Authors: Jennifer Horsman
"Howdy."
He grinned generously.
Christina
looked surprised. "Is something wrong?"
"No,
ma'am," he assured her. "Nothin's wrong. But it's a long trip out and
I just thought, well, I thought you'se might be hungry or thirsty or
some-thin'. Hope—she's your cook," he explained, "packed us a fine
fare. Fried chicken and biscuits with honey and two huge slices of her apple
pie. Maybe you'se hungry?"
Christina
studied the long Negro face, his kind brown eyes. She could not guess his age
but his concern was all too apparent. She immediately saw in him a friend and
God knows, she needed a friend, anyone who might help her face the others.
"Yes,
I am," she replied with a shy smile in turn. While she had not had much of
an appetite for some time, she could ill afford to lose any more weight. And
then too, they had forgot the morning meal as soon as land was sighted. As a
matter of fact, once her attention was drawn to it, she was astonished by how
hungry she actually felt.
"If
there's enough?"
"Always
enough with Hope around." He smiled and then, peering inside, he asked,
"Is your young'un asleep in there?"
Justin
was sound asleep in the seat drawer and she nodded.
"Well,
how about riding up front with me?"
Christina
brightened but— "But, is it done?"
"No,
it ain't, to tell truth." He smiled. "But I won't tell if you
won't."
Christina
gladly accepted his offer, desperately trying to lift from her despondency.
Once in the driver's seat, Chesapeake set a large basket on her lap and he got
the horses moving again.
The
fresh air was inviting and the road had been deserted for some time, except for
two young boys with fishing poles. Thick forests of elm and oaks grew on both
sides of the road. They had passed a foot traveler and a farmhand with donkey
in tow, an occasional meadow and glen. The houses were buried down the shaded
lanes. So different from the pastoral splendor of the English countryside.
"I'm
sorry," she first ventured. "I don't think I caught your name?"
"Chesapeake
Freeman—Freeman coming from two generations of freed folks," he explained
proudly as she passed him a chicken leg. "But call me Chessy, everyone
does." And Christina was then given the exciting history of the Freeman
family, starting with his own pappy's wild trip north on the underground railroad.
Chessy, in turn, was given a glimpse into his new mistress's person to discover
she was every bit as sweet as she looked.
* * * * *
"Oh!
Oh! Here she comes! The carriage is pullin' into the driveway now!" Aggie
told all the others. Finally! After waiting all day.
"Take
your places," Rosarn called excitedly to the others. "Someone call
Mary from upstairs! And get old Hope out from the kitchen! Hurry now," she
called above the sudden chatter of the sixteen other servants who scrambled
into line according to rank. Rosarn ran her chubby hands over the gray muslin
work dress and took a deep breath, sucking in the ample evidence shown in her
waistline of Hope's fine cooking. Her long gray hair was fitted neatly into a
bun and she pinched her pale fleshy cheeks for color. The first impression was
lasting, she knew. And if only she hadn't lost her front tooth last week, she
thought wishfully as she felt the large hole gape in her mouth.
They
had drawn straws to determine who would peer through the window. It would be
unseemly for all sixteen heads to be seen there. And Aggie had won.
"Can
ya see 'er yet?" Rosarn asked Aggie.
"No,
not yet. Just the carriage, but—lord!"
"What,
what?" Rosarn asked.
"Well,
there's not a trunk to be seen. Must have taken the master a whole 'nother carriage
to get the lady's things out," she quickly reasoned. "Oh! Oh!
Chessy's goin' round now!"
Everyone
fell silent. Rosarn nervously eyed the appearance of the others, looking for
any small fault their new mistress might find.
"Well?
Do you see her?"
"Yes!
My word, but she's young!"
"Is
she pretty?"
"Can't
see from the distance but I—yes! She looks as pretty as they come, but—"
"But
what?" Rosarn could hardly bear it.
