For Home and Country Read online

  “Do you attempt to convince me that the sinking of your ships was also the work of the Northern militia?” He sat poised and self-assured while I felt myself unraveling inside and scrambling with what to say next.

  “A casualty of war. Has the battle in the harbor faded from your memory so fast?” I glared at him, losing all sense in the anger rising within me at this fool of a man.

  He sat up taller, and he looked uneasy. “Of course not.”

  “We aren’t here to interrogate Mrs. Armstrong but to assist her, if need be.” Mr. Barlow nudged his mount forward and bestowed a kind smile on me. “You haven’t faced any more trouble, have you?”

  “No, we haven’t. Thank you for asking.” I relaxed, grateful for his presence and his handling of Theodore, whose expression revealed his displeasure with Mr. Barlow’s input.

  Theodore inserting himself into the affairs of Livingston was the last thing I needed. I’d take my chances with the Union Army encroaching on my property before enduring another visit from him. “I do appreciate your concern. But we have managed so far.” I peered up at him with all the sweetness I could muster.

  “If you need anything at all, let me know.” He rested his hand on his thigh. “You solitary womenfolk are an easy target for those with ill intentions.” He looked past me, and his expression grew appreciative. I swerved to find Pippa striding toward us. “This must be the lovely English lady who has stolen your uncle’s attention,” he said as she came to stand beside me.

  “How do you do?” She curtsied.

  News had traveled of his visit to a small plantation not five miles from Livingston. The young woman’s husband had left with the other men, and Theodore had made advancements toward her, but she had run him off with her husband’s rifle. He had underestimated the strength of the women left to tend the home fronts. He ought to dangle from a rope for his attempts to take advantage of us. I would protect myself, my home, and all those who chose to remain at Livingston—so help me, God!

  “You will find, Mr. Carlton, that Southern women are stronger than you may think. We are more capable of caring for ourselves than our men give us credit for. This isn’t the first war that has forced women to care for the homesteads in men’s absence.” And with men like you in positions of power, it won’t be the last.

  “Very well,” he said, none too pleased. “We have done our deed here. Good day, Mrs. Armstrong; Mrs. Hendricks.” His gaze lingered on Pippa before he raised a gloved hand and ordered the others to ride out.

  Mr. Barlow nodded farewell and shared a look of exasperation with us before following after them.

  I turned to head back inside, and Pippa walked beside me. “That man is dangerous,” I said.

  “He does seem like the odd sort. You said he is the husband of the boy’s mother?”

  I sent her a sideways glance. “That’s correct.”

  “He isn’t the gentlemanly sort, is he?” Her dress’s bottom swayed and bounced against mine.

  “No, and I believe he could be very dangerous if he were to become your enemy.”

  “Yet you challenge him.” She paused and regarded me with a furrowed brow.

  “I don’t seek to challenge, but to let him know I will not be intimidated.”

  She patted my arm. “Be careful, my love. That is a man who could be every bit as dangerous as the men who sought your demise before.”

  I eyed the wisps of gray in the blond hair escaping the silver combs I’d helped Ben purchase. “This I’m aware of, and the next time he comes I will do better at keeping calm—for the good of us all.”

  She smiled, and we continued toward the house.

  My thoughts turned to Reuben and his whereabouts. He’d been wounded in the attack on Livingston, and may God forgive me, but I hoped his corpse lay decaying or picked clean by the scavengers of the Lowcountry.

  I’D RISEN EARLY TO SPEND the morning going over the ledgers, and our profits compared to the previous year had plunged dreadfully low. Sitting back, I rubbed my temples before turning to look out the window. I’d come up with the best plan I could think of to stretch our food and money until peace once again embraced our country. But there was no certainty that the army wouldn’t move in and take what we had left, or when the war would end.

  “Missus Willie.”

  “Yes?” I pulled my gaze from the window and found Jimmy standing at the threshold, grasping a small wooden box.

  “I found somepin’ tucked in the wall in de attic.”

