by Beth White
Twenty
March 16, 1870
Tupelo
Popping the daily newspaper against his leg, Levi walked along in the Negro residential area known as Shake Rag. Located near the gum ponds on the periphery of town, it was little more than a closely set succession of single-story shacks. Already the women of the neighborhood were out and about, singing as they washed laundry in tubs in the yards and pegged clothing on lines hung across the porches. Barefoot children dressed in ragged, drab-colored cotton played in the muddy road with whatever toys could be found in nature—sticks and acorns and pine knots—with the occasional knife for a game of mumblety-peg. Nathan had thought Levi would be more likely to secure the workers he needed if he conducted personal interviews at the forge. Negro distrust of white carpetbaggers was second only to that of their previous captors. Concurring that the strategy made sense, Levi had readily agreed.
He’d turned onto a dirt alleyway between two little cabins when he heard someone behind him whistling a tune he recognized. Looking over his shoulder with a smile, he saw a young colored boy of about ten following him, hands in pockets, ragged straw hat tilted at a jaunty angle.
“The Union forever! Hurrah, boys, hurrah!” Levi sang along. “Down with the traitor, up with the star; while we rally round the flag, boys, rally once again—shouting the battle cry of freedom!”
The boy laughed and caught up with Levi. “You know that song, sir?”
“You bet I do.” Levi whistled another verse, harmonizing with the boy, who could hardly purse his lips for grinning.
They walked along companionably for a while, then the boy looked up shyly. “My name’s Tee-Toc, sir. You mind me asking what you doing in this neighborhood?”
“Not at all. I’m Levi, and I’ve got business at the forge. Am I headed the right way?” He knew he was, but had learned the habit of asking casual questions to encourage conversation.
“Yes, sir! I’ll take you my own self.” Tee-Toc swaggered, adding ingenuously, “Mr. Nathan, he give me a penny when I bring him business.”
“That’s very enterprising of you,” Levi said. “As a matter of fact, I’m here looking to hire fellows who don’t mind a hard day’s work.”
“Oh, that would be me! I’m a lot stronger than I look.” Tee-Toc flexed a skinny arm. “What kind of jobs you got? I can hoe weeds and chop wood and card cotton and shell butterbeans or just about anything that comes along.” He looked over his shoulder. “I don’t much care for wringing laundry, ’cause that’s women’s work.”
“I have to agree with you, son.” Levi winked. “You hang tight with me, and I’m sure we can find you a job that will require a little muscle and a good male brain.”
Before long they reached the forge, and Tee-Toc ran ahead, shouting, “Mr. Nathan! Hey, Nathan! I brung you a customer. He’s a Yankee, but he’s real nice. And I don’t even need a penny—lest you just want to give me one—’cause he’s gon’ give me a job.”
“Alright, you hush that rattletrap,” Nathan was saying to the boy in his measured way as Levi walked in. Laying his tongs aside to wipe his hands, he nodded at Levi, a twinkle in his eyes. “Morning, Mr. Riggins. I had this one last project to finish before I pack it all up and haul it over to the plantation forge.”
“That’s just fine,” Levi said, walking over to examine the ax head Nathan had been working on. It was perfectly shaped and looked like it could sever anything from trees to hogs’ heads in a stroke or two. “I’d buy this,” he said, “if it’s for sale.”
“Already sold. Boy, don’t you touch that,” Nathan said sharply to Tee-Toc, who had inched a little too close to the fire.
“Yessir, I’m just looking.” But Tee-Toc took a judicious step toward Levi.
“I put out the word all day yesterday that you was coming to talk to men who need work.” Nathan walked over to the open door and peered out. “Here they come. Tee-Toc, go grab a few of them buckets and put ’em out, so folks can sit while we talk.”
Levi nodded. “I’m depending on you to steer me to the ones who can be relied on to do good work.”
Shortly Levi found himself in front of a group of mostly stone-faced Negro men, trying to explain why they should risk life and limb repairing the roof of the plantation home of a young white woman whose father had once called himself the owner of hundreds of their brethren. In fact, Levi was pretty sure many of these very men had worked the cotton fields at Ithaca.
