The Kitchen House (41 page)

After Lavinia comes and brings a picture of Jamie and a locket with a curl of his hair, I put it on my neck and don’t take it off, even at night when I go to sleep. Lavinia says Jamie’s doing real good, that he learning to read and write. The best thing is, Marshall don’t ever see the boy. Lavinia says Marshall’s not around much in the big house, he only comes in sometimes to eat. At night she don’t know where he is, but she knows for sure he never comes upstairs.

Lavinia says she looking out for Jamie, but I don’t know. She don’t look so good. She’s too jumpy … crying too easy.

I see, too, she’s got feelings for Will Stephens. The day she was here, when I see the two of them together, I know right away that they’re same as Ben and me—they got the same fire. When Will Stephens gets up on his horse to ride her home I’m thinking, Oh Lawd! After they set out, Ben, Lucy, me, we’re all watching. Ben
says, “Will Stephens a church-goin’ man, he don’t do nothin’ with a married woman.”

Lucy says, “Well, Ben, you a church-goin’ man. What happen with you?”

First time ever, I see Ben with nothing to say to Lucy. The way Ben looks at her makes Lucy laugh, then I got to laugh, too. Ben gets out of there real quick. First, though, he looks back at Lucy and me laughing. Then he shakes his head, but we both know he’s feeling good that Lucy and me is a team.

Ben’s thinking nothing happened in the woods with Will and Lavinia, but Lucy and me is not so sure.

Lavinia

A
T NIGHT
I
COULD NOT
stop my mind from racing. I did not care that my thoughts were irrational; I needed to see Will again. But for Sukey, I would have been lost. Because she shared my room, she was often wakened by my restless sleep. Then she came to me, and with her nestled close, I had some comfort.

During the day, we were busy preparing for Meg’s visit, but we faced a growing problem with Miss Martha. Although she appeared lucid in most matters, Miss Martha’s concern for Jamie had become so obsessive that she wouldn’t allow him out of her sight. Fanny reminded us that this had been Miss Martha’s way with Miss Sally until she had finally loosened her grasp, only to have Sally die.

There was no doubt that Miss Martha considered Jamie her own. She had children’s clothes brought down from the attic and, from these, outfitted Jamie. The two took their meals together in the blue room, where Miss Martha had Jamie sit with her at the table while Fanny served them. Even I was growing concerned at their deep attachment, and I at last agreed with Mama Mae that it was time to put some distance between the two of them.

The problem facing us was that he could not go back into the kitchen house, as apparently, Marshall spent some time there. Mama said that Uncle Jacob was willing to take Jamie into his small cabin. Mama further suggested that once that transition took place, Papa could begin to teach Jamie the work required down at the barn. It was a good plan, but we knew the upheaval this change would create, so we decided to wait and begin the separation after the Maddens’ visit.

Since Belle’s confirmation of Jamie’s paternity, I could scarcely maintain civility with my husband. Yet I knew that I could not mention it, for I dared not think of the repercussions. As the visit from the Maddens grew closer, Marshall began to drink more heavily.

On an early September morning a few weeks before the Maddens were due to arrive, I made a quick decision to visit Will’s farm one more time. My excuse was that I wanted Belle to know about Jamie’s upcoming move to Uncle Jacob’s cabin, but the truth was that deep in my foolish young heart, I believed Will Stephens held the solution for my happiness. I had waited too long for some contact from him, some word that he thought of me. But it had not come. I could wait no longer.

The morning I went, Marshall was already down in the fields with Rankin. I knew I had at least four hours before dinner, when I was expected to join my husband. I told no one of my plans. Down at the barns, Papa was nowhere in sight, and I quickly saddled Barney of my own accord. I was up and away faster than I had thought possible, and as I rode out into the trees, exhilaration rose in me and I began to sing.

I was almost to the clearing when I heard a shout from behind. I could not mistake Rankin’s voice. I realized that he must have been trailing me. Terrified but furious, I slowed Barney’s pace, though I continued to ride. It did not take long for Rankin to catch up to me.

