Page 42 of Under the Tulip Tree
I sat on a stump outside our tent in the bit of shade it offered, the afternoon heat nearly suffocating. Spring rains and cool air were but a memory, replaced with the meanness of summer. Nell and the others disappeared each day, spending time at the newly formed school that met in the shade of one of the few oak trees left standing. One of Illa’s helpers served as the teacher, and their laughter and excitement often reached me.
But I had no desire to join them. Letthemsuffer the consequences of book learning.
A shadow fell over me. “Hello, Frankie.” Illa stood between me and the sun. “I’ve found thee a job. ’Tis a blessing, to be sure.”
I tilted my head and gazed up with half-closed eyes. “I ain’t got need of a job.”
What I needed was for the woman to leave me be. She’d pestered me every day since I left her tent.“Frankie, how does thee feel?” “Frankie, thee best eat some of this soup.” “Frankie, Frankie, Frankie.”I’d just about had enough of it and found myself practically hiding when I knew the woman was around. I was grateful she’d tended me when I was down. Even I wouldn’t have done such for a complete stranger, especially if the roles had been reversed and a white person had been hurt. But I wasn’t some child in need of a mammy. A white mammy, at that. I didn’t need her fawning over me anymore.
“I hope thee will change thy mind. They’ll pay for thy work.”
My head jerked up. The woman had my attention despite my previous thoughts. “Who?”
She knelt in front of me, the delicate white fabric of her day cap peeking out from beneath the rim of a sturdier black bonnet that kept the sunshine from her face. “The army.”
I scoffed. “The army don’t pay for nothin’. They just order us around, like we was their slaves.”
For months I’d watched soldiers load up every able-bodied man and boy from camp and force them to labor, day after day, as woodcutters, haulers, and corders. Conscripted, the army called it. Slavery without ownership, I called it. Nashville had been scalped of its trees, large and small, old and young, to provide material to build fortifications, housing for the officers, and forts, including the one just up the hill from ourcamp. Hour upon hour these conscripted men and boys toiled, the work as hard and exhausting as anything they’d done as slaves. I listened to their stories and complaints at night around the campfires, with most admitting some of the white soldiers from the North were almost as bad as the plantation owners. And as far as I knew, not one of them had received the promised payment for their work.
“They’ll pay.” The Crandle woman gave a firm nod of confidence. “I’ve seen to it.”
I eyed her, wondering for the hundredth time why this white woman cared so much about us slaves. Why she cared about me. She could be back home in Pennsylvania, with food aplenty and the war far away. Who in their right mind would leave a comfortable life to come here?
I finally huffed, knowing she wouldn’t leave me be unless I addressed her offer. “What do I have to do?”
“Laundry.”
Oh, lawsy. Had the heat caused the woman to become addlebrained?
Everyone had seen the huge vats outside the soldiers’ camp. Dozens of slave women worked over hot fires, washing sheets, blankets, and clothes for the Yankees. The backbreaking work wasn’t something I’d wish on anyone. There were simply too many soldiers and too much laundry.
I shook my head. “I ain’t interested.”
“Thee would not be doing laundry for the whole company. Thee would only work for the officers and then only for those who haven’t taken houses or hotel rooms in town.”
Despite my firm resolve against the job, my mind quickly tallied the men at the fort and in the garrison who wore uniforms distinguishing them as officers. Far fewer than the hundreds of enlisted men who roamed the area.
“Why can’t the gals over to the soldier camp do their laundry?”
“The officers prefer to keep their things separate.”
That made sense. I considered the offer, but I wasn’t convinced. It still meant I’d be out in the heat of the day, bending over a hot cauldron, washing white men’s clothing. “How much they pay?”
“They’ll pay four dollars a month.”
In spite of myself, I felt a thump of excitement grip my heart.
I’d never been paid for work. Some slaves I’d met in camp told of masters who allowed them to earn a bit of money hiring out to others or selling crops they grew on their own time, but I’d never even held a coin of my own. Only on rare occasions had Mr. Waters sent me on errands that required money. He’d count out the coins, put them in a pouch, and tell me not to open it. Not even when I reached my destination was I to take them out. I’d simply hand the pouch to the store owner, never touching the money.
How did one know how much each gold piece was worth? And what about paper money? There was so much I needed to learn about the world before I was turned loose in it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad doing the officers’ laundry if I knew I’d get paid for it. The thought of having my own money was tempting.
Illa waited. I mulled it over again and again. Finally I drew a breath. “I’ll do it,” I said and quickly clamped my mouth closed, afraid I might take the words back.
My agreement must have surprised her, for her graying brows disappeared beneath her bonnet. A moment later, a smile spread across her face. “Thee does keep me on my toes, Frankie.” She stood. “We’ll get thee started tomorrow morning. It’s best to work in the early hours, before the day gets too hot.”
Had any other white woman said such a thing, I would have laughed, imagining she knew nothing about work and hot days. But I didn’t laugh at Illa. She worked harder than most slaves. She tended the sick, held colicky babies, helped cook meals, broke up arguments, and did anything else that needed doing. She’d quickly earned the admiration of most everyone in the contraband camp as well as many of the soldiers.
Sam approached us then, much to my chagrin. He smiled, tipped his hat, and sent me a polite nod. “Miss Frankie. Sure is hot out here. Might should join them others under the tree where it’s a bit cooler.”
