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 ho
w 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.”
Priscilla sat with her head lowered, gazing down at their clasped hands. “What good is land?” she asked. “Harrison will never be able to oversee the planting himself. And all our slaves are gone. How will we live if we don’t plant crops? I don’t know what else to do except sell everything and move to Baltimore to live with my sister.” She finally looked up at Eugenia. “She offered to help me take care of Harrison. I just can’t do it by myself now that the engagement has been called off and Emma Welch has left.”
Eugenia felt a stab of anger, not toward Priscilla or Emma but at the prospect of yet another defeat. Priscilla Blake was her dearest friend, and if she gave up and moved away it would be another loss in Eugenia’s life, another victory for the Yankees. She would not let them take her friend. Or her land. Or Harrison.
“Listen now. You need help, Priscilla. Will you accept help from me until Harrison is back on his feet and—” She stopped, appalled by her poor choice of words. Harrison would never be back on his feet. “Forgive me, dear. I meant to say, until things can return to normal.” But Priscilla seemed too distraught to notice the error.
“I don’t believe things ever will be normal. Not after all we’ve lost.”
“Nonsense. Of course they will. It’s only a matter of time. When the slaves get hungry enough, they’ll come to their senses and go back to work. Daniel says they might pass a law that Negroes must prove they are gainfully employed or be arrested as vagrants. The Yankee soldiers will soon be gone. I understand that many of them have left already. We will recover what we’ve lost, Priscilla.”
“Except for our loved ones. Nothing will ever bring them back.”
“I know,” Eugenia murmured. “I know.” She pulled Priscilla into her arms again to hide her own tears, not daring to cry.
“I wish this war had never happened,” Priscilla wept. “I wish we could have our life back the same as it was.”
“We will. But you must stay strong and not give up.”
They were still clinging tightly to each other when Eugenia heard a carriage pull to a stop out front. “Are you expecting someone?” she asked.
“It’s probably Dr. Hunter. He stops by to see Harrison when he is out this way.”
“Dry your eyes, dear, and be strong. I’ll let him in.” Eugenia composed herself as she made her way to the door, smoothing her skirt and tucking her hair into place. She raised her chin and smiled pleasantly as she opened the door to greet the doctor. “Good afternoon, Dr. Hunter. How are you?”
“Mrs. Weatherly!” He snatched off his hat and gave a respectful bow. “How nice to see you.”
“Haven’t I scolded you before for not calling me Eugenia?” she said with a flirtatious smile.
“Yes . . . thank you. You look wonderful, Eugenia.” He couldn’t seem to move from the doorstep, gazing at her with admiration in his eyes—and perhaps longing. The doctor had been a friend of Philip’s before the war, stopping by occasionally to play chess with him and sip bourbon. “I believe David Hunter comes here to see you, not me,” Philip used to tease her. “He never fails to tell me how beautiful you are, and what a lucky man I am.”
The doctor cleared his throat. He seemed embarrassed, as if he’d read Eugenia’s thoughts. “I . . . um, I haven’t had a chance to talk to you since the war ended, but I wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about Philip and Samuel.”
“Thank you. And I understand that you lost your wife, as well?”
He nodded solemnly. “I sent her to stay with her mother while I was away, thinking she would be better off in Savannah, but she and her mother both died of a fever.”
“I’m so sorry. Please come in, David. I know Priscilla is eager to talk with you about Harrison.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll go see my patient first, if you don’t mind.” He disappea
red into Harrison’s bedroom on the first floor, and a moment later Josephine and Mary filed out to give him privacy. The girls looked as relieved as escaped prisoners.
“I’m being a terrible hostess, aren’t I?” Priscilla said. “Would you ladies like some tea?”
“No, don’t fuss,” Eugenia said. “We’re fine, aren’t we girls?” Mary nodded and sat down with them in the parlor to chat, and it did seem to buoy Priscilla’s spirits to engage in pleasant conversation for a while. Josephine disappeared as usual. Eugenia heard the soft clatter of plates and cups down in the kitchen and guessed that her daughter was washing the dishes. Why in the world did that girl insist on playing the role of a servant?
Fifteen minutes later, the doctor emerged from Harrison’s bedroom with a worried expression. “May I have a word with you, Mrs. Blake?”
Eugenia stood. “We should be on our way,” she said, but Priscilla gripped her hand.
“No, wait! Please! I don’t want you to leave. If it’s bad news, I-I need you . . .”
“Of course, dear. Mary, kindly wait outside by our carriage. I’ll be along in just a moment.”
“How is he?” Priscilla asked when Mary was gone. Tears filled her eyes before Dr. Hunter even had a chance to reply.
“There is nothing physically wrong with him, Mrs. Blake. His wound has fully healed. I know that he’s been complaining of phantom pain in his missing leg, but that’s very common.”
“He barely eats, and he’s growing weaker every day. He ended his engagement with Emma Welch and now he has driven all our servants away.”