If the young couple lived modestly, his teaching job at Box Tree Male Academy meant they didn’t have to take money from either family. Their housing and food were included, and as long as he didn’t outright criticize the livelihoods of most of the fathers who sent their sons to be educated at the school, he could get by with presenting Christ’s teachings and the basic tenets of liberty, equality, and justice. Upper-class Southerners valued education in general and Box Tree in particular. The academy had been a peaceful place for Therese to grow up, and it was her favorite spot in the world.
She even loved the name, Box Tree, which had been taken from a passage in Isaiah about God bringing a desert to life, how He would grow “the fir tree, and the pine, and the box tree together” in that once-arid place. Father, who delighted in any sort of poetic writing, felt the passage in the book of Isaiah was a promise that someday the desert of slavery would come to an end and, just like the trees named by the prophet, the people of the South would grow together.
A year ago, the closure of Box Tree had devastated Therese. A few months later, when the main building had been turned into a munitions warehouse, she’d been ill with sorrow.
Father was an outright Yankee, and although his students and their parents respected him as a teacher, most never embraced him. Warner and Therese were accepted, to a certain degree, but there was no doubt they were viewed as Southern Yankees. Therese would certainly accept the title for herself, although she was too timid to speak out about her views. Warner, on the other hand, resented Father’s stance and did all he could to prove himself a true Southern man. He challenged Father every chance he could, and as soon as the war broke out, he joined the Confederate Army.
Mother, as a former Southern belle, was simply pitied for having married a Yankee. Therese heard one woman whisper to another, just before the war started and behind Mother’s back, “I wonder how she likes the bed she made now?”
The stress between Father and Grandfather never lessened, and that weighed heavily on Mother. As much as Therese loved living at the academy, throughout her growing-up years she couldn’t help but wonder what their lives would have been like if Mother had been willing to let them live in the North. Now she wondered that more than ever. Warner wouldn’t be fighting for the South. They wouldn’t have the issue of slavery to deal with in their own family. She sighed. Clearly, it had been the Creator’s will for her to grow up where she did, but she couldn’t help but hope God had a different plan for her future. She longed to live where she could be absolutely honest about her beliefs.
Her gaze fell back on her grandfather, on his pallid skin and gray whiskers. The wrinkled skin around his eyes drooped downward, and his still-thick white hair fell over his forehead.
He opened his eyes, sputtering a little. Therese grabbed the glass of water from the bedside table and offered him a drink, but he shook his head. A wisp of white hair shifted over his eyes, and Therese brushed it away.
“I’m sorry. I should have freed them.” He took a raggedy breath. “Forgive me.”
“You can now.” Therese shifted forward. “It’s not too late.”
He nodded. “I’ll speak with your mother.”
He closed his eyes then, and Therese leaned back in the chair, nearly overwhelmed with relief. God was at work. The slaves would be free and Mr. Porter soon fired.
She dozed, but not for long. When she awoke, Aggie and Dr. Landers were in the room, and the morning sun wasn’t much higher. She stood, ready to take her leave, when the doctor leaned over Grandfather. “His breathing has slowed.”
Aggie stepped closer.
The doctor placed his hand on Grandfather’s chest, and then he looked at Therese. “Go get your mother. I fear he hasn’t much time left.”
“Yes, sir.” She hurried out of the room and down the hall. Mother was already at her door as if she’d sensed something.
Therese reached for her hand. “Come quickly.”
Mother didn’t speak, not even when they reached the room. The doctor looked up and simply nodded. Mother fell on the bed next to her father, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Don’t go,” she begged.
A sense of peace settled over her, something Therese was sure wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for Grandfather’s final declaration. He’d confessed his wrongdoing at last. Father’s goodness had won in the end.
The doctor suggested Mother move to the chair so he could examine Grandfather’s body one more time. Therese knew she needed to bring to light what her grandfather had said—and soon. There would be decisions to make. Papers to draw up. Financial concerns to address.
