The Fallen Fruit, page 13
Since Olu eagerly followed Grandpa and Grandma to the orchard, mornings left Bree lost in thought as she fetched the water or washed the clothes. It was better to focus on her embroidery, for there was nothing more soothing than falling into perfectly aligned stitches or watching the simplicity of a dress come to life with the promise of spring. She imagined a future Addy wearing the garment she embroidered. She’d spin in a circle, the dress mushrooming while her laughter blossomed. Her children would do the same. Bree allowed that vision of her sister’s laughter and joy to trail after her while she plucked weeds from the garden behind the house and fed the chickens.
Later, a visitor appeared in the cabin doorway as she hummed the soft tune Addy often sang. Emily had sunshine in her smile. Summer planting was in full swing, and the elders rarely left the fields—Bree was surprised to see her.
“Are you well?” Bree asked.
“Yes, but . . .” Her aunt’s gaze swept over the room, lingering. The cabin was tidy as always, but Emily seemed to see something she didn’t. “Your cousin Fanny burned herself and my husband cut his hand. Just another day. I had to walk away before I lost what little wits I have left.”
They laughed. Emily stitched up folks while Bree stitched fabric. At least the clothes didn’t complain.
“Do you need anything?” she asked. “Are you hungry?”
Em took a deep breath and perched on the stool beside Bree. “We need goods for the new cabin.”
By “new cabin” her aunt meant Luke and Addy’s.
Emily continued. “I told John we should go to Richmond. You’ll go with us, won’t you?”
Bree’s hands trembled after she heard the word “Richmond,” but she managed to smile. “I should.”
“You should? You don’t sound as confident as a couple months ago.”
“I still want to find an apprenticeship, but—”
“Has something changed?”
“No. All is well. Maybe I’m nervous at the thought of leaving Grandma and Grandpa alone.”
“They’ll be well. The boy is here now, and their children have always taken care of them.” Emily scooted closer to her. “People come and go. That’s the way it is.”
Her aunt took a long look at her—just like Luke had.
“Yes, people come and go like Olu,” Bree whispered.
Emily smiled wistfully and nodded.
“Is he faring well out in the orchard?” Bree asked, hoping to talk about anything other than herself.
“Better than I expected. The boy’s tended fruit trees before, and he never makes a fuss either. Mary wishes to have him come live with her, but she’ll never win a fair fight with Grandma.”
“Grandpa told me Grandma was feistier than a mountain viper in her younger days.”
“Has that changed?”
They laughed again, and the thought of leaving, and how she’d miss these moments, saddened her. Perhaps her smile had wilted, for Emily patted her knee and released a sigh big enough for the both of them.
“It’s time for you to take flight, my sweet pea, just like Olu. I want you to be willing to work for what should be rightfully yours.” Emily’s voice rose in intensity. “You deserve more. And you won’t find what you seek here.”
Aunt Emily rocked a bit. “Did I ever tell you about how I came to live here?”
Bree swayed with her, recalling the early years after Grandpa and Grandma took her in. “If you did, I don’t remember.”
“I grew up not far from this place, but for the longest time, I lived near the coast north of here. The winters were difficult, but I thrived.” The hint of a smile touched Emily’s cheeks as if she remembered something precious.
“Why did you leave?” she asked.
Em paused. “I had to go. And one day you’ll make a decision, like I did, to venture out and find your true home.” Emily stopped rocking and bit her lower lip. “After wandering for only God knows how long, I encountered John and we . . . fell in love in the middle of nowhere. He kept telling me how happy he’d make me. How I wouldn’t regret taking a chance on him. You can take that chance too, sweet pea.”
Her aunt stood and made her way to the door. Bree wished Em hadn’t used that name—there were so many memories connected to that endearment. Back then, a younger Bree had drunk up every word, every lesson. Emily’s books had given her worlds Bree assumed she’d never see and experiences she’d never witness. Over the years, Emily had become not only her teacher but another mother when she wasn’t brave enough to speak to Grandma. Her younger self had believed everything Emily said, but today she had doubts.
