Miserere

by Caren J. Werlinger

  He peered at the paper, turning it over in his hands. After a long moment of apparent thought, he drawled, “Well, this is interestin’, but I’m not sure what we’ll be able to tell from it.”

  “Don’t you think there might be fingerprints on it, too?” Conn asked pointedly.

  Sheriff Little frowned, puckering his lips as he put the paper back on the table. “I doubt it,” he said dismissively.

  A new set of headlights flashed through the window as they heard another vehicle pull up. A minute later, Molly Peregorn burst into the kitchen, carrying a canvas bag over her shoulder.

  “How did you –?” Sheriff Little began, but Molly pushed past him to Elizabeth.

  “Are you and the children all right?” she asked. “What happened?”

  Quickly, Conn and Elizabeth told her about the voices, the smashed glass and the fire. Turning to Sheriff Little, Molly said, “Arnold, I assume you’ve already written this down?”

  “I’m getting’ to it,” he blustered, patting his pockets for a small notebook and pencil.

  He began jotting the details, but before he could ask any questions, Molly asked Conn, “Did you recognize the voices?”

  Conn shook her head. “No, they were kind of whispering, but loud. But there was this,” she said pointing to the scribbled note.

  Molly looked at and shook her head. “What a pity,” she said.

  “What?” Sheriff Little asked, frowning.

  “That they don’t know how to spell,” Molly said drolly as Conn burst out laughing. “You’re obviously looking for someone pretty stupid, Arnold.” She knelt in front of Elizabeth, taking a small bottle from her bag. “Not that that helps much around here,” she added in an undertone, as she swabbed the laceration on Elizabeth’s foot with an antiseptic. She bandaged the foot as best she could, and Elizabeth gingerly forced her foot into her shoe.

  She and Elizabeth went to the bathroom to survey the damage. “What a pity,” Molly repeated, sincerely this time. “I don’t think it’s beyond repairing, though.” She turned to Elizabeth. “It’s a good thing you got down here as quickly as you did, or the whole house could have gone up.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears as she considered that possibility.

  “There, there,” Molly said consolingly. “You’ve got more folks looking out for you than you know,” she said with a meaningful glance toward Conn.

  Sheriff Little asked for a grocery bag for the bottle fragment in the bathroom. “I’ll be in touch, Miz Mitchell,” he said, his face red with the effort of bending over, “but I don’t ‘spect we’ll have much luck findin’ out who done this.”

  The fire truck tore up a good bit of grass maneuvering to get back down the drive, and Sheriff Little’s cruiser followed after them.

  “Sit down,” Molly said, “and let me make you some coffee.”

  She expertly fired up the wood stove and put the pot on while Conn got the broom out and began sweeping up all the broken glass. “You don’t think…” Conn began.

  “What?” Elizabeth asked.

  “You don’t think Jed’s father would have done this, do you?” Conn asked. “He hates Mr. Greene, and probably us, too.”

  Molly shook her head. “Sam Pancake can be an ornery cuss, but he’d never do anything this dangerous. No,” she mused, “this sounds like the work of some of those boys who like to dress up in white hoods.”

  Elizabeth’s head snapped up at this. “They’re here?” she asked in disbelief.

  Molly raised one eyebrow. “West Virginia may have left the Confederacy, but that doesn’t mean the people here are any less ignorant when it comes to race.”

  “Can I come in now?” Will asked, still standing in the doorway.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said, holding her arms out to him. He rushed to his mother for a hug as he cried. “It’s okay. We’re all okay.”

  “Well, it’s a cinch no one’s going back to bed now,” Molly said. “We might as well have breakfast, too.”

  Conn helped her fry up some bacon and eggs while Will was put to work making toast.

  “How did you know we were in trouble?” Elizabeth asked as they ate.

  Molly’s eyebrows raised as she said casually, “Oh, a ghost told me.”

  Will’s eyes were enormous as he repeated fearfully, “A ghost?”

  “Oh,” Molly said, waving her hand dismissively, “this is a friendly ghost.” Her gaze met Conn’s for a moment and she winked.

