighed. “After my daddy died, Momma told me why I looked so different from my siblings. She said that one of the white foremen used to come for her, and I was the result of that. I is part white.”
Miss Lydia squeezed her eyes shut, a tear escaping and trailing down her cheek.
Now that she’d started, Ruth let out the words that she never planned to speak to anyone. Especially not her mistress. “When our plantation burned, I lost Momma and my baby brother in the fire. Me and my sister, we ran for the woods. We was safe there for a little while until that awful white man found us and rounded us up. He took a likin’ to my sister. Eventually, he beat her to death. That was two days before we came through your town. I’d prayed God would save me from that man, because I knew it wouldn’t be long before he came for me too. We kept moving, and I kept on praying. It was all I had left.” A small smile tugged at the corners of Ruth’s mouth. “Then I heard you a-yellin’ at him to stop hitting me, and I thought, Lord, what kinda white woman is this?”
Miss Lydia lifted one shoulder and let her lips bow. “I promised myself I’d never be my mother.” Then she laughed, and Ruth couldn’t help but join her, glad for the momentary feeling of lightness it brought to her bruised heart.
Miss Lydia grabbed Ruth and hugged her just like her sister had always done. “Oh, Ruth, I am so sorry. I’m so sorry for all that happened to you.”
Ruth eased back. “Don’t you be sorry. You is the answer to my prayer. God done sent you for me. I’ll always be thankful for that.”
Tears welled in Miss Lydia’s eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks.
Ruth shook her head. “It seems to me like evil pays no mind to your status or color.”
Miss Lydia straightened, her tone full of resolve. “I will not let it be so here. As soon as Charles is home, I will tell him what is happening.”
Ruth could only pray it would matter to him. He probably already knew. Might have even been down there himself. But she didn’t have the heart to tell Miss Lydia. Let her believe the best about her husband. Ruth would pray it was true.
Thunder cracked overhead, startling them both. They looked up into a sky that had darkened along with their moods and had gone unnoticed. A cloud opened its faucet and dumped buckets down on the helpless women underneath it.
“Hurry! Let’s get back in the buggy,” Miss Lydia cried.
Ruth struggled to untie the mare and then climbed into the seat, the little cover overhead giving them only a small amount of protection from the blowing rain. Miss Lydia pulled back on the reins, attempting to get the horse to back up. But she’d stopped in the middle of the trees and now couldn’t get turned around. The buggy caught on a raised root, and the horse pawed the ground, tossing her head.
Ruth could barely see anything through the sheets of water. How would they get unstuck? She saw only one option. “I’ll lead her!” Ruth shouted over the rain and leapt from the side into the quickly gathering mud. Holding onto the horse’s bridle, she twisted and backe
d the mare from the small space. She turned them around in the meadow and put them back on the trail heading out. As soon as she heaved her soaking skirts into the seat, Miss Lydia urged the mare toward the main road.
The wind beat hard against them, ripping the top from the buggy. The horse slid in the thick mud gathering under its hooves. They bounced toward the main road, holding onto the sides of the buggy. Ruth prayed Miss Lydia could get them back to the barn in one piece.
The seat suddenly jerked, and Ruth slammed into Miss Lydia. A loud crack told Ruth they would end up walking the rest of the way. They both hurried down to look at the damage, but it was exactly as Ruth feared. The wooden wheel would take them no farther.
“We have to get Snowflake unhitched! We can’t use the buggy anymore.” Miss Lydia picked up a broken wheel spindle and tossed it in the seat.
Ruth nodded and went to the other side of the buggy. How was she supposed to know how to unhook this thing? She jerked on the harness. There. If she just unbuckled this here. That’s it. The strap came loose. Now, all she would have to do—
Something wrapped around her waist, and she screamed.
“Ruth!”
She heard Miss Lydia calling her name from the other side of the buggy. A hand covered her mouth so close under her nose it blocked her air. She struggled. The man gripped her tighter until she began to panic. Be still! Don’t let him see fear. She had to make him think he had her so he would relax his grip. When he did, she would see if she could find a way to strike him.
