Lizzy's Hope, page 1
Copyright
ISBN 1-58660-376-0
© 2001 by Lynn A. Coleman. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in
whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden
without the permission of the publisher.
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Robyn Martins.
one
Key West, 1866
“Evenin’. Miz. Lizzy?”
A massive chest caught Lizzy’s gaze as she opened the door. Slowly, she raised her head. A large, dark man with mahogany eyes and squared shoulders towered over her. She tightened her grasp around the glass doorknob.
“Yes, may I help you?”
His shoulders eased. His rigid stance softened. “Mr. Ellis sent me here.”
In turn, she loosened her grip of the knob.
“Come in,” she offered with a smile.
Ellis Southard, a local businessman, had become more than her mother’s employer. He and his new wife, Bea, had become some of her closest friends.
“Thank ye, Ma’am.” He lifted his straw hat from the top of his head and stooped to enter through the doorway.
“Take a seat, Mr… ?” She hesitated, realizing she’d forgotten to ask the man his name.
“Name’s Mo.”
The large rattan chair creaked as his huge body mass eased down. It wasn’t that he was a heavy man. Lizzy doubted there was an ounce of fat on him. His broad shoulders were well rounded with thick muscles. His hands were massive, and yet also agile, she noticed, as he curled the edges of his Bahamian hat.
“So, what does Mr. Ellis have need of?” She sat on the sofa opposite Mo’s chair.
“No, Ma’am, Mr. Ellis don’t need nothin’. I’s afraid I misled ye.”
Her eyes caught the glimmer where his wrists marred with encircling dark scars. Lizzy scanned the house to catch sight of someone, anyone, she could call if necessary. She had lived with her brother George and his family since her husband Ben had gone off to fight in the war. When Ben had died, her stay with her brother and his family had become permanent.
“Mr. Ellis sed ye might be able to help me. It be embarassin’ to ask, bein’ a grown man and all.” The hat in his hands twisted into unnatural shapes. “Mr. Ellis, he figures ye understand. And bein’ that yer helpin’ the young’uns, ye be understandin’ why I, uh, need this help.” His shoulders slumped. His eyes looked down at his feet.
“Relax, Mo.” She’d seen folks like this far too often. If her suspicions were correct, he didn’t know how to read or write. “If Mr. Ellis sent you here, I guess he figures I might be able to help you.”
He stopped fumbling with his hat, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “I cain’t read or write.”
“And Mr. Ellis thought I might be able to teach you?”
“Yes’m. He be showin’ me some letters and makin’ me practice ’em, but he ain’t got no times for me.” He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to her. A series of As and Bs lined the page. “At least not ’nuff so’s I can learn faster. I wanna learn.”
She examined the letters more closely. He had a steady hand, but the deep impressions on the paper showed he worked with intensity.
“I can pay ye. I know ye teach the young’uns, and I’s a working man. I can come after work or on the Lord’s day. Don’t seem right to have schoolin’ on the Lord’s day—but ifin it’s all the time ye can give me, I be a willin’.”
She could give him a couple evenings a week, and the extra income would help. She loved her brother George and his family, but she desperately needed a place of her own. Of course, a widow with four children finding earning enough for the family would be quite an undertaking, but it was her secret dream and hope.
“Which evenings would you be free, Mo?”
“Whatever be best fer ye.” Mo settled into the high back of the rattan chair, resting his hat on his left knee.
Lizzy clicked her right first fingernail on the arm of the sofa. She usually went to church with her mother and the children on Wednesdays, and on Fridays her mother often came by. “My best nights would be Tuesdays and Thursdays. How about around seven?”
“Seven’s fine, Ma’am. Would I be needin’ to buy anything?”
“Some paper, a pen, and some ink would be helpful.”
Mo nodded his head. “I can git them, Ma’am.”
“Momma.” A whine broke through the hushed atmosphere. “Benjamin’s picking on me.” Sarah came running into the room.
