Calico Girl Read online

  “What did he say?”

  “ ‘It is simple. This is our way of life,’ he told me.” Suse hesitated. “But sometimes, Callie, I want to be friends. I feel like I want to, truly I do. I want to cross the line right now and be close to you like I am with Jenny or Rose Mallory. But I cannot. A good daughter does what her daddy asks of her,” she had explained.

  “What about your mother, Mistress Catherine? What does he say about Papa and her being family relations? What does he say about that?” Callie had asked.

  “Daddy says that is of no concern and means nothing. Her father, Grandfather Edward, was an Englishman. That means he was misguided against our ways, and taught Mother to be the same.”

  Callie never forgot that day in the field. She never talked about it to Suse again. The talk of a line that would never allow Callie to be close to Suse felt bad and it caused something deep inside of her to hurt.

  It is a strange thing—it rips us all apart—slave and master.

  • • •

  Now that same something inside of Callie was hurting. And it felt worse than being lost in that dark cave or walking through the tobacco fields ever could.

  “Come and stand next to me in the mirror,” Suse said. It was clear Callie especially did not want to play this game. Suse went over to the chair where Callie was sitting and dragged her to her feet.

  “I am sure to be taller than you now, Callie. I’m wearing my new boots with the heels.” But Suse was not any taller. Callie was still a half head taller than her even though she wore her flat-heeled work boots.

  The two girls stood in the mirror looking at each other’s reflection. They couldn’t be more different. They were an odd pair looking mix-matched and out of place. Suse was wearing her red plaid taffeta dress, which was shiny and smooth. It made a swishy swishy noise as she walked.

  In contrast, Callie wore the colorless rough-cut cloth of linen and wool. It was a heavy, coarse, and scratchy material, a shapeless dress that hung off her shoulders like a sack. Mama Ruth called it osnaburg cloth or linsey-woolsey cloth. Some called it slave cloth. Mister Henry insisted she wear it. It marked her as a slave.

  With an underslip it could be warm to wear in the winter. Either way, the dress was too hot to wear in the summer months. Callie hated the clothes she had to wear. Standing next to Suse in her fine clothes made Callie hate the dress even more—not because of the finery of Suse’s clothes; it was not something she would choose for herself to wear either. But she had no choice.

  If she could choose anything to wear, Callie would not choose silk or velvet or brocade or taffeta as Suse did. Callie would choose calico. It was a simple cotton cloth.

  Callie loved those times when Mama Ruth would tell her of when she and Hampton were first married and Mama Ruth and Joseph moved into their cabin.

  “You were still as much as a baby,” Mama Ruth once began. “I had a little boy, but I never had a little girl.” She smiled.

  “You were the sweetest and happiest-looking thing. I swaddled you in the softest thing I could find. It was calico. I patched together some few pieces from my scraps basket that I keep until I had a little blanket for you. You loved that blanket.

  “When you grew out of the need of a blanket, you wouldn’t let it go. So, I made a dress out of it. You were too little to do any farmwork, and I would not put you in that slave cloth,” she said, laughing, and Callie laughed too.

  “You seemed to like the look and feel of it so much,” Mama Ruth added. “You’d point to the little dainty flower pattern on the dress. ‘Pretty flower,’ you’d say.

  “So, I called you Callie, my Calico Girl. I saved that little dress for as long as I could. If I could, I’d dress you in calico right now.”

  Calico cloth was not for a party dress or a Sunday-go-to-meeting kind of thing like velvet, or silk, or taffeta. It was just a sweet, plain, smooth cloth, not fancy at all. It could have an all-over flower pattern or stripes or little designs in the cloth.

  Callie once tried explaining to Suse what she would rather wear if she had a choice in the matter: “It is just a plain cloth, but, it is the cloth I like the best.” But Suse was not interested in hearing what she had to say.

  Just then, Callie heard a noise. It was Suse. She had gone into her clothes closet where she had all kinds of dresses. Callie heard her rustling around, like she was digging for treasure and mumbling to herself.

  “Now, where is it?” Suse loved to talk, even if it was to no one at all. “Where is that old thing,” she kept asking herself. “It should have been right . . .

  “Here it is, Callie! Finally, I found what I was looking for!” Suse announced.

  “This is for you,” Suse said, thrusting her green taffeta and velvet party dress into Callie’s hand.

  “Don’t ever say I never did anything nice for you! I’m giving you my party dress. Even though I have outgrown it, now at least you have something pretty and shiny to look at during these hard times. Maybe your mama Ruth can fix it for you. Mother says your mama Ruth is the best seamstress for hundreds of miles around.”

