“Good night.”
When Miss Lydia reached the bottom step, Ruth closed the door and returned to her room. She looked at the words wrapping around her like a blanket, one she needed and yet in many ways despised. She pulled the charcoal pencil out from under her pillow, wondering what would have happened if she’d asked Miss Lydia for it instead of hiding it away.
She put it to the wall.
That was the day I met a white woman like none I ever seen before….
How long she sat on the floor and spilled her heart she did not know.
Lydia descended the stairs and wondered if today she would speak to Charles about her suspicion. He’d come to her room as promised sometime late in the night. She’d been asleep but had awakened with the dawn to find his arm draped over her and a sense of peace in her heart. She ran her hand down the length of the banister. Today made two weeks. She’d never thought such a short span of time could mean so much, but a fortnight could mean the difference between knowing if she were with child or not.
Lydia crossed the main hall and entered the dining room, the morning sunlight painting the walls in a warm glow and dancing off the polished silver on the table. She sat in one of the plush, cushioned chairs. Her woman’s time had always varied, so she couldn’t be sure if the delay meant a child grew within her. Yet hope again blossomed in her heart. What would Charles say? She knew it would please him to have an heir.
Lucy entered the room and placed a platter of cut fruits and fresh biscuits on the table. She studied Lydia out of the corner of her eye. Lydia pretended not to notice.
“Good morning, Lucy.”
“Ma’am.” She gave a curt nod and strode from the room.
Lydia sighed and lifted her fork, studying the way the light reflected off the smooth planes. Mother prized her silverware at Cedarwycke. It was much plainer than these at Ironwood but had been handed down since her mother’s family had first arrived from England.
Lucy swept back into the room and filled Lydia’s glass with milk. Lydia wrinkled her nose.
“I do not care for that this morning, Lucy. If you would kindly bring me something else?”
“Yes’um.” Lucy removed the glass.
“Lucy?”
She turned.
“Have you seen Ruth?”
Her face creased. “No, Ma’am. I assumed she’d be with you.”
Lydia shook her head. “No, I thought it strange she didn’t come to my room this morning.”
“Probably don’t think she’s got to work like the rest of us no more,” she mumbled as she turned to the door, but Lydia heard her.
“Lucy.”
“Ma’am?”
“Am I unkind to you? Do you feel you are not treated properly here at Ironwood?”
Lucy’s eyes widened and her grip tightened on the glass of milk so that Lydia feared she might burst it. “I ain’t never said nothing of that sort, Mrs. Harper.”
“I didn’t say you did. However, I did ask if that is how you feel.”
Lucy shifted her weight between her feet and looked as if she wanted to bolt. “No, ma’am. I don’t think I ever been mistreated at Ironwood.” She took a long breath and looked Lydia in the eyes. “I came here with the late Mr. Harper. Was born on his parents’ place. When we came here, Mr. Harper bought more folks. From what I heard tell, there are places a lot different than ours.”
Lydia nodded, urging her to continue.
“I always been grateful that we never been beat or shamed.”
Lydia kept her gaze even. “So do you think you are treated unfairly?”
“I don’t know what you mean, ma’am. I done said I know we’s treated good here.”
How should she put what she really wanted to know? Mother always told her directness was akin to rudeness and that she should strive to deliver her words with a measure of elegance. But with Lucy looking uncomfortable already, she doubted bluntness would make any difference.
“Are you upset with Ruth being here? Do you think she is treated better than you?”
Lucy’s eyes grew wider, and she shook her head vigorously. “No.”
Lydia lifted her eyebrows.
“Well, I mean, I do wonder what, exactly, is goin’ on with her.”
Lydia placed her fork on the polished table. “You mean why I came to visit her?”
“Yes, ma’am. Forgive me, but I do wonder. Though it’s not my place to say so, it just ain’t proper.”
“You’re right. It’s not. But I find I am growing weary of what is proper. I sense this war will soon make such things of little consequence.”