“Mrs. Pyke!” he said, as though surprised to see me. “I don’t know, but I think your husband’s gonna want to know about this.”

“About what?” I asked.

“Why, that you are out here riding alone, off to Will Stephens’s farm.”

My face burned with fury. Trapped, I did not care what I said. “You miserable man!” I shouted, and turned my horse back for home.

Rankin laughed as he circled around and positioned his horse behind mine. “’Course, a fiery little thing like you might have a way of convincing me not to do the telling.”

With that, I clipped Barney with the whip. I bit my tongue to hold back the tears, and by the time I reached home, I was swallowing blood. Papa was at the barn, and after I dismounted, I handed the reins to him. We were both only too aware of Rankin seated on his horse, scrutinizing our every move. I kept my voice as steady as I could.

“Good morning, George. I didn’t want to trouble you earlier, so as you can see, I saddled my own horse.”

Papa nodded. “I see, Miss Abinia, but next time you let me know when you go ridin’ so I can saddle up for you.”

“Thank you, George,” I said, and wasted no more time before I headed up to the house. I knew Marshall would soon learn of this, and I had little time to prepare my defense.

At dinnertime, I stalled as long as I dared. As luck would have it, Fanny was ill that day, and Beattie was serving the meal. When I entered the dining room, Marshall was already seated. I had seldom seen him look so dark. I knew then that Rankin had spoken to him. Marshall did not rise when Uncle Jacob seated me. When I met Uncle’s eyes, I saw in them his deep concern and went cold with fear. I forced myself to lift the spoon and began to eat the soup. I ate in silence as Marshall drank wine. My stomach rebelled, but I continued to force down the hot liquid while bracing for the tirade. When Beattie left the room, in shock I saw that she was again with child. Without warning, all of my fear transformed to rage. The insanity of it all! How dare he! Who was this man to so control my life? Each day I was forced to bear my husband’s intolerable behavior, and with Beattie I was forced once again to see the results of it. I was as enslaved as all the others. I could not fight back the anger that coursed through me.

“This has got to stop!” I slammed both of my fists on the table.

“What?” Marshall asked, taken unaware.

“This! This! With Beattie!” I said.

Marshall’s face flushed, and he gave a drunken smirk. I saw Uncle Jacob turn for the door. I didn’t want him to go for help. I would end this on my own.

“Don’t leave, Uncle!” I shouted. “You know what’s going on. Everyone does!”

I pushed back from the table and swung toward Uncle Jacob. I don’t know why I was addressing him; I suppose I didn’t have the courage to face Marshall. Uncle did not speak but gave me a look of warning that I did not heed.

“You know what he does with Beattie—how he takes her by force! And now,” I spat, “she’s going to have another child!”

I heard Marshall rise and come toward me, but I was beyond caring.

“He uses her, Uncle!” I cried. “Can you imagine! He takes her like an animal!”

I stopped when I felt the grip of Marshall’s hand in my hair. His fingers twisted as he pulled me from the room. I cried out in pain, and Uncle tried to help. Marshall, in a rage, shoved Uncle back against the sideboard; the force sent a platter of meat crashing to the floor. I was pushed past Beattie, who was entering the door. She half reached for me, dropping the china cups she was carrying, but Marshall shoved me on. Beattie’s eyes were wide with fright as she watched Marshall pull me out and into his bedroom. I could not move from fear when he slammed the door behind us.

He did not shout but began to strike me. His face had gone a dull red, and I no longer recognized him. He was full of drink, but I will not blame the wine. Nor will I place the responsibility on my earlier words. The act of violence that followed was so abhorrent that I will not speak of it.

When it was over, after he rushed from the room, I went to his washbasin and cleaned myself, not caring that I left my blood on his towels. Then I began to vomit and could not stop. Exhausted, I leaned on the edge of the bed until I decided I must have dreamed this nightmare.

