The Kitchen House (10 page)

Dory sniffed hard. “I try, Mama,” she said.

I could scarcely wait for Dory to finish so I could hold Miss Martha’s baby again.

M
AMA
M
AE PRAISED ME FOR
my help and said that I had done very well for my age. I reminded her that I was already eight years old. She shook her head and wondered out loud how she could have forgotten that. She said I was so good with the new baby that she thought maybe I could stay with him the next day. Eagerly, I reassured her that I could, and I held the baby in my arms with great care as she set up a nursery in the blue room.

The overseer wrote Ben a pass, and he left on horseback to take word of Sally’s death to the captain. Early the next morning a minister arrived, and a few neighbors came in carriages and in wagons. They brought food, and Mama was kept busy running back and forth to the kitchen, then back up to check on Miss Martha. Finally, Mama asked if I thought I could give the mistress her medicine when she awoke. Although apprehensive about this new request, I was eager to continue winning praise from Mama, so I agreed. Mama measured the dose and left it with careful instruction, assuring me that I would not be alone for long, as Dory was coming soon to feed the baby.

The baby was sleeping in his crib, so I looked into the bedroom. When I saw Miss Martha stir, then open her eyes, I did not hesitate and carried the drink to her. She seemed to know what I offered and drank eagerly.

Then she rested her head back on the pillows and, with a sigh, dropped her arms on either side of her thin body. Her wrists lay exposed, and blue veins pulsed under her white skin. At that moment she looked as fragile as her newborn. She did not wear a nightcap, and her thick red hair framed her delicate face. Her eyes, green as grass, settled on me.

“Isabelle?” she asked. She reached for my hand, and I let her touch me. When her eyes closed and I moved to leave, she called me back. “Isabelle.”

“I’m Lavinia,” I said.

“Don’t go,” she said.

Recognizing her helplessness, I was no longer afraid and stayed to hold her hot dry hand. She did not address me again but stared past me until her eyes closed and she fell into a deep sleep.

I
WAS NOT A PART
of the services they had for Miss Sally, and I did not witness the burial, though sometime later, Belle took me to the small cemetery. It was located a short distance from the house, on the other side of the orchard. We passed through a black iron gate set in a stone wall and sat together on a wooden bench inside the enclosure. I was surprised at how peaceful it was. “Why didn’t they put baby Henry here?” I wanted to know, finding comfort in the idea of the two innocents resting together.

“This place is only for the people of the big house,” Belle explained. “My grandma’s here.” She went over to a very large headstone. She rubbed her hand along the side of it.

“Where is your mama?” I asked.

“She’s down same place as baby Henry,” she said.

“Will you go here when you die?” I asked Belle.

“No,” she said sharply, “I told you, only the people from the big house go here.” She added, as though to soften her words, “I don’t know what they’ll do with me, Lavinia. Maybe just put me under the kitchen house.” She leaned down to look at Miss Sally’s headstone.

“What does it say?” I asked, confused and eager to change the subject.

“‘Sally Pyke,’” Belle began, and as she traced the letters with her fingers, tears rolled down her face. “‘Sally Pyke, Beloved Daughter of James and Martha Pyke.’”

O
VER THE NEXT DAYS, THE
doctor visited Miss Martha again and gave instructions for the opium to be continued until the captain’s return. “Let her sleep,” the doctor advised Mama Mae.

“This drink mix her up in the head,” Mama told him.

“That will sort out,” the doctor reassured her. “Continue to give it to her.”

After Miss Martha drank the mixture, it often took a while before she slept again. When awake, she regressed to childhood, and for her, I took on the persona of her young sister Isabelle. As the medication took effect, it wasn’t unusual for Miss Martha to have me sit beside her on the edge of her bed. She would undo my braids and nervously untangle my hair, smoothing it until she soothed herself to sleep.

Dory fed the baby and kept him clean, but I was the one who loved him. I held him at every opportunity, and when alone with him, I hugged him and nuzzled my nose in his soft neck to breathe in his sweet fragrance.

The day after the funeral, I was sitting alone in the blue room, holding him. He was awake and gazing at me when, with a sudden sharp memory, I remembered a baby brother of mine, one born in Ireland. One who had died.