Therese knelt beside her mother and took her hand. “His last words to me were about his slaves. He said he regretted not freeing them. He intended to talk with you about doing so.”
Mother gasped.
“Yes, it’s wonderful, isn’t it?”
Mother shook her head. “I can’t think about that now.”
“You can’t run this place without help, Helene,” Doctor Landers said.
Therese bristled. She’d been foolish to bring it up in front of him.
The doctor pulled the covers back. “There’s hardly enough help here as it is.”
Therese stole a look at Aggie. She stood at the end of the bed, her face expressionless. Therese turned her attention back to her mother. “Don’t you see? This is what we wanted all along. What Father wanted. Grandfather was very direct with me.”
The doctor cleared his throat and directed his gaze at Therese.
She met it.
He cleared his throat again. “Sounds more like the wishful thinking of a fanciful girl, one with an abolitionist for a father. Mr. LeFevre never mentioned such a thing to me.” He shifted his gaze to Mother. “Helene, don’t give this another thought. It won’t leave this room.”
He didn’t look at Aggie, but his message was straightforward. Therese pursed her lips. She’d talk to Mother in private after they’d all gotten some sleep. She would choose her words carefully and do her best not to upset Mother. She wouldn’t confront her. Instead, she’d try to gently persuade her. Surely Grandfather’s final wish would be honored in the end.
Mother didn’t rest that day. Instead, she met with the Anglican priest about the funeral. It would be a simple service the next day at the LeFevre burial plot on the far side of the property.
Word spread quickly, and neighbors began bringing what food they could spare. A ham. A pecan pie. A pan of johnnycake. A pot of greens. Some didn’t stay long, most likely feeling uncomfortable with Therese and her mother. But others stepped into the parlor and took a seat, behaving as if nothing untoward had happened in the past, as if they hadn’t criticized and then demonized Father for the articles he wrote about abolition. He never spoke about his convictions in public, not in the South anyway, but his articles were published widely. Many felt he was a traitor living among them, as if he belonged, all the while judging them and writing about their beliefs in an exploitative way. When Therese talked with her father about what people were saying, he replied he genuinely cared about the community in which they lived—but on the issue of slavery they were wrong, and although he held his tongue in person, he couldn’t not voice his opinions in print.
The truth was that Father had been an exceptional teacher at Box Tree Male Academy. And although he’d chosen not to speak publicly about the issue of abolition in Virginia, he made occasional trips up to Philadelphia to speak to groups there on the topic.
Even though Therese agreed with her father’s position, the many comments made behind their backs had stung. The remarks continued even after he fell ill. The most hurtful was that the tumor in his abdomen was God’s judgment for his beliefs.
“Daughter?” Mother stood over her. “I was asking if you could take Mrs. Johnson’s rhubarb pie.”
Therese stood quickly and grabbed the dessert with both hands. When she started toward the dining room, the woman, who’d been ancient when Therese was a gir
l and now seemed practically mummified, followed her and flapped her black fan as she walked. Her gown was black also, as were most women’s nowadays. She’d lost a nephew, two grandsons, and a great-grandson in the last year. Therese’s heart ached for the old woman.
“My goodness, you look like your mother.” Mrs. Johnson spoke loudly. “You’ve grown into a beauty since the last time I saw you.”
“Thank you,” Therese murmured, sure she’d never be the beauty her mother was.
“I’m guessing the two of you will be staying here now.”
“For a time…”
“There’s no reason for you to go back across the river,” Mrs. Johnson said as they entered the dining room.
Therese ignored the woman’s comment.
“Your mother has been in exile long enough.” Mrs. Johnson wagged her finger as she spoke. “It’s time she came home, that you both came home. And time for you to put your father’s foolishness behind you and embrace the life that was meant to be yours.”
Therese smiled slightly. The cottage across the river would be much more manageable than Grandfather’s estate. The doctor was right. There wasn’t any way she and Mother could live here on their own. They would have to close this place up for now and deal with it after the war.