He got halfway through his prepared speech, stopped, and lifted his hands. “Gentlemen, you all look hungry, and I’ve got several months’ work for up to thirty at a time. I understand why you’d be reluctant to abandon your own crops to take on a short-term job, but think of it this way—you’ll be paid well enough that you should be able to afford to buy a nice piece of land that you can do with as you wish. Or, after Ithaca’s house and grounds are brought back to productivity, Mr. Beaumont tells me the railroad will have jobs available for those who don’t want to farm.
“I can pay $1.50 a day, beginning at daylight and ending at dusk, three meals a day, plenty of water. You all may know Mose Lawrence, who will be the supervisor on-site. I’ll be there off and on, overseeing the project, but you’ll be largely independent, working on your reputation. If the roof goes well, there will be other jobs related to bringing the other buildings back to functionality. We’ll work out a rotation of shifts so that everyone has a day off once a week, and there will be no work on Sunday.” He paused, encouraged at the murmur of enthusiasm swelling amongst the group. He glanced at Nathan. “Nathan here has already hired on as our blacksmith, and we’ve had extensive discussions about how payday and benefits like education will work. He or I can answer your questions.”
There was a long moment of stunned silence. “Wait just a minute, sir,” said one man standing in the back. Tall and skinny, he stood head and shoulders above everyone else. “Did you just offer education?”
Levi nodded. “The middle Miss Daughtry, Miss Joelle, has offered to spend an hour every day, during the noon meal, working with those who want to learn to read and write.”
The man let out a long whistle. “Shoot, I’d be willing to work dawn to dusk, just for that.” He pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “I’m Shug Pogue. Where do I put my mark?”
Though he’d expected most of the men to be illiterate, Levi had prepared a labor contract with the details enumerated and plenty of room for signatures. Conscripting a barrel as a desk, he laid out the contract and handed his pen to Shug. The tall Negro drew an X at the bottom of the paper with elaborate flair, then passed it to a friend. By lunchtime, Levi had collected more than enough help for his construction crew, with several on a waiting list in case others dropped out. Nathan approved all the men as being trustworthy.
When everyone had gone home, leaving him and Nathan alone in the forge, Levi traced a finger over the last scrawled X. “I don’t know how to thank you for this,” he said, looking up at Nathan. “Selah will be so relieved that we can start in the morning.”
Nathan nodded. “You a good man, Mr. Levi. Miss Selah’s a good woman. These men need the work, and we’re grateful you didn’t overlook us. Since the war ended, we all been pretty anxious, thinking we might have to go north to the factories or out west to work on the new railroads to feed our families. Might have to eventually, but it’s good to have a little more breathing time.” He held his head up. “You treat us right, we’ll work hard for you.”
Levi extended a hand. “We will, and I’m confident we’ll have that place sparkling like a new penny before summer.” The two men shook. “Now let’s start gathering up your tools and get you moved out to the . . . hotel.”
He wasn’t going to call it a plantation, ever again. It was time to move into the future. The future of Daughtry House.
Thursday, midmorning, Selah leaned over the piano, rubbing furniture oil into its rosewood top. She smiled as the memory of her mother and Joelle’s duets played counterpoint to the chaoti
c rhythm of hammers banging on the roof. Levi had brought a large crew that morning to start the biggest project on their list. She was relieved to see him, of course—he hadn’t been back since Monday, when he’d reacted in such a peculiar fashion to her suggestion that he play the instrument. His manner this morning had been perfectly normal, though he hadn’t stayed to talk. Instead he’d pulled on a pair of gloves and climbed up on the roof to supervise the job.
Selah was pleased with the progress over the last two days. Aurora had arrived on Tuesday as promised, along with Schuyler and Grandmama, who had refused to be left behind. To Selah’s astonishment, all three city-dwellers had been willing to tackle any assignment, no matter how grubby or menial. Schuyler, who proved to be handy with a hammer and saw, helped Mose replace the broken windows in the cupola and repair the walls, and Grandmama suggested scrubbing away the honeycomb residue with vinegar to eliminate the odor. Aurora, attired in one of Selah’s old dresses, worked like a Spartan, joining the other women in taking the rugs and curtains outside to be beaten and aired, brushing upholstery, and sweeping and mopping the wood floors.
