All Things New (8 page)

She hurried to the graceful old tree now, planning to climb up to her old refuge. But she was disappointed to find that most of the ladder boards had rotted away, leaving her no choice but to
remain on the ground. She paced beneath the branches until her anger finally boiled over and everything she had longed to say came spewing out.

“I’m so sick of this!” she yelled at the top of her voice, causing a flock of birds to take flight. “Everyone is so angry and bitter all the time! When do we get to be happy again? Why can’t we forget the past and start new lives? If I have to listen to one more complaint about what we’ve lost, I’ll scream!”

Her face became flushed from the effort, but it felt so good to finally speak up that she drew a deep breath and continued. “They gripe about stupid things like bacon and petticoats and carriage drivers, and meanwhile the weeds are growing in the cotton fields, and there’s nothing left to eat in the root cellar, and no work is getting done anywhere! But what does Mother want to do? Go visiting. Visiting! Harrison Blake is a bitter, crippled old grouch and I can’t be nice to him for one more minute! I can’t and I won’t!”

Josephine finally ran out of steam. She sank down at the base of the tree, covered her face, and sobbed. During the war, she had been forced to be brave and courageous, even when she was terrified, and she had learned never to show fear or sorrow. “That’s our way of fighting back,” Mother had insisted. “We must never let the enemy think that we’re weak.” But Josephine was tired of pretending. She was tired of it all. And so she wept.

Suddenly a chunk of rotted board fell from above, barely missing her head, landing beside her. She looked up to see where the board had come from and saw a man’s boot. Someone was up in the tree house!

Josephine leaped up to run home, but after only a few steps one of her worn-out shoes finally ripped apart and she tripped on the flapping sole. She stumbled and fell, landing painfully on her hands and knees.

“Are you hurt, miss?” She looked up at the man peering over the side of the tree house. He was young, about Daniel’s age, with a narrow face and straight brown hair. He was clean-shaven except
for the fuzzy whiskers he wore on the sides of his face like bushy sideburns. “You don’t need to run away, miss. I don’t mean you any harm, I assure you.” He was a Yankee. She could tell by his accent. “I would gladly come down and help you,” he continued, “but I think you’d feel safer if I stayed up here. Am I right?”

“Stay away from me!” she said in her fiercest voice. She struggled to her feet, brushing dirt from her palms and her skirt while keeping an eye on him. The man held up his hands in surrender.

“Yes, ma’am. I will, I will.”

Had he been up there all this time, listening to her angry rant? The thought turned her fear into anger, and she planted her hands on her hips, glaring up at him. “Who are you, and what are you doing on our property?”

“My name is Alexander Chandler . . . and I’m very sorry if I’ve frightened you.”

“It takes more than a treed Yankee to frighten me. Why were you eavesdropping on me?”

“I never intended to eavesdrop, miss . . . but I was here first, if you see what I mean. When you came along, I didn’t want to startle you by calling out or suddenly climbing down. I figured you would leave eventually. But I sat still for such a long time that my foot fell asleep, and when I tried to move it . . . well, that’s when that board fell off and startled you.”

“You have no right to be up there in the first place!”

“I know, I know . . . and I’m sorry. I was out for an early morning walk, you see, and when I happened upon your tree house it reminded me so much of the one I had back home in Pennsylvania that I simply had to climb up. Then you came along and—”

“Don’t you know that Yankees aren’t welcome here? Go back to Pennsylvania! Haven’t you done enough damage already?”

“Now, miss, I just heard you saying how tired you were of angry, bitter people and how you wanted to forget the past and be happy again. . . . Well, excuse me for saying so, but you sound pretty angry and bitter yourself right now.”

“How dare you!”

“I’m only trying to help. That’s the reason I came down here to work at the bureau in the first place—”

“What bureau?”

“I’m an agent with the Bureau of Refugees, Freedmen, and Abandoned Lands. I’ve been assigned to set up an office in Fairmont to help people rebuild their lives now that the war is over. Isn’t that what you just said you wanted to do? Start over?”

“Are you the one who started the school for the Negro children?”

“Well, yes, but not all by myself.” He had the nerve to grin, as if he was proud of his accomplishment. “I contacted the American Missionary Association and they sent us a teacher.”

“You must know that you and all your Yankee friends aren’t welcome here, and neither is your school.”