Therese gazed kindly at the old woman. She set down the pie and said, “I’ll walk you back into the parlor.” Mrs. Johnson meant well.
A few minutes later, Therese slipped out and into the dining room again and then to the back door, hoping to catch sight of Aggie or Auntie Vera. The yard was empty except for several chickens pecking around and Grandfather’s hound dogs sleeping under the willow tree.
The kitchen house door opened and Aggie stepped out, followed by Auntie Vera. Both carried pitchers of lemonade, and both had serious expressions on their faces. Aggie appeared to have been crying, but perhaps her eyes were red from lack of sleep due to caring for Grandfather.
Therese stayed in the shadows along the house, moving toward the front. She bunched the skirt of her mourning dress in her hands, careful not to break a hoop. She didn’t want the two women to see her. She expected Aggie had shared what Grandfather said with Auntie Vera, but she knew neither woman would bring it up with her. Therese hoped that by tomorrow the matter would be sorted out. She had been foolish to bring up Grandfather’s wish with Mother in front of the doctor. Of course Mother didn’t want to talk about it in that setting, but no doubt she would soon. Once she could catch her breath.
As Therese rounded the house, she spotted a young man walking up the stairs to the front porch. She stopped at the corner. He had long dark hair under a wide-brimmed hat. He wore boots much nicer and newer than most people in the area could obtain, and an expensive leather haversack hung over his shoulder. He stopped on the top step and then turned toward her as if sensing her presence.
Her heart began to pound so strongly it took a moment to find her voice. “Michael?” she managed to choke out. “Michael Talbot?”
He took off his hat. “Therese, is that you?” He hurried back down the steps.
“Yes.” She moved out of the shadows, feeling the tug of the invisible thread between them.
He bowed and then took her hand and kissed it. Her heart raced even faster.
As he let go, his brown eyes filled with compassion. “Please accept my condolences. I was so sorry to hear about your grandfather.”
Therese swallowed the lump growing in her throat. The old man had been harsh and unkind, but he was the only grandparent she’d ever known. “Thank you.”
“And I was devastated to hear about your father’s passing too.”
Therese thanked him again, blinking back her tears. She struggled to control her grief and the unwelcomed excitement she felt in seeing Michael. He hadn’t written. He hadn’t communicated in any way—and yet she still felt joy.
Her stomach lurched but then fell as she reminded herself what Polly had told her about his having a sweetheart back in France.
“Is your mother inside?”
“Yes,” Therese answered, but before she could invite him in, the front door swung open.
Mother stepped out, fanning herself in the heat. “Who’s there with you, Therese?”
“Michael Talbot.”
Mother was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was tight. “So you’re back from France. Finally willing to fight for your country and give up your ‘French leave.’ ”
It was a term meaning a soldier was absent without permission—hardly Michael’s case at all.
“Mother.” Therese started up the steps. Michael followed her.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Mother hissed. “Leaving your younger brothers and brave men like Warner to do the fighting—and the dying.”
“Mother! Please don’t.”
Michael bowed. “I’m so sorry for your losses, Miss Helene.” He completely ignored what Mother had said. “Of both your father and your husband.”
Mother crossed her arms. “It means little coming from you.”
Therese stepped to her mother’s side and took her arm. “Please stop. Michael doesn’t deserve this. Not at all.”
Mother stiffened and pulled away, fanning herself frantically as she went back inside, leaving the door ajar behind her.
Mortified, Therese turned toward Michael. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s come over her.”
He smiled wearily. “It’s all right. I know many feel that way about me.”
“No, I don’t think people do. And you’re back now.”
“Yes,” he said, though his eyes broke from hers as he added, “Ready to do my duty. We need to fight for our rights, don’t we? Protect our economy. Battle to retain our property.”
