Child of the River Page 5

  Hurt and humiliated, feeling embarrassed for feeding Benjamin’s suspicions with the wrong impression, Dayme was restless all night long. She whipped herself over and over again for being so naive, so stupid. Hindsight told her she should have followed her head and not her heart. His shadow still haunts me, she lamented. Oh, how I wish Lawrence had lived. I would never have married him. Not after Papa died. I wish he were here in Vicksburg, well and happy and married to somebody else. Then Benjamin wouldn’t be burdened with the darn promise. On the other hand, if not for the promise, I wouldn’t be here.

  She considered leaving Larkspur before daylight and returning to the only home she’d known for the past two years, but her heels were already blistered. Besides, it was too far and she was afraid of the dark and danger lurking in the shadows of the night. “I hate him!” Dayme cried bitterly, beating the pillow with her fists while angry tears streamed like rivers. She wept until she was weak and exhausted. Finally, she fell silent and stared hopelessly outside into the star-studded sky. “No,” she whispered. “I don’t hate Benjamin. I’ve had a fancy for him a long time. If this isn’t love, what is it?”

  Sunlight filtered through the windowpane, and the girl’s swollen eyes were still open like slits with hardly an eyelash showing. “I’m staying,” she muttered. “So-o-o-o, Mr. Benjamin Atwood Farrington, if it’s a lady you want….” She arose with renewed determination and washed her face, placing the cool wet cloth over her tortured eyelids.

  “You better eat somethin’, Missy,” Cassie called through the locked door. “You gonna be sick if you don’t eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Dayme replied. She refused the luncheon tray, as well.

  Meanwhile, Benjamin dined alone at the long dining table. Still disturbed by the events of the prior evening, he carried a guilty feeling for having hurt the girl’s feelings. The suspicions just tumbled out in the vulnerability of the moment and there was nothing he could do to make up the blunder now. He was uncomfortable. Truly sorry it happened the way it did. Surely, the girl isn’t naive enough to think I’d believe she lived two years in a whorehouse as an innocent, he thought. It’s too far-fetched. Nevertheless, I wish I could retrieve those harsh words.

  Shortly after a lonely dinner, Benjamin strolled out to the veranda and relaxed in the swing, still upset about the episode last evening. He recalled the gentleness in her kind, sweet voice and the tenderness of her soft full lips and how difficult it had been not to hold her. “I’m a fool,” he muttered. “A blundering, stupid fool. The girl seemed willing enough. But to sleep with my dead friend’s betrothed the first night home would’ve made a mockery of the promise.

  He was glad to see a black child rolling a wagon hoop around the end of the house. Glad to change the chain of unpleasant thoughts pervading his mind. The little boy stopped rolling the hoop when he saw Benjamin, letting it fall in a rolling circle. He turned to run away to the Negro quarters but Benjamin called after the lad. “Come here, boy. What’s your name?”

  “Name’s Charlie,” the child replied shyly, twisting the tail of his long shirt. He had a beautiful baby face and large luminous brown eyes.

  “Who’s boy are you, Charlie? What are your papa and mama’s names?”

  Charlie shrugged nervously. “Papa’s name is Papa and mama’s name is Mama.” The lad was about five years old. “You Mista Ben they’s been talkin’ about?”

  “That’s right, Charlie. I’m home from the war.”

  “They’s down at the quawters dryin’ peaches,” the timid child volunteered. “Josephus and the ole men is makin’ wild grape wine.”

  “You are supposed to be helping with those peaches, not playing with a wagon hoop.” Benjamin’s voice was stern, but his eyes betrayed amusement.

  The boy looked down at his bare feet. “Me ’n my brothers been washin’ them peaches. We’s way ahead. I’s just on my way back down there.”

  “Tell them all I want to talk to them. To finish what they have started, then come up to the big house. They can finish up later.”

  Charlie ran the entire distance to the Negro quarters, leaving the wagon hoop behind. It wasn’t long until all the Larkspur Negroes were gathered on the veranda. The sun was about three hours high.

  “You look natural, Mandy,” Benjamin remarked with a smile. “How many pickaninnies do you and Luke have now?”

  “Got six,” Mandy replied, “and anotha on the way. Had three whilst you was gone---Pete ‘n Posie. Lost the other one when it was borned. They’ll be work hands ‘fore you know it.”