"Well,
she wearin' a common cloak. Can't see her dress but it must be her. She's
holdin' the babe."
"Is
she comin'?"
"Why
no. She's just standin' there like she's in a stupor, staring at the house. And
oh my, but I do believe she's alone! He's not with her!" She turned to the
others with shock.
Eyebrows
raised and nearly everyone looked at their neighbor in line for an explanation
for this, an explanation that no one had.
Christina
was staring and in shock. All the small confidence she gained by Chessy's quick
friendship drained the moment the carriage turned down the lane. Nothing could
have intimidated her more than the sight of what Chessy assured her was
Justin's house.
What
could she say? Two stories high and plastered and whitewashed in the shape of
an open rectangle. It was one of the grandest houses she had ever seen. The
beautiful manor could easily stand among any of the grand English manors.
Manicured lawns spread on each side of the oak-shaded lane. Stairs led to a
wide portico, proud Greek pillars in front. Beautiful and magnificent, and she
wanted to run and hide.
The
sun had just set as the carriage passed down the lane and through the darkening
dusk—she had glimpsed it all. Stables and barn, two stories high and
whitewashed too, surrounded by bales of sweet-smelling hay. Five horses in the
corral and how many more in the stables? There were cows out at pasture. A
vegetable garden of perhaps two acres, fruit trees, and a whole apple orchard
in the distance. There was a large building she guessed was the servants'
quarters and another building that must be a huge kitchen. There were small
houses behind that for servants with families, each with its own nicely tended
gardens. The lane finally rounded a circular drive in front of the house she
could not believe would be her home.
Christina
looked to Chessy for help and she felt Chessy's hand on her arm. "You'll
do fine," he said softly. "Just remember who's the mistress and who
ain't."
Christina
nodded and she boldly marched forward. She had not taken two steps, though,
when she heard a dog barking. The house stood on a hill, overlooking a clear
fresh water lake, and she turned to see him running up from the water with all
the enthusiasm his huge heart could afford.
She
instantly handed little Justin to a surprised Chessy. "Beau!" she
cried, kneeling down, as she opened her arms to receive him.
Beau
had been down at the lake trying to catch an elusive bass when he heard the
carriage and caught her scent. Changed, but the same. He remembered her,
remembered that he loved her, and he had started running.
Barking
with excitement, Beau raced to Christina and knocked her to the ground, and
just like so many times before, he lavished kisses on her. He received the
happy sound of her laughter, shrieks, and, this special time, even tears.
Christina
didn't know why—perhaps because of Beauty, perhaps because of days lost or
maybe simply because he was the only one to forgive her, but even after he let
her up, she could not stop touching him. "Beau, my fine friend." She
buried her face in his thick fur, hugging him tight. "Oh, but I missed you
so—"
She
stopped, as over a dozen people rushed on the scene.
"Oh
my God, she likes him!" someone cried.
"We
'alf thought he was killin' you!"
"Oh
no," she thought to explain, "Beau and I are friends from way
back." She stood up and suddenly saw their shock. She looked to Chessy.
"This
is Mrs. Phillips, our new mistress." He quickly diverted their attention.
"Seeing hows Mr. Phillips is... ah, detained, I'll make
introductions."
Aggie
was staring hard at the young lady's dress. Why, she had a nicer dress than
that! And what a sight she was! Why she wasn't even wearing gloves or a hat,
like Asherella, she was.
Rosarn,
entertaining similar thoughts, elbowed Aggie hard and drew her attention to the
matters at hand. The assembly, all of them, withdrew to line up once again
inside.
Christina
followed Chessy and little Justin inside. She stepped through the wide mahogany
doors, and with unabashed curiosity, she took in the first set of rooms. The
servants were lined up in the wide hallway, large enough to be a parlor. She tried
to take it all in at a glance. Elegant candelabra. Turkish carpets over
polished wood floors, a gilt-framed looking glass reflecting a startlingly bold
seascape opposite it. The wide douther side opened to show a study and parlor
respectively, or at least she thought it was a parlor—a very large parlor. Wide
stairs led up, dividing halfway to the east and west wings.
