“Oh, Josephine,” she murmured. “How could you? . . . How could you?”
Josephine rose and flung her arms around Eugenia, weeping against her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mother . . . I’m so, so sorry.”
32
Josephine sat beside her mother on the sofa, their arms around each other, wondering what to do next. It seemed as though the drama and sorrow would never end, a solution never to be found. After a nightmarish night of fear and joy, violence and tenderness, the morning had brought no end to the intensity of emotion. Josephine could think of little else but Alexander, remembering his kisses, the warmth and comfort of his arms surrounding her—and the emptiness of losing him.
Her mother brought her back to the present. “What are we going to do about Priscilla and Harrison?” she asked. “It will break Priscilla’s heart, you know. She was so looking forward to having you for her daughter-in-law.”
“I never wanted to marry Harrison. Or Henry Schreiber.”
“Because you were in love with the Yankee?”
“Yes.” She loved him, and her heart was breaking. If she had known how much it hurt to love someone, she never would have given away her heart. But it wasn’t a question of giving as much as falling. Josephine had fallen—helplessly, unknowingly, unaware of the shift in footing until it was much too late.
“But we can’t tell the Blakes you’re in love with a Yankee,” Mother said, pulling back to look at Josephine. “Daniel swears that no one outside our family knows the truth about your betrayal but—”
“I didn’t betray anyone. I saved Alexander’s life. And I saved Daniel from committing murder.”
Mother was quiet for a moment. “The people in our community won’t see it that way,” she said. “You do know that, don’t you?”
“If Alexander wasn’t a Yankee, if you could take time to get to know him the way I have, you would see what an honest, considerate, God-fearing man he is. It was because of his Christian faith that he chose to come down here and try to help us rebuild, even though he knew that he would be hated.”
“I don’t want to hear anything more about that man, Josephine. He’s gone. Now we need to figure out how to clean up this terrible mess.”
Alexander had promised to come back for her. He’d said he would find a way. Did she dare to believe it, to hang on to hope? Josephine knew that Alexander might come back to arrest Daniel. And if he asked her again to run away with him, she still didn’t think she could do it. That would be the ultimate betrayal of her mother, of her family.
She remembered Alexander’s words, his promise to find a solution: “What if I found a way to make peace with them, and I asked for your hand, and we left here with their blessing—would you marry me then?” This morning it seemed impossible. He had said, “I’ll find a way. Trust me, Josephine. And trust God.” But she was afraid to believe him, afraid to pray for God’s help. This was one prayer that was impossible for God to answer.
“I don’t know what to tell Priscilla,” Mother said with a sigh. “I really don’t. She has been through so much, and just when she has finally begun to hope . . .”
“Tell her the truth. Tell her I’m in love with someone else—never mind who he is. Tell her I don’t love Harrison.”
“She’s my best friend, Josephine. She is going to want to know who the man is. I think she has a right to know.”
“Then tell her about Alexander.”
“We can’t. Daniel doesn’t want anyone to know about you and the Yankee, and he’s right. The truth will bring shame on our family.”
“What if I talk to Harrison alone? If I tell him the truth, he certainly won’t want to marry me. Let him be the one to break the news to his mother. Let him say that he doesn’t want to marry me. His mother will be disappointed, but she’ll respect her son’s choice.”
“I don’t know . . . can we trust Harrison not to expose this scandal? He made a huge sacrifice for the Confederacy, and he is likely to be as outraged as Daniel is by what you’ve done.”
Mother was right. Harrison already hated her for saving his life, and he might jump at the chance to ruin her life. Or he might agree to marry her just for spite. No, she couldn’t leave her future for Harrison to decide.
“Either way, Mother, we may not be able to protect our family from scandal much longer. The Yankees will surely want to punish the people who destroyed their office. Daniel’s part in all of this is certain to be discovered.”
“But in the eyes of this community, Daniel’s actions are those of a hero. Our family’s shame is that you were the one who exposed him.”
