The Kitchen House (21 page)

I still wonder at the fuss I must have raised that caused Will to intervene and speak to Belle on my behalf. But he did, and I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard him say that if I could go, he would look out for me. “Why don’t you come, too?” he asked Belle. “You could ride in the wagon.”

“Thank you,” she said, “but I got to stay here to do the cooking.”

And so we rode off, the twins and I, that first Sunday morning. I was so happy to go that I did not question why I sat up front next to Will Stephens while the girls rode in the back of the wagon.

The church was rustic, a large log building with rough-hewn benches. It was in that house of worship that I first was made aware of the clear distinction that was made between the races. The white members were seated at the front, while in the back of the building, standing room was reserved for the black servants.

I looked back for the twins when Will tucked my hand in the fold of his arm and led me to a pew. Beattie saw me first and hid a shy smile, but when Fanny saw me, she waved openly, causing Ben to pull her arm down. I paused, wanting to return to them, but Ben gave a nod for me to continue on with Will. Throughout the service, I felt the separation and wondered if Belle had come, would she have been able to sit with Will and me. After the service, although other families stayed to socialize, our group left, excited to return home to share the experience with the others who had not come.

Sunday services became routine. I was given permission to go with the twins and Will each time they went. I stopped wanting Belle to join us when I began to develop a liking for Will Stephens that soon, on my part, developed into young love. Will, likely aware of my infatuation, was teasing and playful with me. He called me solemn and seemed to take delight when he was able to make me smile. As time went on, our Sunday rides to and from church gave us room for more intimate conversation, and eventually, he gained my trust. Then I became more talkative, and one day I asked him his age. Without hesitation, he informed me that he would be twenty-three years old this October.

“Do you have a girl?” I asked, and his smile was so warm I wanted to touch his arm, though of course I didn’t.

“Why, no,” he said. “Do you have anyone in mind?”

“How about Belle?” I asked anxiously.

He became serious. “She could never be my sweetheart,” he said. Before I could ask why, he added, “We could never marry. You know that. It would be against the law.”

I hadn’t known that and didn’t understand but didn’t want to appear young and ignorant, so I said nothing.

“Do you have a beau?” he asked after a time.

“Ben used to be my beau, but he got married,” I said.

“Oh.” A smile curved his lips. “I could see why you would like Ben. He’s a good man.”

Suddenly, I felt bold. “You might want to wait for me,” I said, “until I grow up. I could be your girl.”

“Well!” he said. “Now there’s an idea.”

“I’m quite smart.” I forged ahead. “And I know how to cook and read, and Sukey is wild about me.”

“And who is Sukey?” he asked.

“She was Dory’s baby, but when Dory died, Sukey wanted me to be her mother.” I gave a sigh and crossed my hands in my lap.

“Aren’t you a little young for that?” he asked.

“I’m twelve,” I answered indignantly.

“Well, then, of course,” he said.

“Belle says that I’ll be a beauty one day.” I looked to him for a reaction.

“I believe you already are,” he said, and winked at me.

My face flamed, but I continued on, “Oh, and I know about raising chickens. I haven’t killed one yet, but Mama says that day is coming soon.” I shuddered, thinking of it.

Will squared his shoulders before speaking. “Let’s see here,” he said. “A beauty who can read and kill chickens. I think I might have to consider this proposal seriously.”

“Are you teasing me?” I asked.

He flicked the reins and looked over at me with a beautiful smile. “Do I ever tease you?”

“All the time!” I said, and we laughed.

I suspected he thought of me as a child, but I didn’t care. I was sure if I had anything to say on the matter, he would be my future husband.

“A
BINIA,
A
BINIA,”
F
ANNY CALLED ME
back to our picnic, “what you thinkin’ of?”

“Nothing,” I said.

Beattie smiled at me. “You thinkin’ about Will?”

“Maybe,” I said, returning her smile.

“You know Marshall comin’ home this week,” Fanny offered.

I rolled over on my stomach, recalling the forlorn image of the lost boy riding out in the carriage. “I wonder what he’s like now.”

“He only comin’ for two weeks. Then he goin’ back to study. The cap’n wantin’ to see how he doin’,” Fanny said.

D
URING OUR PICNIC THAT DAY,
Marshall did indeed arrive.

“He so growed up, it hard to believe it the same boy,” Mama told us. How right she was. Late in the afternoon, I was sent up to the big house to sit with Miss Martha while she slept. There, I was startled to find Marshall seated at a window in the mistress’s room. Although forewarned, I scarcely recognized him. He rose when he saw me. Shy, I stood back. In his sixteenth year, he was already the height of a grown man.

“Hello, Lavinia,” he said. His childhood monotone voice had been replaced with a confident baritone.

“Hello,” I said quietly.

“You’ve grown,” he said, looking me up and down, and for the first time ever, I was aware of my drab homespun clothes. In contrast, he wore navy knee breeches and a waistcoat made of ivory satin. On it was stitched a pictorial scene of vivid colors, and I immediately thought of Beattie and how she would be captivated at the detail of the embroidery.

“Join me,” he invited, setting a chair next to his at the window. Uncertain what to do, but seeing his mother asleep, I did as he asked. He positioned himself with assurance, and I seated myself as I had been taught by Miss Martha, with my feet together and my hands folded in my lap.

Marshall had grown into a strikingly attractive young man. His short blond hair curled loosely at his neck, and his blue eyes, which in my memory had been dull, now shone when he smiled.

