Free All Things New by Lynn Austin Page B

place, of course, but it seemed to her that Daniel wasn’t even trying.
    “I can remember when our smokehouse was filled to the rafters,” Mother continued. “And oh my, the hams! Remember how Dollyused to baste them with molasses and stud them with cloves? The fragrance was just heavenly.”
    Yes, Josephine remembered. But she didn’t want to be reminded of how happy their life used to be before the Yankee invasion. They might never have bacon or strawberry jam again, so why not fold up those memories and store them away for good?
    “Listen, Mama—” she began, but Mother interrupted.
    “Remember all the guests we used to entertain at our dinner table? Your father knew such interesting people. They used to rave on and on about our smoked hams.”
    Josephine wanted to beg her to stop. God had told the survivors of Sodom and Gomorrah not to look back after they’d been rescued from death and destruction, and if Jo’s family continued to gaze into the past, they were going to become stuck in place like pillars of salt, too. In order to get them to move forward with her, Josephine feared she would have to chip away at their rock-hard stubbornness one bucketful at a time and haul them toward a new future against their will.
    “Those disgusting Yankees not only cleaned out our smokehouse,” Mother continued, “but they ruined our dining room table. I cannot sit in this room without becoming furious at their boorishness.”
    “Then why eat in here at all?” Josephine asked. “Why can’t we eat in the morning room like we did after Daddy died?”
    “Because we must reclaim our home from our enemies,” she insisted. “We will eat our meals in here the way every generation of Weatherlys have since Granddaddy built the house.”
    Daniel looked up from his paper again. “Father would have fought to the death before allowing a single one of those savages into our home.”
    “I know. But what could we do?” Mother asked. “We were three women, here all alone. We had to flee to Richmond.”
    Mother picked up the little silver servants’ bell and gave it an impatient ring, as if expecting a host of slave girls to pour into the dining room to wait on them. But all the house slaves had quitexcept Lizzie and Roselle, and they not only had to serve the food but cook it, too. A minute passed, and when no one responded, Mother rang the bell a second time. Lizzie finally shuffled in, drying her hands on her apron. Mother gave an aggrieved sigh.
    “Did you not hear me ringing? Shall I buy a louder bell?”
    “I heard it, ma’am. But I was busy putting wood on the fire. Next time I’ll be sure and drop what I’m doing right away.”
    Josephine held her breath. She saw the fury in her mother’s lovely face—her pinched lips and arched brows, her glittering eyes. Slaves were supposed to reply, “Yes, ma’am” or “No, ma’am” or “I’m sorry, ma’am.” They certainly weren’t supposed to offer excuses for their failings. But Lizzie wasn’t a slave anymore. It must have galled Mother to hold back the angry response she would have given in the past. “Where is Roselle?” she asked. “Is she too busy to wait on us, as well?” Each word pricked the quiet room, as sharp and pointed as a tack, but Lizzie seemed immune to the prodding.
    “She’s in school today, ma’am. My Roselle’s going to that new school for colored children now. Both my boys are going there, too.” Lizzie’s gaze should have reached no higher than the floor when speaking to a white woman, but her chin lifted with pride.
    A sliver of tension as thin as a knife blade slit the room. Mother made Lizzie wait before making her next move, the way Daddy sometimes paused to study each piece on the chessboard when playing the game. In a battle of wills, no one could beat Eugenia Weatherly. Yet if Lizzie quit like all the others had, the family would be helpless—and everyone in the dining room knew it. The balance of power had shifted ever