Josephine covered her face for a moment, then asked, “Should I have looked the other way and allowed Daniel to commit murder? The war is over. We can’t keep killing Yankees, no matter how everyone feels about them.”
“This is such a mess. . . .” Mother murmured.
“I know, but must we solve it today? Can’t we wait and see what happens before we tell Mrs. Blake that I can’t marry Harrison? We don’t have to say anything yet, do we?”
“It isn’t fair to string her along. She has her hopes set on this marriage. Every day that we wait, she’ll keep building it up in her mind, imagining her future with you and Harrison together. I can tell Mrs. Schreiber you’re spoken for and she won’t ask questions. But Priscilla has a right to know why.”
“Can’t it wait just a few more days?” Josephine was desperate for more time, to see if Alexander would really find a way out of this.
“Very well. I suppose we all need time to recover.” Mother stirred in her seat, preparing to stand. “And now I need to attend to poor Mary. She is understandably upset.”
Josephine stood with her, debating how much more to tell her. “Mother . . . there’s something else I have to do, but I’ll need Willy and the carriage to do it.”
“Oh, Josephine. Please don’t ask me to accept something more. I don’t think I can bear to hear another thing.”
“It’s nothing bad, I promise. Trust me.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ve forfeited my trust. Tell me what it is, and then I’ll decide.”
“Last night, when I warned Alexander to escape, he didn’t want the children’s schoolbooks to burn up again. He saved a box of them from the fire, and we hid them behind the train station. I would like to go into town and get them.”
“Then what would you do with them?”
“They’re for the Negro children. So they can learn to read—”
“No. Let it go, Josephine. That school has caused enough trouble already. It’s quite clear that the people in our community don’t want it here. I don’t want you involved with it anymore.”
Josephine didn’t have the heart to argue with her. She had hurt her mother very deeply as it was. Mother looked as weary and grief-stricken as she had after Daddy died.
“Never mind, then,” Josephine said with a sigh.
Teaching Lizzie’s children had brought her so much happiness. Rufus, with his sharp mind, so eager to learn; Jack, with his innocent, trusting nature; and Roselle, so sweet and pretty and filled with hope for her future, wanting to be a teacher. The three new children had been delightful, too, but she wouldn’t be able to teach any of them without causing another scandal.
What would Josephine do with the long, lonely days that stretched ahead of her? The dream of marrying a husband she loved, a man who loved her in return, was just that—a dream. Again she remembered Alexander’s kisses, the feeling of his arms around her, and she wished—as fervently as her mother probably did—that she had never met him, never fallen in love with him.
Josephine wandered through White Oak’s empty rooms, longing for someone to talk to, knowing her family wouldn’t want to talk to her—and she thought of Lizzie and Otis. She had never thanked them properly for risking their lives to help her last night. Maybe they or one of the others could go into town and rescue the schoolbooks. She went outside through the back door and saw Otis working in his cotton fiel
d beyond the stables. The tops of Jack’s and Rufus’s heads were just visible above the cotton plants as they worked alongside him. She didn’t see the other men, Saul and Robert and Willy. Josephine followed the wooden walkway to the kitchen and found Lizzie working all alone, shelling peas from their garden.
“Where is everyone, Lizzie? Where are Clara and the girls? Don’t you have help today?”
“No, ma’am. It’s just me from now on. The others are . . . they’re packing up their things, fixing to leave.”
“Packing . . . why?”
Lizzie looked all around as if afraid someone might overhear her. She seemed skittish and jumpy. “They’re scared, Missy Jo. They know it was Massa Daniel and his friends who burned down our school and . . . and they don’t want to stay here no more.”
“Are you and Otis leaving, too?”
“I want to, Missy Jo. To tell you the truth, I’m just as scared as they are.” She twisted her hands as if wringing laundry, her dark eyes filled with fear. “But it ain’t fair to Otis if we leave now. He worked so hard planting that cotton and a garden of our own. And we got three kids to think about and another one on the way—” She stopped. Her hand flew to her mouth as if she had said something she hadn’t wanted to say.