When Mama came for me, I smiled. “Mama,” I said, “Beattie is having a baby.”

Mama nodded. “Come, chil’,” she said, “you come with Mama.”

I went with her to my bedroom, where she put me to bed and
stroked my head for a long time. Often she looked out the window. Neither of us, it seemed, had words to suit the occasion.

T
HREE WEEKS LATER, IN THE
first week of October 1804, amid the splendor of the autumn leaves, Meg and her parents arrived, laden with gifts for Elly. The first few days, I was so determined to have them enjoy their stay that I felt ill. Marshall drank heavily and, to their surprise, excused himself for most of the daylight hours. On the evening of the fourth day, Meg came to my room and asked if she might speak privately with me.

She closed the door, and I offered her a seat on one of the red chairs in front of the fire. Meg was now nineteen, and although she had matured in these past two years, she remained much as I remembered. The study of botany remained her first passion, and she confided to me that her relationship with Henry continued, but at a slow pace, which suited them both.

Meg rearranged herself, and though she did not complain, I saw that her affected hip was giving her discomfort. I knew from the past that she did not want me to reference this, so I chose another topic. What did she think of the leaf collection that Sukey and I had put together for her? I began.

It was wonderful, she said, but that was not the reason for this evening’s visit. “Lavinia,” she said, “are you not well?”

“I’m fine,” I reassured her.

“Are you having difficulty sleeping?” she asked.

“No, Meg,” I lied, “why do you ask?”

“You aren’t yourself,” she said, “and you are so … so full of nerves. And Mother and I both think you are too thin. Much too thin.”

“Oh. Well, yes. It is the excitement. You don’t know how I have looked forward to your visit.”

“Lavinia. What is wrong with Marshall? We hardly recognize him. I can scarcely believe how he has removed himself from my parents.”

“Oh, Meg,” I said, “I’m sure he wants their approval and fears that he will fall short.”

“And you are certain that you are all right?” she asked again.

“I’m fine,” I lied. What could I say? I was afraid to speak of anything, afraid that if I began, I would tell all. And I could not do that. How could I tell her about my feelings toward Will? How could I speak to Meg of Beattie’s pregnancy, of Marshall’s relationship with her? And as for the terrible event that had so recently taken place with Marshall, I could barely acknowledge it to myself, never mind telling her of it.

Meg, sensitive to my uneasiness, looked about the room and deliberately changed the subject. “How warm this room is,” she said, “how pretty.”

“Oh, yes,” I said, relieved that she had abandoned the idea of uncovering my problems. “How can I ever thank you and your mother for having done this for me.”

We spoke of my room and of the house and its many treasures. After she left that evening, I fell into bed, wondering how I could ever manage to finish out their stay. A few short weeks before, I had longed for our guests’ arrival. Now, afraid they might discover our shameful secrets, I couldn’t wait for them to leave.

M
ISS
S
ARAH WAS PLEASED WITH
her sister’s recovery but was gravely concerned with Miss Martha’s attachment to Jamie. When alone, she questioned me. Who was he? What did I know of the child’s background? “I know he’s from the quarters,” she said, “but with his coloring, one would question that.”

“He is Belle’s child,” I said.

“Belle’s child! Wasn’t she …” She stopped herself, but not before I heard the disgust in her voice. I knew then that she, too, had been misinformed about Belle’s relationship to the captain, but I did not know where to begin nor end with the truth, so I said nothing.

Following our conversation, she launched a campaign to have Jamie taken from Miss Martha and, in the process, all but destroyed the slow progress her sister had made. After Miss Sarah insisted that Jamie be removed from the house, Miss Martha became so
agitated that large doses of laudanum couldn’t settle her. After two days, witness to the extreme distress of her sister, Miss Sarah conceded and had Jamie brought back. But by that time, my mother-in-law was back on heavy doses of laudanum, and Jamie’s dependence on Miss Martha was as marked as her need was for him.