sworn he saw something flash across his face. “Her name’s Lydia.”
Of course he knew her. She was Dr. Kelly’s house slave. But soon she would be his wife.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Grandma, you have to stop.” Lydia wiped her grandmother’s tears. Lou had wept all morning in the back room of her cabin.
“I just can’t believe it. You getting married. My baby’s baby.”
Lou lifted herself up from the low wooden stool in the corner of the room, one hand on the seat, the other against her breast.
She coughed herself hoarse before walking to Lydia, her tree-trunk legs dragging beneath her.
It struck her how much her grandmother had aged. Life had waged an all-out assault against her and was winning with little resistance. Her once-prominent features had melted to dough.
Lydia wrapped her arms around the old lady.
“Grandma, I love you.”
“Granny loves you, too, baby. Lydia, you better not cry!”
“Well, you’re crying!”
“The bride ain’t never suppose to cry on her day. Listen, here, chil’, you got plenty days to do just that.”
Lydia laughed.
“But today, you got to be happy, you hear me? Ain’t no reason to shed a tear today. Now, go on and get ready, girl. Noon, Lydia. John’ll be waiting.”
“Lydia!” Her father called from the front room.
It warmed her heart to see him in his white-buttoned shirt and navy trousers, Sunday’s best. He squirmed against the small wooden knob that held the collar close against his throat and smiled.
“I’ve got something for you, Lydia.”
“You do? Daddy, you know—”
“I don’t want to hear it. Now go on and close your eyes.”
She closed her eyes and heard the door open and the sound of something being dragged inside.
“Open your eyes.”
Lydia stared at the bench, a redwood cedar polished to perfection, and wrapped her arms around her father’s neck. “Daddy, it’s beautiful.” She knelt before it and ran her fingers over a carved heart and letters on the backrest.
“Says John and Lydia,” her father said. “Took me awhile to add that.” He smiled.
“It’s perfect, Daddy. Thank you.”
Lou stood at the back of the room, grinning.
“I wanted something special for you,” he said. “It’s a special day.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.” Lydia kissed her father and gave her grandmother a squeeze before scampering off to the Big House.
All she could think about was tonight. Joy and fret warred, flipped, and tumbled over each other inside her belly.
In the washroom outside the manor, she scrubbed her body and hair with soap made of ashes and lard in a wooden bucket of water, drying off with a few shakes of her frayed towel. She slipped into her knee-length stockings and chemise, but when she lifted the oversized cream sack dress over her head, she steadied herself. Joy swelled as she traced a string of yellow ribbon above the pocket around her waist and tied it in a bow behind her. She had wanted to wear the gown she had made for herself but thought better of it. It was Jackson’s dress now and much too formal for anything John owned. She combed through the damp tangles of her hair, wrapped it full and high, and smiled at the crown Lizzy had taught her to create.
Inside she found her friend in the sitting room, flipping the yellowed pages of a book small and thick.
“Where’s your mother? Are your parents here?”
“Who knows where my father is, but my mother’s in her quarters. Resting, I believe.” Lizzy looked up at her. “Lydia… Look at you! You coming from church?”
“This is it, Lizzy.” Lydia giggled and ran to her. Kneeling beside her, she squeezed her hand. “Today’s the day.”
“What day?” Lizzy tossed the book aside and scooted to the edge of the sofa.
“I’m getting married, Lizzy,” she whispered. “I’m getting married.”
“You’re getting married?” Lizzy nearly screamed.
“Shh!” Lydia laughed, cupping her hand over her mouth, but was no quieter. “I’m all ready. I don’t
Of course he knew her. She was Dr. Kelly’s house slave. But soon she would be his wife.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Grandma, you have to stop.” Lydia wiped her grandmother’s tears. Lou had wept all morning in the back room of her cabin.
“I just can’t believe it. You getting married. My baby’s baby.”
Lou lifted herself up from the low wooden stool in the corner of the room, one hand on the seat, the other against her breast.
She coughed herself hoarse before walking to Lydia, her tree-trunk legs dragging beneath her.
It struck her how much her grandmother had aged. Life had waged an all-out assault against her and was winning with little resistance. Her once-prominent features had melted to dough.
Lydia wrapped her arms around the old lady.
“Grandma, I love you.”
“Granny loves you, too, baby. Lydia, you better not cry!”
“Well, you’re crying!”
“The bride ain’t never suppose to cry on her day. Listen, here, chil’, you got plenty days to do just that.”
Lydia laughed.
“But today, you got to be happy, you hear me? Ain’t no reason to shed a tear today. Now, go on and get ready, girl. Noon, Lydia. John’ll be waiting.”
“Lydia!” Her father called from the front room.
It warmed her heart to see him in his white-buttoned shirt and navy trousers, Sunday’s best. He squirmed against the small wooden knob that held the collar close against his throat and smiled.
“I’ve got something for you, Lydia.”
“You do? Daddy, you know—”
“I don’t want to hear it. Now go on and close your eyes.”
She closed her eyes and heard the door open and the sound of something being dragged inside.
“Open your eyes.”
Lydia stared at the bench, a redwood cedar polished to perfection, and wrapped her arms around her father’s neck. “Daddy, it’s beautiful.” She knelt before it and ran her fingers over a carved heart and letters on the backrest.
“Says John and Lydia,” her father said. “Took me awhile to add that.” He smiled.
“It’s perfect, Daddy. Thank you.”
Lou stood at the back of the room, grinning.
“I wanted something special for you,” he said. “It’s a special day.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.” Lydia kissed her father and gave her grandmother a squeeze before scampering off to the Big House.
All she could think about was tonight. Joy and fret warred, flipped, and tumbled over each other inside her belly.
In the washroom outside the manor, she scrubbed her body and hair with soap made of ashes and lard in a wooden bucket of water, drying off with a few shakes of her frayed towel. She slipped into her knee-length stockings and chemise, but when she lifted the oversized cream sack dress over her head, she steadied herself. Joy swelled as she traced a string of yellow ribbon above the pocket around her waist and tied it in a bow behind her. She had wanted to wear the gown she had made for herself but thought better of it. It was Jackson’s dress now and much too formal for anything John owned. She combed through the damp tangles of her hair, wrapped it full and high, and smiled at the crown Lizzy had taught her to create.
Inside she found her friend in the sitting room, flipping the yellowed pages of a book small and thick.
“Where’s your mother? Are your parents here?”
“Who knows where my father is, but my mother’s in her quarters. Resting, I believe.” Lizzy looked up at her. “Lydia… Look at you! You coming from church?”
“This is it, Lizzy.” Lydia giggled and ran to her. Kneeling beside her, she squeezed her hand. “Today’s the day.”
“What day?” Lizzy tossed the book aside and scooted to the edge of the sofa.
“I’m getting married, Lizzy,” she whispered. “I’m getting married.”
“You’re getting married?” Lizzy nearly screamed.
“Shh!” Lydia laughed, cupping her hand over her mouth, but was no quieter. “I’m all ready. I don’t
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