by Ginny Dye
Rose squeezed her hand tightly as she watched the little girl’s face crumple under the weight of her memories.
Felicia took a deep breath as she fought for control. “I have to know what is happening in the world,” she said. A strong light came into her eyes. “I read all those articles Mr. Matthew wrote about the riot in Memphis that killed my mama and daddy.”
“You did?” Rose was astonished.
Felicia nodded. “Mr. Cromwell keeps all his newspapers in that cabinet against the wall.” She hesitated. “I’ve read them all.”
It was Rose’s turn to gape. “All of them?”
“All of them,” Felicia confirmed. “Are you mad at me?”
“Of course not,” Rose said faintly. Suddenly she understood. “This is where you come every time you disappear.”
Felicia smiled and ducked her head. “I just want to learn, Miss Rose. I want to know everything. I’ve read books in here about astronomy and math. I’ve read about history and geology. I want to know all those things, but the way I figure it, I have to know what is going on in my country right now.”
Rose was mesmerized by the light in Felicia’s eyes. It was easy to forget she was only ten years old. She had lived far more life than any ten-year-old should live. “Why, Felicia?”
Felicia met her eyes squarely. “Because I can’t change things I don’t know about,” she stated matter-of-factly. “There is a lot going on in our country right now. It’s not going to be easy for you and me to live as free people. There are a lot of people who want to make sure that never happens.” Anger flashed in her eyes. “My mama and daddy were murdered just because they was black. I’ve got to help change the way things are in this country.”
Rose felt a flash of alarm. “Honey,” she said, “you’re still just a little girl. You can’t carry that weight.”
“I know I’m just a little girl,” Felicia said somewhat impatiently. “But I won’t always be. I’m going to grow up. I don’t want to be ignorant until then. I want to learn everything I can so that when I’m grown up I’ll be ready to do something.” She paused, her eyes imploring Rose to understand. “I owe that to my mama and daddy, Miss Rose.”
Rose held back the tears that wanted to well in her eyes. She would not cry in the face of such courage. “How old are the papers you’re reading?” she asked suddenly.
Felicia blinked. “I guess the last ones are a few months old.”
Rose nodded, sure of her course of action. “I’ll make sure you have all the current papers. I know Thomas orders many publications with news and current events. I’ll have him send them out, as well.”
Felicia stared at her. “Really?” She opened her mouth again, but no words came out.
Rose laughed. “Really.” She leaned forward and tipped Felicia’s face up so she could gaze into her eyes. “I am so very proud of you, Felicia. I will do everything I can to help you,” she promised, her voice catching at the wild emotion she saw storming in the little girl’s eyes.
Suddenly, Felicia launched herself out of the chair and flung her arms around Rose’s neck. “Thank you!” she cried, joy replacing the earlier determination. “I was so afraid you would be angry that I didn’t want to run around the plantation with the horses. It was fun learning how to ride with Amber, and I want to do it sometimes, but I would rather be right here.”
“Let’s make a deal,” Rose said, realizing part of her job was to help Felicia live a balanced life. She was a little girl far wiser than her years, but she was still a little girl. She would grow up far too fast and carry the burdensome responsibilities of a black woman in the United States much too quickly. “I want you to play outside for at least an hour every single day.” She understood the flare of resistance in Felicia’s eyes. “Felicia, do you really think your mama and daddy would want you to never have fun again? Do you think they would want you to forget how to be a little girl because of what happened to them?” She watched the flickers of uncertainty penetrate the stubborn determination in the little girl’s eyes.
Felicia grappled with the question and then slowly shook her head. “I reckon not.” A smile flitted across her lips. “My daddy used to play with me every night,” she revealed. “He would put me on his back and run around the house. Sometimes we even ran out in the streets.” The smile deepened and then seemed to be swallowed with sorrow. “I sure do miss my mama and daddy.” She peered into Rose’s face. “Will I always miss them this much?” she whispered.