  At the reference to Caitríona, Conn recalled her dream, and the tragedy of Orla’s death. “Deirdre was Orla’s baby, not Caitríona’s,” she blurted without thinking.

  “What?” Elizabeth asked, startled.

  “I… I had a dream last night,” Conn said, kicking herself for not keeping quiet, “that Orla died when she had Deidre. Caitríona raised her, but she wasn’t her baby.” She cast a quick glance at Molly, begging for help.

  “We’ve always held that it’s a great gift to receive glimpses into the lives of our ancestors,” Molly said as Elizabeth’s expression darkened with worry. Deciding that this was a good time to change the subject, she stood and carried her plate and Elizabeth’s to the sink. “Would you like for me to stop by Abraham’s place and let him know you’ll need his help?” She turned to look back at Elizabeth. “Unless you’re too scared to have him back,” she added.

  Her taunt had the desired effect as Elizabeth’s eyes blazed angrily. “Too scared my – eye,” she quickly amended with a glance at the children. “They are not going to tell us who we can and can’t have as our friends.”

  “Good for you,” Molly said with satisfaction as Conn and Will grinned at one another. “Then I’ll have Abraham stop by as soon as he can.”

  CHAPTER 24

  “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

  Abraham had done a thorough inspection of the damage in the bathroom.

  “How bad is it?” Elizabeth asked, bracing herself as Conn stood nearby listening.

  “The roof will have to be replaced,” he said. “There’s just too much damage. And these two walls, also.” He squatted down. “And the floor boards as well. The water damage is already causing them to warp, see?”

  Elizabeth expelled a worried breath. “I guess it’s a good thing I took out an insurance policy on this house when Nana left it to me.”

  Abraham looked at her sympathetically. “Are you absolutely certain you want me doing these repairs?”

  Elizabeth’s temper, easily roused these last days, flared at once. “Mr. Greene, we are not giving in to these tactics. No one is going to intimidate us or frighten us away from our friendship with you.”

  Conn’s pride at her mother’s declaration was dampened as Abraham said pragmatically, “Mrs. Mitchell, we are not talking about just gossip anymore. What if that bottle had been thrown where it blocked the stairs? How would you and the children have gotten out of the house?”

  In an instant, Conn understood exactly why Caitríona and the others had needed the hidden stairs and the tunnel. The black people had lived in this house, too – Conn was sure of it. And if anyone hostile had come their way, they would have needed an escape route. She bit her lip, wondering if she should say something.

  “I’ve got a way out,” she said.

  Elizabeth stared at her for a few seconds and then laughed. “I forgot.” Conn’s heart leapt. “You found a way down off the porch roof, didn’t you?”

  Conn laughed, too.

  “Very well,” Abraham said. “I’ll write up an estimate for you to give the insurance company. I can start right away if… if you can afford the materials. I wish I could –”

  “Of course I don’t expect you to front those expenses for us,” Elizabeth cut in. “But your offer was very generous. And we will pay you as we have always done.”

  “Until tomorrow then,” he said. “I’m afraid you’ll be without a bathroom for at least a week.”

  “Back to the outhouse,” Conn sighed.

  **
*

  The next morning, Abraham and Jed showed up bright and early to begin demolition of the damaged portions of the roof.

  “I’m sorry this happened,” Jed said to Conn. “Must have been scary, havin’ your house on fire.”

  “It was,” Conn agreed.

  “Your ma really ran in there in her bare feet and put the fire out?” he asked incredulously.

  Conn nodded with a renewed sense of pride in her mother’s bravery. It seemed much grander when someone else said it. “She did.”

  Abraham and Jed climbed up onto the roof to begin prying the shingles off and tossing them down to the ground, where Elizabeth and the children piled them in the back of Abraham’s truck to be hauled away later. As the sheathing boards and rafters were dismantled, Abraham showed them how to pull the old nails so they could reuse anything that was salvageable.

  The work went quickly, and by mid-morning, the old log portion of the house stood open to the summer sky.

