by Ann Rinaldi
"My brothers insisted on it, Mister Rooney," I told him.
He laughed. "You'd be run out of town on a rail where I come from in Virginia. I know all about your brothers. Met Gabriel once. I almost talked him into riding with Jeb Stuart, but he said no. As for sisters, I have four. You remind me of my sister Mary. She's always been the rebel in the family. Moving out and spending her time elsewhere while my other two sisters care for my sick mama."
He talked a terrible lot for a man. But I sensed it was because he was nervous. Nervous? I smiled to myself. Unhorsed and rendered unconscious at South Mountain. Shot in the leg at Brandy Station. "I thought you had four sisters," I said.
He grew sober. "We lost Annie to typhoid near two years ago now."
"Oh, I'm so sorry." I was. This was precisely what Mama hadn't wanted from me. What she meant when she said, "Be kind to him."
"My sister Annie gave my parents a run for their money, too. Blinded herself in one eye with a scissor when she was just six. As for Boo, Pa came upon him in camp one time when he had no coat but a Yankee one. He was in rags. Pa had to rustle clothing up for him. Yes, sir, I'm afraid we've, none of us, been easy for our parents."
"I think you have a wonderful family, Mister Rooney. Everyone reverences your father as a great man."
He drew in his horse and we did likewise. "I'm not in any rush to get back to Glen Eden. Your Uncle Garland has a slave trader visiting this day."
And he looked at Sis Goose. Then at me. "May I be candid?"
"Yes," I said.
He took off his gloves, and I saw the bitten-off fingers on his right hand. He ran that hand through his beard. "If I were in your shoes, Miss Rose, I'd plead a headache when I got there. No one thinks more of your aunt and uncle, but I'd make any excuse not to appear for supper. The slave trader will be at the table."
"Why's he here when his market will soon be gone?" I asked. Then realized I'd raised the wrong question in front of Sis Goose. The market was already gone, but I had to soften it, wrap it in the end of the war.
Rooney Lee sighed and plucked at his beard. "He has dear friends who could never have a child. They want a daughter and a companion. They're willing to put out money to buy one beautiful and accomplished and one they can educate in the best schools and make part of the family. The slave trader remembered Sis Goose from a past visit."
We all fell silent for a minute. Birds went from branch to branch in the trees above us, doing whatever it was they had to do to make a home. Rooney Lee picked up his reins and pressed his legs into his horse's sides. "Now let's get back," he said. And as I rode beside him I thought I heard him cuss under his breath, and say, "Ugly business."
BUT IT WAS all too late, the warning. When we rode up the road and dismounted our horses and watched the stable boys take them away, I saw that the slave trader was right there on the front piazza with Uncle Garland and Aunt Sophie, sipping late-afternoon drinks.
"I'll handle this," Rooney Lee whispered to me. "Go and pay your respects."
We went up the few stairs to where they were sitting. "Well, it's about time," Uncle Garland said, getting out of his chair. "Jim," and he turned to the short, fat, balding man with the face and eyes of a ferret, "this is my niece Luli and the girl I was telling you about. Her name is Sis Goose. I told you she was a beauty, didn't I?"
I curtsied, but it went unnoticed by the ferret. He had eyes only for Sis Goose, and they went over her as one would appraise a horse. I expected, at any moment, that he would ask her to open her mouth so he could see her teeth or do some other horrid thing.
I hugged Aunt Sophie and so did Sis Goose.
"What household duties can she perform?" the slave trader asked.
At that moment Rooney Lee stepped forward. "The girl isn't feeling well, ma'am. I told her that you would excuse her from supper, knowing your capacity for understanding and sympathy."
Aunt Sophie immediately called a servant and had her take Sis Goose to her room upstairs. I was left standing there with Rooney Lee, son of the man who commanded the whole Southern army, just a little behind me.
I hadn't counted on Rooney's abilities to be both firm and gracious.