Rose stroked her hair and pulled her close into an embrace. “You will always miss them,” she said quietly, her heart swelling with love. “You loved them far too much for the ache to ever go completely away.” Visions of her own mama swam through her mind. “The good thing, Felicia, is that they will always be with you. Sometimes you will hear things in your head that they said to you. You will remember what they looked like when they laughed, or tucked you into bed. You will keep learning because you know how much it meant to your mama. But,” she added soothingly, “the pain will be a little less every day. The moment will come when the memories don’t hurt so much. And then the time will come when you can smile when you think about them.”
Felicia leaned into her for a long moment. “You lost your mama, too, didn’t you?” she asked astutely.
“Yes,” Rose answered. “I loved my mama very, very much. I think about her every single day. I will always wish she was with me, but now I can just feel grateful that I had her for as long as I did.”
Felicia considered that. “You had her for a lot longer than I had my mama,” she said sadly.
“That’s right,” Rose agreed. She peered into Felicia’s eyes. “You had her long enough, though.”
Felicia looked doubtful. “I did?”
“You are a wonderful little girl. You have a heart that knows how to love, and you have a mind that is determined to gain knowledge. Your mama gave you that. I know you wish you had been with her longer. I wish you were still with her, too, but I have to believe God gave you everything you needed before she was taken from you.”
Felicia still looked doubtful, sadness filling her eyes. “You think God took my mama and daddy from me?”
“No,” Rose responded fervently. “I believe very bad men took your mama and daddy from you. But that doesn’t mean God didn’t know what was going on. I believe God cried when your parents died.”
“You do?” Felicia whispered, a single tear rolling down her cheek.
“I do.” Rose wiped away the tear. “And now God has brought you to us. I’m so very glad about that.”
“You are?” Felicia asked, her voice still a whisper.
Rose pulled her back into a close embrace. “You are such a gift to us, Felicia. You always will be. Please know that.” She was relieved when the tension released within the little girl’s body. She was even more relieved when Felicia’s arms stole around her neck again as sobs consumed her slender frame.
Rose held her tightly, rocking her gently, letting her cry out more of the pain she carried inside. It might take years for it to all be gone, but she would be right here to help. She had already known Felicia was a gift. Now she knew it with more certainty than ever. “I love you, Felicia,” she said.
“I love you, too,” Felicia whispered back.
Chapter Five
Abby walked out onto the porch, hoping for any movement of air to give her some relief. Philadelphia was brutal in the summer, but she had decided Richmond was even worse. The heat wrapped around her like a blanket and threatened to suffocate her. She stroked the velvety leaves of the magnolia tree shading the porch, trying to take her mind off how hot she was. She searched the horizon for any sign of storm clouds hovering above the surrounding houses, but the brilliant sky and blazing sun taunted her. The streets were empty. It was even too hot for the children to play. She knew they would return with the sunset, but for now it was almost deathly quiet. It seemed even the birds were hiding from the heat.
May stepped out o
nto the porch with a platter. “I figured you be needing this about now, Miss Abby.”
Abby reached gratefully for the lemonade. It was too hot for food, but she knew their housekeeper would scold her if she didn’t eat the scone she had brought. Abby picked it up and stared at it. She didn’t have enough energy to actually bring it to her mouth. She had left the factory early that day, well aware Thomas realized how miserable she was. He had encouraged her to cut the day short. She needed no persuading. The calendar would soon declare it was September. She could only hope the new month would bring a respite.
“Hot as blazes, ain’t it?” May said cheerfully.
Abby just looked at her.
May chuckled but then sobered. “It’s hot, sho ‘nuff, but that ain’t what’s really bothering you.” She plucked the scone out of Abby’s hand, put it back on the platter, and set everything down on the table beside the porch swing. “You reckon talkin’ about it would do any good?” Her kind black face framed piercing eyes.
Abby sighed. “Do you feel it all the time?”
May crinkled her brow. “Feel it?”