“Ruth!” Miss Lydia shouted as she rounded the back of the buggy, tripping over her giant skirts, her bonnet gone from her head and her hair hanging wildly from one side. Her eyes widened when she saw Ruth, and she froze.
“Just take yer horse and get on home, ma’am.”
Ruth knew that voice. Webb, the man from the cabins. Her stomach lurched.
“I’ll make sure this little gal is taken care of,” Webb said. He yanked Ruth’s arm, freeing her grasp from the harness and allowing the rigging to drop.
Miss Lydia stared at them.
“There’s your horse.” He snarled. “You can get on back to the house now.” He tossed the reins at her. The movement broke Miss Lydia from her spell, and she watched them tumble to the soaked earth. When she looked up, her eyes found Ruth’s.
And something within their blue-green depths changed.
The man gripped Ruth tighter. In a flurry of sodden fabric, Miss Lydia was on them. She lifted a wagon spoke over her head and brought it down with a solid crack against the captor’s face. Startled, he released Ruth and focused his fury on the crazy woman in front of him. Ruth stumbled back and watched in awe.
Miss Lydia looked at the splintered spindle in her hand. It’s long tapered end sharp and jagged. Webb stepped toward her. Miss Lydia lunged, sending the spike right through the cur’s eye!
He staggered backward, blood oozing from his face. Miss Lydia grabbed Ruth and somehow they both swung onto the back of the prancing animal. Why it hadn’t bolted when they’d freed it from the harness Ruth didn’t know, but she was grateful for it.
An enraged roar erupted behind them, and the horse bolted forward. They galloped through the woods and out onto the road. Ruth gripped her arms around Miss Lydia’s waist. They sat astride the horse, their skirts hiked up above their knees. They flew past now-empty fields and after a terrifyingly long ride finally skid to a halt in front of the barn.
The door flew open, and Noah was there pulling at the reins.
“Let go, Mrs. Harper! I got her.”
Noah looked at Ruth with frantic eyes. She gently grasped Miss Lydia’s hand. “It’s all right now. We is safe. You can let go.”
Miss Lydia’s head rolled back and the reins slipped from her fingers. She slumped and started to slide off the horse. Ruth tried to hold her, but she was too heavy.
“Catch her!”
She slipped into Noah’s waiting arms. He cradled the woman like an infant, his gaze asking Ruth questions she couldn’t answer.
Ruth dropped to the ground with an awkward movement. “We needs to get her inside and warmed by the fire. You go and take her to her room. I is going to get Betsy.”
The rain slowed to a steady trickle, and Ruth dashed across the garden not waiting to see if Noah followed her orders.
She threw open the door. “Betsy!”
“Lord, child! What’s happened to you?” Betsy swung around from the stove and studied her with wide eyes.
“No time. You got to help me with Miss Lydia.”
Betsy frowned and didn’t move. Ruth chided herself. She must remember her place. She straightened her shoulders. “Mrs. Harper’s done fainted and nearly fell off her horse. Noah’s taking her to her room. We needs to get her in somethin’ dry and warm.”
Betsy flew into action and followed Ruth into the rain. Noah stood awkwardly on the porch. “I ain’t never been in the house before.”
Ruth pushed past him. “Up here.”
She led him up the servant’s staircase and into Miss Lydia’s room.
“Where should I put her?” Noah asked.
They agreed on the small settee by the armoire. Noah sat her down, and her eyes flew open. Miss Lydia looked at them like a frightened deer.
“Out!” she shouted. They jumped but didn’t move. Miss Lydia leapt to her feet. “Out! Now!”
They all scrambled to the door, but Miss Lydia caught Ruth’s wrist. “Not you.”
Betsy turned and opened her mouth to speak, but Miss Lydia shoved her out the door behind Noah, slammed it shut, and turned the lock.
Then the two women fell into each other’s arms and let the sobs free until none remained.