“We’re leaving tomorrow at sunrise.” Emily waited until their gazes connected before she added, “If you wish to come, be ready. When you’re there to grasp it, the right opportunity often presents itself.”
* * *
Hints of the first light drove away the milky shadows in the loft where Bree slept, but she had yet to pack a thing. Last night, she’d decided to stay. She should’ve slept soundly, but she twisted and turned on the straw bed. Perhaps if she waited for sleep, she’d find it.
She never did.
So Bree lay there and listened as her grandparents rose for the day. The familiar sounds of Grandpa shuffling to the outhouse tugged away any thoughts of sleeping. As if on cue, Ben barked at the chickens. Might as well get on with living then. She sprang to her feet to prepare breakfast. Olu woke quickly and obediently followed her.
The sky held firmly to purples and pinks as she coaxed the fireplace to life. She heated servings of the cornmeal she’d set over the dying coals last night and poured hard cider into cups. While she worked, a strong, wrinkled hand—Grandpa’s—gripped her shoulder. Moments later, before Grandma accepted her bowl, her soft palm stroked the middle of Bree’s back as a mother would a child.
Bree blew out a deep breath and tried to quell the tears she wanted to shed. Grandma and Grandpa never were ones to linger with goodbyes and sorrow.
“I’ve lost many children,” Grandma had once told her. “I cannot cry anymore when I’ve scraped every tear out of my soul.”
After Grandpa, Grandma, and Olu left for the day, she gave in and hurried to bundle what little she owned. Over the years, she’d collected swatches of cloth. Shiny buttons and discarded buckles filled the nooks and cracks in the space she used to share with Addy. The temptation to leave them behind came to mind—perhaps she’d return—but she swallowed past the urge and reached into every hiding place. She moved without thought. If she sat long enough, she’d stumble and change her mind. Soon enough, her wrapped cloth held her two shifts, her only other dress, two petticoats, and other treasures. Her sewing supplies fit deeply within her apron pockets.
Bree considered gathering the flowers she’d left hanging from the ceiling to dry, but in time she’d gather more scents, more colors for her collection. Someone else, with dreams like hers, might see the catmints and imagine the promise they’d once kept. A promise of love instead of withered dreams.
With daylight creeping toward the horizon, she had one last thing to do before she boarded the cart. Her uncles were already hitching up the mares in the clearing next to John and Emily’s home. Every footstep felt like a boot was pressed against her gut. She should’ve eaten with the others, but a meal would’ve added to her discomfort. The person Bree wanted to see held Grace on her hip and watched the men. Addy waved.
“Emily said you’re going to Richmond, but she wouldn’t tell me when everyone’s coming back,” her sister said. “It’ll only be a couple days, right?”
Instead of an answer, Bree pulled Addy in for a hug and savored the warmth. Grace squirmed in Addy’s arms and Bree kissed the child’s forehead to quiet her. She had missed holding Addy. She’d gotten used to her sibling’s restless sleeping, but now Addy slept next to someone else. Her sister smelled like him—a blend of carpenter’s resin and worn leather. A man’s scent.
Bree backed away with a forced grin and grasped Addy’s free left hand. “Did Emily tell you I’m looking for work?”
Addy’s smile died. “No, she didn’t.”
“I’ve told you many times I’ve wanted to be a seamstress.”
“You have.” Addy’s eyes narrowed. “But I’d hoped once I got married you’d do the same.”
The same as in I stay here with her, she thought.
And who would Bree marry? No one had expressed interest recently.
“I probably will get married someday,” Bree admitted, “but I won’t learn the trade I’d like to do living here.” To quiet the quiver in Addy’s hand, she gave her sister a dress she’d made after the wedding. “I’d planned to give you this in the fall, but now seems a good time.”
Addison held the precious dress with a clenched fist. “Leaving me like this isn’t right, Bree. You’re my only family.”
“You know that isn’t true.” She lowered her voice. “And don’t you dare say such a thing in front of Grandpa or Grandma. Do you understand?”
“We’ve never been apart before.”