"The girl is the most beautiful piece I've ever seen," the slave trader said. "I wish you'd change your mind about selling her, ma'am. She could bring at least five thousand on the open market."
I felt faint. Apparently they'd discussed the matter beforehand, and Sis Goose and I had walked into a trap.
"It is my understanding that the young lady is family," Rooney said.
And he looked at me for confirmation. So I answered, "She is. You know how my mother feels about her, Aunt Sophie."
"But I've never had the chance to enjoy her as family. And she belongs, by rights, to me, and not your mother."
"Here," Rooney said. And he took my hand. "We're all tired. Of course she belongs to you, ma'am. If you allow me to take Luli here for a walk, I'll soothe things down."
My head was spinning. I was here five minutes, yet in that time everything was spilled out all around us. Like blood.
I went with Rooney for a walk through the English gardens.
ONCE WE were out of earshot he stopped walking and looked at me. "Excuse me for being nosy, but does she know she's already free?"
The question was blunt. He was no longer being polite. "No," I said.
"You haven't, as her friend, told her?"
"My brothers warned me not to. Granville says we're not part of the states. And if the rumor takes on legs and starts running, there might be a slave uprising in Texas."
"How selfish we are," he mused. "I was never so amazed as when I first came here to see that the slaves don't even know about Lincoln's proclamation."
"We don't get much intelligence from back in the states."
"No. You're like a different world out here. Of course none of us in our family really believed in the institution of slavery. My pa is fighting to win the war, but he himself believes there should be no north, no south, no east, and no west. Just America, the Union. He sees bondage as a moral and political evil."
He paused for a minute.
"Will you tell any of the slaves here that they should be free?" I asked.
He smiled. "I'm wined and dined here. I know I represent my pa. So no, I won't let the cat out of the bag. I've no interest in being hanged. And speaking of cats, and to give the conversation a new turn, do you want to hear about my father's cat back at Arlington?"
"Of course."
"We were forced to leave Arlington House and abandon it to the Yankees. My mama was brokenhearted. We left most of the furnishings and Tom, my pa's cat. Tom and Pa got on famously. Pa misses him powerful much. And he hopes Tom lords it over those Yankees and, as host, ignores them, too."
I laughed. I was meant to laugh. He wanted to strike a lighter note. We started walking back to the house where the candlelight and music seemed so welcoming.
By the time I left Glen Eden, I was in love with Rooney Lee. Not in a southern-belle way, but in a way that recognized all the pain in him. The sorrow. I never saw him again after that week. But I did not forget the big solemn man who had lost so much besides the war.
CHAPTER NINE
ON THE third day of that visit, Uncle Garland left with Rooney Lee for a fox hunt and a stay at a nearby plantation. Aunt Sophie had declined to go. She had other fish to fry, she told her husband, and it turned out that she did.
For some reason she determined that it was time to train Sis Goose in some household arts. To make her "more valuable as a personal maid."
She did not tell the menfolk her plans. I suspect she knew that Rooney Lee would not approve. So as soon as they were gone she called the two of us before her.
"Luli, for the next two days find yourself something to do. I see you have brought your embroidery, and you may take advantage of your uncle's library if you wish. I am going to be busy with Sis Goose."
And without missing a beat she turned to Sis Goos
e, who was standing beside me. "You come upstairs with me. This day you are going to learn how to dress a lady's hair. Then you will go to the kitchen and find out just how I want my eggnog done. And if you do well, tomorrow you'll learn how I want my clothes in the clothes press, how to care for them, and how to make candied violets."
I heard Sis Goose gasp. "Ma'am, nobody told me this."
"Well, I'm telling you now."
"At home I don't, that is, I never had to do more than take Mr. Holcomb's morning coffee into the study. And I considered that a privilege."
Good for you, I thought. You sound just right. Sure of yourself, yet no sass.
Myself, I asked, "To what end is all this learning of household chores?"
"Household arts," Aunt Sophie corrected.
