All Things New (33 page)

Daniel clamped his hand over her mouth. “Quiet! Stop fighting me!” He dragged her and his horse into the shadows alongside a carriage house. The townspeople were still waking up and running toward the fire. No one would hear her even if she could scream.

“You warned him, didn’t you?” Daniel said, giving her a shake. He still gripped her tightly, but he slowly removed his hand from her mouth as if testing to see if she would cry out. “You shameless girl! You’re helping our enemy. Don’t you know what they do to people who aid the enemy? It’s treason! You’re a traitor!”

“You were going to murder him—I heard you. Even now, when you heard the bell, you thought Alexander was ringing it and you came to kill him.”

“And how many of our people did the Yankees kill? What about Samuel and Father and the thousands of others? The Yankees murdered our family and took everything we had. They destroyed our lives. Can’t you understand that? Why are you helping them?” A handkerchief covered her brother’s face, and she could only see his eyes below the brim of his hat. But those eyes glittered with enough anger to kill an entire army of Yankees like Alexander.

“The war is over, Daniel. If you kill him now, it’s murder.”

“Grow up, Josephine. As long as their army is occupying Virginia, we’re still at war. That bureau is a symbol of outside interference, telling us that we aren’t free. Your Yankee friend represents a foreign government that’s being forced on us. We have no choice but to protect ourselves from them.”

“Haven’t you had enough fighting and killing? When are you going to stop?”

“When the last Yankee and carpetbagger is gone. When they all go away and leave us alone and the land is ours again.” Daniel glanced out into the street to see if the coast was clear, then turned to face her again. “Listen. We’re going to get on my horse and go
home. But I want you to understand that if your Yankee friend comes back with a pile of soldiers and punishes our community, it will be on your conscience, Josephine. You’ll have to live with the consequences and the guilt for the rest of your life.”

“How is it my fault? If you had succeeded in murdering him, don’t you think there would have been retribution for that?”

“If you hadn’t interfered, it would have been an unfortunate accident in a quiet town.”

“I know the truth, Daniel. It won’t stay hidden.”

“And I know the truth about you and your Yankee, so we’d both be wise to keep our mouths shut, don’t you think? I won’t have to punish you if the people in this town find out. They’ll be happy to get revenge on a traitor like you.” He pushed her ahead of him, moving away from the square, away from the smoke and the chaos, staying in the shadows where no one would see them. When they reached the outskirts of town, Daniel lifted Josephine onto the horse and climbed on behind her to ride the rest of the way home.

They were nearly to White Oak when Josephine remembered the crate full of schoolbooks that Alexander had saved. Tomorrow, somehow, she would find a way to go back into town and retrieve them. Then she would make certain that Rufus and Jack and Roselle and every other Negro child who wanted to learn to read and write would get one of them.

And even if her family disowned her, even if she never saw Alexander Chandler again, Josephine was still glad she had saved his life.

30

J
ULY
14, 1865

When the rooster crowed in the morning, it seemed as if Lizzie had been having nightmares all night and had barely slept. Had Missy Jo really come in the middle of the night, waking her up with a terrible story about how Massa Daniel was going to kill Mr. Chandler? Lizzie rolled over, but Otis’s side of the bed was empty.
Oh, Lord!
She sat up and looked around the dim cabin and saw him kneeling in front of a chair praying, his elbows propped on the seat. She lay back down and waited for her heart to slow down again.

Lizzie had been afraid to help Missy Jo, but Otis had said that they had to. Nearly half the night had slowly passed as she’d paced the floor and waited for him to return. By the time she finally saw Otis coming back, a dark shape against the darker sky, she had worried herself sick.

“What happened?” she’d asked. “Did Missy Jo get there all right? She make it there in time?”

“I could only go with her to the other side of the woods. Lord knows I sure hated to leave her on her own, that’s for sure.”

Lizzie had sunk down on their straw mattress, relieved to see him, worn out from worry, weary with sleeplessness. “Come back to bed, Otis. It’ll be morning soon.”

“No, I won’t sleep. I think I’ll sit here and pray, if you don’t mind.”

Now Lizzie couldn’t help wondering about Missy Josephine. “Otis?” she whispered. He lifted his bowed head and looked over at her, then rose to his feet, stretching his arms and shoulders. “Did Missy Jo come back?” she asked him.

“I don’t know. Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Lizzie stood and slipped into her dress and shoes. The July sun was already rising, fiery hot. Lizzie wished she was still asleep. Last night had seemed like a nightmare and she was afraid to wake up and see it had all come true.

