Wild, Beautiful, and Free(92)

On the third day of my being home, I was ready to get dressed and to move about the plantation. Calista and I walked down the drive after breakfast. She wanted to show me where the soap was being made, and as we walked, she told me more about the plantation. I still wondered about the condition of the place and how she had managed to preserve it.

“How long have the soldiers been here?” I asked.

“A little over a year. Oh, Jeannette, when I saw them coming, I thought we were done for. I knew New Orleans had been given up. And there was no one to protect us. All our soldiers got sent to Virginia and Tennessee and Mississippi, where they thought they could get the best of the Yankees. Mama was frantic. But when the Union soldiers got here”—she turned and pointed back to the house—“one of them, a captain, came up on the gallery and said the Union Army wanted to requisition Catalpa Valley and its functions for their use.”

I shook my head. “It just seems like a miracle.”

“I felt the same way. I didn’t want to believe it. But it’s been like the captain said. The cotton goes to mills in Massachusetts. The cane goes to New Orleans. We send food and supplies to the lines. ‘Just keep doing what you’re doing,’ the captain said.

“A couple weeks after that he noticed Dorinda and some of the other women making soap. He said soap was needed and took most of them away from the housework and set to making it in larger quantities. We started selling that too.”

We had reached the large yard near the slave quarters. Women were pouring the soap mixture into bar forms laid out across the grass.

“Yes!” I put a hand on her arm. “I got one in Vicksburg. When I saw it and the flowers stamped into it, I knew you might be all right, that Catalpa Valley was still here. But President Lincoln’s proclamation didn’t include all of Louisiana.” I looked at the women. “Are they working of their own accord? At Vicksburg the soldiers made slaves help build the canals.”

“No, they didn’t do that here. The captain even said right away, ‘There’s just one caveat, Miss Bébinn. This place can’t keep slaves.’ I agreed, and I told him so. How someone dear had been taken from me and I hated slavery. I had never been in a position to do anything about it before because Mama ran everything.”

“And she still did, right? What did she say to the captain?”

We turned and walked back toward the house. “Mama threw a fit,” Calista said. “Was going on and on about how they had no right. I told her we had no choice. I guess you could say I overruled her. I asked the captain to help me organize our people. We drew up an agreement. I brought everyone here from the quarters, and we told them they were free, but if they agreed to stay, we would pay them. Not all of them stayed, but the ones that did work hard. We’re doing okay. We manage to pay them regularly.”

I looked at her with some doubt. “Madame allowed this?”

“She walked around here fretting for weeks. Then when Dorinda died . . .” Calista looked up toward the house. “Well, Mama had a stroke. Pretty bad. Been in bed ever since.”

I took Calista’s hands in mine. “You’ve had to take care of all this, and her, all on your own. How have you done it?”

“Well, I just do what I can. Look at this!” She twirled around in the rough-hewn dress she wore. “We haven’t been able to get proper muslin or any other kind of fabric. The women and I took to weaving our own homespun! I sewed this myself.” She laughed. “Not fashionable, I know, but I’m proud of it!”

We both laughed then. “Oh, Calista,” I said. “I’m so proud of you. Papa would be proud of you.”

Her eyes glowed. It felt so good to be with her again. I held her hand all the way back to the house.

When we got there, I paused and looked up at the windows.

“Where is Madame?” I asked. “In Papa’s room?”

Calista shook her head. “She’s in the red room. Hasn’t stayed in Papa’s room since he died and she had the nerve to sell you to that man.”

“What has she said? About selling me?”

“She wouldn’t allow anyone to speak your name. She wanted to act like it didn’t happen. We often fought about this.”

I sat on the steps and put my hands on my knees. I sighed.

“She had Dorinda whipped,” I said.

Calista nodded and sat next to me. “Yes.”

“And you refused to marry?”

“I couldn’t, Jeannette. If I did, I’d have to leave here. I couldn’t do it. There would have been no way to protect our people or to make her find you.”

I bowed my head. “Calista, did Madame tell you anything about Papa’s will?”

“No! Why?”

I stood, clasped my hands to my forehead. I walked a few steps away from Calista and back again. “She probably destroyed it,” I said. “That’s why she had to get rid of me, Calista. Papa left Catalpa Valley to us, just you and me.”

“What?” She rushed over to me and took my hands. “You’re sure about this?”

“She told me herself that night. She was angry. Said Papa had broken all his promises to her and that she would send me where I belonged.”

“Oh my God.” Calista looked like she was remembering something. “That’s why she was so mad that I wouldn’t marry.”