Cricket found her at the wash tubs, and said, "Miz Bea want you, Miss Ella. Right now, her say." He was oddly serious, which prompted her to ask if he knew what Miz Bea wanted, but he darted away without answering. Ella dried her hands on her apron, as she hurried toward the house. Grandmother hasn't looked well at all, lately. It was probably only her digestion, since she kept those sprigs of mint in her cheek worse than old Grandma Kearney used to dip stuff. They'd go into Savannah first thing in the morning and see old Doctor Boales. She'd insist.
In the parlor, she was not surprised to find Jack, as unsmiling as her grandmother, leaning on his crutch behind his new friend's chair. Ella surmised they had stopped conversing the moment she opened the door. Worried anew by her grandmother's pallor, she studied her a moment.
"Are you ill, Grandmother?"
"Probably...," Beatrice growled, "but that is not why I summoned you. Jack has something to tell you, and so do I. Your first, Jack."
Ella looked quizzically at Jack, half smiling. "My, my, how glum the two of you look. What has happened? The sharecroppers abandon us again? I wouldn't be a bit surprised. If so, we'll simply get—"
"I'm leaving in the morning. I'm going to Missouri."
"Missouri?" Ella's confusion showed. "But Missouri isn't you home, Georgia is. This is! For Heaven's sake, Jack, have you a fever?"
He pulled an envelope from his pocket, and Ella glanced quickly at the other envelopes in her grandmother's lap and though how ridiculous it was that they both had envelopes.
"This letter is from Ma's sister, Aunt Nellie, in Springfield. She said Ma and my little sister died of the cough. Aunt Nellie's husband and sons were killed in war—just like Pa and my brothers. Now Aunt Nellie's got my two little brothers and a widowed daughter-in-law with three youngens to feed. They need me. I'm all they got left."
"But, Jack, I was going to offer you half of Greenpoole just to stay and help me run things! Don't you want that? Missouri isn't your home! How can you call a place you weren't born and raised in, home? For God's sake, Jack, don't leave me! Not you! I...I'll...I'll marry you when I'm free, if you want..."
"Ella!" She heard her grandmother's angry bark, but did not take her pleading gaze from Jack.
"I can call Missouri home because I've got blood kin there, Ella—my little brothers. A man's home is where his family is—a woman's, too." He gazed meaningfully at her, and she felt her face flame. So that's what they've been up to! She whirled to glare accusingly at her grandmother.
Beatrice drew a deep breath through her nose, held it, then noisily released it through her mouth—a sure indication that a task, unpleasant but unavoidable, weighted her. She smoothed the long envelope in her lap, then raised it. "I have had this in my possession for some weeks, knowing it was the only thing standing between you and freedom."
"Freedom? My freedom? Have you both gone daft? But then she stared at the envelope. "What is that?"
"A declaration, in my own hand, stating what I have done, and also a letter you can present at Planter's Bank to see proof of my actions."
"Oh, Grandmother, you sold your house in Savannah!" She would miss Jack terribly, but now she would be able to pay the taxes and the Pinkerton much sooner than she thought.
"Yes. I have sold all my properties, Ella—Greenpoole plantation, among them."
Ella stumbled back a step, slowly moving her head from side to side. Jack, obviously afraid she would collapse, swung close to bolster her, but she threw up a hand to keep him away. "But...you can't do that!
"Greenpoole was mine, child; surely you knew."
Ella sunk to the sofa, staring at the floor but seeing nothing, as Beatrice continued.
"Had your father lived, Greenpoole would have been his after my death, and then yours—but not yet."
Ella stared silently at her for a long time, letting the shocking realization sink in, and then finally cried out, her pain glowing in her eyes. "How could you be so cruel! How could you? Greenpoole is all I've ever wanted! It's all I have left of my life! It is my life!"
Beatrice stiffened; her abrupt anger widening her owl eyes into a frightening stare. "You stupid woman! Your husband and your son and the child that you carry, is your life! This..." she swept her arm out, indicating their surroundings, "this is not your life! It is the rotting albatross around your neck!" Around all of our necks! And you must escape before you rot with it!" Grimacing, she pushed from her chair, surprising Jack, and now he swung to her side. She stood over Ella, trembling with her rage. "So help me God, Ella, if I have to hire that Pinkerton to drag you, you will leave this place! You will go to your family! You will go if I-!" She swayed, her mouth freezing in its open position, her rigid fingers going to her chest. Jack caught her, his crutch clattering nosily against the bare floor, as he fell backward onto the sofa with her.