“Excuse me, Mo.” Lizzy removed herself from the sofa and pulled her daughter by the hand toward the back door. “Benjamin Joseph Hunte, what have you been doing to your sister?”
Her slender son shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing.”
“Whatever ‘nothing’ is, you’d better behave. I have company in the front room, and I don’t need you children making a fuss.” Lizzy leaned over to Sarah. “Now, you go play, and don’t you start picking on Benjamin either.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Sarah’s braided pigtails bobbed with her nod of agreement.
“Good. Now go play.” Lizzy tapped her daughter’s backside as she jumped down the stairs.
Lizzy walked through the kitchen and back to the front room. “I’m sorry about that.”
“No trouble. I best git goin’. Shall I come tomorrow night, it bein’ Tuesday and all?”
“Sure, Mo, tomorrow will be fine.”
He rose from the chair and again Lizzy was struck by his size. “Thank ye kindly, Ma’am. I do appreciate ye takin’ on the likes of me.”
“Don’t think of it. I’ve taught a few adults how to read and write. There’s no shame in it.”
Mo nodded and bent his head to exit the door. For a man so tall, he certainly seemed gentle. Lizzy couldn’t help but notice the scars on his wrists…former slave, she imagined. Her jaw tightened and her fists curled, nails biting into her palms. She took in a deep breath, counted to three, and eased it out slowly. She had lost her husband in the war against such things. Ben’s parents had been slaves too, but they had won their freedom in the Bahamas. Lizzy’s parents never were slaves, so she hadn’t known the pain, fear, and anger firsthand. But she’d seen enough over the years, and the very idea of someone owning another human being made her skin crawl. When would she be free of this anger? She didn’t hate like she used to, but she still burned with fury when she saw someone like Mo, scarred and illiterate because some slave owner thought the color of one’s skin determined his or her intelligence.
“Jesus, thank You for letting me grow up here. Help me deal better with the pain of the injustice.” She mumbled her prayer and returned to the kitchen. “Dinnertime is coming, and ten people with hungry bellies will be wanting to be fed. So you better get your mind to your work, Lizzy,” she chided herself as she went to the sink to clean her hands.
❧
Mo placed the hat back on his head and ambled out of Lizzy Hunte’s front yard. Palm trees lined the road heading inland toward his own place. A smile spread from ear to ear. “I be a learnin’ man in no time at all. Thank Ye, Lord.”
Mo looked back at the house, now distant. “She be a fine woman, that Lizzy Hunte.” Her home was a simple but serviceable structure, he noticed, with a coral foundation, clapboard siding, and a pitched roof. Why anyone would need a pitched roof in Key West didn’t make sense to him. Pitched roofs were for snow and ice-bound houses. Word was, the first owners of the island came from the north.
Mo thought back on his previous visit with Ellis Southard in his home where he’d met Lizzy Hunte’s mother, Cook. She be a fireball, he thought, remembering how she had stood her ground. And yet Lizzy seemed not to have that same self-assurance her mother possessed. Course, losin’ a husband and havin’ four young’uns to raise probably factored in on that.
Lizzy had taken a quick glance at his wrists. Not much a man could do to hide ’em, especially down in this heat. Mo slowed his step and wiped his brow. The sun beat down on the pulverized coral streets, and a fine white dust filled the air around him. He glanced to the west and could see the sun lowering on the horizon. So different than the cotton fields back in Alabama. The blue, flat surface of the water turned to crimson red, then caught the streaks of the last rays of the setting sun before it slipped quietly below the horizon.
Yup, this place sure was different than the plantation. His mind flashed back to the sweet smile on Lizzy’s face when he’d mentioned Ellis Southard. His name relaxed her. She feared me, though, Mo realized with a sigh. Seemed most folks he met feared him. Sometimes being built like an ox didn’t come in handy.
