The Rebel Wife (10 page)

“Do you think he’ll come today?” Emma asks me as she buttons the loose black sleeves of my dress. A fine new one just arrived from the dressmaker. I don’t know if I have the money to pay for it, but Judge is managing the estate. Surely he can find the money somewhere. The handwritten note it came with is on the bed. Graves is requesting payment for the dress and all those veils. The servants’ wages are due as well. How long will they endure my pretending to be unaware? If only Judge would come.

“I don’t know,” I answer, extending an arm for her. “I hope he does.”

Her face is impassive. We both jump from the crash of Henry’s toy train against the floor. He sits near the wall where there is no rug, rolling the train back and forth.

“Henry, shush,” I say. He looks at me and then at Emma, who smiles at him.

She must have respected Eli. Cared for him, too? Like all those colored people who came to Eli’s funeral. There were so many. “The Negroes loved Eli, didn’t they, Emma?”

She does not look at me as she slips each button through its eye. “Yes, ma’am, they certainly did.” She nods when she says it.

“Were you very fond of him?”

“I was, ma’am, in my way.” She will not look at me. Emma is always shy of people’s eye. “He did more for us than many people have. Other than Mr. Lincoln.”

“Did he?”

“He tried to help us get along. Mr. Eli, he always tried to help us get along.”

I look away. I don’t know why it irritates me to hear her praise of Eli. “Well, maybe now he’ll help me get along, too.”

Emma represses a smile. She keeps her attention on the buttons. “You want to move on so bad, Miss Gus? Where are you going to?”

“Emma,” I exclaim, “you’re coming with me!”

“Well, Miss Gus—”

“Emma, you must. I can’t possibly travel alone with Henry. And you know Rachel won’t go. How could I get on without you?”

She finishes the sleeve, and I raise the other arm.

“When are you going?” She focuses her eyes on delicately pushing the black silk buttons through each of the velvet bands that ring my sleeve.

“Soon, maybe. I have to talk to Judge first.” I look at her, but she does not meet my eyes. “Rachel can see to the house. Is she helpful to you?”

“Oh, yes, she gives me good work, and she’s good with the boys.” Henry has moved the train from the straw rug back to the bare floor. The wheels make a clatter as the train crashes into the wall.

“Yes, she is good with them. What did she do with the rattlesnake bones after all?”

“Some potion or something, I guess. She’s always working on something.”

“The idea. I can’t believe she’d touch them. Henry, don’t make so much noise.” Henry looks at me and makes the sound of the engine as he rolls the train back onto the rug.

“Rachel sets a store by all that. She says the snakes being under an apple tree means something. It gives them more power.”

“Does Rachel think she’s Eve now?”

“No, ma’am, Rachel ain’t Eve, that’s for sure.”

“Mary Magdalene, then?” I smile at her from the corner of my eye. Emma told me before Rachel was hired how she followed the Union army, doing their laundry and I can guess at what else.

She shakes her head, but she is trying not to laugh. “No, ma’am, just Rachel.”

“She shouldn’t waste too much time on all that. When she’s here, she should do her housework.”

Emma pauses her hand on my sleeve and looks serious. “People go to her. Lots of people. They think they see her ma in her eyes.”

“What do they go to her for?”

“Potions and charms. Things to keep off spirits or for love or good luck or to protect them from sickness.”

“Is that what she did with the snake bones?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. She’s been talking a lot about sickness. Mr. Eli’s death struck her mighty hard. And she’s been asking around about sick people.”

“Are there people sick?”

She finishes the buttons and pulls out my skirts. She sweeps them with her hands so they lie out clean and full behind me. Henry plays near the wall again where there is no rug. The metal train clacking against the floor jangles my nerves.

Emma looks at me curiously, sympathy mixed with pity. “She heard there’s some sickness, is all, ma’am. She said they found a family all dead out in the county. Upriver.”

“A family? All of them? From what?”

“She can’t say. I guess she doesn’t know. Some poor whites out in the hills. It’s as likely as not they died from hunger as anything else.” Emma moves around me. “Come on, Henry,” she says, bending down to pick up his toy train and taking his hand. “Let’s go downstairs.” Henry looks at me but walks with Emma to the door.

“That’s all she’s heard?” I ask, following her.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s about all any of us have heard.” She opens the door and moves to the stairs.

“You’ll tell me, won’t you, Emma, if you do hear anything else? Anything at all?” I stay close behind her as we step down the stairs at Henry’s pace. There is a rustling coming from the hall and then Bama Buchanan’s voice.