  Callie held the dress in her hands like a rag and still said nothing. But that did not stop Suse from chattering. So she went back to the chair and sat down while Suse rattled on.

  “Daddy says with this great war coming we all must do our part to help the effort to defend our way of life here, Callie. Once Daddy settles his business affairs here at home, he is leaving us. Do you understand? He is leaving us to go to fight in the war!

  “That’s a sacrifice, too, Callie! That’s a big sacrifice,” Suse said beginning to choke up and cry. “Everybody has to do something, Callie—you and me and Joseph and your stepmother, Mama Ruth!”

  Now Callie felt it was Suse who had crossed a line.

  Callie thought about Mama Ruth right then. She thought about what Mama Ruth had said about forgiving others. Callie wondered if Mister Henry’s selling Joseph to pay his debts was something she could forgive. Callie would not mind one little bit if this was something she could not do. Callie knew she could not forgive him. And she had decided that she would not, not ever.

  “I’m tired, Callie,” Suse said, finally having worn her own self out. She went to her bed and lay there. Callie rose from the chair and walked to the window. She could hear the wagon as it went off down the road. She wanted to run to try to catch up to it to see Joseph one last time, but she knew Joseph was gone. Mister Henry was standing in the middle of the yard now, counting his money.

  For a moment, he looked up at the window to see her standing there. A wide grin slid across his face.

  “I’m going to see my Mama Ruth now,” Callie told Suse. She walked out of her room before she could say anything to her about what she could or could not do. Callie walked right past Mister Henry and went to Mama Ruth in their cabin.

  April, 1861, the war officially began. Everything rested on the energy and vigor of each blow the opposing sides could strike. At the start some felt the Union had two months to crush the Confederacy’s morale.

  The Union felt that an example had to be made of Virginia. If Virginia fell, it would strike terror into every other Southern state. Virginia was seen as unprepared and could not get ready quickly enough for an immediate contest. Time was of the essence. Things had to move, and fast.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Henry Warren

  May 17, 1861

  As the sun rose on that morning, the master of the Belle Hill Plantation, Henry Warren, prepared to leave for the battlefield. He did not know what to expect, nor did he know how long the war would last. He only knew he had been given the summons, and he had to heed the call. He was neither a soldier nor a farmer. He had been trained in the law. But Henry knew he had to do his part.

  The Southern Confederacy had acted swiftly in the bombardment of Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor, South Carolina, the month before. The war had started. Henry’s state of Virginia had not yet ratified their vote. South Carolina and six other southe
rn states had now cast their lot with the Confederacy.

  It was not a question of if he would return, for he knew he would, but in what shape, what condition, what circumstances? It was a risk, but one he was willing to take.

  Every Southerner had a stake in this war. Those who agreed with this noble cause had to take a stand to defend their way of life. It was a matter of individual pride and state’s honor. What more could they do?

  Henry Warren had taken care of his affairs. He sold what property he could. He paid his debts. This was help for the South. Each and every man, woman, and child had to do his share.

  Life had moved so quickly.

  Henry told his manservant, William, to do a final check of the supply wagon. Necessities and provisions were few. Henry would have to bring as many supplies as he could carry with him. William would be accompanying him, to attend to his master’s daily needs.

  It angered Henry mightily that he wanted Hampton at his side. Freedman or not, Henry wanted Hampton Wilcomb to accompany him. He was not above using the force of law. But his wife would not hear of it.

  Catherine would not go back on her word to him. It had been stated and agreed to in Henry and Catherine’s marriage papers that the freedman Hampton Wilcomb, her father’s son; his wife, Sara; and heirs and children of that union belonged in the Wilcomb family. No other person could manage, direct, or have any say over them without express permission or consent from the Wilcombs, and now that meant Catherine, the only surviving member of the family.

  Even after Henry’s strong appeal, at a most important hour such as this, Catherine refused to surrender her control and consent.

  “We have discussed this matter. I would rather not have it brought up to me again,” Catherine said, dismissing the conversation. “Let people say what they will; this is a matter of my family pride and honor. I cannot go back on my word to my brother.” Though Henry had pressed the matter again, the mistress of the plantation was resolute. It angered him even more when so very much was at stake.

  To settle the matter once and for all, Catherine appealed to Henry’s sense of honor and protective nature.

