The Kitchen House (22 page)

Lavinia

I
T HAD BEEN A WONDERFULLY
long and enriching day. Driving home, we continued to sing hymns, repeating the songs sung earlier at the service. Lucy had surprised us all. She was a large dark woman, not given to talk, but God had blessed her with a singing voice that caused others to stop and listen. We pleaded on the ride back until we convinced her to sing a solo. Splendor radiated as she sang, and it touched everyone in the wagon.

At our first stop in the quarters, Ida and the other women climbed down from the wagon, and Ben hopped up to sit proudly next to Lucy. Will flicked the reins, and the horses walked on, stopping next at the kitchen house before their final stop at the barns. When the twins and I jumped off, we were surprised to see Papa seated on the rough pine bench outside the kitchen. He rose at our arrival and came to meet us. My eyes were accustomed to the night light, and I saw the worry on his face.

“Everythin’ all right,” he tried to reassure us, “everythin’ all right.”

“Papa?” Ben leaped from the wagon.

“Belle have some problems, but she gonna be all right,” Papa said.

Will came down to join the men. “What happened here, George?”

Papa led the men a short distance away from the wagon before he spoke to them in a low voice. Their response to his quiet information was mutual; they gasped and turned their heads away from Papa. Ben faced the big house, and from the profile of the unscarred side of his face, I had never seen him look so angry.
When he began to walk toward the kitchen door, Papa held him back.

“You take Lucy home,” Papa said. “She don’t need trouble, with her baby comin’.”

As if on cue, Lucy came to stand beside Ben and tried to take his hand. He shook her off. “Get back on that wagon!” he said, then turned away, angrier still.

Lucy didn’t get back on the wagon. Instead, she walked off alone in the dark, heading toward her home down by the barns. Papa gave Ben a strong look until Ben followed after his wife. After Will left with the horses and wagon, Papa sent Beattie and Fanny up to the big house, where they were told they would spend the night together in the blue room. Mama was up there with Sukey, waiting for them. They left together, walking hand in hand in the dark, and I was left alone with Papa. He looked down at me as though uncertain what to say.

“Papa, where’s Belle?” I could scarcely speak from fear.

“Mama comin’ soon,” he answered.

“Papa,” I said, hardly daring to ask, “is Belle dead?”

“No, chil’,” Papa said. He led me to sit on a bench and seated himself next to me. “Belle gonna be all right.” He looked off when he spoke. “Belle have a bad day, that’s all.”

“What happened, Papa?”

“Some men show up. They drinkin’ and they hit on Belle.”

“Where was Mama?” I asked in alarm.

Papa breathed in deeply. “She and Sukey was up with Miss Martha.”

“Who were the men?”

“Belle don’t want nobody talking ’bout this,” Papa said.

“But I want to know what happened,” I said.

“She don’t even want the cap’n to know,” Papa said.

“Why, Papa?” I asked angrily. “Why won’t she tell the captain?”

“Belle afraid that she get sent away,” Papa said flatly.

When Mama came, she took Sukey and me up to bed,
cautioning us to be quiet. Belle was already asleep in our dark room, and soon after Mama left, Sukey fell asleep. I stared into the night for a long while, too afraid to go to Belle, too afraid to go to sleep.

T
HE SUN WAS ALREADY UP
when I woke the next morning to feel Sukey’s fingers gently outlining my face. I pretended sleep while she touched my eyes, then traced my eyebrows, tickling me. I smiled in spite of myself, then startled her by grabbing her hand. She fell against me laughing, and I hugged her to me, breathing in her delicious baby scent.

When I heard the kitchen sounds of pots and pans, I remembered the night before and quickly lifted up on my elbow to check on Belle. Her bed was empty and I was relieved to know she was downstairs preparing a morning meal. I stopped my play with Sukey and rose to pull my long brown skirt over my night shift, then told Sukey to wait until I came back.