Of course, he was used to it. Folks just had a problem with someone as tall as himself. He’d yet to meet a doorway he could go through without bending. A knot tightened in his stomach. That wasn’t exactly correct. The southern mansion his master had owned had a door he could have walked through. Two his size could have walked through it shoulder to shoulder.
His mind darkened. The past, the beatings—all of it swirled in confusion and anger. He’d escaped eight years ago and still the memories haunted him.
“Evenin’, Mo.” James Earl waved from his porch.
“Evenin’, James.”
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“Been out walkin’?”
“Some.” James was a kindly old man. His graying hair and eyebrows accented the wrinkles that lined his face.
“Wouldn’t be courtin’ now, would ya?”
Mo chuckled. “No, Sa. I’s not ready to find me a woman.” He wanted to know how to read and write first. He knew he’d have to sign a marriage license if he were ever to marry, and without being able to read the license, he didn’t trust anyone. He could be signing on as someone’s servant and never have a clue until they came to get him for work. No siree, I’m not signin’ no papers until I knows how to read and write.
“Seems to me you’re old enough, and you’ve got a good job.” James tapped his pipe on his porch railing.
“Thirty years ain’t that old.”
James rapped his hand on his knee and let out a guffaw. “Son, you’ve been old enough for a decade.”
Mo thought back. “I fell in love once.”
“What happened?”
Mo sat on the step of James’s house, removed his hat, and worked the brim with his hands. “My master decided to bed her, just to show me who wuz in charge.”
James got up and settled beside Mo on the steps. “I’m sorry, Son. I earned my freedom when I was a young man. How’d you earn yours?”
“Escaped! After my master took Caron, she didn’t want no part of me. I was just so mad that I up and run to freedom. When the war came, I signed up. They promised freedom for every Negro man who fought fer the Union Army fer a year and wages after that. So I fought.”
James placed a hand on Mo’s shoulder.
“I never did see Caron again or the plantation. I heard the South ransacked the house and took most of the food, but I never saw it to knows ifin it be true or not.”
“How long were you on the run?”
“Three years. Kinda hard to hide, being as tall as I am. But I worked my way west for a spell, then went north. I had a mean master. Some folks didn’t have it quite so bad. But I did. Truth be told, I think my master wuz afraid of me, so he set out to try and scare me every chance he git. I stood head and shoulders over the man.”
James chuckled. “You’re a big one. How tall are ya?”
“The Army said six foot, nine inches. But them trousers they gave me were still a couple inches too short. So I guess I be closer to seven feet.”
James let out a slow whistle. “And how big was your master?”
Mo’s chest rumbled with laughter. “Tiny little man, maybe five foot seven.”
“No wonder he was afraid of you. You could have crushed him with one hand.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t do that. As bad as the man wuz, I couldn’t of killed him. Ain’t right to take a man’s life, no matter how bad that man is to ye. Not to say I didn’t think it a time or two, but no, God wouldn’t be pleased. War’s different. But I never git used to seein’ a man fall because of my own hands. I took more prisoners than a lot of men. Most were so full of anger they didn’t mind killin’ off every Reb they came in contact with. Just ain’t right.”
“You’re a wise man, Mo. Not too many understand and accept God’s forgiveness.”
“I wouldn’t say I’s all that wise, just tryin’ to live by the Good Book.”
❧
“Was that Mo Greene I saw leaving here, Lizzy?” George asked as he came into the kitchen and washed his hands.
“Yes.”
George dried his hands. “Is love in the air?”
“Goodness, no, George. He’s needing someone to teach him how to read and write. And don’t you be spreading that around either.”
“My lips are sealed. He’s a good man, Lizzy.”
“How do you know him? He seemed nice.”
“Met him at Ellis’s dock a time or two.” George leaned over the simmering pot. “Dinner smells great; what are we having tonight?”
“Chicken and dumplings, just like the ones Mom used to make.” Lizzy grinned.
