A Slave of the Shadows, page 20
I swallowed hard and looked from her to Mary Grace. Mary Grace’s eyes were wide; her hand went to her waist as she started to pace.
Oh God, it’s over. We are finished. I tasted blood and realized I had my lower lip clenched between my teeth.
“Whitney, out with it now. What’s wrong?”
Whitney twisted to face us, her expression solemn.
My fears had come to pass. I pressed my hands to the sides of my face and joined Mary Grace in her pacing. Rufus and his men had won. We’d attempted to punish the men the law would allow to go unscathed, and we had got caught. Life was beyond unfair.
Whitney’s laughter rang out, stopping me.
“Whitney, for heaven’s sake, what are you laughing about?” I scowled as Whitney stood holding her stomach, giggles vibrating through her body. She’s touched in the head. Straight-out plumb crazy. “Whitney, what happened?” I moved forward, took her by the arms, and gave her a shake.
She stopped laughing to speak. “As of now, we are in the clear.”
“What? Then why were you—why the worried face when you rode in?” I coiled my fists in the folds of my dress, shooting her a deadly glare.
“I wanted to lighten the mood. You two resembled two taut-faced spinsters. Those miserable tight faces alone would sell us out.”
“Easy enough for you to say! You learned what’s happening firsthand while we sat here fretting, waiting for you to show up. Then you show up all smug, playing these sick games with us.” I rocked onto my toes and glowered at her.
Her shoulders hunched and her next words were apologetic. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Truly I am. Maybe I can make it up to you by giving you the news that Rufus and Yates will be fine. Rufus may not be a functioning man for a long while, or maybe never, by what the doctor says. The slip of the whip struck his manly parts and caused some damage—oops.” She raised and dropped her shoulders while trying to suppress another giggle. A smile cracked across her face as she continued. “The story the men have fabricated is that half a dozen large masked men overtook them, and Rufus went so far as to say he believed they were slaves.”
“Slaves?” Mary Grace folded her arms across her chest and rubbed her upper arms anxiously.
This put a target on all the slaves from nearby plantations. This wasn’t good. What didn’t she get about this? “This is no laughing matter, Whitney! We can’t have them spreading that lie, or all slaves will become a target. Then what we did was for nothing.”
Her smile faded. “I honestly never thought of it like that.”
“We need to stop this rumor right away, and I have an idea. Follow me.” I hurried toward the house with them on my heels.
In Father’s study, I outlined my idea. “I’m thinking we write a note, threatening we will be back to finish what we started if we catch the slightest hint that they’re stirring up trouble. We can’t let them sense the threat to the slaves drives our motives, as they’ve already labeled me a nigger lover. And chances are, it would point fingers back to us.”
“Who are you supposing should write this letter?” Whitney asked as she plopped down on a chair in front of the desk.
“Mary Grace, of course.” I grinned.
Their open-mouthed stares hastened my next words. “We must outsmart them. If they somehow involve the law in this matter, a note could lead back to us. Our penmanship on a threatening letter would seal our fate. But a slave who doesn’t read or write would be the perfect cover-up. What do you say?”
Whitney considered for a long moment, then bobbed her head up and down. “I think you’re onto something. Mary Grace can write the letter. I’ll take it back with me and find the right time to place it in Rufus’s cabin. As you said, we need to put out this fire before it catches and spreads out of control.”
A short time later, Mary Grace and I stood on the front veranda, watching Whitney ride off. We were both lost in our own thoughts, and didn’t notice Mammy until she was right beside us. We both jumped as she spoke.
“What’s so heavy on your mind?” Her expression was grim and her eyes studied us with hawk-like intensity. Careful of the ears of the posted guards, she lowered her voice. “Et be a mystery to your ol’ Mammy, how I got de bes’ sleep I git in all my days last night. You wouldn’t know anything ’bout dat, would yas?” She waggled a plump finger at Mary Grace and me.