“I often remember you,” he said, then drained a glass of wine. “You were the one who cared so for my baby brother.” He gazed
out the window. The sun was setting, and the light cast his face in gold. I could hardly believe that he was speaking to me in this way, and I could not take my eyes from him. “I understand that you are a great help to my mother,” he said.

“I read to her,” I said, proud of the achievement.

“Do you like to read?” he asked.

“It’s my favorite thing.”

“I must speak to Father about you,” he said. “I wonder what plans have been made.”

I was spared an answer when Mama abruptly came into the room. She studied us for a moment before addressing Marshall. “You know the cap’n wantin’ to see you.”

Marshall flushed. He stood and, with a look of defiance, went to the blue room. There he stopped at the side table that held a wine decanter. From it he poured himself another glass of wine. He drank it in short order, then left the room.

Mama shook her head. “That boy drinkin’ too much,” she said.

I saw Marshall only in passing over the next few days, but each time he saw me, he nodded, smiled, and greeted me by name. I was flattered by the attention from this sophisticated young man.

“Marshall drinkin’ all the time,” Mama said at supper that evening.

“I tell him not to ride out when he drinkin’ like that,” Papa agreed, “but he go just the same, every day.”

“Where he go?” Mama asked.

“Folks over at the other place say he find Rankin again… maybe Rankin find him, I don’t know,” Papa said. “It good that boy leavin’ again in a few days.”

“What gonna happen when the cap’n gone?” Fanny asked. “Will Marshall come back here to run this place? He be the masta then?”

Belle answered quickly. “The cap’n’s gonna be just fine, Fanny! Every day he’s getting stronger.”

“Belle, you know he sick. You best talk to him about gettin’ those free papers of yours,” Papa George said to Belle.

“I will, Papa,” Belle said. “I’ll get the papers, but I don’t want him to get started up again about sending me off.”

“You tell him you need those papers,” Papa said firmly.

“I will. I will,” Belle answered, her irritation clear.

T
HE
S
UNDAY OF THE ANTICIPATED
sacrament service finally came, and the twins and I could barely contain our excitement. I had worked with Belle to prepare the feast we took with us for the communal picnic at the church grounds. We packed baskets of fresh biscuits and corn bread, pickled cucumbers and peach preserves, and my favorite, a pound cake with thick strawberry jam for topping.

Beside myself with excitement, I begged Belle to come along and bring Sukey. “Ben and Lucy are coming,” I said as encouragement.

“Mama needs me to do the cooking for the big house,” Belle said, “and I don’t think I’m wanting to pray all day anyway.”

She waved good-bye in the early-morning light. She had rushed to help us get underway and hadn’t taken the time to attend to her hair. Her thick braid hung down, and when she raised her arm to wave us off, her shift dropped to expose a corner of her smooth tanned shoulder. She pulled it back quickly and blushed with embarrassment. I did not miss the admiring look Will Stephens gave her, and because of it, I was happy that she could not come.

I waved good-bye to her but felt a strange sense of foreboding when I looked up toward the big house to see Marshall at a bedroom window, watching as our wagon rumbled away.

Belle

I
WAS IN THE KITCHEN BY
myself, sweeping, and I don’t hear nothing until I got a knife at my neck and Rankin in my ear, telling me if I make a noise, that knife’s going in. Then Marshall, drunk like Rankin, comes at me. I start kicking, but Rankin twists my arm and punches my stomach. I start screaming, but Rankin takes off my head rag and stuffs it in my mouth. It’s hard to breathe and I’m choking on blood, but when I see what Marshall’s gonna do next, I go wild. Then Rankin hits me and I go down. All the time Marshall’s working on me, he’s talking, but I don’t hear what he’s saying. Rankin is talking, too, but all I know is, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die. When it’s all over, when Marshall’s buttonin’ up, Rankin moves that knife real slow across my chest, watching my face. “You want me to cut these off,” he says, “keep ’em for myself?” My head flies back and forth, back and forth. I can’t stop it.

He says I tell anybody about this, he’ll come back and cut ’em off, then he’s gonna kill anybody I talk to. “Just like this,” he says. He puts that knife up over me, then brings it down fast, right into the floor. Everything in me goes soft.

They go, and I pull myself to a corner and stay put, just trying to breathe. I keep choking. I don’t even know to take my head rag out of my mouth. When Uncle Jacob finds me, he tells me to hang on, he’s going for Mama.

“Who do this?” Mama asks, but I don’t say nothing. Mama cleans me up and gives me some peach liquor. Then she asks me again, “Belle, who do this?” I’m sure those two are listening, so I don’t say nothing. I know Rankin will do what he says. “Papa say Rankin and Marshall drinkin’ and up to no good. Was they here?”
Mama asks. I put my hand over her mouth, quick, to stop her. Mama pulls back, looks at me. Then she says that she’s gonna go up and tell the cap’n, and that’s when I start crying, “No, Mama, no.” I hang on to her like she’s gonna leave me. “No, Mama, no. Don’t tell nobody!”

“Hush, chil’, I don’t do nothin’ you don’t want me to do.” She gives me another drink to stop my shaking.

I say, “Don’t tell nobody about this, Mama, please don’t tell nobody!”

Mama say, “That’s all right. I do just like you say, Belle.”

I drink some more, and the last thing I know is Mama’s taking me up to bed.