Through
the open doors she caught glimpses of the rich mahogany furnishings, velvet
hues of blues and greens—the colors of the sea. She would have liked to examine
the paintings and woven carpets. Now was not the time.
Chessy
introduced her to each new face. She felt the intense scrutiny of each set of
eyes. She offered a noticeably shy greeting to each, thankful to have caught
Chessy's disapproval the first time she curtsied. Mistresses did not curtsy to
servants.
"This
is Hope, our cook," Chessy said.
Christina
stared at the old, frail-looking colored woman with open astonishment. She just
looked too old. Her face seemed absolutely timeless and her slight frame seemed
all bones, robbed of flesh by time.
"You'se
surprised, I kin tell." She showed a wide, toothless grin. "I may
look old and I am, but just everyone likes my cookin'. I spin meals like the
Bible spins yarns!"
Christina
laughed at this and complimented her chicken right off. Hope, too old to care a
whit about propriety and the like, had already reached a conclusion about her
new mistress. She was as sweet as a honeydew melon in spring, that was all and
that was enough. The other dullwits were not as clear-sighted as she, she knew,
and she sought to win them over for her new mistress. Hope pointed to the babe.
"Why, ma'am, just look at your young' un thar." Everyone turned
attention. "He ain't never seen dark skin afore, I'll wager, and it looks
like he's taken a likin to it."
Indeed,
throughout this whole time little Justin had been staring at Chessy's face with
a mixture of plain awe and bewilderment. He reached hands to it and discovered
it felt the same. Then he laughed and stared and laughed some more.
The
minute Christina laughed at this, everyone else did too and the tension broke
immediately. Christina showed her son each dark face and introduced each
person. He was clearly impressed, deciding he liked dark skin better or at least
as well. Anything for variety.
Rosarn
stepped forward to inquire about her trunks.
"Oh...
I'm afraid I don't have any." She lowered her gaze and blushed. "We
left England in such a rush," she whispered. "I have only what I'm
wearing."
This
confession instantly won the sympathy of every woman in the room. Sympathy that
was reinforced throughout the following days. Christina turned out to be the
least demanding mistress any of them ever had and certainly the most agreeable;
compliments were generous and criticism unheard of. They, especially the
household help and Hope, began fighting to find things to do for her.
Of
course, they all knew something was terribly amiss. That had been clear the day
she arrived alone, wearing common clothes and with no one but Chessy to
introduce her. No one was insensitive to her air of sadness either, a sadness
that seemed only to lift when she played with her son. She spent far too much
time alone as well, buried in a book in the library or out on long walks with
only a dog to keep her company. Then, as the days passed, it became
increasingly clear someone made a horrible mistake on top of everything else.
Not a single calling card came for her, as though her arrival was being kept
secret.
Everyone
tried to fathom the reasons for this and it was a main subject of conversation.
It was reasoned and generally agreed upon, that Master Phillips had married her
because of the child. It was a common enough tale. But why would anyone treat
such a sweet lady so terribly? Even if it was a loveless match, what could she
have possibly done to deserve it?
* * * * *
Christina
walked up to the house from the lakeside, returning after an unusually long
walk. The cold winter air was invigorating, though she was told it was an
unusually mild winter for Boston. There was hardly any snow, at least none that
remained on the ground. She was coming to love the thick surrounding woods, the
peacefulness she found at the lakeside. The long walks provided a few hours'
escape, and she always felt better afterward.
Beau
dropped the stick at her feet and she picked it up and tossed it again,
thinking of her letters to Richard, wondering how they were received and what
had happened to him after the escape, how he and Darrell and poor Betty had
fared and all. As she turned onto the lane to the house, she saw the horse and
carriage and the single mount sitting out front.