A wave of despair swept over Therese. By property, did he mean slaves? Was that what Michael Talbot really believed now? That four million humans, as Father’s magazines proposed, should continue to be owned by others? Perhaps she’d misjudged him before. Or maybe his thinking had changed over the past four years.
It was as if someone had cut the invisible thread between them. She reminded herself that it had only been imagined anyway, by her. She took a step backward, her stomach falling.
Michael looked past her to the door. “Hello, Dr. Landers.”
The doctor stepped onto the porch, saying that Therese’s mother wanted her inside. With a wink at Michael, he added, “But I see you’re in good hands. I’ll tell her you’ll be along in a bit.”
“Thank you, sir.” Michael returned his attention to Therese and lowered his voice. “So you and your mother will live at River Pines now? And manage the plantation?”
“I-I don’t know,” she stammered. Perhaps it had been a plantation at one time, but she hardly thought of it as that now. It was barely a working farm.
“Well,” he said, taking a step back and again avoiding her eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow at your grandfather’s service. My parents and Polly will be there too.”
“I thought Polly went back to Richmond.”
“Her train wasn’t leaving until this afternoon. Once she heard about your grandfather, she decided not to take it.”
“What about her job?”
Michael shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll work things out. She can head back to Richmond on Thursday, God willing.” He gave a nod, returned his hat to his head, and walked briskly down the steps.
But then he stopped and turned, his voice softening as he spoke. “Is there any chance Warner will be coming home for the funeral?”
“Mother sent a message.” Therese shrugged. “But I doubt he’ll be able to come.”
“I can deliver a letter if you wish when I reach the 1st by early next week.”
“That would be appreciated. Thank you.”
He told her goodbye again and continued on his way. She sighed as she turned to go into the house. Yes, she was disappointed in Michael. Extremely. But maybe it was just as well. Maybe now she’d finally be able, after
all these years, to put her feelings for him to rest.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Therese
Grandfather’s pine box sat next to the hole Badan had dug the night before. Therese stared at the pile of clay dirt. Even under the trees, the sun shone hot as the priest began speaking about Grandfather. “He was a good man who cared for his family, even through troubling times.” Therese held her breath, hoping the priest would stop there. He didn’t. “He cared for his servants too.”
Therese glanced at Aggie, Auntie Vera, and Badan, standing on the far edge of the group, along with Old Joe and the youngest of the lot, sixteen-year-old Sonny, whose mother had been sold the year before. The thought of it still broke Therese’s heart.
Mr. Porter, wearing a vest over his stained and wrinkled shirt, stood off by himself. Therese suspected he had a drinking problem. He seemed unsteady on his feet—and she’d seen him ogling Aggie earlier.
He hadn’t been conscripted into the army before because of the Twenty-Slave Law, which stated that overseers in charge of twenty or more slaves were exempt from service, though the total number could be from a single farm or a combined total among neighboring farms. Grandfather used to have that many, but once he started selling off his slaves, Mr. Porter had been forced to start working elsewhere as well so that he continued to meet the requirement. He also did some handyman work for the Talbot family on the side, an arrangement that gave him some extra pocket money and that served as a big help to the Talbots. Mr. Stephen, who as a papermaker was exempt from military service, spent so much time at the mill that it was hard for Miss Amanda to keep up with everything on their property, especially with her sons and all the available hired hands having gone off to war. It had brought Therese’s mother comfort to know that her friend, who didn’t have any slaves, had some help now and then.
Even before Mother freed the slaves, she should fire Mr. Porter. There was no reason for him to remain. Relief swept through Therese. Tragically, Grandfather had allowed this man to harshly discipline the male slaves, but at least he’d forbidden Mr. Porter from touching the female slaves in any way. Though Therese feared that now, without Grandfather around, the man would feel free to do as he pleased. He was perhaps forty, not all that old. Thank goodness he’d soon be gone. She couldn’t wait to say good riddance.
My Daughter's Legacy Page 8
