Dolen Perkins-Valdez - Wench

He walked away.

She pulled out her skirt and placed the wooden blocks onto it. She moved all the firewood in five trips. Afterwards, she looked around and didn’t see him. She hurried off to Fran, all the while picturing Reenie and the things he must have made her do.

Lizzie poured a cup of warm water over Fran’s shoulders.

“Back home, it’s unheard of to take a bath in the middle of the day. Up here in Ohio, I imagine the ladies do this sort of thing all the time. They probably don’t have to work as hard as us Southern women. I’m so tired of working. I’ve told Drayle that we need to sell the farm and all the slaves and everything else and just move to the city.”

“What city, ma’am?” Lizzie asked softly, scrubbing Fran’s back with a brush.

Fran waved a hand. “Oh, any city will do. As long as there’s no work involved. I want a husband who comes home at a decent hour. They say city men are always out in the streets, working and carrying on, but I wouldn’t allow that. I want to live in a house that doesn’t have a bunch of slaves walking around. Maybe one of those fancy houses like I saw in Washington, Dc. I think I rather like it up north. I like the way they…carry themselves.”

“Hmmm,” Lizzie responded. She tilted Fran’s head and cleaned her ears.

“Of course, my mother is a country woman, a Southern woman through and through. My daddy was always talking about his daddy’s Scottish heritage. I’ve always wanted to go to Scotland. I guess I’ll make it to Europe someday. The farthest I’ve traveled is…let’s see…here or Washington, Dc. I don’t know which one is farther from Tennessee. Now that I think of it, those are the only two important places I’ve ever been.”

Fran stood and Lizzie wiped her dry.

“In my next life, I’m not going to marry an ordinary horseman. I’m going to follow my parents’ wishes and marry some kind of aristocrat. Maybe I’ll marry a real European aristocrat. A count or a…or an earl.”

“That would be something else,” Lizzie said. Lizzie followed Fran into the bedroom. She powdered the woman from the neck down. The rain beat against the closed window as if asking to be let in.

“My sister sure does live an exciting life. Sometimes I wish I could trade places with her. Sure, her husband left her. But she’s got that blessed child. And she travels all over the place. I wonder if Drayle would mind if I traveled with her sometime. I’d probably be gone at least a year, but oh what a year it would be! I could probably see the world in a year’s time! I wonder what one of those big ocean steamships look like. They probably look entirely different than a Mississippi rowboat.”

“Yes, I reckon they do,” Lizzie said and reached for Fran’s dress.

Lizzie could not believe it. A letter from Reenie? how could this be? Reenie could not read or write. Surely this was something that would endanger Reenie. Clarissa had gotten the letter from the butler who had gotten it from the porter who had picked it up in Xenia. It was addressed to “Lizzie Drayle.” The letters on the envelope were smudged, but she could clearly read the postmark: “new York.”

New York! even Miss Fran had never been to new York. Lizzie tried to picture what this new York must look like. She had read about it in newspapers, but she found she could not come up with convincing images. So she just thought of cincinnati-the biggest city she had ever seen-and imagined it was new York.

The letter brought to mind Reenie’s story of how she lost the edge of her finger. On the night Lizzie had visited Reenie’s cottage and discovered the runaway slave girl, the two women had sat up talking after the child went to sleep. Sir had issued a rule on their plantation that no slaves were to learn to read. Reenie had always wanted to read. Her mother had been taught by Sir’s daddy when he was alive, but the woman had never passed it on to her daughter. Reenie kept the primer with her mother’s letters in it, and it was this book that Sir found in her cabin. He burned it right in front of her, knowing that he was also burning her mother’s memory. She’d hated him for it.

But what he hadn’t destroyed, she said, was her desire. She’d gotten another book, stolen from the house that she believed no one would miss. It was more difficult than her last one and didn’t have any pictures. She kept it in her skirt so that she could pull it out whenever she had a spare moment. When Sir felt the book’s hardness while grabbing her from behind one day, he’d taken it from her. She’d fought him to get the book back, and when he slapped her, she picked up a flower vase and hit him in the head with it. It broke, and the man was astonished to find he was bleeding. Furious, he ordered her down to the stables where a slave was made to slice the tip of her finger right off.

Lizzie sat on the porch of Drayle’s cottage, cupping the open letter in her palm, remembering Reenie’s story. She read the name at the end first.

“With love I remain, Reenie.”

“I remain, Reenie.”

“Reenie.”

The first thing Lizzie noticed was the penmanship. It was perfect, with looping gs and tall hs. She wondered if she would be able to write like that if she studied long enough.

She took a moment to thank God for her ability to read. She didn’t want to have to share this bit of heaven with anybody:

May 8, 1854

My dearest Lizzie:

I hope this letter finds you. I have asked my friend-to write and mail this letter in my stead because I am still learning to read and write properly! But I so desired to get a letter to you and let you know that I am doing fine. I am a free woman, Miss Lizzie, and I have a job as a maid in a rich family’s residence. They treat me fine, and gave me my very own room. I cannot go into detail how I escaped, but just know that I met many kind people along the way. There were many times that I thought I would not make it, but someone always appeared ready to give me a helping hand. My faith in the Lord is stronger than ever. I do hope that you will lean on him in your darkest hour. How are your children? have you heard anything about Mawoo? I know that I will never receive an answer from you as I cannot give you my address, but I thought I’d ask so that you know that I am thinking of you, my dear friend. Whenever I think of you and Mawoo and Sweet, it makes me happy and is about the only thing that I can remember from my past days, other than my darling girl, that brings me Joy.

Miss Lizzie, you will always remain in my thoughts. I do hope to see you again one day, in this life or the next.

With love

I remain,

Reenie

Lizzie wanted to hold on to the letter, wanted to take it back with her to the plantation, and tuck it into her things. But she knew she had to get rid of it. Keeping it could only bring harm to everyone involved. She would have to burn it.

Before she did, however, she wanted to read it again.

Lizzie started drinking the tea the next morning. First, she prepared herself as much as she could. She said her goodbyes and prayers. One moment she was thinking of it as a baby-a boy or a girl, a younger brother or sister to Nate and Rabbit. The next minute she was thinking of it like a seed-a large seed, perhaps-but a seed no different than what one found in the middle of a plum or peach. Whenever she felt doubt, she brought up the image of this seed in her mind.

There really had been no decision to be made. If she kept this baby, she would not be able to escape very far. Everyone knew the journey north could take weeks or even months. She would also have to figure out a way, once she was settled, to make enough money to buy Nate and Rabbit’s freedom. If she kept the baby and returned to Tennessee, she would be adding another slave to Drayle’s plantation. And she had no intention of doing that. No intention whatsoever.