  “We got us four,” Lazarus told Benjamin, shaking his hand heartily. “Been expectin’ another’n for about fifteen minutes.”

  Benjamin laughed. “That long?”

  Rachel dropped her eyes, embarrassed. “Hush up, Lazarus! Lot o’ folks don’t think your funnin’ is as funny as you do.”

  Josephus showed no pleasure at Benjamin’s return to the plantation. He spoke politely as if they were strangers, not childhood playmates. “How’d do, Mr. Farrington. This here’s my wife, Lucinda. I call her Lucy. She’s a Curlew slave before Mrs. Farrington bought her off’n old man…uh, Mr. Stroud. I got twin boys still from my first weddin’. This here’s Alfie, and that’n is Jacob.”

  “Couldn't tell these twins apart if my life depended on it. How old are they?”

  “Ten. Flora died while you was gone. Two years come November.”

  “I’m sorry about Flora. She was a good woman,” Benjamin told him. He looked the tall, slender, shapely black woman over. “You found a pretty one. She looks healthy and strong.” He chuckled as he recognized Agnes waddling through the throng carrying one baby on her hip and expecting another. “You haven’t changed a bit, Agnes…just more pickaninnies following you."

  The black woman laughed and winked at Ike. "We got four more. Don’t know where they’s a-comin’ from. This’n will make eight. Her friendly words didn’t betray her true feelings. Agnes wasn’t at all glad Benjamin came home. She liked living in the mansion.

  Mose was thinner than Benjamin remembered. “Still got that French harp?”

  “Yes, Suh.”

  “Play us a tune.” The elderly man grinned a toothless smile and whipped out the harmonica. “Dixie?”

  “Nothing but.”

  “Heard tell it’s agin the law,” old Rufus told him in a quavering voice.

  “Not at Larkspur, Rufus. Not at Larkspur.”

  Everyone clapped their hands and joined in with Benjamin singing the loudest. It felt good in spite of the death of his mother. It felt good to be home.

  The oldest of the group, Rufus, had been purchased as a child by Benjamin’s great-grandfather. “Ain’t been no singin’ party at Lawkspur since you left. It jus’ makes me feel s’ good,” he told Benjamin.

  Cassie had just begun to slice watermelon when the big door opened slowly. Dayme stepped out on the portico. The high-necked yellow cotton print dress that she wore was much too big. The shoulders drooped and it was too long. She had gathered it in with a wide sash at the waist and bloused out the top to shorten it. With a freshly scrubbed face, shiny nose and hair pulled back severely into a bun, she sat down primly in a chair, fanning herself. She looked like a little girl playing dress-up.

  Her delicate, appealing, dramatic manner took Benjamin by surprise. He was taken aback by the transformation. He was amused, wanting to laugh out loud but he didn’t dare, not after last night. He couldn’t help the twinkle that crept into his deep blue eyes.

  “I heard the singing. One would hardly believe there’d been a war here.” She smiled sweetly behind a waving fan. “Benjamin, you look so different without your beard. I’d almost forgotten how handsome you are.” Her eyelids fluttered ever so slightly.

  “Did you get any sleep last night, Miss Dayme?” Cassie inquired. “I’s kinda ’fraid you’s getting’ sick when you wouldn’t eat nothin’."

  “Oh yes, Cassie. I slept like a little old log.” The flirting twinkle in her iride
scent green eyes both intrigued and disturbed Benjamin.

  Even after I sent her away, he mused, that little witch is teasing me.

  “How was your first night on a feather bed? Did you rest well?” the girl asked him.

  I didn’t sleep a single, solitary wink, and you well know it, he thought as he met her intense gaze. However, he smiled and went along with Dayme’s charade. “I slept quite well, thank you.”

  Oh my, Oh mercy me, the man thought. You are so lovely. How will I ever be able to resist your charm? This isn’t going to be easy. It won’t be easy at all.

  Chapter 4

  THREE WEEKS LATER

  Adjusting to the quiet loneliness of remote Larkspur Plantation was most difficult for Dayme. It was boring for a girl born in a flat overlooking downtown Vicksburg. She missed the hubbub, the laughter, the music and the excitement of the saloon…and yes, the admiring glances from young men in uniform. When Benjamin wasn’t avoiding her, he usually spoke of Molly, and it bothered the girl. She just wasn’t interested in the whereabouts of Molly Allison.