  Interest piqued, I summoned him forward. He placed the box on the desk in front of me, and I lifted the lid. Inside were pamphlets and newspaper clippings from the 1830s, about the Grimke sisters. I’d heard folks whisper about the female abolitionists who had fought for the women’s rights movement. All documents referring to them had been destroyed because Charleston wanted to snuff out their existence. To my knowledge, the women were very much alive, and their mission to see slavery’s end and the progressiveness of women’s rights continued.

  As I flipped through the clippings, I noticed my mother’s handwriting. My heart pounded with exhilaration. I closed the lid and ran a hand affectionately over the top of the box. An image of her clutching the pamphlets and reading them with intensity brought a smile to my face. I’d grasped that the woman had a fiery spirit from hearing Ben’s and Mammy’s memories. My yearning to have known her never eased.

  “Dere, dere, Missus Willie, don’t you cry none.” Jimmy crept closer.

  I regarded him through blurred vision before lifting a hand to wipe my tears. “They are happy tears,” I said before glancing around the study. “My mother may be gone, but her presence lingers. She truly was the heart of this place.”

  “I never knowed your mama.” He took a moment to admire her portrait hanging on the wall. “From what I hear, you jus’ lak her.”

  I followed his gaze and paused to reflect on the woman I had been told I resembled. If I could be a mere image of the woman she was in spirit, I would die content. Her passion to right the wrongs our family had done in enslaving people had been admirable but unattainable. The sins of Livingston were great, no matter how much my family had tried to change our legacy. We couldn’t erase the past, but we could shape the future.

  “Well, I bes’ git back to work. Pete be wondering what I dallying for.”

  I smiled. “Thank you for this.” I laid a hand on the box.

  His eyes gleamed with delight before he turned and ambled out. I stared at the empty doorway, and my thoughts turned to Jimmy’s daughter Ruby, her husband Saul, and their daughter Mercy. I’d written to her a few months ago, but no reply had come. When the war was over, I would send an invitation for them to visit Livingston. It had been far too long, and it would do Jimmy good to see them again.

  I opened a desk drawer and tucked the box inside before leaving the study.

  “Dey here!” Mammy clapped her hands together in glee as she exited the parlor.

  I listened and heard the approach of a carriage.

  Mammy waddled to the front door. “Dis is a blessed day.” She had hummed all morning, moving from room to room, occupying herself with cleaning until the arrival of Mary Grace and the children.

  I smiled and hurried after her.

  On the veranda, I waited as Mammy went to greet them. Mary Grace disembarked, clad in a navy taffeta dress and a matching grand hat with feathers and exquisite embellishments. On her slender wrist dangled a drawstring handbag, and I placed a hand to my throat, appreciating her grandeur.

  “Hello, Mama.” She embraced her mother and planted a kiss on her cheek.

  Mammy hugged her fiercely before stepping back and grasping her arms. “Let me git a luk at you. Turn ’round.” Mary Grace obliged and twirled for her mother’s inspection. “Well, ain’t dat somepin’. You are a sight. You luk lak a fine English lady.” Pride warmed Mammy’s voice. “I see life at de Barlows’ has bin good for you.”

  “It has.” Mary Grace smiled and offered a cheerful
wave to me.

  I walked toward them as Evie and Noah leaped out of the open carriage and rushed to embrace their grandmother. She showered them with kisses, causing Noah to squirm in an attempt to get away. “Grannie, I’m too old for such carrying on,” he said sheepishly.

  She displayed a scowl. “Boy, you ain’t too grown. Long as you be alive, you gwine to be my grandbaby. And I won’t hear no fussing ’bout et.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He looked down at her.

  “May I go and find Sailor?” Evie looked at me.

  I smiled, gesturing for her to do as she pleased, and she bounced off.

  “Where might I find James?” Noah asked.

  “He is inside working on a project.” I signaled to Big John, who had helped Isabella down from the driver’s seat.

  He released her hand and strode forward. “Yessum.”

  “I think today will be a day of rest.”

  “But it ain’t Sunday.” His eyes widened.

  “Yes, well. Nothing is normal anymore, is it?”

  “No, Missus. Et sho’ ain’t.”

