A Place Called Freedom (1995)

“It would be … just wonderful to get away from Lennox.”

“Then you shall.”

“You can’t possibly understand what good news this is.”

“For me, too—I’ll feel safer with you close by. I’m frightened of Lennox.”

“With reason.”

“You’ll have to have a new shirt and a waistcoat, and house shoes.” She would enjoy dressing him in good clothes.

“Such luxury,” he said, grinning.

“That’s settled,” she said decisively. “You can start right away.”

The house slaves were a little grumpy about the party at first. They looked down on the field hands. Sarah, in particular, resented having to cook for “trash that eats hominy and corn pone.” But Lizzie mocked their snobbery and jollied them along, and in the end they entered into the spirit of it.

At sundown on Saturday the kitchen staff were cooking up a banquet. Pepper Jones, the banjo player, had arrived drunk at midday. McAsh had made him drink gallons of tea then put him to sleep in an outhouse, and he was now sober again. His instrument had four catgut strings stretched over a gourd, and the sound as he tuned it was halfway between a piano and a drum.

As she went around the yard checking on the preparations Lizzie felt excited. She was looking forward to the celebration. She would not join in the jollity, of course: she had to play Lady Bountiful, serene and aloof. But she would enjoy watching other people let their hair down.

When darkness fell all was ready. A new barrel of cider had been tapped; several fat hams were sizzling over open fires; hundreds of sweet potatoes were cooking in cauldrons of boiling water; and long four-pound loaves of white bread stood waiting to be sliced.

Lizzie paced up and down impatiently, waiting for the slaves to come in from the fields. She hoped they would sing. She had sometimes heard them from a distance, singing plaintive laments or rhythmic work songs, but they always stopped when one of the masters came near.

As the moon rose, the old women came up from the quarters with the babies on their hips and the toddlers trailing behind. They did not know where the field hands were: they fed them in the morning then did not see them until the end of the day.

The hands knew they were to come up to the house tonight. Lizzie had told Kobe to make sure everyone understood, and he was always reliable. She had been too busy to go out into the fields, but she supposed they must have been working at the farthermost reaches of the plantation, and so were taking a long time to return. She hoped the sweet potatoes would not overcook and turn to mush.

Time went by and no one appeared. When it had been dark for an hour she admitted to herself that something had gone wrong. With anger mounting in her breast she summoned McAsh and said: “Get Lennox up here.”

It took almost an hour, but eventually McAsh returned with Lennox, who had obviously started his evening’s drinking already. By this time Lizzie was furious. “Where are the field hands?” she demanded. “They should be here!”

“Ah, yes,” Lennox said, speaking slowly and deliberately. “That was not possible today.”

His insolence warned her that he had found some foolproof way to frustrate her plans. “What the devil do you mean, not possible?” she said.

“They’ve been cutting wood for barrels on Stafford Park.” Stafford Park was ten miles upriver. “There’s a few days’ work to be done so we made camp. The hands will stay there, with Kobe, until we finish.”

“You didn’t have to cut wood today.”

“No time like the present.”

He had done it to defy her. It was enough to make her scream. But until Jay came home there was nothing she could do.

Lennox looked at the food on the trestle tables. “Pity, really,” he said, barely concealing his glee. He reached out with a dirty hand and tore a piece of ham off a joint.

Without thinking, Lizzie picked up a long-handled carving fork and stabbed the back of his hand, saying: “Put that down!”

He squealed in pain and dropped the meat.

Lizzie pulled the prongs of the fork out of his hand.

He roared with pain again. “You mad cow!” he yelled.

“Get out of here, and stay out of my sight until my husband comes home,” Lizzie said.

He stared furiously at her, as if he were about to attack her, for a long moment. Then he clamped his bleeding hand under his armpit and hurried away.

Lizzie felt tears spring to her eyes. Not wanting the staff to see her cry, she turned and ran into the house. As soon as she was alone in the drawing room she began to sob with frustration. She felt wretched and alone.

After a minute she heard the door open. Mack’s voice said: “I’m sorry.”

His sympathy made her cry fresh tears. A moment later she felt his arms around her. It was deeply comforting. She laid her head on his shoulder and cried and cried. He stroked her hair and kissed her tears. Slowly her sobs became quieter and her grief eased. She wished he could hold her like this all night.

Then she realized what she was doing.