Josephine looked at her in surprise. A baby. Lizzie and Otis were expecting another baby. What future would they and their children have if Daniel and his friends continued to terrorize them? The Freedmen’s Bureau was their only hope, and it had burned to the ground.
“Lizzie, do you think it would help if I talked to Clara and Willy and the others? I can tell them that Mr. Chandler isn’t dead, that he’ll be coming back. He promised he would. He can protect them.”
She shook her head quickly, as if shivering. “They won’t listen to you, Missy Jo, because . . .”
She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. Josephine was Daniel’s sister. And white. She thought of the schoolbooks again and knew she couldn’t ask any of the Negroes to retrieve them. They would be accused of stealing them. No one wanted to see a Negro with a book.
“Never mind, Lizzie. I understand. But please believe me when I say that you can trust me. I’m not like my brother. I hate what he and the others are doing. Anytime you need my help, please ask.”
She went back inside, feeling like a stranger in her own home. She wasn’t like her brother or her mother or anyone else in this town. She didn’t share their opinions and beliefs. But the servants didn’t quite trust her, either. Where would she ever find a friend, a confidante? Would this terrible loneliness she felt be permanent? She had told Alexander that she couldn’t leave her home or her family to go with him, but now she wondered if she could bear to stay.
33
JULY 24, 1865
More than a week had passed since the fire at the Freedmen’s Bureau, and Eugenia waited in suspense for the Yankees to return and arrest her son, as they surely would. As each day passed, she lived with ever-growing tension, worried for her son, her daughter, not daring to leave the house, afraid to face anyone in case they had found out about Josephine and the Yankee. The steamy weather added to everyone’s misery, making tempers prickly.
This afternoon seemed even hotter than all the ones before it, and in Eugenia’s search for a cool place to sit down, she wandered into the drawing room, where she had held her dance. She propped open the doors to the terrace, and there did seem to be a hint of a breeze coming through them from the distant river. The terrace had looked so nice the night of her dance, but already she could see weeds sprouting between some of the stones, and there was no one to tend it. The slaves were all gone again except for Lizzie and Otis and their children. Eugenia remembered her shock a week ago—on top of everything else she had learned that terrible afternoon—when she had called for Willy to fetch her carriage and had learned that he was gone.
“What’s going on?” she had asked Lizzie. “Where is everyone?”
“It’s just me and Otis, ma’am. The others all left.”
“Why? Where did they go?”
“They’re scared, ma’am. After the trouble at the Freedmen’s Bureau . . .”
Daniel’s actions had chased off the help, and now Eugenia had to watch her home fall into disrepair again as Lizzie labored to do everything alone. Eugenia had been filled with so much hope on the night of her dance. Now this trouble with Daniel and Josephine had brought back all of Eugenia’s other losses, making her grief fresh and sharp once again. She missed Philip desperately. And their son Samuel, who would have inherited White Oak. Daniel seemed as lost to Eugenia as her other two men were, destroyed by his anger and bitterness. Even if the Yankees didn’t arrest him for what he’d done, she could never trust him to take care of her the way Philip had.
Josephine was lost to her, too. Jo had spent the week wandering around the house, pining for the Yankee, barely speaking to any of them. Eugenia had no idea what to say to her. Mary was the only child left to Eugenia, and the girl had her heart set on courting Joseph Gray, one of the men involved in the violence along with Daniel. Even if Joseph somehow escaped arrest, how could Eugenia allow her dear, sweet Mary to marry such a man?
Eugenia turned away from the doors and sat down at the small writing desk to do some work. It had occurred to her as she had tried in vain to sleep last night that if the Yankees imposed a fine for destroying their office, she could lose her plantation. But in the meantime, she had a home to run and people to feed and care for, even if the future of White Oak did seem precarious. She rang the bell to summon Lizzie, then had to ring a second and a third time before she finally came.