  “I believe this day calls for a celebration. Please tell Parker and Jimmy to come out here.”

  “Yessum.” Big John walked off to do my bidding, and Noah followed him to wait by the front steps.

  I turned back to look at Isabella as she came to stand beside Mary Grace.

  “Thank you for being kind to my gal,” Mammy said. “Et helps me to know she is in good hands.”

  “It is easy. You’ve raised a fine daughter. I’m delighted I can now call her mine.” Isabella encircled Mary Grace’s waist with an arm and gave her an affectionate squeeze.

  “They’ve been so kind.” Mary Grace beamed.

  “We love having her.”

  “Have you all forgotten about me?” Callie stepped from the shadows of Isabella and Mary Grace with a feigned pout on her face.

  My heart expanded with love and excitement, and I embraced her and pressed a giggle from her.

  “It’s good to see you.” She gripped my wrist and gave it a gentle tug when I released her.

  “Willow,” Isabella said with a smile. “How are you, my love?” She leaned in, and we exchanged a kiss on the cheek.

  “I’m well. We’ve looked forward to your visit all week.”

  Callie let out a squeal. “Nothing could keep me away a moment longer. I simply missed you too much.” She tried her best impression of a Southern accent and failed miserably.

  “I’ve missed you all,” I said. “Come; Mammy has prepared refreshments. What do you say we visit in the garden house?”

  “You all go on ahead. I will help Mama,” Mary Grace said with a smile that reflected pure joy.

  Marriage and life off the plantation had done her well, and my heart swelled with happiness for her.

  After Mary Grace and Mammy had wandered inside, I led the others to the garden house.

  “How are you faring with Mr. Barlow away from home and Magnus off fighting?” I asked.

  “The days are long.” Isabella looked sad. “I worry for both of them. But I gather comfort from Callie, Mary Grace, and the children, which is more than some have.”

  “Our decision to move to America may have been a bad choice,” Callie said with a huff of frustration. “Perhaps if we had known we would be launched into the middle of a war, we wouldn’t have come.”

  A twinge of disappointment tightened my chest. “But, if you hadn’t come, then we never would have had this time together.” I failed to hide the emotion in my voice.

  Callie’s face paled. She leaned forward and gripped my hands in hers. “I’m glad we came, honestly. Some days it’s hard; sometimes I miss my friends terribly. Now with Magnus at war and Dad off with the Home Guard from morning until night, it makes me long for England.”

  I nodded my understanding and pushed away the old feelings of abandonment.

  “Have you heard from Bowden and Ben?” Isabella asked as Mary Grace and Mammy approached, balancing silver trays of refreshments.

  “No, not at all.” My shoulders slumped at the reminder.

  “I’m sure he has written. The delays of the mail are painfully long.” Isabella offered me a comforting smile.

  Mary Grace perched beside me on the bench, and the scent of jasmine wafted from her. I regarded her with admiration and wonderment, from her pearl earrings to the cameo clasping her high-collared ivory blouse. Her beauty radiated, and happiness twinkled in her eyes. She was truly regal.

  “Have you heard from Magnus?” I asked her. She winced. I patted her hands where they rested in her lap and realized how much I had missed her. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Yes, as we have you. Evie has asked to visit Sailor every day. And Noah has wanted to get back to James. They miss this place.” She looked around. “I can’t say the same.”

  I gulped at the remark but knew she had every right to feel that way, and before I could speak, she continued.

  “But I suppose, if I hadn’t been here, I’d never have had your friendship, which is irreplaceable.” Tears welled in my eyes. “Or met Magnus and the ones who would become my family.” Her gaze ran over Isabella and Callie, and I sensed the tenderness between the women.

  I looked to Mammy, who stood back observing, and saw the aching longing that swept across her visage before she pushed it away and strode forward. “Let me pour you ladies some tea.”

  “Won’t you join us, Henrietta?” Isabella said.

  “De help ain’t suppose to be sitting wid de whites…” Her words trailed off as she caught herself. I reckoned her statement came from the same feeling of alienation I had felt. Callie, Isabella, and Mary Grace were united as a new family, and although admirable, where did that leave us? I chastised myself for my selfishness.