“Hello, the house,” she calls. “Is anyone here?”

Bama stands in the middle of the hall, her umbrella gripped in her hand. Emma takes Henry’s hand and rushes him toward the kitchen.

“Hello, Bama. How kind of you to stop in,” I say.

“Gus, you should take a firmer hand with your servants. I walked right in the door with nary a soul to stop me.” She shakes her umbrella at me.

“I’m so sorry, Bama. But they run the house, not me.”

Bama sits in the parlor, dressed in pongee silk and black drap d’été with an old round bonnet on her head. We both fan ourselves in the heat.

“The estate is that extensive, then?” Her question is indelicate, but she does not seem to care. Rather, she looks directly at me.

“I have no idea,” I say. “I was never privy to Mr. Branson’s business affairs.” Perhaps she has already heard something. Word travels fast. What grim pleasure those women would take in the truth. The black embroidered handkerchief in my hand is already damp.

“I imagine you’ll be making arrangements to be off. As you should. Some time away will do you good. You have no one traveling with you?” She speaks pointedly.

“No, just myself and Henry. And Emma, of course.”

“Yes, of course. My niece and I—you remember Emily Whitcomb? She was a Banner before she was married. She and I are traveling up to Viduta on Monte Sano in a few weeks’ time. You are welcome to join us there, if your travel plans allow it.”

“Thank you very much, Bama. I’m much obliged.” Viduta. There will be so many Albion people there. They only go there because they can’t afford to go further. “I have to wait, of course, until I’ve spoken with my cousin.”

“Your cousin? He is traveling with you then?”

“No, he is overseeing the estate,” I answer, confused. She meets me with her own confusion, and the black ribbons of her bonnet shake.

“Oh, you mean Judge. I thought you meant young Mr. Heppert.” I feel myself color and Bama remarks upon it. “You know, there was talk of a union there at one time. I have no doubt you made the wiser choice. Time has certainly proven it.”

I look away. “Yes,” I say. “I suppose it has.” Buck did not even speak to me at the funeral.

“Women have their ways, don’t they, Gus?” She smiles at me, showing the missing teeth in her upper jaw. “And there’s time yet for you. You’re still young. And now very, very marriageable. Don’t you think so?” She laughs out loud.

We sit quietly for a moment. Bama seems to wait for an answer I will not give. I shift in my chair.

“Have you had many callers?” Bama asks.

“No, none to speak of. Some of the Yankee women have left their cards, but I don’t feel obliged to return the call.”

“No,” Bama says with her nose pinched tightly as she shakes her head. “No, no reason to do that. No reason not to, of course, but no reason to do it, either.” She picks at her skirt with fussy hands. “How is Henry?”

“He’s well. Thank you. He’s so young. He doesn’t understand. He spends much of his time with John, Rachel’s boy. They’re very close in age.”

“Don’t let him get too used to that. You don’t want him to grow up niggery. Time for him to go to school soon, isn’t it?” The bones in her hands stand up against her skin. She keeps plucking at her skirt, gently lifting it between a gnarled thumb and finger, then letting it drop.

“Yes, I was hoping that after we had gone away for a while, I might start him in school.”

“Here in Albion?”

“I suppose. Where else?”

“Nowhere else. Just wondering. None of your old friends have been by?”

“No, I don’t expect them. It’s been so long. I’m not sure what we’d have to speak about.”

She nods with thinly pressed lips. “It will take some time for them. That’s all. But you are one of us again. Don’t ever doubt it.”

One of us.
I don’t feel like them, but I don’t feel like an
other
. I don’t know what I am in Albion anymore. “Was it so bad that I married Eli?” My voice catches on the words.

Bama looks at me hard from under her bonnet. “Bad?” she hacks out, gruff and contemptuous. “Bah. Bad is nothing. It wasn’t marrying Eli so much as what he was up to. Helping the Yankees. Taking our money and our land and handing it out to the Negroes and the bluecoats. And then the voting. My God, the day they let a colored man vote. I know Colonel Buchanan was turning in his grave. If he were alive, he’d have dug his own grave, he would, rather than see that. Somebody’s grave, at least, wouldn’t he?” Bama laughs through the gap in her smile. “But that’s all in the past, isn’t it? Dead and buried with Eli. And you’re back with us. You can’t blame them for finding it difficult—you understand. Your mother understood.”

“Mama did? She’s why I married him.”