Ruth slowly opened her eyes to the morning sun already streaming in through the window. She yawned and stretched her arms over her head. She froze. She was snuggled under the covers in Miss Lydia’s room. She leapt from the bed.
Miss Lydia jumped up, knocking her writing utensils across the small table she’d been sitting at. “Good heavens!”
Ruth blinked at her, the memories of their tear-soaked night returning in a gush. She sank down on the bed. “Sorry. I done forgot why I was here.” She shrugged. “Sorta spooked me.” She offered Miss Lydia a half-hearted smile that wasn’t returned.
Miss Lydia straightened the mess, wrapping a thong of leather around a small book and drawing it to her chest.
Ruth pressed her lips together. What a mess. Now that the emotions of a terrible day were over, the lady was probably horrified that she’d allowed a slave to dirty her bed.
“I want to thank you.”
Ruth looked up, her brows creasing. “Huh?”
Miss Lydia smoothed her rumpled nightdress, the match to the one hanging on Ruth’s slight frame and making her skin wonder at the foreign softness. “I have never….” Her voice thickened with unshed tears. She shook her head and cleared her throat, composing her features into the distant aristocratic look Ruth had grown accustomed to.
Ruth offered a gentle smile, and as she hoped, Miss Lydia softened. “I wanted to thank you for talking with me, for understanding and not judging. For being my…friend.”
The word hung heavy between them. It carried the weight of truth but tinged with impossibility.
Ruth longed to believe they could be something different than slave and master, and she could see the same in the eyes staring back at her. “I thank you too,” Ruth said. “I’d never thought I could tell that story to a white woman and have her understand. Or even care. You is something different for sure, Mrs. Harper.”
Miss Lydia giggled. “I think we both know you no longer need to call me that.”
Ruth shook her head. “What are the others gonna think if I started calling you by your given name?”
Miss Lydia huffed. “I no longer give much value to the thoughts of others. Let them think what they will.”
Just the same, Ruth knew better than to poke at that snake. “I better be getting downstairs
. It’s already late.”
Ruth looked at her sodden dress, still in a heap on the floor. Miss Lydia must have noticed her gaze. “Here. You can wear one of mine.”
Ruth shook her head. “No, ma’am. I can’t. It ain’t proper.”
Miss Lydia shot her an annoyed look and flung open the armoire. “Nonsense. My mother gave all the dresses she no longer wanted to her maid.”
Ruth considered the claim. She still didn’t know much about the way things worked in the big house. It certainly would be better than going down in a soggy dress. Or worse, the lady’s nightdress. Ruth shuddered. “Oh, all right.”
Lydia tossed her a dark blue dress with a purple bow and grabbed one for herself before ducking behind the screen. Ruth quickly pulled the nightdress over her head and tugged on the heavy skirt. She bent her arms around behind her as best she could but struggled to get the little hooks into her fingers.
“And now you see why I must have help dressing. It’s not because I am lazy.”
Ruth stilled. A slow smile tugged on the side of her mouth. “Ain’t nobody said you was lazy.”
“Of course they would not say it. But I’m sure you all thought it.”
Ruth’s eyes widened.
Miss Lydia waved her hand in the air. “I’ll fasten yours and then you can do mine.”
Not seeing any other option, Ruth slowly turned her back on her mistress. Miss Lydia grabbed the two sides and yanked, cinching the cloth tight around Ruth’s bosom and waist. She gasped.
“Be glad you don’t have a corset on under it,” Miss Lydia mumbled. She finished the hooks and laces and turned Ruth to the mirror. “See? Lovely.”
Ruth looked at the strange woman in the mirror. She had the same features but no longer looked to be the same person. The deep blue fabric lightened the tone of her skin further, almost making her look like a white woman who had spent too much time under the heat of the sun. If not for the coarse, dark hair on her head, she might even pass as a common townswoman. The idea sent a trail of unwelcomed thoughts snaking through her head. What if she were to run? With a bonnet pulled tight and low and a dress like this….
The Whistle Walk: A Civil War Novel (Ironwood Plantation Family Saga Book 1) Page 12