Ella fell to her knees beside them, screaming for Meshach, and then screamed at Cricket, as he tore into the parlor. "Take the horse and get Doctor Boales! Hurry! Hurry!
* * *
War, and its aftermath, had absolutely no impact on the social structure that had for generations separated the white classes in Savannah and across the South. The high notion of blue blooded superiority clung to Chatham County's elite like an irreplaceable old heirloom. Persons of gentility remained aloof to anyone other than their own class, even though they were now as poor as were those from whom they and their ancestors had segregated themselves. There were but two events that could bring these white classes, high and low, together in one large, shoulder-bumping crowd—politics or the death of someone respected by both caste. Therefore, it was kindred respect for Beatrice Corrigan that drew the disparate throng to Greenpoole plantation for her burial. "Kinship for a fleeting measure of a day," Beatrice has once uttered at another such funeral.
Before sunrise, the day after Ella sent word to Beatrice's tea and cakes brigade in Savannah that their illustrious leader had passed on, men from town arrived to construct the long plank board tables that would accommodate the copious amounts of food soon to arrive with nearly each mourner, no matter how poor. The men placed the tables beneath the least mangled trees a short distance from the old rose garden. Just like in the old days, Ella thought listlessly, as she watched from her bedroom—just like in the old days when Greenpoole hosted barbecues and elaborate lawn parties. Deep in memory, the strains of a sweet waltz began to play in her aching head. Her father had always hired the very best musicians, she recalled, and then clenched her eyes shut, silencing the music. When she opened them she saw Tessie Peckenpaugh rushing across the lawn, her arms piled high with a stack of table linens.
Tessie had arrived the prior evening with Judith Ashville and four of Judith's youngest children. After occupying the chair next to Beatrice's simple oak casket for hours, Tessie, sniffing and crying, insisted on showing Ella the contents of the huge trunk she had brought along. Inside were the delicate linens, napkins and doilies she had made for her very own trousseau some twenty-five years ago and which were now to be used for Beatrice's funeral feast. Like the wedding dress Tessie had given Ella for her wedding to Gentry, this was to be their first use. Ella had wanted desperately to leave poor Tessie to her bouts of tears, but that was not to be.
"You know, my dear child, when our dear Bea sold her house to Banker Treadwell, he agreed that she and I could reside there until her demise, but ..."she glanced sadly at Ella then blew her nose into a worn lacy handkerchief that Ella recognized as one of Beatrice's ... "so I shall have to move out right away now." She glanced at Judith Ashville a distance across the room. "Our sweet Judith has offered two rooms of her lovely home, but I am afraid Mister Ashville is not at all pleased that she did. She hasn't said, but he was quite discourteous to us both on the ride out today."
Though she felt little like answering, Ella was obliged to do so. "It is Mister Ashville's way, Miss Peckenpaugh. Just ignore him."
"I cannot abide the man. I would be quite miserable under his roof."
"It is hard to believe that Grandmother did not make provision for you, Miss Peckenpaugh—her permanent houseguest, and dearest friend."
Tessie glanced warily at Ella. "I am not a brave woman, my dear, but I ... I would very much like to accompany you to Texas."
Stunned, Ella stared at her. "You must be joking."
"Oh, no! I know it's said to be a terribly wild place, but when I think of going, the thought indeed suggests an excitement I cannot explain!" Her dark blue eyes sparkled with sudden anticipation. "A new place ... a new life, and perhaps, even ..." She reached out, her trembling fingertips touching lightly at her trousseau trunk before she jerked the hand back and squeezed the fingers tightly in her other hand.
Ella continued to stare at her. Had Grandmother planned this? Had she know she was dying? Ella's expression grew grim, as she allowed anger at her revered elder. Of course she knew! She always knew everything! "I intend to buy back Greenpoole, Miss Peckenpaugh, I intend to use the money Grandmother got for her properties for that purpose. I'm sure Banker Treadwell will not decline such a profit ... seeing as he will have gotten her house in town for nothing."
"You can't."
"Oh, but I can."
"No, my dear, you can not. Immediately after the sale, Bea sent the money to your husband."
"What?"
"Yes. She left only enough for our steamboat passage ... for the boy, Cricket, also. And for provision on the way—food, water, and such. So you see, you can't possibly do such a thing. I suppose poor Bea knew you would try though." Suddenly, the ever-meek old maid of Savannah seemed almost defiant, and Ella's anger turned to rage.