Schuyler, Aurora, and Grandmama had yet to arrive today, but Horatia and ThomasAnne had been in the kitchen all morning, making note of needed household supplies, while Joelle worked in the library. Selah still had a long list of projects to be completed—including furniture repair, replacing broken spindles in the staircase, and thorough dusting and polishing of lamps and light fixtures—but she was confident it could all be done well before the heat of summer arrived.
Hearing the rattle of wheels coming up the drive, she glanced at the grandfather clock ticking away in the corner of the parlor. It was nearly ten o’clock, when Doc Kidd had made a habit of coming by to collect Wyatt for a tutoring session. The boy had accompanied Mose and Nathan to the old forge to help clean, refurbish, and settle the blacksmith’s equipment.
Putting the cloth and polish on the entryway table, she opened the front door and stood shading her eyes against the sunlight. That wasn’t Doc’s wagon and horses, but an unfamiliar pair of matched sorrels, pulling a beautiful spanking-new covered carriage. Schuyler held the reins, and Aurora, dressed to the nines, bounced on the red-velvet seat next to him. In the rear passenger seat, Grandmama clutched the side of the carriage as if in imminent danger of being thrown out.
Aurora clapped her hands with excitement as the carriage rolled to a stop. “Look what we bought, Sissy! Aren’t they beautiful?”
Schuyler threw the reins to Mose, who had sauntered around from the back of the house. “Take the carriage to the barn and unhitch the horses, will you, Mose? Give them a drink and show Wyatt how to rub them down.” He turned to help Grandmama down, then reached for Aurora. “Come on, Pete.”
But Aurora gave his shoulder a playful shove. “No, I’ll go with Mose and make sure the horses are settled.”
As she and Mose took the carriage bowling around the side of the house, Grandmama shook off Selah’s hand on her elbow with a sniff. “Do you see what I’ve had to put up with for the last eight years? I’m getting too old to have to restrain such unbridled energy, and your grandfather is no help at all. All the girl has to do is bat those long eyelashes and he gives her whatever she wants.”
Selah smiled. “Grandmama, I tried to get you to let her come home with me three weeks ago, and you refused!”
“That’s because I wanted you to stay, you goose! I should have known you’d call my bluff.” She began to stump her way up the steps. “Just like your father, ornery as a mule!”
Selah sighed and turned to find Schuyler watching the show. He was fashionably dressed in a black coat over a red-and-black-striped vest, with white shirt, black trousers, and a neat string tie. Clearly he had not come to work today. “She’s right, you know,” he said with a broad grin.
Selah ignored the hit. “I had thought Aurora might have turned into a lady by now, but she seems to love animals as much as she ever did. When she was little, she used to follow Papa around everywhere on her pony. She’s always been a better horsewoman than me or Joelle.”
Schuyler chuckled. “There’s no denying she knows her way around horseflesh. She did most of the negotiating today and probably saved us a hundred dollars on that pair of sorrels.”
“I’m glad she was helpful to you,” Selah said, hands on her hips. “At least that’s something.”
“She’s a bit of a flirt,” Schuyler said with a shrug. “But I wouldn’t take it too seriously. Where’s Lady Bluestocking?”
“Joelle? In the library, where else? Schuyler, please don’t pester her.”
He grinned. “Someone’s got to keep her stirred up so she doesn’t atrophy like one of those petrified trees over near Jackson.”
“I think you’ve mixed your metaphors—” But he’d already gone running up the steps, so she called after him, “Make sure Grandmama gets her tea, would you?”
Schuyler waved a hand and disappeared into the house.
“It must be a lot of work, keeping the world from crashing in on itself.”
The voice came from overhead, and Selah looked up, squinting into the sun. Levi squatted on the edge of the second-story roof, forearms on his thighs, hands dangling between his knees. He looked perfectly comfortable, but her heart bounced at the thought of him falling and hitting the ground.