“Belle,” I called, leaning down, midway on the stairs. Unbeknownst to me, Sukey had followed and grabbed my skirt in play. Belle was working at the fireplace, and when I called, I startled her and she swung around. I cried out her name again when I saw her battered face. On seeing my horror, she tried a smile in an effort to soften the shock. It must have hurt her, for she grimaced and held her hand to her swollen mouth. I don’t know when I first noticed her skirts in the embers, but when I saw they were smoldering, such was my alarm that I could not speak. Instead, I ran down the stairs, intending to pull her away from the fireplace. Unwittingly, as I ran, I pulled Sukey, who, with a cry, tumbled down the stairs. When Sukey began to scream, I froze, unsure which beloved to help first. I turned back to Sukey for a moment, then saw Belle rush past me to the child, unaware that the back of her skirt had begun to flame.

In shock, I was unable to move. To our good fortune, Will Stephens appeared. Within moments he pulled Sukey from Belle’s arms and thrust the screaming child at me. He pushed Belle to the
floor, stomped on her skirts, and called for me to bring the water bucket. I sat the shrieking Sukey on a chair and ran for the bucket of drinking water. Will pulled it from me and threw the water on Belle to douse her skirts. She gasped when the cold water hit her legs.

“No more,” she cried, “no more.” She rocked her head back and forth, and although her eyes were wide open, she wasn’t seeing us.

Will sat beside her on the dirt floor and placed her head against his shoulder. “It’s all right, Belle,” he said, “it’s over. Your skirts were on fire, and we put it out. It’s all right.”

Sukey continued to screech as I ran with her to get Mama.

B
Y THE TIME
B
EN AND
Lucy’s baby, Junior, was born, Belle, though appearing to have recovered from her physical trauma, remained moody and withdrawn. Curiously, there was no explanation. From adult whisperings, Fanny, Beattie, and I tried to piece together what little information we could, but later that fall, when Belle’s stomach began to swell, we did not associate the event with Belle’s pregnancy.

When we were told she was to have a baby, all three of us guessed Will was the father, as he had become a frequent visitor to the kitchen. I watched jealously at the concern he showed for Belle. I saw no physical contact between them, but in my young heart, I was convinced they were lovers.

One day, unable to hold back, I asked Belle to name the father of her child.

“You know we don’t talk about this,” she said coldly.

I didn’t respond, but after her refusal, I became increasingly petulant. When, later that month, my body made the transition to womanhood, I went to Mama Mae to have her teach me self-care during my monthly time. After the instructions, Mama sat me down in her small house. “Why you so mad with Belle?” she asked.

I shrugged.

“I hear you talkin’ to her in ways that not right,” she continued.

I hung my head.

“Womans gets the bad feelin’s sometimes, and they don’t know why. It all right if you don’t know why you so mad with Belle, but I thinkin’ it have somethin’ to do with Belle havin’ a baby.”

I stayed silent.

“Belle have no say about this baby. It for us to help her now. She needin’ you, just like Sukey needin’ you.” Mama pulled me to her and stroked my back. “I know you a good girl, Abinia. That day you come here be a good day for us. Now you like Belle’s own chil’. That never change. But you growin’ up and this be a time she needin’ you.” She reached down for my face and held it up. “Belle needin’ every one of us,” she said, looking into my eyes. “We her family, and we gonna help her. You part of this family?”

I yanked away and turned my back to her.

“Abinia?” she said with disappointment. “You not with this family?”

“I don’t know!” I said, stomping my foot. “I don’t know! Mostly it seems like I’m part of this family, but in church I have to go up front and sit with the white people. I want to sit with the twins, and they can’t come up with me, and I can’t go back by them. You aren’t my real mama, and Belle isn’t, either. Where will I go when I grow up? And I don’t want to live in a big house, either!” I began to cry, and Mama waited awhile before she spoke.

“Abinia,” she said, “ if you and Beattie and Fanny was playin’ in the stream and it got deep like after the big rain and you all needin’ help, don’t you think I there to help you out, just like I do the twins?”

I thought about that for a moment. “But which one of us would you pull out first?” I asked, turning to face her.