“No, Mama. I brought you a cup of chamomile tea. Before I knew it you were fast asleep. I was guessing you were plumb wore out.”
Mary Grace had always been a poor liar. I forced my eyes not to roll at her pathetic attempt to fool Mammy.
“Chile, I’ve had a lot of long, hard days and never went out cold lak dat before. You see, de funny thing is, I be talking to James dis mornin’ too, and he must have had dat same good tea.”
“What Mary Grace is trying to say is, we need you to hush this talk of blame, Mammy. There is nothing to worry about; everything is fine.” I gave her a light smile.
Mammy held my gaze for a long moment before lowering her head. “You’re right about one thing, angel gal. De less I know, de better.” She turned from us, and in her hunched shoulders, I knew we had burdened her with worry. It saddened me, but it was for the greater good. Things had to change and in change, people would get hurt. It was inevitable.
FATHER RETURNED A WEEK LATER and was soon notified of the attack on the Barry men. I was present when he called Jones to his study to catch him up to speed on things around Livingston. I tried to hide my smirk at Father’s reaction to the news: a loud chuckle and slapping his leg in delight.
“That is great news! I applaud the men who took care of those imbeciles.” His green eyes glinted.
The attack changed things between Father and me for the better. That horrible day had opened his eyes, and he began to see things in a new light. He asked my opinion on things around the plantation. He called me into his study to chat, and though it was awkward for both of us at first, I recognized his attempt and suppressed the mixed emotions his efforts stirred in me. Learning to overcome my constant fear in his presence would take time.
Our letter achieved the desired effect, and the stories died down about the men in the masks. Things went back to normal on the plantation, and the guards were dismissed from their posts a few days after Father’s return.
Today I planned to divulge to Father my growing knowledge about my mother. I hoped to get the answers I needed to the questions that still plagued my mind.
Now, seated on the window seat in my room, I lowered my book to my lap. Resting my forehead against the pane of glass, I inspected the activity below. I loved to read, but after days of being cooped up in this house, I was going stir-crazy.
How much reading can one person do, anyhow?
My eyes roved the whole of the backyard until they idled on Mary Grace pinning bedding on the clothesline. The unhappy expression on her beautiful face made my heart ache. While I watched, she raised a hand and briskly wiped at her eyes with the back of it. Was she crying?
I set my book aside and ran from my room. The vibrations as my feet pounded down the back stairs pummeled the walls of the narrow space. I swept out the back door and ran across the yard, ducking through the bed linens until I stopped beside my friend.
She paused as she was about to pin a sheet to the line. “Miss Willow? Did you need something?” She attempted to change her sad expression with a fake smile.
“Mary Grace, I saw you crying from my window. What’s wrong?” I touched her arm as I searched her face.
Mary Grace’s eyes darted over my face as she struggled with the desire to tell me versus staying silent.
“It’s all right, Mary Grace. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
“I can’t. I don’t know what to think myself. I’m in a real mess now.” She bent to gather another sheet from her basket of wet laundry.
I waited for her to continue.
Mary Grace straightened and glanced at me sideways as she positioned the linen on the line, her movements agitated. “I don’t think I can handle much more of this.”
I didn’t grasp what she was getting at, but I stifled the impulse to push her to get to the point.
“I’m pregnant!” she blurted through gritted teeth.
I imagined grounding my heels in the soft earth beneath me to keep from staggering back at the sudden news.
“And I don’t know if the baby is those monsters’ or Gray’s.” She fired words from her mouth like a cannon on the battlefield.
“Did you tell Gray?”
“I can’t bring myself to. What if he doesn’t want to help me raise a baby that isn’t his? How do I raise a baby when it could be a constant reminder of that day? My shame would forever confront me, every waking day.”
“Gray loves you more than anything, Mary Grace. He will not turn you away.” A wave of tenderness swept over me. I gently took her by the shoulders and turned her to face me. Her lovely face was twisted with the torture of what-ifs.