“Oh yes, miss, I do know it. I’ve been running into a lot of brick walls, built out of the same things you’re talking about—resentment and bitterness. The government started the Freedmen’s Bureau to help sew up all the wounds so planters and former slaves can get on with their lives like you’re wanting to do, but—”

“You Yankees have a lot of nerve! First you destroy everything and now you come back claiming you want to help us rebuild? The best way to help us is to go home and leave us alone.”

“See? I hear bitterness again, and I was sure I just heard you say you were sick of it. How can you expect everyone else to change their ways and be happy again if you’re not willing to change?”

“How dare you!”

He hung his head for a moment before looking at her again. “I do apologize. I’ve been told that I have a very bad habit of speaking my mind when I should keep quiet. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m leaving now. Kindly get out of our tree and off our property.”

“I will, I will. But if I may be so bold . . . I would like to offer a word of advice, if I may, for your situation.”

“My situation?”

“Yes. You mentioned that you wanted to be happy again, and I
have found that one of the keys to lasting happiness is gratitude. When I take the time to be grateful for all the little things around me like blue skies and green grass and . . . and this fine tree house, then pretty soon all those little joys add up and I’m happy.”

Josephine was about to say,
How dare you!
but then realized she had said it twice before. The best way to end this unwelcome conversation was to walk away. “Good-bye, Mr. . . .” She had already forgotten his name.

“Chandler. Alexander Chandler. And good day to you, too, miss. I hope the next time we meet, it will be under happier circumstances.”

“I hope I never see you again.”

She turned toward the house, wishing she could stride away with her head held high and her pride intact, but she had to pick her way carefully, watching her footing because of her ruined shoe. The sound of his Yankee accent, the fact of him here on her family’s land, infuriated her. But what angered Josephine the most was that he was right. She was as bitter and angry as everyone else.

8

Eugenia had finished eating her insubstantial breakfast half an hour ago, but she sat alone at the dining room table, gazing into space, trying to summon the energy to move. She shouldn’t feel this weary so early in the day, but lately she felt tired all the time. In the old days before the war, Ida May or Cissy or one of Eugenia’s other house slaves would have followed her upstairs to her bedroom to help her lace up her corset and slip her petticoats and hoop skirts over her head, and pin up her hair. But Ida May and Cissy were gone now, and so were the petticoats. All of the servants were gone except for Lizzie, and she was nothing but a field hand who had somehow connived her way up from the cotton fields and into the manor house. Until the other slaves returned and things could get back to normal, Eugenia had to do everything herself. Surely the Negroes would come to their senses soon, wouldn’t they? Philip had always treated them fairly. Couldn’t they see they’d had a decent life here as part of her household?

Daniel said that dozens of slaves were camped out in the woods, doing nothing at all. The thought made her shudder. That’s why she kept her pistol close at all times. If only Daniel would round them up and convince them to go back to work. There was so much work to be done. Eugenia had seen the destruction on the
way home from Richmond—bridges and rail lines destroyed, fences gone, buildings burned. But even more damage was now being done through neglect; all of that once-beautiful plantation land, including her own, was falling into weedy ruin. No one seemed to know where to begin, but Eugenia was determined to try.

She sighed and went upstairs to change out of her dressing gown into a proper dress. It would be black, of course. She still wore mourning for Philip and Samuel. Even when her official days of mourning came to an end, she would have nothing else to wear except black, nor could she purchase fabric for new dresses with Richmond in ruins and her money nearly gone. Besides, wearing black gave Eugenia a sense of sisterhood with all the other black-garbed women. They understood how it felt to wake up to grief day after day or to walk into a room expecting to see their loved one dozing in his favorite chair beside the hearth and feel the jolt, like a missed heartbeat, when they remembered he was gone.

She finished buttoning her bodice and skirt, then sat down at her dressing table to fix her hair. Her reflection in the mirror spoke the unwelcome truth that at age fifty her beauty was fading. Her face was much too thin, her cheeks colorless, and the silver strands in her coal black hair were becoming more and more noticeable. When Eugenia had been Mary’s age, she’d been so beautiful that suitors from all over the county had fought for her hand. And before she’d been Josephine’s age, she’d already married the handsomest one with the most prosperous plantation, the loveliest home. She had chosen well.

Dear, dear Philip. Eugenia had seen his love for her every time he gazed at her. He had worshiped her, indulged her. They’d had a good marriage, blessed with two sons and two daughters. How she missed him. She picked up her handkerchief and quickly blotted her tears. It was too early in the day to give in to grief. She had too much to do. Tears would have to wait until nighttime.