“If I raised you well, and I know I have since you married well, then you’ll find your own way. Just like I must do the same.”
A tear fell down Addy’s cheek. She refused to wipe the streak away, so Bree did. “Stop crying. When I’m able, I’ll come visit.” The lie that Bree would return had tumbled out too easily. “This isn’t goodbye, Addison.”
“But it feels that way.”
If Bree didn’t try to go now, she never would.
“It’s never goodbye for you and me.” Bree slipped her hands into her sister’s. “It’s only a farewell until we meet again.”
* * *
The journey to Richmond lasted less than a day, but the trip wasn’t as pleasurable with Luke in the wagon, along with Emily, John, and Stephen. A part of Bree wanted to lose herself to the tranquil woods and the rolling hills, but they couldn’t keep her from thinking about Luke.
No one spoke during the ride. Their silence was necessary for their safety. Don’t look at anyone. Don’t speak to them either. Those were the rules. They had left Albemarle County and ridden deep into Henrico. If anyone of authority stopped them, none of their freedom papers would give them permission to travel this far from home.
Buckeye, birch, and thick patches of ferns held shadows, and Bree tried not to think of how many Negroes had taken a similar journey opposite the way they had come. Stephen had talked about the many men he’d served with—how they’d escaped and fought to spite their masters. Those masters had continued to seek their property as the war waged on.
Soon enough they spied wooden homes. As the muddy road widened, Bree’s spirits lifted to see more people. They drove past warehouses to the south and, even farther, the great James River. Watermen guided long flatboats and barges east and west to deliver goods. Their wagon fell in line behind a team of oxen hauling covered furniture.
The weight of Luke’s stare pressed against her, but she took in the long road heading east to Williamsburg instead, noting every house and storefront. She’d never seen this many people before.
The trek east continued until they reached the far edge of town. Wooden houses, some built in haste, dotted the hills. At the end of a dirt road, they came upon a two-story home at the top of a knoll with a barn and fenced-off livestock. The home had beautiful four-pane windows. Violet and dark-yellow pansies added a touch of color to the mud-brown structure. She spied, behind the house, rows of sprouts—likely corn, based on the flat and pointed leaves. By fall, those stalks would be taller than her head.
“Where are we?” she whispered to Emily as they came to a stop next to the barn.
Her aunt didn’t answer and climbed out after the men. Before Bree could do the same, Luke reached over for her hand to help her get out. She gathered her belongings and reluctantly accepted his hand.
“Where we are?” she asked him.
“Knox Farm.” He reached into his haversack in the wagon and pulled out a bundle wrapped in gray cloth and placed it in her hand.
“What’s this?” Before she snuck a peek at what was hidden within the folds of cloth, his mother called out her name. Emily stood in front of the house next to a Negro woman round with child. The woman, dressed in a delicate white linen dress and black head wrap, had a refined air of money. While Bree situated Luke’s parcel in her apron pocket, the other woman disappeared into the house. She turned back to Luke.
“Just a gift to see you on your way,” he murmured with a nod. “Farewell, Bree.”
Emily called for her again, and she reluctantly left his side to join his mother.
“Leave your things,” her aunt said.
“But I—”
“Later,” Emily said sharply.
Bree returned her things to the wagon, dusted off her dress, and followed her aunt to the doorstep. Once there, Emily tilted up her chin and gave her a quick once-over.
“You wore your best dress. Good. Are you ready?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Bree straightened her back and followed Emily through the front door. They strolled across wooden floors, gleaming and spotless, to a large room with a closed door to the right and a staircase leading to upper floors. On the other side of the room, Mrs. Knox lounged on a dark-blue settee with a rolled tobacco cigarette poised in one hand and the other with restless fingers. She picked up her cup of tea and sipped. Her dark eyes assessed Bree with a hint of suspicion.
“I didn’t expect to see you until the fall, Emily,” Mrs. Knox said.
“Events over the past month changed our plans.” Emily’s voice sounded different. There was an eloquence, a crispness Bree hadn’t heard before.