“I know he loves me. But it is a lot to ask of him or any man.” Tears glistened in her eyes.
I peered deep into her troubled eyes. “Tell him, Mary Grace. You can cross the bridge of who the baby’s father is when the baby comes. What about Mammy? Have you spoken to her?”
“No, you are the first. And honestly, I would’ve kept this to myself a while longer if you hadn’t been spying on me.” She tossed me a half-smile.
I sheepishly grinned. “I see everything, and don’t you forget it. I’ve got eyes in the back of my head like Mammy.”
The remark scored me a giggle from her, and her face brightened with a flicker of the old Mary Grace.
Mary Grace
WILLOW’S RETREATING BACK REKINDLED THE utter despair that had been afflicting her for days. Willow’s heart was perpetually in the right place. She was attuned to the people around her; she radiated compassion and virtue. Of course Willow would see her crying and come to investigate. Mary Grace felt relief to have someone to talk with about the frightening life she now carried within her.
Later, when the linens were hung, she went in search of Mammy. Encouraged by Willow’s supportive response to her news, she knew she needed to talk to Mammy and summoned up the courage to seek her out.
The first place she looked was the kitchen house, of course. It was the location for many heart-to-heart talks between Mammy, Willow, and herself. The aroma of baked peach pie filled the air as she entered the kitchen. But the usual delight Mammy’s cooking conjured instead nauseated her. Slapping her hands over her mouth, Mary Grace ran out the side door and released the contents of her stomach, retching until she thought her stomach had turned itself inside out.
“For heaven’s sake, chile. What is wrong wid you?” Mammy asked from behind her.
Lifting her apron, Mary Grace wiped her mouth. She sent her mother a pleading look of despair.
Mammy’s narrowed eyes grew big. “Sweet chile of mine—come inside and I’ll fix you some ginger tea to sip on.”
Flour from the pie crust Mammy had been rolling still covered the well-worn wooden table in the middle of the room. Mary Grace pulled out a chair and plopped down, her misery overwhelming her. Mammy fixed the tea and poured it into a dainty white china teacup accented with petite blue flowers. Placing it before her daughter, Mammy fixed one for herself and sat down, resting her fleshy hand over her daughter’s.
“I’m with child.”
“I guessed et be so.” Mammy’s eyes radiated heartache.
“What am I ever going to do, Mama?” She curled her arms on the table and buried her face in them. How could she do this? What would Gray say? How could she love this baby?
“I ain’t gwine to lie to ya, chile; et’s gwine to be hard. But you can do et. You are Mammy’s chile. Your Mammy will be here. Don’t fret dat purty head of yours.”
“But Mama, how can I ever love this baby? If this child is one of those men’s, I don’t think I can bear to look at it every day without thinking of its pappy or of the innocence he took from me. Every time I look in its face, I’d see the monster and relive that night.”
“Now, chile, I loved you.”
“I know, Mama, and you never made me feel any less or that I was a burden, but I’m not like you. You’re made of a different cloth. You’re strong; nothing bothers you. You protected me from the world and I’m grateful. It’s this pain I feel, this violation. I don’t think it will ever go away. I don’t know if I’ll ever allow Gray to touch me again.”
“Chile, life makes you strong. I didn’t git strong on my own. Life did dis to me. I larned to shut off my feelin’s to protect myself from de pain. I was dead inside. Mr. Adams may have raped me. I may have conceived you by him. But he wasn’t your pappy. Big John, he is your pappy in evvy way dat mattered. He loved you ’cause you were part of me. If Gray is not de pappy, he loves you ’nuf to raise dat child in your belly together. Here on Livingston dat chile has a chance, jus’ lak you did. You will love dat chile ’cause et is yours. You think of et as being all you, and if et be born a pure Negro baby, you rejoice in dat.”
“Oh, Mama.” Fresh tears spilled as she nodded in acceptance.
“Dat a gal.” Mammy’s calloused hand caressed her cheek.