“Yes, ma’am?” She looked bone-weary, her dark skin glistening with sweat. If it was hot in this room, how must it feel in the kitchen? Before the war, Eugenia never would have given it a thought. Now she seemed to be seeing her slaves’ needs for the first time. She cleared her throat.
“I thought I would give you a hand planning our meals now that Clara is gone. Are there some vegetables from the garden that are ripe? Would you like some ideas for—?” Eugenia stopped. Lizzie was supposed to be paying attention, but she was looking past her, gazing intently through the open doors. “What is so interesting out there that you—?”
Before Eugenia could look over her shoulder to follow Lizzie’s gaze, the servant shot past her, running through the open doors, shouting, “No! Get your hands off her! Don’t you dare touch her!”
Eugenia turned around. Daniel was holding Lizzie’s daughter, Roselle, in his arms, waltzing around the terrace with her. What in the world was he doing?
“Let her go!” Lizzie screamed as she lunged at them, pushing them apart.
It took Daniel a moment to recover, then he raised his hand and slapped Lizzie across the face. “How dare you speak to me that way?”
“Mama! You hit my mama!” Roselle cried.
“Roselle, you get on out of here. Go home,” Lizzie said. But the girl couldn’t seem to move, and neither could Eugenia. “Didn’t I warn you to stay away from him, Roselle? Get on out of here, now!” Lizzie gave her daughter a shove, and she stumbled away from her. As soon as Roselle regained her balance, she took off running, weeping as she ran.
“What in blazes do you think you’re doing?” Daniel shouted. “I was teaching her how to dance.” He stood with his hands bunched into fists, looking angry enough to strike Lizzie again. But Lizzie stood her ground, not backing down, looking just as angry.
“That ain’t all you were doing. I see the way you keep looking at her, and I’m telling you to leave her alone. Stay away from her!”
“We were just—”
“You can’t fool me. You hate us Negroes, and you always have. Why are you saying you want to dance with her? Why are you telling her she’s pretty all the time? You’re sweet-talking that little girl so you can do what you want with her.”
“How dare you talk to me that way?” Daniel reached to slap her again, but Lizzie defended herself this time, grabbing his raised arm, strugg
ling with him. Eugenia watched, frozen in horror. She had never seen anything like this in her life, and she couldn’t seem to move.
“I know what you’re trying to do because it happens all the time,” Lizzie shouted. “White men are always sweet-talking until they get their own way. That’s what you been doing with my Roselle, but you can’t have her! That gal is a Weatherly the same as you!”
Lizzie’s words struck Eugenia as if she was the one who had been slapped. How could Roselle be a Weatherly? What was Lizzie saying?
Daniel slapped Lizzie again, and she stumbled backward and fell.
“Daniel!” Eugenia tried to shout. “Daniel, stop it!” But he didn’t seem to hear her. Eugenia’s heart was pounding so hard she could barely walk to the door as Daniel and Lizzie continued to argue.
“You can slap me around all you want to,” Lizzie said from where she’d landed on the ground, “but it ain’t gonna change the fact that she’s your kin. Ask that white doctor of yours, he knows the truth. Massa Philip told him the night Roselle was born.”
Daniel lifted Lizzie by one arm and dragged her to her feet. “You ever speak that lie again or say it in front of my mother, I’ll kill you!”
Lizzie looked back toward the house as she tried to free herself from his grip. She saw Eugenia in the doorway. Daniel followed her gaze and saw her, too.
“Mother! You . . . you . . . Don’t listen to her lies!” He shoved Lizzie away.
“It ain’t a lie, it’s the truth,” Lizzie said. “Roselle is a Weatherly just as surely as you are. That’s why Massa Philip promised he’d always take care of me and Roselle, we’d always have a home here.”
Eugenia didn’t want to hear any more. She turned and staggered away from the door, the room spinning and whirling. She had barely recovered from the trauma of what Daniel and Josephine had done and now this? This couldn’t possibly be true because it would surely kill her. Philip and Lizzie? No.