Page 55 of Under the Tulip Tree
I watched him go, praying God would keep Albert Underwood safe.
On my way back to camp, I passed the graveyard where the bodies of more than seven hundred slaves had been laid to rest. Men and women alike, they’d died from illnesses that continued to plague camp or from injuries acquired during the building of the fort. I couldn’t help but wonder how many more graves would be added once the fighting began.
The following day brought more cold air, snow, and hundreds of soldiers mounted on horseback. Rumors abounded that the cavalry crossing the river meant a move toward battle was imminent. Yet despite the snow turning to rain the next day, the soldiers remained in camp.
Finally, on a foggy morning three days later, cheers went up as line after line of soldiers marched out of camp, headed south. By noon, the air was filled with smoke from cannons and guns, the sounds of them a constant echo in the hills. Nelland I took our blankets and meager possessions and made our way up the hill to the fort. Many others from the contraband camp were of the same mind. Although we weren’t allowed to take shelter inside the stockade, we hid ourselves against the north walls, away from possible Confederate gunfire.
Each blast from the cannons shook my insides. I pushed my fingers in my ears, but it did little to keep the fury of war from rattling my brain. As the sun set, a welcome quietness settled over the fort. Shots could still be heard further south as the Federal Army pushed the enemy back, but the battle had seemingly left us and the fort unscathed.
Nell and I had scarcely made it to our tent when an urgent call drew me back outside.
“The hospitals are flooded with wounded,” a white woman I’d never seen before shouted. “If you’re willing and able, come quickly.”
CHAPTERNINETEEN
I rose early Sunday morning despite staying up late readingUncle Tom’s Cabin. Although different from Frankie’s true-life tales, the story invoked the same feelings of injustice deep inside me. I could well imagine how the country, especially those in the South, received this book when it was first published in 1852. Northern abolitionists were incensed at the treatment of slaves while those in the South cried foul at being portrayed so harshly.
Alden planned to pick me up at ten and drive me to Frankie’s. He couldn’t stay, he’d said with disappointment in his eyes, but he’d happily return to drive me home later. I tiptoed down the stairs, breathing a sigh upon finding the kitchen still dark. Mama hadn’t been pleased that I’d been gone all day Saturday, so I hoped to appease her by havingbreakfast ready when she woke before breaking the news that I planned to be gone today, too.
I opened the refrigerator and took out the necessary items for breakfast, noting the barrenness of the shelves. Mama usually went to the market on Saturday, her day off from the shop. Had she not gone?
The aroma of coffee filled the kitchen when she appeared in the doorway an hour later, dark circles beneath her eyes.
“My goodness.” She seemed genuinely surprised to find pancakes and fried eggs ready.
“Good morning. I thought I’d make you breakfast.” I smiled from my place at the stove, my peace offering displayed on the table. I poured her a cup of coffee and doctored it with a splash of milk. “Come sit down.”
After a moment, she settled at the table. “This is a lovely surprise, Rena. Thank you.”
I sat in my usual chair on her right. “I know I haven’t been around much lately. I thought we could talk over breakfast.”
She sent me a look of suspicion but delved into the meal without further comment. We talked about the mild weather and how the flower beds in the backyard needed to be readied for winter. She asked a few questions about Alden, and I shared what I knew about his life in Chicago.
Mama glanced at the clock. “We’d best get ready for church. Mary and the children are coming by after the service. It would be nice if you’d spend some time with your niece and nephews for a change.”
I hated to spoil her good mood so soon, but it couldn’t behelped. “I’m not going to church this morning. I promised Frankie we’d try to finish her interview today.”
Mama’s face hardened. “You’re going to skip church to go down to Hell’s Half Acre? Quite ironic, wouldn’t you say? Doesn’t that woman believe in honoring the Lord’s Day?”
“Mama, Frankie is 101years old. She rarely leaves the house. But I know her to be a woman of faith. She told us just yesterday about the day she made peace with God.”
Mama harrumphed. “What could she possibly have against God?”
I took my time answering, not wanting to end our discussion in an argument. I simply wanted Mama to see the truth about slavery and what the FWP was trying to do with these interviews. “She was a slave, Mama. Owned by another human being. She suffered at the hands of her owners, including a disfigurement and being sold away from her family. I imagine I’d be angry at God if that had been my life. Don’t you?”
The kitchen remained silent. Finally Mama’s shoulders eased some. “I suppose there are aspects of slavery that I’ve never considered. But it all happened so long ago, I don’t see the need to dredge it back up. Going down to that neighborhood and talking with that woman will not change the past, Lorena Ann.”
“I know that, but maybe it can change the future for the better.”
She gave a humorless laugh. “The only future it will affect is yours. Once people find out where you’ve been spendingyour time, no young man worth his salt will be willing to court you, mark my words.”
I thought of Alden, his rapt attention on Frankie as she told us her life’s story. I had to fight the smile his name brought to my lips these days. “Mama, if a young man can’t see that what I’m doing has merit, then he isn’t the kind of man I want to spend time with.” I reached out and put my hand over hers, waiting until her gaze met mine. “You don’t need to worry about me. I promise. I’m finally doing something I truly enjoy, and I’m getting paid to do it. That’s something to be happy about, isn’t it?”
After another long silence, she sighed. “I’ll be glad when this job is finished. I need you.” She glanced to the closed door of the study. “Your father is ill. I tended him all through the night.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Other than the usual drunkenness and all the wonderful ills that came with it.
“He’s having pain and swelling in his abdomen, as well as severe nausea.”