“Of course, of course,” she says, and reaches out her hand and takes mine. She leans forward to place a kiss on my cheek. She is so close, I can smell the snuff and whiskey on her breath. She smells like Eli. “No need to dwell on the past. We’ve all suffered in so many ways. No need to think about it at all. Besides, you’re in an enviable position.” She looks toward the door at the sound of footsteps on the brick walk outside, then trains an eye back upon me. “Don’t think it hasn’t been noticed. And discussed.”

She lets out a laugh and throws her head back, showing her missing teeth again.

“Is that what people are saying?” I ask.

“You know how the ladies are here in Albion, always have to be in everyone’s business.”

We turn at the open door. Judge is there, his hat and cane in his hand.

“Why, Judge Heppert, you old dog,” Bama exclaims. “I’m glad I imposed on Gus long enough to catch sight of you.”

Judge blushes up to his ears. He presses his lips together in something that is not quite a frown but is still disdainful. “Gus. Bama,” he says, giving a slight bow to each of us.

Bama rises from her chair and holds her hand out to Judge. She smiles, almost winking at him. She must have been a coy flirt in her youth. Judge is discomfited and takes unwilling steps toward her. He takes her hand and leans over it, placing cold lips against her papery skin.

“There, now,” she says with almost a sigh. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” She laughs out loud again. “The Heppert men are always so courtly.”

“And the Tunstall women are rightly known for keeping their beauty.” Though Judge does not smile, Bama is undeterred.

“You must call on me, Judge. Imagine the compliments we could exchange!”

Judge blushes again and looks at his shoes. Bama knows how to render a man speechless. She gives Judge a wide smile as if trying to expose the gap in her teeth and the ashen color of her gumline.

“Well, Gus,” she says, turning to me, “I’m sure you and your cousin have much to discuss. I’ll leave you. And remember,” she goes on, taking my hand and looking into my eyes, “you’re very beautiful. You’ll have whatever you want. But take a trip. Come to Monte Sano. I hear the fever has already started—as I thought it would. This infernal heat.”

“The fever?”

Bama smiles and narrows her eyes. “The yellow fever. Nothing to worry about just yet as long as old Greer is doing his job!” She stomps her umbrella twice on the floor. “I’ll come again soon. And I’ll bring reinforcements with me next time!” She waves the umbrella like a standard-bearer on a charge. She gives a quick nod to Judge and a coquette’s wistful laugh. “I hope to see you again very soon, Judge.”

Her coachman, sitting in the sweltering heat, hops down to take her to the next call.

Judge grimaces and shakes his head. He turns his eyes to me and scans me up and down as if under instructions from Bama.

“You’re looking well. Is that a new dress?” His mouth curls down to pinch his white beard at the corners. “Gather the servants together. On the back porch. I need to speak to them.”

THEY ARE TAKING THEIR
time in coming. Even the shade is hot. A frayed palmetto fan lies on the glossy white planks of the porch. Henry climbs into my lap, and I wrap an arm around his stomach. I pick up the fan. It moves the air but does little to cool.

Judge stands on the gravel path, pacing. The servants arrive slowly. First Emma. Now Rachel comes out through the dining room with Little John. They sit on weather-beaten chairs arranged in a row.

Big John takes a seat next to Rachel. He is not tall but is solidly built, with broad shoulders and big hands. He is a handsome Negro, square-jawed, with close-cropped hair that curls tightly against his scalp. He is darker than Rachel. His skin is close to Emma’s in shading, dark brown and even, like a chestnut. His eyes are pale gray, almost blue. Ghost eyes that suggest white blood in his veins, though we all pretend we don’t see it, like Rachel’s yellow skin.

Simon ambles from the carriage house to the porch. Judge is impatient, walking up and down the path, watching the servants line up before him. He steps up to the porch and stands next to my chair, facing them. Henry squirms against me and I shush him.

They sit in front of me, in front of both me and Judge. Simon. John. Rachel. Emma. They are my household now. The things that I once called Eli’s, I may now call mine. What a strange reversal. I look at their black faces, shaded so differently but all black. These are not slavery days, not anymore. Life has not changed so much as all that, I guess. They are free, but they work for me, don’t they? The work they do is for me. There is something satisfying in that. Judge can have his few minutes to lord it over them. To lord over me, too. With Eli gone, he is the
paterfamilias
. He is so old-fashioned, but he will do right by me. He is my kin. I just have to learn how to handle him. I can’t help a smile as he steps up to the porch. He rests a hand on the back of my chair. Of course he makes me wait until he has talked to the servants. He must know I am wild about the money.