Миранда Джеймс - Arsenic And Old Books

How could I not take pity upon one so wretched? My soul would be worth nothing in this life or the next were I not to help those so much less fortunate than we. Although I do see that difficult times are coming for us all, as we are feeling the effects of that d——d blockade (the Lord forgive me for swearing, but we are vexed terribly by this) of our ports. Yet with the shortages here, I know the situation is much more dire for Vidalia and her little ones. Vidalia herself is in rags, and the children fare little better.

In addition to victuals I also gave her a large bolt of cloth from which to make suitable garments for herself and the children. My charity is perhaps not as pure as the Lord would command, for I gave her the bolts of green tarlatan sent to me by my cousin Marianna from London. The shade is most complimentary to me, but the fabric does have a rather peculiar smell. I would rather not see it go to waste, and there is enough for Vidalia to make at least two suits of clothing for each of the children as well as a simple dress for herself.

I sat back for a moment and rubbed my eyes. Rachel Long still sounded like a charitable woman, even though one act of charity consisted in giving away something she did not particularly want herself. She had no intention to use the cloth, so she might as well give it to someone who could, odd smell aside. A few good washes, and the odor probably went away. I noted again the name of the fabric, tarlatan, and jotted it down on a notepad. I didn’t recall having heard that term before, and I would look it up later. Perhaps I could throw it into a conversation and impress Laura, who always found my lack of knowledge of women’s fashions amusing.

Back to work , I admonished myself. I focused on the screen. A few days later, on June 10, 1861, Rachel confided disturbing news to her diary.

Today Vidalia Singletary sent word by her husband’s son Franklin that her children are ill and she does not know how to doctor them. She begged me to come, as she herself is falling ill as well, but though it caused me much distress I could not go. Mother Long is suffering terribly from a fever, and I dared not leave her side. If only Doctor Renwick had not abandoned us all, but I know our valiant boys on the front lines have need of his skills, too.

I could not ignore Vidalia’s plea however so I instead sent my maid Celeste. The girl learned something of the ways of healing from her grandmother and mother on my own grandmother’s plantation in Louisiana. She is knowledgeable enough about herbs and so should be able to dose the children with something to alleviate their distress. I will of course pray for the speedy recovery of Vidalia and her children. Her husband, I fear, is past help by now.

I felt heartsick reading this. Rachel seemed to be a truly tender and caring woman, but without a doctor and with her own sick mother-in-law, she evidently did the best she could.

How skilled at herbal medicines was Celeste, though? I wondered also how old Celeste was. Rachel seemed to think the girl knew enough to help. According to present-day Jasper, however, Celeste did not help Vidalia and the children. Instead, or so he believed, she harmed them. Had she done so deliberately? Or accidentally, through lack of real skill and knowledge?

Only Rachel’s diary might hold the answers. I scrolled down to the next page and continued reading. Nothing about the Singletarys in the next couple of entries. Rachel had little time for her diary, for it seemed that her mother-in-law hovered near death’s door for several days before rallying miraculously. An exhausted Rachel turned the elder Mrs. Long’s care over to one of the slaves and went to bed herself with a fever, no doubt brought on by exhaustion.

A few days later Rachel recovered and began writing more profusely in her diary. On June 15, 1861, she mentioned another plea for help from Vidalia. Once more Rachel dispatched Celeste with food and medicines.

Rachel’s diary entries became sparse again. She noted the blockade and the resulting shortages, not to mention the difficulty of the planters in getting their cotton and other products to market. Cotton was king, but only if the planters could sell it for a good price.

Throughout the fall of 1861, there were rumors in Athena that the Union Army was approaching, and Rachel worried over the news. From what I remembered reading, there were no real battles fought in Mississippi between the armies until a year later, so their fears would not be realized for a while.

Rachel frequently expressed anxiety over her husband, a major in one of the Mississippi cavalry regiments. He was a graduate of West Point, I was surprised to learn. She seized upon every letter from him, she wrote, “and read with feverish anxiety until I was assured he was well and had not been in any way injured.”

The next entry after that surprised me enough that I exclaimed, “Good grief,” and startled Diesel. He warbled, and I reached over to pat his head while I read once again the words that shocked me.

Celeste, the wretched girl, has been behaving oddly these past weeks. Finally she has come to me with a confession that I can scarcely believe. It seems that those times when I sent her to aid Vidalia Singletary and her children, Celeste behaved shockingly. She claims that she was seduced, but Franklin Singletary has never impressed me as a particularly forceful nor articulate boy. I suspect that Celeste is wholly to blame for her current condition for I have known her to be of a flirtatious nature before now.

TWENTY-FIVE

Though Rachel Long did not use the word pregnant , I knew that was what she meant by Celeste’s condition . Franklin Singletary was the father of a slave’s child.

I wondered whether that bit of family history had been passed down to the present generation.

In the next few entries Rachel made no mention of Celeste or the Singletarys. Then came the sad news, on November 16, 1861.

Franklin Singletary came today to tell us that the three younger children died in the night. They remained feeble, their sickness unabated, since the summer. The weather of the past weeks was harmful to them, I am certain. Cold, wet, damp, it could not have helped their poor frail lungs. I take some comfort knowing that at least they had warm garments from the cloth I provided. Franklin reports that Vidalia is so weak she cannot move from her bed and his father is prostrate with grief at the loss of his children.

Franklin most humbly begged for assistance to dig the graves, for his father has no workers to aid him. Jasper Singletary was most vehement against the use of slave labor, an attitude that of course did not aid his cause among his fellow citizens. Father Long kindly offered him the use of two of the young, strong field hands, and they went with Franklin to perform the sad duty.

Even at the distance of one hundred and fifty years, I felt the grief of such a tragic loss. Poor Jasper Singletary. No wonder the man was out of his mind—or that his wife died of a broken heart. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than outliving one’s child, let alone three children.

I had to take a break from the diary. My head needed clearing after reading such a heartrending story. Diesel, bless him, sensed my distress. He chirped and leaned from the windowsill to butt his head against my shoulder. He continued to chirp and purr while I stroked him. I felt better after a couple of minutes of special Diesel therapy.

I still didn’t feel like going back to the diary. There was only so much pathos I could take in a day. As Diesel settled back on the windowsill to clean his front paws, I debated what to do. There were always books waiting to be cataloged, but there was another task I suddenly remembered needed doing.