“If you need to talk to me, use the ladder and come down,” she said, perhaps more sharply than she’d intended. “I’m getting a crick in my neck.”
He laughed. “There’s a wisteria vine right here. Don’t move.”
“Be careful!” she exclaimed, but he was already on his way down. She waited for him at the bottom of the vine, remembering the day she’d met him, the way he’d clambered up and down ropes and bridge trestles and balanced along rails like a trapeze artist. Heights didn’t bother him, she knew that. Still . . . “I once got stuck in the middle of that vine, it started coming loose from the house, and—”
“So that’s why you don’t like heights.” He swung to the ground, landing on the balls of his feet, knees bent, then stood there looking at her, a smile curving his lips. He’d dispensed with a coat, and the open neck of his shirt revealed his strong brown throat and collarbone. A long V of sweat darkened the front of the shirt. “Selah, don’t wear yourself out trying to do everyone’s job. You’ll have to put up with some disasters, but people will sort themselves out and everything will eventually get done.”
“I don’t know how to slow down! Besides, it seems the more I have to do, the more I can do.” She stopped, puzzled by the startled expression on his face. “What’s wrong? What did I say?”
“It’s just . . . my commander said something like that all the time.” Levi ran his hand through his hair and let it fall even more rumpled than before.
Selah didn’t know what to think. It was true that from the moment she opened her eyes every morning until she lay down on her cot in the office, she found herself at the center of a vortex of questions and decisions. As manager and recognized source of authority, she dished out encouragement, answers, and discipline with nearly equal frequency. The family and servants had taken to calling her “the general,” with as much irritation as admiration and humor. She had laughed and answered to the sobriquet without objection.
But she reminded Levi of his commander? Was she that masculine? That overbearing? It sounded like a serious character flaw.
Perhaps sensing her hackles going up, he winked. “Grierson was one of my favorite people. After all, somebody has to have a plan. Listen, Shug has got things going just fine on the roof. Since you’re out here, why don’t we look at a couple of places I haven’t gotten to yet.” When she hesitated, he quickly scanned her garb. “Unless you want to change into some other clothes first . . .”
“No, I’m ready for any amount of dirt, I’m afraid.” She pulled her old shawl closer, suddenly shy under his regard. She’d taken more care with her hair today, dressing it in a coronet of braids, but there wa
s nothing to be done about her depleted wardrobe. Everything she owned—except the travel dress she’d borrowed from Joelle for the trip to Memphis—had been turned, patched, and remade until she was hardly fit to appear in public. She wore her usual simple black skirt, faded to a murky blue, with a yellow print blouse whose only decoration was a double row of self ruffles around the neck. It was the last garment Charmion had made for her before the end of the war.
“You look beautiful,” Levi said with apparent sincerity, for his cheeks turned ruddy, and he cleared his throat. “So I wanted to start with the ice house. If we’re going to compete with hotels in town, we need amenities that will set us apart. That and the swimming pool—” He wheeled off in the direction of the side of the house, forcing Selah to skip to catch up. “How are things going inside the house?”
“Everything is as clean as I can get it, but I need to send ThomasAnne to town with the supply list she and Horatia have been working on. The kitchen will be our next project.” They rounded the back of the house. “I don’t suppose you’ve run across a capable carpenter, have you? We need to repair the broken furniture in the master bedroom.”
Levi’s stride faltered for a split second. “Yes, there’s a fellow Nathan recommended, who’s up on the roof at the moment. When we all break for lunch, I’ll send him in to talk to you.”
“All right. Mr. Riggins—Levi, would you slow down? I’m all but running.”
By now he was on the path to the pagoda, which stood on a natural rise, with the roof of the two-story ice house just behind it. Halting to let her catch up, he looked over his shoulder with an easy smile. “Sorry. My long legs.” He extended his arm.
She took it out of habit, though she could have walked up the pagoda steps on her own. The two sides of her upbringing and education waged civil war inside her brain. Mama would have said, Behave like a lady, and you’ll be treated like a lady. Miss Lindquist would have said, Don’t let others do for you what you can do for yourself.