Abby nodded. “The danger,” she said dully, unable to stop staring at the shimmering horizon. “I had my share of challenges in Philadelphia, but it’s like Richmond has a black cloud hanging over it. I seem to be constantly waiting for the next horrible thing to happen.” She hated the plaintive tone in her voice, but the combination of her feelings and the oppressive heat were weighing on her. She allowed herself a moment of longing for her Philadelphia home but knew she would never leave the husband she adored. That didn’t mean she didn’t hate the feeling of always seeming to dangle on a precipice.
“It can be tiresome,” May said quietly. The pain in her eyes said far more.
Abby managed a tight smile. “I’m sorry, May. I feel like a whiny baby.” She sat down on the porch swing and pulled her housekeeper down beside her.
May glanced up and down the street to see if anyone was watching, but she didn’t jump back up. After a tense moment, she settled back against the swing. “I don’t know how’s I’ll ever get used to not being treated less than,” she admitted.
“Surely you’ve been with us long enough since the war ended,” Abby objected.
“Eighteen months of freedom don’t hardly make up for fifty-four years of slavery,” May observed.
“No,” Abby agreed heavily. “I don’t imagine it does.” She watched as an ornate carriage rolled down the street pulled by a beautiful horse drenched with sweat. She fought to free herself from the burden threatening to choke her. This wasn’t like her.
“You want to tell me what’s really going on?” May pressed. “Are things bad at the factory?”
“No,” Abby said quickly. “The factory is doing well. We’ve hired more people to handle all the clothing orders coming in, and the tension between the workers seems to be lessening every day.” She felt a surge of satisfaction as she thought about their black and white employees managing to work together. There would always be issues, but the lure of a well-paying job was forcing both races to work through them.
“That’s good,” May said simply.
Abby knew May was waiting for her answer. The two women had become friends in the year since Abby had married Thomas Cromwell. “I knew things would be difficult,” she said slowly, “but I was naïve enough to think they would get better more quickly once the war ended.” She sighed. “In some ways they seem to have gotten worse.”
“And you didn’t have to see the trouble or hear about it every single day when you were living in Philadelphia,” May observed astutely.
“That’s true,” Abby admitted. “I guess I lived more of a sheltered life in Philadelphia than I knew. I was committed to making a difference, but my home seemed far away from all the trouble.” Her words came slowly as she faced what she was feeling. “I guess I always felt like I had a safe haven.”
“And you don’t feel that here?” May asked. “Somebody here been botherin’ you, Miss Abby?”
“No, of course not,” Abby said quickly, trying to put her feelings into words. She realized as soon as she spoke, however, that she didn’t truly feel safe. She suspected trouble could find her and Thomas at any moment, no matter where they were. Memories of Jeremy’s beating still haunted her. She tried to bring sense to her rampaging feelings. “Philadelphia was more of a melting pot, I suppose.”
“I feel like I be meltin’ right now,” May replied, her eyes dancing with fun in spite of the heat.
Abby chuckled but was pulled back into her thoughts quickly. “How do your people stand it?” she demanded. “Things have gotten worse since they burned the church in April. I know houses have been burnt down in the black quarters. People have been beaten.” Restless, she stood up and gazed out over the streets. “I don’t see it getting any better,” she said helplessly, not sure if she was feeling more anger or sadness.
May patted the seat next to her. “Gettin’ all hot and bothered ain’t what you need on a day like this,” she said matter-of-factly.
Abby whirled around and stared at her, too upset to sit back down. “How can you be so calm?”
“You think this trouble be comin’ after you,” May observed quietly.
Abby wished she could deny it. “I’m scared every day,” she admitted, “but I’m just as scared for you and Miles. For Thomas and Jeremy. For Spencer and Marcus.” Her heart beat wildly as she clutched at the porch column. “For Opal and Eddie. For all the kids…” Her voice slowed as she struggled to breathe. Her eyes widened as the humid heat threatened to drown her.