“Now, Sis, you’re a fine cook and all, but no one can make them like Mom,” George teased.
“Perhaps you better tell me that after you’ve eaten. I think I figured out her secret ingredient.” In fact, she’d finally gotten her mother to tell her the truth for the entire recipe. The secret ingredient was a spice in the biscuits, or rather, the right combination of spices. Lizzy grinned.
“Did I miss something?” George lifted the pot lid.
“Momma, Ben’s pickin’ on me again,” Sarah whined.
“Did not.”
“Were too.” Sarah stomped her foot.
“Nah-uh, you were foolish enough to go fetch it,” Benjamin defended.
Lizzy looked at Sarah’s legs full of muck and mud, and some scratches from briars, no doubt. “Sarah, get yourself outside and cleaned up right now.”
Lizzy placed her hands on her hips, then turned toward her son and watched his grin instantly dissolve. “And you, Benjamin Joseph, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“Aww, Ma, it’s her fault. She kept daring me.”
“And you, being the older, don’t have enough sense not to let your sister’s teasing get the best of you?” She tapped her foot for emphasis.
“I’m sorry.” He bent his head low and looked at his bare toes.
“How’s a mother supposed to make a living knowing she can’t leave her young’uns at home without them getting into trouble?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ve got work tomorrow cleaning for Mr. Sanchez. How am I to go and not concern myself with you misbehaving?”
“It won’t happen again, Mom.”
“You’re right it won’t, and you’ll be painting the chicken coop tomorrow for your Uncle George just to remind you not to get all caught up with your sister’s teasing.”
“But, Ma, that ain’t fair.”
“Isn’t, not ain’t.”
“But it isn’t fair, Ma. Sarah ought to have to do something too.”
“I’m the parent, I’ll decide who gets what punishment. And you’re right, life isn’t fair. Never has been, never will be.”
Benjamin held his tongue. She could see his little mind working. As for Sarah, she’d have to think up a real good punishment for her. Not only was she teasing Benjamin but tattling as well, exonerating herself in the process, or so she thought.
George’s wife, Clarissa, walked in with her three children. “Smells great, Lizzy.” Clarissa gazed back and forth between Benjamin and Lizzy, then over to George, who nodded.
“Thank you, Clarissa. Dinner’s done cooking when everyone’s ready to come to the table.” Lizzy went to lift the large pot from the stove.
George called the household to the table. The family of three adults and seven children sat down to pray. Lizzy examined each of their faces. So many people under such a small roof. Perhaps tutoring Mo was the answer to her prayers?
two
Lizzy snuggled under the covers and rolled to her side. She had another fifteen minutes of rest before she had to get up, and she was bound and determined to get it. Division of the household duties worked well: Clarissa made breakfast and lunches, Lizzy cooked the dinners. That allowed her the opportunity to teach the children while preparing dinner. She punched her feather pillow and snuggled in deeper.
Olivia’s little hands and feet cuddled up next to her. She never knew her father. In fact, she wasn’t sure Benjamin had even known he had a second daughter when he died. Lizzy took comfort in knowing Ben could look down from heaven and see their little true blessing. She rolled over and caressed Olivia’s cherub cheeks. “Morning.”
“Morning, Momma.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Can I go to work with you?”
Lizzy lifted her head off the pillow. “No, Darling, you know I can’t take you to work with me.”
“I know.” Olivia’s large oval eyes looked into her own. “Momma, why do you have to work?”
Rip my heart out, Child. Out of all her children, she thought Olivia at least would be used to her working. “Honey, you know I have to.”
“I know, it’s just that I don’t want you to. Sarah says that before Daddy went off to war you stayed home and took care of her and Ben.”
Ah, Sarah again. Perhaps the punishment for teasing Ben yesterday might not have been tough enough. “True, but I still worked, Dear. I used to do some people’s mending to earn a few extra dollars.”
“Momma, why’d God invent dollars?”