Lucy looked at her. The intensity on her face caused Lydia’s chest to tighten. When she spoke, her words were quiet. “And where will that leave the white folks who live off the sweat of the Negros?”
Lydia swallowed hard.
Lucy shook herself as if coming awake. She dipped into a small curtsey. “Let me gets you something else to drink, ma’am. Your breakfast’s getting cold.” She slipped out the door.
Lydia stared at her plate but could no longer summon an appetite. The knocker banged against the front door, and she jumped, her fork tumbling to the floor. Placing a hand to her heart to calm its rapid beating, she rose from her chair.
Lucy had yet to return, so Lydia swung open the front door to three men dressed in traveling clothes and coated with the dust of a long ride.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” She recognized the large man in the center but could not place him.
He bowed. “Good morning, Mrs. Harper. It is good to see you again.”
Lydia inclined her head. Think! Where had she seen this man before? Charles’s ball? No. She would have remembered a man who stood a head taller than all the others. The women would certainly have been chattering about it. The wedding, then? Oh, he was looking at her oddly. She was taking too long.
“And you as well. Won’t you gentlemen come in?” She widened the door and allowed them entrance.
The big man spoke again. “Mrs. Harper, let me introduce you to Mr. Willbanks.” He gestured to the thin man on his left. Lydia lifted her hand, and he bowed over it. “And Mr. Polk.” He motioned to the younger man on his right.
“A pleasure, gentlemen.” Lydia lifted her hand to the other man who grasped it and brushed his lips across the back of her knuckles. She withdrew her hand and resisted the urge to wipe it on her dress.
“Matthew told us Charles found himself an exceptionally beautiful bride,” Mr. Polk said, lifting his eyebrows. “It seems for once he was not exaggerating.”
The heat rose in her cheeks. Ah. Of course. Matthew Daniels, Charles’s favorite cousin. How had she forgotten? “You flatter me, Mr. Polk.” She turned to Matthew. “Mr. Daniels, if you would follow me, you gentlemen can wait in the parlor while I find Mr. Harper.”
She led them into the parlor and saw them seated on her new green settee, which looked meant for a child beneath Mr. Daniels, before pulling the pocket door closed. She turned to find Ruth standing behind her.
“Oh! There you are.” She would have to discuss her absence later. “Get some tea and refreshments for the men in the parlor.”
“What’s goin’ on?” Ruth whispered, picking up on the unsettled nature of Lydia’s tone.
Lydia straightened her dress. “Nothing. They are just calling on Charles.”
Ruth lifted her eyebrows but said nothing. She quickly made her way down the hall and out the back door. Lydia climbed the stairs and found the door to Charles’s study closed. She tapped on it lightly.
“Yes?”
She cracked the door and saw him seated behind his desk with more books and papers spread out in front of him. He motioned for her to come in.
Lydia crossed the floor and came to stand before him.
“Hello, darling. I am sorry I had to be gone from you early this morning. The temptation to stay was nearly more than I could stand.” The corner of his lip pulled up.
“There are men downstairs to s
ee you.”
He frowned and rose from his chair, buttoning his jacket as he came around to stand beside her. “Did they state their business?”
Lydia shook her head. “It is your cousin, Mr. Daniels, and two others.”
“Very well.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“Charles?”
He looked deeply into her eyes. “Yes?”
She swallowed the lump gathering in her throat. She must say it. “I do not want you to go.”
He rubbed her cheek, his eyes telling her he knew of what she spoke. “I do not wish to leave you. But you must understand.”
She shook her head, fighting against the tears gathering in her eyes. “No. You can better protect us from here. Do not let them take you.”
A low sound escaped his throat. “Oh, woman, what have you done to me?” He pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips on hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Too soon he pulled back, a look of resignation on his face.
“They are in the parlor,” she said, following him from the room. He turned to look up at her from the bottom of the stairs, and her heart flopped.
He stepped into the parlor, and she heard the sounds of masculine greetings and shoulder slapping. Lydia sighed and returned to her room.