Alarmed, May stood up and reached for her arm. “This isn’t like you, Miss Abby. Where does all this be comin’ from?” She reached down and picked up a magazine from the table and began to fan her rapidly. “Now you just stop this nonsense and breathe easy.” Her voice was sharp with worry.
Abby fought to slow her breathing. She knew she was letting fear consume her. Life had been so peaceful when they had been on the plantation just a month earlier. She hadn’t been ready to leave when they had to bring Carrie and the rest back to the city to catch the train to Philadelphia. Thomas had offered for them to return to the country, but she had insisted they stay because she knew he believed their absence affected the factory. She should have gone back.
Abby spun around to look into May’s eyes. “It’s going to get worse, isn’t it?” she demanded. She wanted to hear the truth that her heart already knew. Perhaps if her mind and heart were on the same page, she would find a way to deal with it. She hated feeling weak and ineffective.
May regarded her steadily. “I reckon it will,” she admitted heavily, sadness cloaking her eyes. “But it ain’t nothin’ new, Miss Abby,” she added. “We are used to it.”
“Used to it?” Abby scoffed as frustration boiled in her. “How can you be used to being badly treated? How can you be used to knowing you could be beaten at any minute?” She knew she was asking not only for May, but also for herself and her family. Unable to control her explosive emotions, she slammed her hand against the porch column, biting back a cry when a splinter penetrated her hand.
“Well, for Pete’s sake,” May muttered. She grabbed Abby’s hand and stared at the long splinter glaring out at her from Abby’s soft white palm. “That will be enough of that, Miss Abby,” she said. Turning, she pulled open the screen door and led Abby inside. “I gots to take care of that hand.”
Abby was still scared and angry, but the burning pain in her hand was overshadowing some of it. “How foolish of me,” she cried.
“Hush now,” May said soothingly as she led Abby into the kitchen and settled her in one of the chairs. She brought out the medicine kit Carrie had put together, and pulled up a chair opposite from Abby. “This gonna hurt some, but it will feel better when I done got it out.”
Abby bit her lip as May probed her delicate skin with the tweezers. She almost welcomed the pain that made her forget some of her earlier feelings. It also gave her
a chance to get her emotions under control.
May spoke as she worked. “There is enough of the splinter sticking out that I should be able to pull it right out. It’s gonna hurt like the dickens, but at least I don’t have to dig around with a needle.”
Abby shuddered but felt ashamed when she thought about how many people in the country were truly hurting. “It’s nothing but a splinter,” she said, filled with self-disgust.
May held her hand still, grabbed the end of the splinter, and gave a smooth, firm pull. She held up the splinter with a smile and then doused Abby’s hand under water. “Now that the splinter is gone, I got some things to say to you, Miss Abby. You’re being plum ridiculous,” she scolded, her eyes flashing fire.
Abby blinked at her.
“You be one of the bravest women I know, but you be wallowing around in fear like you sit in it every day. I know for a fact you don’t, so I be tryin’ to figure out why you be sitting in it today.”
Abby hoped May could tell her, because she was clueless. She just knew she couldn’t break free from the emotions threatening to swallow her.
May cocked her head as the fire faded from her eyes. “I reckon you’re trying to figure out a way to go right around all the fear and anger boiling up in you. The last years done been some real hard ones. You was needing a real break out there on that plantation, but you didn’t get it. Now that you’re back, everythin’ just be buildin’ up inside you like that boiler that blew up on the steamship that almost killed Mr. Matthew. You ain’t gonna be able to go around all you’s feelin’, Miss Abby.” May took hold of her hand. “You gots to go right through it. You got to figure out what you really be afraid of and then you got to push right through it. Tryin’ to go around it ain’t gonna do nothing but make that steam build up inside you, because you ain’t gonna be able to do it. Your heart knows that be true, but your mind tryin’ to convince it of something else. Your heart ain’t believin’ it for even a second.”