She'd already started for the stairway, Sis Goose in tow. "Must I tell you, like I had to tell your brother? Didn't you hear Mr. Dodd ask me what Sis Goose was trained up for? A good ladies' maid, a practiced household girl, is highly prized."
Mr. Dodd, the slave trader, had thankfully left that same night. I could not keep silent. "You mean you aim to sell her," I said.
"The truth is, she is trained up for nothing," Aunt Sophie went on. "And if, God forbid, something happened to me or my husband, Sis Goose would be sold as part of the estate. If there is a recession, we might have to sell her. And with this war nobody knows what will happen. What is she good for? Tell me."
"The war is almost over, Aunt Sophie," I said, "and so is everything that goes with it."
"You hush your mouth now, girl. Don't you know enough to hush your mouth?"
"She's my sister. I don't aim to hush up about that. She's beautiful and sweet and my parents love her. She's my friend."
I was starting to anger her. "If you aren't as danged irritating as that Gabriel brother of yours. She's listed, in my farm book, as one of the slaves, loaned out to your parents," she went on. "And since she can't do any household tasks, she'd be sold off and her new owner would put her in the fields. And even if the slaves are freed with the end of the war, she'd be left wandering loose, with nothing to do. You and your mother and brother are living in a fairy tale, Luli. I'm doing this not to demean her but to protect her."
"My parents wouldn't let her wander loose." I don't know where I got the gumption, but I said it.
She did not get angry. She just gave out a big sigh because both of us hit that brick wall again.
I felt bad discussing Sis Goose as if she weren't there, like she was a commodity and not a person. I just blinked through tears that were gathering in my eyes. And watched them go up the stairs.
"I'm coming, too," I called up.
"Suit yourself," Aunt Sophie said. "But if you distract her, I'll ask you to leave."
THERE WAS nothing for me to do but sit there while Sis Goose obediently draped a white cloth around Aunt Sophie's shoulders and took up a brush to have a go at her hair.
From time to time Aunt Sophie would direct. "Harder. Not that hard. I don't need to be scalped. There, now you've got it right."
"Let me try," I said, getting up.
Aunt Sophie sighed but allowed me to have a go at her half-brown, half-gray hair. I pretended to be enjoying it and smiled at Sis Goose as if it were all a game.
If she must do it, then so would I, I decided. That way Sis Goose wouldn't feel demeaned.
The hair was then braided and the braids curled up on top of her head. Then two wisps of hair must be curled down on the side of each ear. Sis Goose learned to use a curling iron that morning, burning herself twice. At home neither of us went through this with our hair. She wore hers straight down her back or in a single braid. I had natural curls and had all I could do to control them.
Finally the operation was over. While it had been going on, Safron, who was Aunt Sophie's personal maid, had been making the bed and fussing about the room. As she was about to pick up the chamber pot to take it downstairs and empty it, Aunt Sophie got inspired.
"Leave that, Safron. Sis Goose will tend to it."
Immediately a bell went off in my head and I felt for a minute as if Gabriel were standing there beside us. But it was my father's voice that I heard.
If she treats Sis Goose like a no-account, you have my permission to take your horses and leave.
"No," I said. And I stepped forward. Safron stopped. Everyone did, it seemed. Aunt Sophie was patting her hair and peering at herself in the mirror. But she stopped cold, too.
"What is the meaning of this? How dare you revoke my orders? Sis Goose, take up the pot."
Sis Goose stood unmoving, confused. I stepped between the pot and her. "She isn't here to empty chamber pots," I said firmly.
"It's part of her job."
"She doesn't have a job. If you make her do it, we will leave."
She sneered. "And say what to your mother when you get home?"
"Pa said we could. He said if you treat Sis Goose like a no-account, we should get our horses and leave."
She didn't expect that. She'd had many an argument with Mama, but she was a little afraid of my pa. He took no sass from her.
"If you do that," she said evenly, "I shall exercise my rights and take her back. And there's nothing you or your pa or your precious brothers can do about it."