Mornings were always hurried for Lizzie, trying to get the white folks fed, trying to get Otis and the other men fed so they could get out to the fields, trying to get the kids up and fed and off to school. The kitchen was the center of all this feeding and hurrying, and it was a busy place, most mornings. But as Lizzie stirred yesterday’s coals and got the fire started in the hearth, she felt like somebody was holding a huge cast-iron pot over her head, filled with all kinds of bad things, and they were just waiting to drop it on her.

“Massa Daniel’s horse is in the stall,” Otis told her when he came in a few minutes later, “so he must be back.”

“Well, we better keep the kids home today until we find out from Missy Jo what happened last night.”

“What’ll we tell Saul and Clara and the others?”

“The truth. They need to know what kind of man Massa Daniel is and what he was trying to do.”

Otis nodded. “But don’t tell the kids. I don’t want them living in fear all the time.”

“But shouldn’t we warn them about him? They need to know.”

“Let’s just hold off and see what really happened last night first.”

Lizzie didn’t want to hold off. She wanted to gather her family together and run as far away from White Oak as she could and hide where it was safe. If only she knew where that safe place might be. She picked up the egg basket and went outside to let the hens out of the coop and collect the eggs. A few days ago she had
been so content. Her kids were learning to read and write, Otis was growing his own crops with nobody bossing over him, and she had Clara to talk to all day and share the workload—washing and cooking and churning the cream from their new cow. Lizzie had been almost ready to believe the Bible was true and that every tear she had ever cried was going to bring a crop of joy. Not anymore.

Clara walked into the kitchen with a bucket of fresh milk just as Lizzie was putting biscuits in the oven. She knew by the fear in Clara’s eyes that Otis had told her about last night. Clara set the bucket of milk on the table, but her shoulders still slumped like she was carrying a heavy load. “What are we gonna do, Lizzie?”

“I don’t know. Otis says to wait and see.”

Lizzie was on her way into the Big House with a platter of scrambled eggs in one hand and a basket of hot biscuits in the other when she happened to look down toward her cabin. A group of former slaves, maybe a dozen or so, were coming up the little hill from Slave Row. Were they coming for Massa Daniel the way he had come after Mr. Chandler last night? Would there be a war now, Negro against white? She shivered with fear and hurried into the dining room with the food, hoping to see Missy Jo sitting there just as nice as you please, hoping Missy would tell her it had all been a mistake, that nothing had happened last night after all. But Miz Eugenia and Missy Mary were the only ones seated at the table.

Lizzie’s hands shook like an old woman’s as she set the food on the table in front of them. “Anything else, ma’am?” she asked, slowly backing from the room.

“Where is the butter?”

“I’ll bring it, ma’am. Sorry.”

The strangers had gathered outside the kitchen door when she got back, talking with Otis and Saul and Willy and Robert. Roselle and Clara stood in the kitchen doorway, listening. Lizzie’s stomach turned over when she saw how the men were all looking at each other, as if something terrible had just happened.

“Roselle, honey,” she said, pushing her into the kitchen. “Fetch that dish of butter and bring it to the missus in the dining room.”

“But I want to hear—”

“So do I. Go on now.”

Roselle grabbed the butter and disappeared into the Big House, quick as a wink. Lizzie looked up at Otis, afraid to breathe. “Is Missy Josephine in there?” he asked. Lizzie shook her head. He closed his eyes for a long moment before opening them again. “It’s gone, Lizzie. The Freedmen’s Bureau burned to the ground last night. Ain’t nothing left of it this time.”

“Oh Lord, no.” Her knees felt weak and she wanted to sit down, but there was no place to sit.

“Mr. Chandler’s gone, too,” one of the men said. “No one knows what happened to him, if he’s dead or not, but from the looks of things . . . they’ll have to dig through the bricks and ashes to find him.”

“Oh, Lord.” Lizzie covered her mouth to hold back her grief. Was Missy Josephine dead, too? Had something happened to her because they had left her all alone? This was all because of the school. That’s why they had burned down the office. And Lizzie was the one who had talked Mr. Chandler into opening the school again.

“I guess there won’t be no justice for the men who died in the woods,” Willy said, shaking his head.

“And without that school,” Clara added, “our kids will be slaves all their lives.”

Otis drew a breath and exhaled. “Mr. Chandler was a God-fearing man, and if he’s really gone I know he’s in a better place. But Lord help him, all he was trying to do was help us out.”

Everything was back to the way it was. Lizzie never should have hoped for something better. She was about to sink down on the back step and weep when Roselle came flying out of the door, her errand finished. “What happened? What’s going on?” Otis put his arm around her.

“The school burned down, honey. I’m sorry.”