She smiled nastily at the tight-lipped Tessie. "You, Miss Tessie, aboard a steamer, when the only body of water you aren't terrified of is in you bathtub? You've never set foot in a boat, remember! You wouldn't even cross that pontoon bridge to escape the Yankees, remember that? And if you go with me, you will be on a deep, dark, dangerous sea ... tossed by howling winds and waves ... perhaps a terrible storm. Aren't you afraid you'll drown or get eaten up by giant sharks?"
"I ... I am doing it for Beatrice." Her gloved hands shot to her splotched cheeks. "I promised!" Suddenly, she stared across the room, her mind, no doubt on the horrors ahead. In a moment, she was boo-hooing, and poking fretfully at the pins protruding from pitiable fuzzy bun at the back of her head.
Ella's shoulders slumped. How could Grandmother have done this to me? I would have gotten back my son and Hannah and brought them home to Greenpoole, but now....! She burst into bitter tears, and ran from the room, pushing past the reaching arms of Beatrice's tea and cakes brigade, who had gathered at the foot of the stairs sadly consoling each other. Sometime later, she held a cool cloth to her red, swollen eye and, as was expected of her, went downstairs to accept the mumbles of condolence from the visitors, before they moved hesitantly along to gaze down at the chalky white face that little resembled the once exuberant Beatrice Corrigan.
"I love Southern funerals," said the Yankee woman, Mrs. Fenwick, as she balanced a chipped, French made Sèvres china plate in one hand and shove a shrimp patty into her mouth with the other. As she chewed, she gazed about the yard at the conglomeration of mourners, swallowed, then explained, "I love Southern funerals because there is always such a diverse mix of you people. Wonder what your grandmother would say about this huge crowd—especially us Yankee showing up to pay our respects?"
"Probably that the lot of you were drawn by the smell of good Southern food," Ella replied, and guided the surprised woman and her near empty plate back to the loaded tables.
Cricket handed Ella a note; she thanked the Yankee woman for coming, and turned aside to read Jack's note: Are you too mad at your old friend to tell him goodbye? Hester and I are waiting at Corrigans' Pool.
Stronger than her earlier feeling of betrayal was the fresh sadness that suddenly caused her to slump her shoulder. She slipped the scrap of paper into her pocket and made her slow way thorough the crowd of mourners, some of whom merely nodded their condolences as she passed, while others grasped her hands to express their sympathies. to the bluff.
Finally away from the crowd and nearing the foot of the bluff, she saw Jack leaning against the mossy bolder that fed ancient Corrigans' pool, his fingers playing with the steady trickle of water that cascaded down its surface. Hester grazed nearby, her bony rump loaded with the same raggedy bedroll that had been there the day Jack arrived. Silent, Ella sat on the cracked marble bench at the pool's edge and stared into the blue-green depths. In a moment, Jack jabbed his crutch beneath his armpit, swung to her side and sat down. He gazed at the pool and then at the gigantic oaks that surrounded the entire area in a misty, sun-flecked haze.
"We sure had some good times here, remember? Talking, soaking or feet ... laughing." He caught Ella's chin in a crooked finger and turned her face until their eyes met. I'd be highly flattered if that's what you were remembering right now."
Ella nodded. But it was not Jack and the times they spent together as children and later, best friends, that filled her mind this minute. She closed her eyes, trying blot out that moonlit night almost seven years ago when, at Gentry Garland's gently urging, she so willingly surrendered her virtue to him. Than foolish night was the beginning of her misery, and now, after thinking he loved her enough never to see her hurt her, he had done his worst! Better he had slit her throat before stealing her son away!
"But...," Jack was saying, " we can't go back, Ella. We aren't those people anymore...never will be again."
"I know, Jack. We can't go back, but what's to become of us? I'm so afraid!"
He pressed his forehead tightly to hers, and she felt him tremble slightly. "Me, too," he said, pausing for a long moment, and then said, "but I think—maybe for the first time in my life—that what becomes of us is up to us." He pressed a kiss into her hair, then pulled back to smile mischievously at her. "As for myself, I'm going to Missouri, where I suspect Aunt Nellie's got her widowed daughter-in-law convinced she's duty-bound to take me on."
Ella sniffed. "About time you married somebody."