Sis Goose stepped in then, bless her. "No disrespect, ma'am, but if you make me live here, I'll run away."
"And be caught by the first slave catcher roaming the countryside. They're still out catching runaways, you know. And you'd be sold into slavery. And I swear, I will not stop it."
We were deadlocked, stuck in the mud like pigs after a hard rain. And then I had a thought.
"She can do all the chores she wants," I conceded, "except the chamber pot. If you make her do that, I'll tell Rooney Lee when they get back. I'll bring it up at supper."
Aunt Sophie blinked and her cheeks flushed. She did not want to be known amongst the cream of Southern society as a cruel and nasty woman. She did not want censure from Rooney Lee. What if he told his father?
I had her where I wanted her. Like a fox in a leg trap.
"Very well then," she said, "no chamber pot. Safron, you may take it out. But there will be other chores. Does making candied violets suit you?"
"You should know that we're, neither of us, strangers to the kitchen," I told her quietly. "Mama wouldn't allow that. I can fry bacon and make a decent pecan pie. So can Sis Goose. My brothers are mad for my sugar cookies. I can not only shoot a wild turkey but bring it home, strip off the feathers, take out the innards, and cook it. And Sis Goose makes a rhubarb pie that the Yankees would lay their guns down for. But no," I allowed, "we've never made candied violets. And we'd both like to."
CHAPTER TEN
FIRST WE had to dip the violets, which Aunt Sophie had dried and preserved, into beaten egg whites. Then we held each violet upside down by the stem and dipped it carefully into sugar until they were coated. Then we set them aside, one by one, to dry and be stored away.
Suzy, the kitchen maid, showed us how. I'll say one thing for Aunt Sophie: She knew which flowers you could eat and not become sick from. She always served some kind of flowers at her table.
"In Europe they do this," she told us.
I could have told her that you didn't have to go to Europe to eat flowers. Mercy Love, our own hoodoo woman at home, ate them all the time.
We enjoyed making the candied violets that day. And afterwards we rode out into the brisk December air to cut and bring home holly and evergreen branches. Tomorrow, when the men got home, we were going to help Rooney Lee and the servants decorate the house.
The next few weeks before Christmas there would be a round of visiting on the plantations. My parents would start theirs off by coming here and fetching us home.
We all hoped the boys would make it home for the holidays. Gabe always rode out and cut the tree, and Granville brought home the big yule log.
After the candied violet episode, Aunt Sophie becalmed herself a l
ittle and entered into the spirit of the season. After all, she must supervise the blowing up of hog bladders for children to pop over the fires; there were her slaves who would sing for her company and they had to be practiced; not to mention baking to be done, turkeys to be readied, and dances to be planned.
WE WENT home with Ma and Pa after two days to keep our own Christmas. And so Sis Goose and I had to ride out again to get the holly and evergreens. We popped the corn to string on the tree, the tree that Sam the overseer brought in because Gabe never made it home in time. Part of that holiday included the visit Sis Goose and I paid to the hoodoo woman.
Every Christmas season it was our job to bring Mercy Love her gifts. Pa picked out what she was to have because all year long she kept him apprised of what the weather would be. Several times a year, when the sky was blue, he'd take up his cane and put on his best frock coat and cravat and walk down to the quarters to visit Mercy Love. Sometimes Sis Goose and I would go with him, one on each side, holding his arms. But we'd wait outside the small log cabin, if we went along, for him to come out.
"Rain," she'd tell him. "Lots of rain. The moon is tilted downward so the water can come out."
"In how many days?" Pa would ask. And she'd answer, "Count the number of stars in the halo around the moon."
She was always right, Pa said. You could set your clock by her predictions, whether they be about storms or drought. To a cotton and wheat and corn planter, this meant more than gold.
So Christmastime Sis Goose and I took her tokens of appreciation from Pa. Actually, he kept her supplied regular-like in shanks of ham and bacon and a possum or two for her pot, potatoes and sorghum, and even rum. She especially liked rum.