“But . . . but we can sit on the grass and learn, can’t we? We don’t mind.” When nobody answered her, she laid her head on Otis’s shoulder and cried.

“We come to tell you we’re moving on,” one of the men said. “Mr. Chandler promised to move us out West somewhere and give us our own land and a mule. Guess that won’t happen now, so there’s no sense in staying around here. Thought we’d ask if you all want to come with us.”

“We can’t lose hope,” Otis said. “The crops are still growing out there, ain’t they? Why don’t you all move back here and we can work the land together?”

“You think they’re gonna let us keep that cotton and sell it ourselves? They take everything else away from us, why wouldn’t they take that, too, when the time comes? Who’s gonna stop them now that Mr. Chandler’s gone?”

“We never should have trusted them,” Lizzie said. “None of them. Our massa is probably one of the men who done this.”

“We don’t know that for sure, Lizzie.”

“Let’s go with them, Otis. They’re right. There ain’t no use in staying here.” He didn’t reply. He still had one arm around Roselle, and he rested his other hand on Lizzie’s cheek, gently stroking it to calm her fears. As scared as she was and as much as she wanted to run, she knew her husband wouldn’t leave now. Not after all the hard work he’d done. Besides, where would they go? How would they live? They would have to wait until after the harvest, at least, so they’d have food to eat on their journey.

“Well, I agree with all the others,” Saul said quietly. “I wanted to help you, Otis, and I wanted my kids in that school. But now that it’s gone and Mr. Chandler ain’t watching out for us . . .”

Lizzie heard Otis sigh. He gazed out at his fields, his shoulders still straight and strong. “I need time to pray about what to do,” he said. “God is my massa now, and I want to do what He says. If He says to stay here, then I can trust Him to watch over me. If He says to go, then I will. In the meantime, if you and Clara want to go with them, Saul, I won’t have no hard feelings.”

In the distance, Lizzie heard Miz Eugenia’s bell ringing in the dining room. She groaned. She had forgotten all about the white folks and their breakfast. “I better see what they want,” she said.
But her mind was miles and miles away as she made her way into the house and down the hallway to the dining room. Where could she and her family go to finally be free and live their lives without worry or fear? Was there any such place in the world?

“Lizzie!” Miz Eugenia said when she walked through the door. “What in the world is going on? Roselle practically threw the butter at me and ran off, and we’ve been waiting for our tea ever since.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” She stopped. Missy Jo was sitting in her place at the table. Lizzie’s entire body sagged with relief. She couldn’t think what to say or do as tears filled her eyes. Missy looked as white as the tablecloth and had dark hollows like bruises under her eyes, but she was alive. Now if only Mr. Chandler was alive, too.

“Lizzie? What is wrong with you today?” Miz Eugenia asked.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered.

“Tell us,” Missy Jo said. “Please.”

Lizzie looked at Missy Jo and saw her nod. She wanted her to tell the truth. “Well . . . we . . . we just got some bad news, ma’am. Our school burned all the way to the ground last night and . . .” She covered her mouth, unable to say the rest, remembering it was her fault.

“What about the Yankee who worked there?” Miz Eugenia asked. Lizzie looked at her, surprised that she would be the one to ask, surprised to see that Miz Eugenia had turned nearly as pale as her daughter. She was sitting perfectly still, her hands limp. For once, she didn’t have her chin stuck way up in the air.

Lizzie swallowed a knot of grief. “They reckon they’ll find him in the rubble, dead.” She heard a loud scrape as Miz Eugenia slid her chair away from the table.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled and hurried from the room. Lizzie stood frozen in place, unsure what to do next. How could anyone expect Lizzie to think clearly when Mr. Chandler was dead and it was all her fault? Missy Mary got up and hurried after her mother, leaving only Missy Jo at the table.

“Lizzie, come here,” she said quietly. She obeyed, crossing the
room to stand beside her. Lizzie had no idea what to expect, and her legs began to shake. “He isn’t dead,” Missy Jo whispered.

“W-what?”

“Mr. Chandler didn’t die in the fire. I got there in time, thanks to you and Otis. He’s safe, Lizzie.”

“Oh, thank you, Lord.” She swayed and nearly fell over. Missy Jo jumped up to take Lizzie’s arm, steadying her.

“But please don’t tell anyone else yet. Only Otis. My brother knows I was the one who warned Mr. Chandler and . . . and I don’t know what’s going to happen to any of us now.”

Lizzie lifted her apron and covered her face, weeping into it. She couldn’t help it. Relief and grief and fear and hope all battled inside her. She didn’t know what was going to happen, either—there was no more school and the others all wanted to leave—but at least Missy Josephine and Mr. Chandler were alive. That was good enough news for one day.