She gathered her writing utensils and sat at her desk. Though she stared at the page and longed to write out her fears, she could not focus. She slammed the little book shut and stalked from the room. Feeling like a thief in her own house, Lydia crept down the stairs and positioned herself next to the closed parlor doors. She could hear one of the men talking, but she wasn’t sure which. She glanced around the hall and checked inside the dining room. No one.
Lydia eased closer to the parlor, pressing her back up against the wall near the door.
“I understand where you are coming from,” said the muffled voice. The tinkling of tea cups gave evidence that Ruth had brought refreshments. “We all do. But it’s time to acknowledge the corn, Charles. You can’t hide from it any longer.”
“I am not hiding.” Charles’s voice sounded irritated.
Heavens. I knew it! These men had come to pressure Charles into joining them. Curse this blasted war. Had it not stolen enough already? Every week at church, they posted lists of young men lost. Youths who’d rushed off to glory only to find death instead. Now it lurked at her door, disguised as gentlemen in the parlor.
“Charles, I know you are loathe to leave your home. I understand well.” The voice of Matthew Daniels. “Perhaps one of her kin can come to stay?”
Who? Her family?
“Her father is elderly and must look after his own plantation. She has no brothers and no living uncles. I am afraid that is not an option.”
Lydia’s chest tightened.
“Van Dorn plans to regain Corinth,” said one of the other men—she wasn’t sure which.
There was a long silence. Lydia held her breath.
“You are certain?”
Oh, no, Charles. Do not let them get you with that! Charles had told her the importance of Corinth and its railroad. He claimed it would make the difference in all coming battles in Mississippi, if not the entire war. Regaining Corinth could be what would sway him.
“You will have to give me more time. I will think on it.”
Lydia closed her eyes, her breath coming out in a rush. He wouldn’t be going. She was sure she could convince him otherwise. She opened her eyes to find Ruth looking at her with her eyebrows raised. Lydia stiffened. She shook her head and grabbed Ruth’s wrist, pulling her up the stairs. When they were safely behind her bedroom door, Lydia began pacing.
“What’s that all about? You spyin’?”
Lydia narrowed her eyes. “It was necessary.”
“Well, then. So long as it was necessary.”
Lydia huffed. “They came to try to convince him to join the army. I had to know what they were saying.”
“And?”
Lydia sank down into her vanity chair and rubbed her temples. “They say they are going to try to regain Corinth. It frightens me. These battles draw ever nearer. We cannot pretend much longer that they do not exist.”
Ruth sighed. “Miss Lydia, you is the only one’s been pretendin’.”
Lydia tilted her head back and studied the ceiling. “It’s easier that way.”
Ruth crouched down in front of her. “I know you think that. But that stuff is comin’ even if you pretending it ain’t. Seems to me getting ready for it would be smarter than hiding from it.”
“You’re right.” Lydia straightened and looked down at her friend. “It’s time I started figuring out how to protect the people under my care.”
“Now that ain’t exactly what I meant….”
Lydia waved her hand in the air. “No. You go back down there and see what else they might say. If anyone sees you, tell them I told you to wait by the door in case Mr. Harper needs anything.”
Ruth pressed her lips together in a thin line but didn’t protest. She slipped from the room and left Lydia to her pacing. Lydia stopped suddenly, remembering something she’d discovered a few days prior. She’d thought nothing of it at the time, but it could soon become useful.
She crouched by the side table at the head of her poster bed. There. She put her finger in a small knot hole. She pulled. It didn’t budge. She settled on her knees, frustrated with the wide ring of skirts that fanned out around her. Ridiculous hoops. She wedged her finger in there again and yanked. Her finger slipped free, and she fell backward with a thud.
Pain throbbed in her hand. She held her finger up to her face. Red blood oozed from the little scratches encircling her skin. Lydia took a deep breath and looked around the room for something she could use to pry the board loose. There. She lifted the slender metal bar from the hooks on the side of her washbasin, laying the towel aside.