“I’m going to call you Campbell,” I whispered as memories washed over me. “Campbell,” I repeated. He grasped my finger and clung to it. “You are my pretty boy,” I cooed. I jumped when a voice interrupted.

“I need to see my mother.” Marshall stood at the open door.

“She’s sleeping,” I said. I hadn’t seen Marshall since Sally fell off the swing. His pale face showed his deep misery, and I felt pity for him. “Come see the baby,” I said. To my surprise, he came. “See how fat he is?” I pushed back the covers to show his healthy arms and legs.

In spite of his reticence, Marshall knelt beside the chair. “What’s his name?” he asked.

“Campbell,” I said, trying it out. I held up one of the baby’s feet. “Look at his little toes.”

Marshall took the baby’s foot gently in his hand.

“You can kiss it,” I said.

“No!” As though touched by a hot poker, he pulled his hand back. His head dropped, and I thought he was about to cry.

“Marshall, you didn’t mean to hurt Sally,” I said, wanting to comfort him.

His shoulders slumped, and he looked up at me helplessly. He was about to speak when his mother called from her bedroom. “Isabelle. Isabelle.”

Marshall leaped up. “Who is she calling for?” he asked.

“For me,” I said.

“Is that your name?”

“No,” I said, “I’m Lavinia, but your mother believes I’m Isabelle. Mama Mae thinks that’s her sister.”

Although I wouldn’t have thought it possible, his face lost even more color. “It is,” he said, but added with disgust, “She’s dead!” He left and slammed the door behind him.

T
HE CAPTAIN ARRIVED THE NEXT
afternoon. Dory was in the blue room, feeding the baby, and I was sitting on the edge of the bed next to Miss Martha. She was near sleep, and I sat with her hand in my lap.

“Martha,” the captain said, standing in the doorway.

His powerful presence frightened me, and I felt I could not leave fast enough, but Miss Martha gripped my hand.

“Martha,” he said again, his voice catching, and I pulled away as he strode toward us. He smelled strongly of grime and horses, but when he sat and gathered her to him, she burrowed her face into his neck.

“James,” she whispered, and the anguish seemed fresh when she began to call out her daughter’s name. My own throat stinging with tears, I left as he tried to soothe her.

T
HE NEXT EVENING
M
ARSHALL JOINED
his parents in the bedroom for a light supper. Miss Martha remained in bed but was propped up to eat. Mama served the meal while Dory and I cared for the baby in the adjoining room. Uncle Jacob was setting a fire in the fireplace when Belle burst into the blue room.

“Mama,” she called, “Mama, they have Ben! Get the cap’n!”

Mama came running with the captain and Marshall following behind.

“Belle,” the captain said. “Quiet! Please! Martha’s been—”

“They have Ben!” she said.

“What?” The captain looked back protectively toward his wife’s bedroom.

“They took Ben,” Belle cried. “Rankin and the patrollers are with him. They’re all drinking. They’re saying that Ben killed Sally.”

Stunned, Mama sat down on the blue silk chair.

“They tied him up to take him,” Belle said. “You got to go get him! They’re gonna kill him!”

“Calm down, Belle,” the captain said. “What are you saying? Why would they think that Ben—”

Marshall stepped back when the tutor appeared in the doorway. Belle swung toward Mr. Waters. “You!” she said. “They’re saying you told them that Ben killed Sally.”

The tutor frowned disbelievingly.

“What’s this about? Someone tell me what this is about!” the captain shouted.

The tutor addressed Belle. “I spoke to no one about your lover. I was not even witness to the accident. I can only repeat what Master Marshall has told me, and he informed me that Ben pushed Miss Sally off the swing.”

We all looked to Marshall. They were going to hurt Ben! I knew the tutor was lying. Why didn’t Marshall speak up?

“Marshall?” his father roared.

Marshall’s panicked stare went from his father to the tutor.

“Just tell the truth, Marshall,” Mr. Waters said.

Marshall’s eyes remained fixed on the tutor.

“They’ll kill Ben!” Belle was frantic. “Marshall, please. Tell the cap’n! Tell him you pushed Sally.”

Belle’s terror for Ben became my own.

“Who was pushing the swing?” the captain bellowed.

“Marshall was,” I blurted out. “We all saw him. But he wasn’t trying to hurt her.” I ran to Mama.