  “Now for the hard part,” Abraham said as they took a short break for a cold drink. “We’ve got to get the bathroom fixtures out so we can get to the floor and then the walls.”

  Just as they were preparing to resume work, a truck rumbled up the drive and two black men got out. Doffing their caps, they approached Elizabeth and said, “‘Scuse us, Missus. We was sent to bring you new logs for to replace the burnt ones,” said the taller of the two. He bobbed his head in Abraham’s direction.

  “Good morning, Lemuel,” said Abraham.

  Elizabeth frowned, puzzled. “But, who sent you?”

  “Mr. Peregorn, Missus,” said the one called Lemuel.

  “Where do you want we should put ‘em, Abraham?” asked the other man.

  “How about over there, Buck,” Abraham replied, pointing to a spot on the side of the yard. “We’ll need enough space to plane and dovetail them to fit.”

  Within a few minutes, with Abraham and Jed helping, the men had the truck unloaded with the logs, already rough sawn into squares, stacked neatly off to one side of the yard. The two men rolled up their sleeves and began pulling tools out of the truck.

  “I don’t understand,” said Elizabeth.

  “We’re staying to help,” said Lemuel.

  “But… but I can’t afford to pay you,” Elizabeth stammered, blushing furiously in her embarrassment.

  Buck doffed his cap again. “We don’t want pay, Missus. We heard what happened and asked Mr. Peregorn could we come help. He said we’re yours as long as you need us.”

  “Oh,” Elizabeth said, blinking rapidly. “Oh.”

  “What we will need,” said Abraham to cover the awkward moment, “is a big lunch. I’ve heard your Johnny cake and beans are the best around.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Johnny cake and beans it is.”

  As she was turning to go inside, they heard a new voice. “Could y’all use some extra help?”

  “Pa!” Jed exclaimed as they turned to see Sam Pancake standing near the corner of the house.

  ***

  “Well, I’ll be,” Molly Peregorn said in astonishment a couple of hours later when she stopped by to see how work was progressing.

  More people had come, white and black both, including several women who brought breads, pies, fried chicken, potato salad and casseroles, so that soon the kitchen table was overflowing with dishes. Several children had come also, shyly saying hi to Conn and Will and helping carry tools and supplies for the adults. All were strangers to Elizabeth and the children, but had heard about the fire and wanted to help. Interestingly, none of the gossipers from down at Walsh’s were among those who came to volunteer. Conn, who thought the other girls were silly, remained aloof, though Will gladly played with some of the boys.

  With Abraham acting as foreman, two log walls had been carefully disassembled to allow the bathroom fixtures to be disconnected and carried outside, and now floorboards were being pried up and stacked while Sam Pancake and Buck were using adzes to cut notches into the ends of each new log in preparation for fitting them together.

  “I never thought I’d see the like,” Molly said, shaking her head as she surveyed the scene before her.

  “What?” Conn asked, not understanding. Only she and Will seemed brave enough to talk to her and she noticed that the other children melted away when Molly was near.

  “All these people, working together,” Molly said. “I don’t think this would have happened anywhere but here.”

  Conn tilted her head as Will asked, “Why?”

  “You’re too young to understand, but when someone like your mother takes a stand, refuses to be bullied or scared away from doing the right thing, it sets a powerful example for other people,” Molly said. “The black folks around here know what it’s like to live with the threat of being beat up if they step out of line, or having their homes or their families threatened. They understand the chance your mother is taking, and they’re paying her tribute.” Her eyes narrowed as she talked. “But Sam Pancake, I must say that surprises me most. Look at him, all shaved and cleaner than I’ve seen him in years. I never thought I’d see him working alongside a black man in my lifetime. Hmmph.”

  Will wandered off to watch from a closer vantage point with a few boys about his age, leaving Conn to ask the question she’d been dying to ask. “Caitríona really warned you? That’s how you knew about the fire?”

  Molly nodded. “She came to me, said you were in danger. I didn’t know what until I got to your house.” She peered down at Conn. “And you’re continuing to have dreams of her life? Like the one about Orla and Deirdre?”