It fit perfectly. Lydia slipped one end into the hole and forced down on the other end. The wood groaned. She rose up on her knees and used the force of her weight.
Something popped.
One edge of the plank had come free. Lydia smiled, giddy with her accomplishment. If only she could get the whole thing free in one piece. She turned the bar sideways and wedged it under the loose end. With one hand on each end, she pushed the bar forward, sliding it under the length of the wood.
The board cracked and popped free.
“I did it!”
She clamped a hand over her mouth and peered into the dark hole in the floor. The space was only about the width of her hand and about the length of her forearm. It wasn’t the largest place to hide anything, but it would serve.
Let any Union soldier with his Confiscation Act find anything in there! She slipped her hand inside, hoping not to come across anything with too many legs. About elbow deep, she could feel the rough wood of the ceiling boards below. They were covered in plaster from the other side. Nothing would be able to slip through. She replaced the board and pulled the edge of the side table over top of it. There. No one would ever think to look there.
With a new sense of determination swelling her chest, Lydia began to gather her treasures.
Ruth smoothed the blanket over the back of the couch in their living area. Now. Everything tidy and in its place. A knock sounded at the door. Taking her single candle in hand, Ruth opened it wide and let Miss Lydia enter without a word. They slipped into Ruth’s room and pulled the door closed, careful not to wake the older women in the other room.
“Here. I brought everything you will need.” Lydia spread out a wooden pen with a tapered end and a metal tip, a small corked jug, and a bound book of pages.
Miss Lydia beamed at Ruth, obviously proud of herself.
“Thank you. But I don’t know if I needs all this.”
Her mistress frowned. “What do you mean? You’d rather keep writing on the walls instead of in something you can keep? Something you can pass down to your children?”
Ruth swallowed, her mouth suddenly f
eeling stuffed with cotton. “I ain’t thought of that.”
“There. See? This will be better. You can write in here, and then you will have it to keep. No one will know.”
Ruth picked the book up from the quilt and ran her hand over it. “But I don’t think my writing will look good in here. I knows the words, but I don’t always know how they go together. Or how they is spelled.”
“What does that matter?”
Ruth shrugged. “It just does.”
Miss Lydia sat on the bed and looked dejected.
“So you going to tell me what’s been botherin’ you?” Ruth had asked twice earlier in the day, but Miss Lydia had refused to answer. She’d waved it away and insisted on keeping herself busy with rearranging all the furniture in the second floor hall. Not that the white lady should be moving around furniture, but no one could tell her no different. Especially Ruth. Her protests had only earned stubborn glares.
“I thought I was going to have a baby,” Miss Lydia said finally, her voice sounding a little thick.
Ruth smiled. “That’s great.”
Miss Lydia’s face crumpled, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Ruth chewed her lip. She’d said something wrong again. “What? You don’t want to have no baby?”
She sniffled. “I do. But my time came today.”
So, that was it. Ruth sat beside her and wrapped one arm around her thin shoulders. Had she lost weight? She would have to keep a closer eye on when Miss Lydia ate.
“You is young. I’m sure you still got plenty of time.”
“What if he leaves for war and never comes back?” Miss Lydia whispered, her shoulders beginning to shake.
“I don’t know. Somehow, we survive. Even when we think the pain’s gonna kill us. You can’t know what the future’s got in store.”
“I know. But I’m still afraid.”
Ruth didn’t know what else to say, so she rubbed the smooth fabric covering Miss Lydia’s back until her breathing evened out.
Miss Lydia wiped her eyes and offered a faltering smile. “It is nice to have a woman to talk to.”
Ruth’s throat tightened. She’d never really thought about how lonely Miss Lydia must be. Ruth had Betsy, and even Lucy offered some strained companionship. But who did Miss Lydia have? She had no visitors, no one who came to call.
The Whistle Walk: A Civil War Novel (Ironwood Plantation Family Saga Book 1) Page 17