“Belle?” the captain asked her. “Belle?”

“It was Marshall!” she said. “Please! Go! They’ll kill him.”

Her words propelled the captain into action. We watched as he swung from the room and ran downstairs to the library, where he unlocked the gun case. After he handed Papa George one of the rifles, they galloped off, the night lit blue from another full moon.

I
T WAS ALMOST DAWN WHEN
the captain returned to his sleeping wife. He woke me as he passed through the blue room, where I slept alongside Campbell’s crib. I wanted to follow him and ask about Ben, but I dared not. Instead, I watched as he went to the head of the tall post bed, its blue and white curtains pulled back. He leaned to kiss Miss Martha, then gently shook her arm, but she slept an opium sleep. When she didn’t respond, he straightened up. He gazed down at her for a long time before he went to the dressing table. There he lifted up the glass bottle, shook it, then sighed deeply and sat on the small chair beside the dressing table. He set the bottle down, but when I heard his sharp intake of breath, I guessed at what he next saw. On the day of Sally’s funeral, while the mistress slept, Uncle had carefully placed the piece the captain now reached for. It was the porcelain miniature of her father that someone had untied from the little girl’s wrist.

The captain drew the bracelet to his chest. As though the pink ribbon pierced his heart, he moaned and leaned over. When he straightened again, he brought the piece to his lips.

Campbell stirred and began to cry. I picked him up and walked with him until he quieted. When I looked up, the captain was standing in the doorway.

“Is Ben all right?” I couldn’t hold back the question any longer.

The captain looked at me as though surprised at my interest. “He’ll recover,” he said. He came forward and awkwardly took the baby from me. “Who’s feeding him?” he asked.

“Dory,” I answered. “She’s coming right away.”

“Good,” he said. “What’s his name?”

“Campbell,” I answered.

“Campbell. Campbell?” he repeated.

Before I could explain, before I could tell him that I had named the baby, Dory appeared.

“How’s Ben?” the captain asked. “Did they stop the bleeding?”

“Yes,” Dory said, “but he cryin’ out from it hurtin’ so bad.” Her hands trembled as she took the baby from the captain.

The captain went back into his wife’s bedroom and returned with the bottle of opium. “Take this to Mae,” he instructed me. “Tell her to give some of this to Ben.”

I took the bottle and ran, anxious to see Ben myself. Day was breaking, and Uncle Jacob was returning from Mama’s house. He nodded at me when he met me on the porch landing. A brilliant sunrise in a cloudless sky threw gold on our small world. Smoke curled reassuringly from Belle’s kitchen chimney, and I sighed with relief to see that another day’s routine had begun. “Is Ben all right, Uncle?” I asked.

Uncle Jacob looked off into the distance. “That up to Ben,” he said. “Now he have the fear. If he put that fear into hisself, nothin’ make him happy. If he put the fear back into the world, everythin’ be a reason to fight.” He breathed in deeply as he raised his arms. “You and me, we give this to Allah,” he said. “We say, ‘Allah, take this fear from Ben.’” He bowed his head and raised it again. His arms remained outstretched as he looked around. “We see the sun, we see the trees, we see the new day. We say, ‘Thank you, Allah. Thank you for helpin’ our boy.’” Tears rolled down his face, and he bowed once again. Then he lowered his arms and dried his eyes.

Wanting to please Uncle, I, too, leaned toward the sun. “Thank you, Allah,” I said, “and make sure you listen to Uncle Jacob.”

“You a blessin’, Abinia,” Uncle said, gifting me with a smile before I ran off to Mama’s house.

W
HEN
I
GOT TO
M
AMA’S
cabin, I heard Ben calling out in pain. I was so frightened that I could scarcely knock at the door and was relieved when Mama came and refused me entry. I handed her the drops, then ran quickly to the safety of the kitchen house. Belle’s eyes were swollen from crying, but she gave me some milk and
corn bread, then rebraided my hair and had me wash up. While she did this, I asked about Ben, but she dismissed my questions by telling me that he would soon be all right. Certain of Ben’s safety, I was exuberant in my relief. I chattered away, telling her about my conversation with Uncle Jacob, which led me to ask her who Allah was. She told me that Allah was Uncle’s god, like the Lawd was Mama’s god.