  One day as she brushed her long, auburn locks, she talked to herself. She was so frustrated. There didn’t seem to be any way that she could interest Benjamin. “Benjamin,” she whispered. “Please fall in love with me. I’m every bit as pretty as Molly.” She threw the brush across the room in anger. “I hope he never finds her.”

  She didn’t particularly like the pedestal Benjamin placed women on. She couldn’t understand why he was so adamant about her not helping with the cleanup. “Look pretty,” he had persisted when she complained. “Brighten up the atmosphere. You’re not a commoner at Larkspur. You’re a delicate, fragile lady. I insist upon it. I still have a few servants to do the work.”

  “The age of slavery is over,” she replied icily. “Once it sinks in on these people, then what?”

  “I’ll not face that now,” the man said wearily. “Heaven knows I don’t need to worry about emancipation with Larkspur in this dilapidated state.” He kissed her hand. “Humor me. Gather and arrange flowers. Read some of Mum’s books on etiquette. Learn which….”

  “Fork? I know which fork,” Dayme retorted, perturbed. “One is all a body needs. It just makes more dishes for poor old Cassie.”

  “I didn’t say anything was particularly wrong with your manners. However, my dear, ladies of the gentry must know the rights and wrongs of socially accepted customs.” He smiled with pride. “They never do manual chores. So please, don’t make your bed. Don’t help clear the table again. Understand? It reflects on me and I don’t like it. A man without pride in womanhood is, in my opinion, nothing.”

  Benjamin instructed the Negro women to continue gathering peaches and the few grapes that were left for drying. This included Agnes who was heavy with child. The children were told to gather and shuck corn to fill the feed bins. The men were ordered to repair broken fences, clean up the debris of burned lumber and to patch the barn. Rubble that once was a stable had to be cleared away, as well. The two old men, Rufus and Mose, were assigned the task of weeding the flower garden and mowing the grounds. Benjamin, himself, worked at trimming some of the hedgerows in lieu of more workers. Black Bertha’s words returned to haunt him as water oozed from blisters on his hands. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Benjamin continued to snip, stopping from time to time to shout orders. Josephus’ eyes continued to accuse Benjamin but he worked alongside the others, saying nothing.

  Meanwhile, Dayme was lonely, terribly lonely. She spent hour after hour reading in her room. She wished for somebody other than Cassie to talk to. At times, she wished she had never come to Larkspur. Thoughts of the laughter at Macy’s, ships sailing on the Mississippi, fruit peddlers barking their wares, people…white people…lots of white people consumed more of her time than the books.

  Dinner at Larkspur had become a monotonous chore. The girl knew the menu even before she entered the dining room. It would be black-eye peas, mashed potatoes, corn, cornbread, steamed okra with tomatoes and onions. Only occasionally would Cassie serve meat…fish, rabbit or squirrel. Sometimes it would be possum. This Dayme refused for she despised the greasy meat. Dessert was always peaches, cantaloupe or watermelon. Sameness will surely drive me insane, she thought. I don’t think my stomach will accept any more black-eye peas. Benjamin relished the peas, apparently, for he ate heartily. At least, she had his company at dinner. He never talked about business, only Molly or his mother. The girl felt left out for there was little actual conversation. He talked, but there was no interaction between them to speak of.

  One evening, Dayme made a pretext of eating, pushing the peas around in her plate and nibbling. She refused dessert, excused herself early, went into the great room and seated herself at the piano. Her slender fingers danced lightly over the keyboard. She played one of Chopin’s Polonaises.

  Benjamin slipped in quietly and seated himself in a Chippendale chair across the room. He propped his feet up on an ottoman, filled his pipe from a leather pouch and listened while blue smoke curled. If Dayme was aware of his presence or smelled the tobacco, she gave no indication.

  Benjamin stood up and applauded when the composition ended. A smile played on his lips. “That was beautiful. I had no idea you were so talented. You play Chopin well. Almost as well as Mums played.”

  The girl turned slowly on the stool, smiling demurely. “Why, thank you, kind sir. It’s a rare compliment to be compared to your mother.” Perhaps now, she thought, you’ll notice that given the opportunity, I can be as cultured and refined as your precious Molly Allison.