"Yeah ...," Jack drawled, leaning back to stretch his arms out and yawn, "looks like I'll have myself a plump, homely wife who'll cook my meals, have my babies, and consider herself damned lucky to a one-legged scamp like me."
"She will be," Ella said softly, as she brushed a lock of dark hair from his eyes and smiled sadly at him.
"Aunt Nellie says the girl is kindly and has a great personality—which means she ain't much to look at and talks all the time."
Ella could not laugh even knowing he was trying to make her do so. "I wish we had married, Jack. You once said that friends make better alliances than lovers."
"It'd been like incest ... you thinking of me like a brother. Although I ain't that religious, myself," he added, with a chuckle, and this time, she chuckled with him.
Jack arose, and gripped her hands. "Pa used to tell my brothers and me that no matter how many bad things happened to us, if we thought real hard on it, we'd see that good lessons were learned from each mishap. Think about it, Ella. Think real hard." He slipped an envelope into her hand and kissed her goodbye.
With tears glistening on her cheeks, she watched him tie his crutch to the bedroll on Hester's rump, then he belly-flopped across her back, swung his leg over, and sat upright. He tipped his brown beret and then, as if to extract a last laugh from Ella, cocked it between Hester's ears as he rode away.
When he was gone, Ella eased her tired swollen body onto the cool grass between the pool and the marble bench, and tore into the envelope. Inside was a map, crudely drawn but to the point. High in the corner was a depilated old mansion, unmistakably Greenpoole...and from it, ran a wide line past Savannah into the Atlantic, then along the coast into the Gulf of Mexico ... until the line took a sharp turn inland and stopped at the outer rim of a large circle, inside which was scrawled the words 'Blood Kin'. She crushed the paper in her palm and, after stretching her arms over the bench, pressed her face into them, and cried.
* * *
The next day, Ella left Greenpoole plantation with only a valise and small carpetbag holding her worldly possessions, but the weight she carried in her heart was heavier than any dozen trunks she could have filled in better times. Tessie followed her to the wagon that would take them the short distance to Greenpoole's dock, where the Swan, a paddlewheel steamer that plied the river between Augusta and Savannah, waited. In Savannah they would board another steamer for the journey along southern coastlines into the Gulf of Mexico, and then...Texas.
Meshach and Cricket loaded Tessie's trousseau trunk and helped her aboard. Cricket, obviously trying to hide his excitement by putting his hand over his wide grin, hopped onto the back, and then fidgeted. Ella touched Meshach's sleeve. "I'm glad you are staying on at Greenpoole, Meshach ... and will be watching over the place." Suddenly she could say no more. She jerked up her hand to her mouth, her miserable gaze turning to the rose garden and the tombstones visible between the swaying bushes—Little Seth's Apothecary's Rose was in full bloom, swaying in breeze, as if waving goodbye to her; she stifled a sob.
Meshach quickly looked down, his eyes watering, but his deep soft voice did not give him away. "That what Mister Treadwell say Miz Bea wanted, when he asked me to stay on, Miss Ella. Don't you worry none ...'cause I gonna take good care of them roses and them that rest there. That garden a might pretty place to lay when the Lord calls a soul to glory." He looked at her now, frowning slightly, but his maroon eyes were as gentle as a child's. "You gots to be happy now, Miss Ella. You gots to try real hard to be happy."
She grasped his large, work-scarred hand with both of hers, and held tightly to it. "I shall miss you, Meshach. My family and could not have had a better friend in this world than you ... time and time again." Her tears formed rivulets down her face, as memories of the perils they had faced together flashed through her mind ... the cruelties of Victor's Moss Oak Plantation ... the vicious slave driver, Bruno ... the murderous white trash Shipleys, and that terrifying night in Savannah when looters rampaged in advance of Sherman's army. A steady stream of tears coursed down her cheeks, as he helped her aboard and then drove them to the dock.
* * *
To stand on the paddlewheeler's deck and watch her beloved Greenpoole growing smaller and smaller in the distance, was completely defeating to Ella. When a bend in the river blocked her cherished home from sight, she gripped the rail and leaned forward, but was not to see her home again. She began to tremble, feeling as if her heart would stop. If she'd only had the money to-! She thought of Jack's parting words, and her eyes glittered: If her "mishaps" had taught her "a good lesson"—it was that money, and the independence to attain it, was paramount to a woman's survival in this world. And as soon as this baby was born, she'd let nothing stop her from attaining both!
