Page 44 of Under the Tulip Tree
A thread of trepidation began to wind itself through my stomach.
I hadn’t thought about the laundry itself and how I’d know what shirt belonged to which officer. I’d need to be extra attentive when gathering the dirty things.
“There’s plenty of soap, although I daresay it’s the strongest lye soap I’ve used. Take care with thy hands when using the washboards, and use the paddles as much as possible.” She motioned toward the big kettles. “Sam will be by to help tote water and get the fires going this morning.”
To this I jerked my head toward her. “I don’t need his help.”
Illa ignored my hard tone. “It’s quite a chore hauling all that water by thyself.” Her gaze drifted to my poor hand.
“I don’t need his help,” I repeated, my shoulders stiff.
A moment passed before she gave in. “Very well. If theechanges thy mind, he’ll be around. He also works for the officers, running errands, tending their horses, and such.”
“I thought he worked for you.”
“No. Sam escaped from a plantation in eastern Tennessee ten years ago and found his way to Philadelphia. When he heard about our mission here in Nashville, he wanted to joinus.”
Now that was a wonder, I thought. An escaped slave risking the threat of being recaptured to help those still in bondage. It didn’t make me like him any better, but I had to admit to a bit of admiration for anyone who would do such a thing.
Illa left me then, and I set to work hauling bucket after bucket of water to fill the kettles. The pump wasn’t far from where I was to work, but the buckets grew heavy once they were filled. I wouldn’t ask for Sam’s help, though. Once I had all five kettles full, I got the fires blazing. I’d need a lot of hot water for washing, but I planned to rinse everything in cold water. It would save time, effort, and wood.
Once I had everything ready for washing, I ventured to the first cabin. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I looked around. Was I supposed to just walk into the private quarters of a Union Army officer without supervision? No one seemed to care that I stood at the door. The soldiers went about their business, leaving me unnoticed.
I reached for the knob and gulped. With one last look around, I opened the door and peeked inside. A cot similar to my own was neatly spread with an army blanket. A small desk sat in the corner, piled with maps and papers. Pegs heldmiscellaneous items of clothing. In the corner to my left sat the laundry basket, just as Illa described.
I hurried in, snatched up the basket, and was back outside before anyone could say I’d lingered. I wouldn’t want to be blamed should items go missing.
Over the course of the morning, I repeated the process a half-dozen times. Only once was the owner of the laundry in residence. A young lieutenant sat at his desk writing a letter when I approached his open door. He barely acknowledged me and simply pointed at the basket in the corner when I said I’d come for it.
Heeding Illa’s advice, I devised a plan to keep the laundry and the owner straight in my mind. The cabins were laid out in a neat row, so that was the order in which I washed, rinsed, and hung the laundry. After my initial misgivings about washing the men’s personal garments, I soon was so busy, I didn’t even notice what item I was scrubbing.
I saw Sam in my comings and goings. The ever-present smile remained on his face as he greeted the officers, soldiers, former slaves. It didn’t matter who he happened across. They were all treated to that smile and a polite word.
By midafternoon, with the sun beating down and heat coming from the fires, exhaustion swept over me. I hadn’t worked this hard in ages. Not even when I’d labored in the tobacco fields. My body wasn’t used to physical labor, and the muscles in my back and arms screamed their discomfort. I knew I’d feel the misery in the morning.
One scraggly tree remained nearby, and I sat beneath itspitiful offering of shade. I’d washed all the officers’ shirts, socks, and underthings and had them hanging out to dry. I could only hope my tired brain remembered whose was whose once they came off the line and I pressed them with sadirons. I still needed to empty the kettles and bank the fires, but my aching back demanded I stay where I was.
“We sure could use some rain right about now.”
I looked up to find Sam a few paces away. He wasn’t smiling, although he wore a pleasant expression despite trails of sweat dripping down the sides of his face.
He held out a canteen. “Thought you might like some cool water.”
My first reaction was annoyance. Why did he presume to know what I might need?
But then I realized how thirsty I was. I hadn’t taken time to drink or eat anything all day, focused as I’d been on doing well my first day. No wonder I felt light-headed.
“Much obliged.” He handed me the canteen, and I drank until there wasn’t one drop left. I gave a slight shrug as I handed the empty container back to him. “Guess I forgot all about drinking anything in this heat.”
He nodded. “Wouldn’t want you to get sun sickness.” His glance went from me to the lines of clean laundry flapping in the hot breeze. “You sure been workin’ hard. The men, they ’ppreciate a hard worker. They got rid of the last woman ’cuz she was lazy. I see they don’t have to worry about that with you.”
Despite my dislike for the man, his compliment eased some of my worry. “I just hope I don’t get their drawers mixed up when I put ’em away.”
A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. I couldn’t help but enjoy the sound.
“I’d be right pleased to empty them kettles for you, Miss Frankie, while you tend to other things.”
I didn’t want to become beholden to this man, yet my weary body couldn’t muster the strength to finish the job. I’d let him do it—this once—but I didn’t want him to think it was a favor to me.