  “What did you do all day?” Benjamin asked.

  “I read…nothing much else to do with my time. I tried embroidery. Cassie tried to show me how. But the French knots I make don’t look like hers. Anyway, I don’t like to sew. I’ve started teaching Logan to read and write in the evenings after you retire or anytime Logan has time. The man is eager to learn and progressing much better than I thought he would.”

  Benjamin puffed on the pipe, studying the girl for a minute or so before saying anything. “Think that’s a good idea?”

  “What?”

  “Teaching a Negro.”

  “Certainly, I do. The poor man doesn’t even know how to talk English. He says ‘I is’ and ‘we am’, for example. Bless his heart. Doesn’t know any better.”

  “So? Mums taught the house servants, and what did they do? Stirred up the others and encouraged them to run away. Tell servants what you want them to know. They don’t need to know anything else.”

  Dayme sighed impatiently. “They’re people just like us. We’re vanilla and they’re chocolate. We lost the war, Benjamin. You can’t seem to accept the fact….”

  “You’re right about that. I have no intention of accepting it. ‘This, too, shall pass’. You’ll see, it’s a matter of time until we….”

  “You can’t just pick up where you left off,” she cried. “Slavery is over! Finished! Thank Goodness! It’s not the same. It never will be. How long? How long do you think these coloreds will continue obeying your every command like slaves? You may not know it, but it came out in the newspaper before you returned that Negroes are not only free but have a right to an education. The government is making it mandatory. They’re building a Negro college in Jefferson. You can’t keep stickin’ your head in the sand like an….”

  “I like your hair that way,” Benjamin said quietly, changing the subject. “Quite becoming. Much prettier loose and curly than pulled back so tight.” He was tempted to stroke her shining hair, but he refrained. He wanted to enjoy the company of his lovely houseguest, smell her perfume and dream of better days at Larkspur. “Play something else,” he urged. “And this time sing. I like to hear you sing.”

  The girl arose abruptly from the piano stool shaking her head. “Not tonight. Another time, perhaps. Want to see how the story I started ends. Please excuse me. Goodnight.”

  Disappointed, Benjamin watched the girl ascend the curved stairway and go out of sigh
t down the long, dark hallway. He felt part of the loneliness she’d been feeling all day.

  Immediately after breakfast the next morning, Dayme called Logan into the library for a lesson. The Negro started explaining that Mista Ben told him to help Mose and Rufus in the flower garden.

  “Mr. Farrington can spare you for an hour. This won’t take long. If you plan to live in this world as a free man, you must learn to read, write, spell and figure. It’s essential.”

  “Yes’m”, the servant replied, not knowing what to do.

  “Spell your name one more time…L-O-G-A-N. Repeat that and sound out the letters.”

  “Yes’m. Ell…o…gee…a…en…Logan.” He smiled broadly.

  “That’s right…very good. Now practice printing it.”

  Logan looked up from the paper where he painstakingly copied the letters with an unsure hand. “I’s gonna end up real smart, ain’t I, Miss Dayme.”

  She grinned. “Perhaps smart-er. You’re improving,” she encouraged. “One doesn’t get educated overnight. It’s not proper to say ‘I is’. One should say ‘I am’. I suppose the best way to remember is to say ‘I am…he is…they are.’ Can you remember?”

  “Sure will try, Miss. I am…not I is…I am…I am.”

  The library door opened and Benjamin strode into the room with something on his mind. As usual, the mere sight of him caused Dayme’s heart to pound but she covered her feelings with a look of slight irritation.

  “I told you to work flower beds,” he said sharply, glaring at Logan.

  “We’ll be finished soon,” Dayme interrupted curtly.

  “I’m going into town. Logan, you’re coming with me. We’ll be bringing back some breeding stock and supplies.” He didn’t tell Dayme about Nathan Smythe’s visit last evening after she retired nor the secret meeting he planned to attend.

  “Seen a flock o’ swallows fly over early this mornin’,” Logan remarked, moving the drapery to peer outside. “Flock o’ swallows means rain’ll be settin’ in ‘fore long. Them birds is a-huntin’ a warm place. Won't be long ‘til we is…uh, we am, too. I is…I am ready t’ go anytime you say.”