  “Now, Mama, you know you are amongst like-minded folks,” Mary Grace said. “Besides, you aren’t a slave.”

  Mammy stood taller. “No, I ain’t, but I don’t need dem Home Guards riding up in here and causing dis here gal no trouble. She got ’nuf on her shoulders, wid de masa way and all.”

  “I appreciate your concern,” I said with a smile of reassurance. “We will hear their approach.” I patted the seat on the other side of me. “Come, sit for a while. It’s not every day your daughter comes to visit. I, for one, want to soak in each precious moment.”

  Mammy looked back in the direction of the house before settling her gaze on Mary Grace. “All right, but we got to keep our ears open.”

  Under the warmth of the afternoon sun, our gaiety carried us away. Relishing each other’s company, we forgot for a while about the chaos of a country at war.

  THE ATTIC SPACE WAS COMPLETED, and the newly structured kitchen house stood like a new fawn, bright and juvenile against the scorched outbuildings and grounds empty of life. As I’d stood back and beheld the new structure, hope had buoyed in my heart. We could never repair Livingston to its former beauty, but I endeavored to honor the ones who’d been the family I loved as much as my own; those who’d freely given their lives to defend a plantation and family who’d stolen their freedom. The ache of shame never eased. Their souls cried to me from the mass of graves in the slave cemetery. Determination to rewrite Livingston’s legacy guided my days and intensified with the war. If the North won, would slavery be abolished? A part of me dared dream of such a day, but I had little faith in the men governing our country.

  “Please, bring our men home safely,” I prayed in a whisper, “and allow justice for the blacks.”

  I rose to my feet and stood back to admire my work on the old hearth in the kitchen house. I had scrubbed at the bricks all morning. “That will have to do.” My voice echoed in the empty room. I wiped soot-smudged hands on the pinafore covering my tan gingham dress before resting them on my hips. As I looked around the place, nostalgia filled me. The old kitchen house was gone, but I would always hold near to my heart the memories Mammy, Mary Grace, and I had made. The old hearth would be the centerpiece of those
memories.

  The voices of approaching men drew me to the front stoop. Jones and Pete carried a newly fashioned table Jimmy had built. I stepped out of the way so they could bring it inside, and my sadness deepened. Gone were the character marks etched into the old table. Countless times, I’d sat at the table and poured out my heart to Mammy and Mary Grace, but we’d also shared moments of merriment and bliss. I smiled at a particular memory of when I had hidden from Mammy—something I had done often as a young girl, and lain in wait for her to find me. The day I’d engraved Bowden’s and my initials into the planks. The recollection conjured another, when I had stormed out the back door and down to the kitchen house to scramble under the table and scratch away any evidence of the feelings I’d carried for Bowden after he had humiliated me in the schoolyard.

  “And to think I married the man,” I said to myself.

  Jones cast me a perplexed look as they shuffled past me.

  Once the table sat in the center of the room, Jones said, “Pete here will build the shelving, and we will get Miss Rita back in here today.”

  “She will be happy. She has been dreadful while waiting for a functioning kitchen.”

  Pete smirked, but Jones remained…well, Jones.

  “And what of the smokehouse?” I asked.

  He removed his hat to scratch his head before flipping it back on. “Week’s end, I expect.”

  “Good. I hope…” My words drifted as I heard the drumming of approaching hoofbeats.

  Jones strode past me to the door and stuck his head out. “We have company. Can’t get a look at them from here. Best we go see.”

  Pete hurried off, and Jones walked with me to the front yard, where we stood awaiting the rider’s arrival. Jones shielded his eyes in the afternoon sun. “If my eyes aren’t lying, it appears to be Sterling.”

  My heart leaped. “Maybe he brings news from Ben and Bowden.”

  Jones grunted and kept his eyes aimed at the lane. I scowled at him. Sometimes, I swear, the man had the personality of a bucksaw.

  I squinted to get a better look. “Yes, it’s Sterling.” I fought the urge to run to him and demand to know if he brought letters. I stayed rooted, waiting until he reined his mount to a stop.