A Place Called Freedom (1995)

“Bill Sowerby never made any money.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the old fields.”

“Tobacco cultivation exhausts the land.”

“Ah, yes,” he said. “But we manure heavily.”

She frowned. Thumson had not mentioned manuring. “I don’t know.…”

Her hesitation was fatal. “These things are best left to men,” he said.

“Never mind the homilies,” she snapped. “Tell me about the manuring.”

“We pen the cattle in the tobacco fields at night, for the manure. It refreshes the land for the next season.”

“It can’t be as good as new land,” she said, but she was not sure.

“It’s just the same,” he insisted. “But if you want to change you’ll have to speak to Mr. Jamisson.”

She hated to let Lennox win, even temporarily, but she would have to wait until Jay returned. Feeling irritated, she said: “You can go now.”

He gave a little smile of victory and went out without another word.

She forced herself to rest for the remainder of the day, but on the following morning she made her usual tour of the plantation.

In the sheds, the bundles of drying tobacco plants were being taken down from their hooks so that the leaves could be separated from the stems and the heavy fibers stripped out. Next they would be bundled up again and covered with cloth to “sweat.”

Some of the hands were in the woods, cutting wood to make barrels. Others were sowing winter wheat in Stream Quarter. Lizzie spotted Mack there, working alongside a young black woman. They crossed the plowed field in a line, distributing the seed from heavy baskets. Lennox followed, hurrying the slower workers with a kick or a touch of the whip. It was a short whip with a hard handle and a lash two or three feet long made of some flexible wood. After he noticed Lizzie watching, he began to use it more freely, as if challenging her to try to stop him.

She turned away and started back toward the house. But before she was out of earshot she heard a cry and turned back.

The hand working next to Mack had collapsed. It was Bess, an adolescent girl about fifteen years old, tall and thin: Lizzie’s mother would have said she had outgrown her strength.

Lizzie hurried toward the prone figure, but Mack was nearer. He put down his basket and knelt beside Bess. He touched her forehead and her hands. “I think she’s just fainted,” he said.

Lennox came up and kicked the girl in the ribs with a heavily booted foot.

Her body jerked with the impact but her eyes did not open.

Lizzie cried out: “Stop it, don’t kick her!”

“Lazy black bitch, I’ll teach her a lesson,” Lennox said, and he drew back the arm that held the whip.

“Don’t you dare!” Lizzie said furiously.

He brought the whip down on the back of the unconscious girl.

Mack sprang to his feet.

“Stop!” Lizzie cried.

Lennox lifted the whip again.

Mack stood between Lennox and Bess.

“Your mistress told you to stop,” Mack said.

Lennox changed his grip and slashed Mack across the face.

Mack staggered sideways and his hand flew to his face. A purplish weal appeared immediately on his cheek and blood trickled between his lips.

Lennox raised his whip hand again, but the blow never fell.

Lizzie hardly saw what happened, it was so quick, but in a moment Lennox was flat on the ground, groaning, and Mack had the whip. He took it in both hands and snapped it over his knee, then contemptuously threw it at Lennox.

Lizzie felt a surge of triumph. The bully was broken.

Everyone stood around staring for a long moment.

Then Lizzie said: “Get on with your work, everyone!”

The hands turned away and recommenced sowing seed. Lennox got to his feet, staring at Mack evilly.

“Can you carry Bess to the house?” Lizzie asked Mack.

“Of course.” He picked her up in his arms.

They walked back across the fields to the house and took her into the kitchen, which was an outbuilding at the back. By the time Mack put her in a chair she had recovered consciousness.

Sarah, the cook, was a middle-aged black woman always in a sweat. Lizzie sent her to fetch some of Jay’s brandy. After a sip Bess declared she felt all right except for bruised ribs, and she could not understand why she had fainted. Lizzie told her to have something to eat and rest until tomorrow.

Leaving the kitchen, she noticed that Mack looked solemn. “What is it?” she said.

“I must have been mad,” he said.

“How can you say that?” she protested. “Lennox disobeyed a direct order from me!”

“He’s a vengeful man. I shouldn’t have humiliated him.”

“How can he take revenge on you?”

“Easily. He’s the overseer.”

“I won’t allow it,” Lizzie said decisively.

“You can’t watch over me all day.”

“Curse it.” She could not allow Mack to suffer for what he had done.

“I’d run away if I knew where to go. Have you ever seen a map of Virginia?”

“Don’t run away.” She frowned, thinking, then she was struck by an idea. “I know what to do—you can work in the house.”

He smiled. “I’d love to. I might not be much of a butler, though.”

“No, no—not a servant. You could be in charge of repairs. I have to have the nursery painted and fixed up.”

He looked suspicious. “Do you really mean it?”

“Of course!”