  “Yes,” Conn said. “I’ve tried to make them come faster so I can figure out what happened to her, but I can’t control it.” She looked up at Molly. “Do you think I should tell Mom?”

  Molly shook her head. “Not now. She’s got enough to worry about. This would really scare her, I think.”

  “Sometimes, I get the feeling she knows, like maybe she remembers dreams like these from when she was a girl,” Conn said.

  “Maybe Caitríona has shown herself to all the women in your family,” Molly mused, “but there is something about you that makes you the one she’s been waiting for.” She turned toward the house. “I’ll go see if your mother needs any help.”

  Conn sat down in the shade of one of the trees, watching all the activity.

  §§§

  “Look what our little angel has picked for you, Miss Caitríona,” said Ruth.

  Deirdre, almost two, was clinging to Ruth’s finger as she walked proudly up to Caitríona, holding a bunch of dandelions in her other hand. “Here, Mam,” she said.

  “Why they’re beautiful,” said Caitríona as she bent down to pick Deirdre up, carrying her into the kitchen.

  “Would you like some sweet peas, darlin’?” Fiona asked.

  Deirdre held out her plump little hand for the early June peas and clapped her hand to her pink lips. She looked so like Orla with her wavy black hair and big blue eyes. Caitríona set her down and gave her a small canning jar filled with water. She plopped down on the floor and began carefully placing her flowers, one crumpled stem at a time, into the jar.

  “When is Burley due back?” Caitríona asked as she returned to shelling peas.

  Ellie looked up at the clock worriedly. “He should have been back before now,” she said.

  Trips to town were much more dangerous now. Not only was there no guarantee there would be anything available to buy, there was a good chance Burley might run into roving bands of troops who would commandeer whatever he had been able to acquire. Union or Confederate – it didn’t matter anymore. By all accounts, the war was horrible, with huge costs in terms of goods, infrastructure and lives lost. The new stretch of railroad coming into Buckingham County had been blown up twice, once by each side. Several skirmishes had been fought on plantation land, and the house had been briefly occupied a few times by the officers of whichever side had the upper hand at the moment. The house itself had suffered
as well, with some of its wrought iron having been stripped by Union soldiers to melt down for cannon balls. As soon as they moved out, Burley, Henry and some of the others had removed all the rest of the iron and buried it far out on the property. “We’ll put it back on soon,” Burley said confidently.

  But two years into the war, there was no sign of its ending. Despite Lincoln’s issuance of the Emancipation Proclamation in January, the war dragged on with no change for the slaves in the South. Batterston had been eager to sell off provisions early in the war when both sides could afford to pay, but after two bloody years, neither side had money and the soldiers were desperate. The plantation staff had learned to grow their vegetables in remote patches of plantation property, and to quickly pick and preserve what they could grow, hiding the canned goods in a secret cellar under the pump house where the spring kept it cool year round. The few remaining cattle and horses were herded onto some of the hillier pastures not normally used as they were more difficult to get to. Ewan, Nate and the others who looked after them could quickly move them if troops came through looking for fresh mounts or meat.

  Though Fair View was in Virginia, no one on the plantation felt any particular loyalty to either side in the war. Burley saw the practical aspect of running a five thousand acre plantation without slaves. “The Proclamation means he’ll have to pay them, if the North wins,” he said as they discussed the issue one evening.

  “That’s ludicrous,” Batterston said disdainfully.

  “It’s reality,” said Burley sagely. “If the North wins, and they probably will, the slaves will all be freed. If Lord Playfair was smart, he’d start paying ‘em now, so they’ll want to stay when the war is over.”

  Caitríona scoffed at this. “He thinks it’s his God-given right to own people, no matter what color they are.” The momentary expressions of hope in Dolly, Ruth and Henry’s eyes faded as she spoke, and she was sorry she’d said anything.

  Neither Lord Playfair nor Hugh had returned to America since the onset of the war. Post delivery was even more unpredictable than normal – they’d had only one letter from them in the past year, instructing Batterston to maintain the plantation’s typical rota of tobacco, wheat and cattle.