Eugenia forced herself to keep rolling forward like a carriage on a muddy road, knowing that if she stopped being in charge and issuing orders and commanding her household for even a moment,
she would sink into hopeless muck. She let anger propel her like a coachman’s whip, providing a reason to get up in the morning, to get dressed, to keep moving. She would not let the Yankees defeat her. She would win back everything they had taken from her. Except for Philip and Samuel, of course. God knew she could never have them back.

But someday, if she remained strong enough and worked hard enough, life would return to normal. Her daughters would be taken care of, with fine homes and good husbands of their own. And Daniel would figure out how to make their land prosper again. He might be young and spoiled, but he had inherited many of his father’s fine qualities such as tenacity and courage. He would get their work force of slaves back—although the Negroes would have to be
hired
now. No one was allowed to
own
them anymore. Josephine continually nagged her, reminding her that she must speak to Negroes differently now, and treat them differently, too. But how could she be expected to change a lifetime of habits overnight? Eugenia had been commanding slaves since she was a young girl with her mammy, Ruby.

Eugenia thought of Lizzie, wishing Ida May had decided to stay instead of her. Eugenia didn’t like the way that girl talked to her or looked at her with bold eyes. But for now, she had no choice. Lizzie was the only slave left. The others had all refused to return to work. Refused! Who could imagine such a thing? After everything Eugenia had done for them over the years.

But she didn’t have time to indulge in self-pity this morning. Eugenia pulled her hair back to showcase her dramatic widow’s peak and pinned it up in a graceful twist at the nape of her neck. She was ready. Now she must make sure her girls were getting ready. She strode down the hall to their bedroom and found Mary all alone, sitting at her vanity table, brushing her hair. She looked exactly like Eugenia had at age sixteen, with her lustrous black hair and delicate heart-shaped face. And though Mary had changed into her best frock, it broke Eugenia’s heart to see her dressed so shabbily. She was such a beautiful girl. She should be wearing
taffeta and silk, stiff with petticoats and trimmed with ribbons and lace.

Eugenia forced a smile. “Are you almost ready?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Where is Josephine?” Mary lifted her shoulders in a careless shrug. “Please do not use that gesture, Mary Louise Weatherly. Shrugging your shoulders is a sign of laziness that I will not tolerate in a young lady of your stature. It’s something a common person would do in place of a proper reply.”

“I’m sorry, Mama. But I don’t know where Jo is. She left the house right after breakfast and hasn’t returned.”

Eugenia went to the window and parted the curtain to peer out, hoping Jo hadn’t gone outside to work in the kitchen garden again. But the only figure on the scarred patch of earth was the raggedy scarecrow Lizzie had made to frighten away the crows. Eugenia let the curtain fall closed and turned back to the room. “She should be getting ready. She knows we need to leave soon. Here, let me help you with your hair.” Her daughter’s wavy black hair, the same color and texture as her own, moved like silk beneath Eugenia’s fingers as she brushed it. She was fastening Mary’s hairnet in place when Josephine burst into the room, sweaty and red-faced.

“Josephine! What in the world . . . ? Look at you! You’re perspiring like a field slave.”

“I went for a walk. It’s quite warm outside.” She sounded breathless, as if she had run all the way home instead of walking demurely.

“You went out
alone
? You know better than that. Kindly get ready. It’s late. I thought I heard Otis bringing the carriage around.”

“I can’t go with you. My shoe has torn apart beyond repair. Look.” She held it up for Eugenia to see. The sole dangled from the shoe like an open mouth.

“You shouldn’t have been running. Haven’t I taught you to walk with grace and poise, Josephine?”

“Yes . . . but I’ve been wearing these shoes for more than five years. Today they simply gave out.”

“I’ll lend you a pair of mine until they can be mended. But you
are still coming with us.” Josephine’s shoulders sagged forward as if she carried a bale of hay on her back. “Stand up straight, please,” Eugenia said. “You’ll have to dress quickly. Mary can help you with your hair.”

Eugenia returned to her bedroom to fetch a pair of shoes, wondering where she had gone wrong with Josephine. She would always be a plain girl, to be sure, even dressed in silk and lace. She had limp brown hair and a broad face, both characteristic of Philip’s side of the family. Josephine had grown from a child to a woman during the war, at a time when day-to-day survival had been more urgent than developing womanly charms. Along the way, she had acquired several bad habits that needed to be changed, such as slouching instead of standing tall, and wearing a frown instead of a smile. She was also much too timid, hesitant to take part in the simplest of conversations. And she liked to wander off alone, as she had this morning. Worst of all, Josephine had no idea at all how to behave around young men, even though the competition for husbands would be fierce. She could practice with Harrison Blake today.