Bree kept her gaze fixed on her own clasped hands, but she hungered to see their faces.
“And what events would bring you all the way here?” Mrs. Knox asked.
She couldn’t resist and glanced up to watch their exchange.
“My niece is a bright girl, Bridget,” Emily began, “and I believe she’d fare well with training as a seamstress. As a woman of means in Richmond, you can help her find an apprenticeship.”
A smirk bloomed on Mrs. Knox’s face as she caressed her swollen belly. “She might be a bright girl and all, but the town might not be the best place for her. Word has it the governor made Richmond the new capital. Competition means less income for my husband. What makes you think we can afford to feed another mouth?”
The straight line of Aunt Emily’s lips formed a smile. “I wouldn’t want to add a burden to your household without compensation. If you look out the window, you’ll see my husband unloading kegs of hard cider. That should fetch a couple of pounds until the girl finds work.”
Mrs. Knox’s hand flexed over her stomach. “I shouldn’t still owe you for what you did to save my husband,” she whispered. “Twenty years have passed.”
“A life for a life,” Emily replied simply.
Mrs. Knox took a long draw from her cigarette. The smoke from her exhale slowly rose to the ceiling while she stared Emily down. The two women had a similar status, the same wrinkles gathered at the corners of their eyes, but wisdom, and a history Bree wished she knew, danced between them.
A gangly servant girl entered the house to leave a bucket of water in the kitchen, but neither woman looked away from each other. Tension gathered in Bree’s shoulders. She feared Mrs. Knox might turn her away.
After what felt like hours, Mrs. Knox said curtly, “What’s your name, girl?”
Bree swallowed. “Sabrina, ma’am.”
“You may stay, but you will sleep with the rest of the servants,” Mrs. Knox said. “You’ll do as you’re told until I find you employment.”
She nodded. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.”
The women chatted about trivial matters for a few minutes, and Bree stood there trying to contain her excitement. Emily then took her hand and led her to the door.
“Remember your place and what we’ve taught you.” Emily gave her a wide grin and Bree knew their final goodbyes had come. “I’m proud of you. Never forget that.”
“Yes, Aunt Emily.”
Bree almost followed her aunt out, but the mistress of the house called her to fetch more tea. Bree’s hands shook while she grabbed the kettle and poured the warm water. She’d done what needed to be done before, and she’d do it again.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, ma’am?” Bree breathed.
Mrs. Knox flicked her fingers to excuse Bree. “Gather your things and find Eliza.”
With a nod, she escaped the house, expecting to see the wagon and her uncles to say goodbye, but her family had already departed. They were a speck of dust in the distance, as small as the bundle of her things left behind. Her shoulders fell, and the desire to cry snatched her breath. She could see each of their faces, but one stood out. Luke’s.
Why hadn’t she said goodbye to him properly? For hours they’d sat across from each other, and yet her feelings had gotten in the way. Now all they had shared were a couple of words and no more.
“Just a gift to see you on your way,” he’d said.
She reached into her apron pocket and withdrew what he’d given her. Deep within the folds of the gray fabric, she found a weathered dark-blue neckerchief. Hers. The frayed edges, holes, and stains whispered of distant lands. Loneliness. Loss. Triumph. The neckerchief also held something else: three thread spools made of maple. They’d been carved and sanded with a steady hand. She ran her fingers over the notches and curves, marveling at how old her gift appeared.
He’d made these a long time ago. These three spools held love too—over twenty lost years’ worth. That love was more than enough.
Part Three
Rebecca
Cecily Bridge-Davis
July 1964
After piecing together Sabrina and Luke’s tale, my heart ached with longing. Tucked away in my hotel room with only my scattered research papers to keep me company, I opened the cerulean tin box and took out the maple spool. While the black-and-white TV blared the evening news, I sat on the bed and weighed it in my palm, marveling at the smooth surface. Two hundred years ago, Luke had made this by hand for Bree. How could fate be so merciless? Almost five hundred and fifty miles separated Winston and me, but if I needed to see him, I could pack up my things and race home.