Mary Grace covered it with her own and grasped at the love and support she’d received from the strong women in her life. “One day at a time, Mama, is all I can do.” Mary Grace twirled the teacup in its saucer. The last of the hot liquid swirled in a circular pattern as she gazed hard into her tea.
“Dat’s right, gal,” Mammy soothed before rising to finish her work.
AT SUPPER THAT NIGHT, FATHER informed me we would be leaving at the end of the week for New York. News of a trip was music to my ears.
“Father, can I bring Whitney with me?”
“I think that would be a splendid idea. You could use the company, as I will be fairly tied up while we’re there.” He didn’t divulge exactly what would be taking up his time, but I didn’t waste any time trying to figure it out. My head was spinning with ideas for what Whitney and I could see and do in New York.
“I will speak to Mammy about bringing Mary Grace along to attend you, as well.”
“I think we all would benefit from a change in scenery.” I restrained my desire to run from the room and share the good news with Mary Grace.
Father grinned at my enthusiasm. “I like the dynamics between us, Willow. It’s refreshing to have a mature, polite conversation.”
He meant it as a compliment, but I bristled inside. That was all I’d ever wanted between us, but he was the one with the notions that had created years of unease and tension. Why had it taken a violent attack for him to finally treat me with kindness instead of as a bothersome hindrance? But I refused to mar the mood, and decided to wait to ask my unanswered questions. An adventure was calling to me, and I had no intention of messing that up.
“Yes, Father, this is the way I always envisioned our relationship to be. Hopefully things will continue this way.” I smiled sincerely, raising my wine glass in salute. He followed suit and then we sipped the French burgundy wine.
The dinner started and ended on the same positive note.
Later I waited in my room for Mary Grace to arrive to prepare for bed. I was in my closet going through my dresses, trying to decide which ones I would take with me, when Mary Grace arrived.
“Miss Willow?”
“In here, Mary Grace.”
She peeked inside.
“I have exciting news.” I came out and clasped my hands on her shoulders.
“What is it?”
“Father is taking me to New York at the end of the week. He said I’m allowed to take Whitney—and you.”
Mary Grace’s face split in a wide smile, and a light long dimmed brightened in her eyes. “Truly, Miss Willow?”
“Yes.” I beamed at her reaction.
“I’ve barely been off the plantation, let alone gone on a trip.” Her excitement heightened.
“Things are different in New York than they are here. I think we would all benefit by getting away and forgetting things for the time being. So it’s settled—we will go. Mammy will come to see our side with some convincing, I’m sure.”
“You let me handle Mama.” Mary Grace winked.
“I have no doubt you will.” I chuckled at the determination on her face. “We are off on a grand adventure, my friend. This time we will step out of the book and experience it for real,” I sang out as I whirled through my room in a waltz that ended when I dropped onto my bed.
Mary Grace giggled and came to sit on the bed beside me. “It will be different, and it will take my mind off my predicament.” She looked down at her stomach.
I pulled her down beside me and wrapped my arm around her shoulder as we stared up at the ceiling. “Everything is going to be fine. You’ll see.”
“I hope so, Miss Willow.”
It had to be. We would figure all of this out together.
WHITNEY REFUSED TO LEAVE THE twins behind so they, along with Mary Grace, accompanied us to New York. Surprisingly, despite her condition, Mary Grace fared well on our voyage. A boundless joy seemed to buoy her and I frequently heard her humming. Our plantation life seemed like another world entirely.
The noise of the city was vastly different from the rural peace and quiet we were accustomed to. Smoke from the factories created a haze that hung over the city. My eyes roved from the tall brownstone buildings that nestled along the streets to the streets themselves, packed with carriages and people.
Heavy traffic had carved deep ruts and churned the streets to mud. I lifted my dress as we crossed, but mud sloshed over my shoes and my feet quickly became wet. I groaned at the squishy feeling inside my shoes.
Whitney saw me curl my nose in disgust and chuckled. “Poor darling.”