“Here. Try on these shoes, Josephine,” she said as she swept back into the girls’ room with a pair of her own. Jo grimaced as she tried to force one of the shoes onto her foot.

“They’re too small.”

“Well, I’m sorry but they will have to do. And please do not make that face, dear. It is most unbecoming.”

They were ready at last, but Eugenia’s weariness seemed to have settled deeper into her bones. She led the way down the sweeping staircase and found Daniel waiting for them out front with the carriage. He looked tired and defeated, as if he had arrived home from the war only a moment ago. Eugenia wished she knew how to change him back into the happy, carefree young man he once had been. It would take time, she told herself. Give him time.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t come with you today,” he said as he helped Eugenia into the carriage. “There is too much work to be done.”

Eugenia caressed his shoulder. “I understand, dear.” But she wondered what, exactly, Daniel planned to do. He spent hours
in Philip’s office or out in the stables but nothing ever changed. They still had no bacon for breakfast, and her stomach continued to rumble in hunger.

“Listen, Daniel. Please talk to the other planters when you get a chance and find out where we can purchase some hogs. Aren’t they born this time of the year, during the spring?”

“I suppose so. What will I use for money?”

“Leave that to me, dear.” There must be something left among her hidden valuables, something she could trade. “I intend to have bacon in our smokehouse again,” she said. “We may have to wait for the animals to fatten up, but by this time next year we’ll be eating ham for Easter dinner like always.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Mother.” Daniel trudged up the steps into the house as Otis flicked the reins. They were finally on their way.

Eugenia paid calls to two neighboring plantations first, saving her visit with Priscilla Blake for last. She was surprised when neither Priscilla nor her servant came out to greet them. Eugenia knocked, then opened the door to her friend’s house and sailed inside with her daughters trailing behind her like ducklings. Priscilla must be home. With no transportation she couldn’t have gone anywhere.

“Priscilla?” she called. “It’s me, Eugenia.” The front parlor looked dingy with the curtains drawn closed. The dining room table and sideboard were dusty and unpolished. Eugenia continued down the hall and finally found her friend in the basement kitchen, of all places, washing her own dishes.

“Priscilla? For goodness’ sake, what are you doing? Where is your servant girl?”

“She quit several days ago. Harrison threw a plate at her and . . . and she quit like all the others.”

Eugenia folded her friend in an embrace. “You poor dear. I’ll talk to our Lizzie. Maybe she knows someone who can help you.”

Priscilla pulled away, shaking her head. “No, don’t.” She glanced at Eugenia’s daughters and dropped her voice to a whisper. “We . . . we can no longer afford to pay anyone.” She leaned against Eugenia as her tears flowed.

Eugenia motioned for her girls to leave the kitchen. “Go read to Harrison now,” she told them, shielding her friend from further shame. How horrible it must be to suffer such distress, much less have others witness your breakdown. She held Priscilla tightly, rocking her in her arms. “Shh . . . shh . . . Everything will work out. You’ll see.”

“No, it won’t. I can’t go on any longer, Eugenia. I’m not as strong as you are. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Eugenia pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to her. “First of all, let’s leave this mess and go sit in your parlor.” She wrapped her arm around Priscilla and guided her upstairs to the front room, feeling a shiver of dread when she noticed how frail Priscilla’s body felt beneath her well-worn dress.

“There, isn’t this much better?” Eugenia asked after opening the drapes and sitting down beside her on the sofa. Priscilla dried her eyes with the handkerchief.

“I think Harrison is dying.”

“Dying? Did Dr. Hunter tell you that? What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know . . . nothing that anyone can see. But he’s lost his will to live and I don’t know how to help him.”

“Daniel seems very discouraged, too. It’s only natural after everything they’ve been through. But our boys are young. They’ll—”

“I can’t go on, Eugenia. If Harrison dies, I’ll have to sell this place.”

“Don’t talk that way,” she said, gripping Priscilla’s hands in her own. “He isn’t going to die, and you cannot sell your land. It’s all we have. Besides, Daniel says the Yankees are the only ones who can afford to purchase property these days, and they’ll take advantage of you, cheating you out of what your land is really worth.”