“Whoever go by me first,” Mama said quickly. We stared at each other, then laughed aloud at her honest answer. “Abinia,” she said, “this I know. What the color is, who the daddy be, who the mama is don’t mean nothin’. We a family, carin’ for each other. Family make us strong in times of trouble. We all stick together, help each other out. That the real meanin’ of family. When you grow up, you take that family feelin’ with you.”

“But I don’t want to go away—” I started.

Mama interrupted. “Why you thinkin’ about leavin’ now? That some long time away. You look at today, chil’. You say, ‘Thank you, Lawd, for everythin’ you gives me today.’ Then you worries about the next day when the next day come.”

I sighed in relief.

“So, Abinia,” Mama asked again, “you part of this family?”

I nodded.

She smiled at me. “Good. Then we best get back to work, ’cause we a workin’ family.” She rose to her feet, and I, feeling like a woman, followed her out the door and into the bright sunlight.

T
HROUGH THAT FALL AND WINTER
Belle grew heavy and awkward. Remembering Mama’s words, I tried to help her whenever she would allow. She remained temperamental, but we were close again, although neither of us spoke of the baby she was carrying. Fanny told Beattie and me that when the captain finally noticed Belle’s condition, he became furious and demanded to know who the father was. Belle refused to discuss the subject and told him that she would not visit him if he were to ask again. He became enraged and told her to stay away. And so she did.

I
WAS IN THE KITCHEN
house with Belle and Mama on a cold February night when Belle’s baby was born. The twins were up at the big house, and Papa came for Sukey when Belle’s labor pains began in earnest. I wanted to go with Papa, but Belle clung to my hand and asked me not to leave. I looked at Mama, hoping she might send me off with Sukey.

“Abinia gonna stay.” Mama set me with her eyes. “Abinia can almost do this by herself,” she reassured Belle. “You remember how she help me when Campbell come.”

This time I was older and more prepared for childbirth, but I felt sick with relief when Belle finally delivered herself of the child. Mama had me cut the purple cord, and after she cleaned and wrapped the child, she handed the baby to me. “Give him to Belle,” she instructed.

I stared at the baby.

“Go on.” Mama pushed me toward Belle.

“Belle!’ I cried in delight. “Belle! He looks just like Campbell!”

Belle gave a sharp cry and turned her head away. Her reaction reminded me of Miss Martha’s rejection of Campbell, and I felt afraid for Belle’s baby. I looked to Mama for guidance and was surprised to see her drying her own tears. I waited, unsure, until the baby began to fuss.

Mama came. “Belle,” she said, taking the baby from me, “come now. He your baby. This chil’ come from the Lawd. He got the right to have a mama, and that mama is you. Now you take him, Belle, and you give him your milk. He a good baby. He gonna be a sweet chil’.”

Belle lay with her head turned away, but Mama pulled back Belle’s nightshirt to expose a full breast. Mama settled the baby next to Belle. As he hungrily sought a nipple and began to suckle, Belle gave a low moan when her body yielded to the need of her child. Her anguished eyes sought out Mama, but they softened the moment she looked down at her nursing baby. She cradled him, and made soft cooing sounds as she stroked his tiny white face.

I shed tears of relief and joy. Belle reached for my hand and pulled me toward her and the baby. “Lavinia,” she whispered, “what are we gonna call him?”

Belle

A
T THE END OF
M
AY
1797, the cap’n calls for me to bring my baby, Jamie Pyke, up to the big house. First I say no, but Mama says, “Belle, you got to go. That man’s gettin’ sicker by the day. He can’t hardly walk no more, and his color look like a dry old peach. You got to get the free papers for you and Jamie. If the cap’n die, what you gonna do? Stay here if Marshall take the cap’n’s place? You want that?” First time ever, I know I got to get the papers. So I go to the big house and take my four-month-old baby with me.

Mama’s right. When I see the cap’n, I see he’s not gonna make it. My legs don’t want to move, but I take Jamie over to show the cap’n. He just stares down. He asks me one more time who’s the daddy, but my mouth won’t work. Uncle Jacob, looking like he can’t take no more, steps up. “It plain to see who the daddy be!” Uncle says. “And Belle don’t have no say in the matter. And this a fact!”