  “Don’t you agree we will need just as much help here?” Catherine began. “With most of the able-bodied slaves sold or sent South you cannot leave us here without help and completely defenseless. Hampton should stay here.”

  With that kind of argument Henry could pursue the matter no further. Looking back, Henry regretted that he had even allowed himself into such a marriage agreement with his wife’s family.

  The family had made their massive fortunes in textiles and indigo both here and abroad. Henry knew he and his heirs would gain much by the union, so he had agreed with the decision.

  Besides, what was the life of one slave worth, considering the fortune he would one day inherit? The slave Hampton was raised side by side with the Wilcomb children, Catherine and her sister, Eloise. Edward Wilcomb had always wanted a son, and now he had one, and even gave the slave his last name. Catherine had felt as close to Hampton as she did her sister. He was the brother she never had, she said.

  As a boy, the slave Hampton was quick, smart, and kind. He grew up to be hardworking and strong. He learned to be loyal, because he was treated as if he was one of the family. He felt bound by blood to love and protect the family he was born into. But that did not include his new master, who had married into the family.

  Though Hampton was no longer a slave, Henry could never think of him as anything else. Hampton was a good wagon master. He was in charge of the horses; he was trusted with them, and with good reason. Hampton handled cash. He bought and sold products for the plantation and made the decision on the price. He was honest and forthright in his dealings and Catherine insisted he receive a salary, small as it were. He was everything Edward could have asked for in a son, everything Henry, a man of law, lacked.

  “Fetch Hampton,” Henry finally told William. At that moment, his wife and daughter stepped into the yard. Suse broke away from her mother’s grasp and ran to put her arms around her father.

  “Oh, Papa, Papa,” Suse sobbed, running into her father’s arms. Her tears splattered his uniform, leaving dark gray splotches. “Do you have to leave us?”

  “Suse, my Suse, my dear, sweet daughter,” he said, trying to comfort her.

  Henry looked at Catherine, his eyes demanding she do something. But Catherine ignored her husband’s concern. Instead of taking it up with Catherine, he kneeled to face his daughter. He took his daughter’s face in his hands and kissed her forehead.

  “Remember, my darling daughter, we all have to sacrifice and do our part for the cause. I promise I shall return to you in a few short months. Now, go on back to your mother,” he said, which caused the girl to sob even more.

  Then Henry, so overcome by his daughter’s emotion, reached out and took both his wife and daughter into his arms. He finally felt the true gravity of what he was leaving behind.

  “Should I never return,” he said to them both, “if I fall, my last farewell is to you and my last remembrance is your expression of true love.”

  Catherine gently took her daughter by the shoulders and turned toward the house. The two were making their way back to the porch. Henry watched them. He hoped they would go inside and not watch him any further. It already was difficult enough to mount his horse and leave. But Suse and her mother stopped at the front porch.

  As Henry Warren mounted Stock, the best horse left in his stable, he looked on at all he was leaving behind. It grieved him, but what choice did he have? He had to protect and keep what was his.

  Hampton and his daughter, Callie, emerged from behind the kitchen building brushing wood chips out of their hair and off their clothes. Henry regarded the slave who called himself free. Hampton put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

  “You should run along back to the Quarters now,” Hampton directed his daughter. “Tell your mother I will be there directly.” Without hesitation Callie did what she was told and ran in the direction of their cabin.

  Henry Warren watched Hampton.

  Yes, he was a good, loyal, obedient worker, Henry thought. The man had gumption. He had get-up about him. He almost gave the appearance of any white man, standing straight, tall, unbending. His coloring only gave the impression of someone who had stayed in the sun too long.

  Henry would never say it out loud, but he admired him. There were times Henry admitted this to himself when he would watch the man with the horses. He admired the man’s wit. The man had a good deal of common sense. He was a valuable asset and was well regarded by all who still lived at Belle Hill.

  Henry admired Hampton as much as he despised him. He disliked looking into his face, which without question bore such a striking family resemblance to his wife’s. Hampton’s mannerisms, eye color, strong nose, and jawline were all of the Wilcomb family. Henry remembered the pride in Edward Wilcomb’s eyes when he would regard his son from afar, though he saved contempt and mistrust for his daughter’s husband.

  Hampton spoke too well. He had too many thoughts in his head. Henry hated him for the Wilcomb blood that ran through his veins; it made him more proud than any slave should have been in the face of his betters.

  “Hampton,” he shouted. “Come near to me!”

  Hampton looked up and into the man’s steel gray eyes. Henry Warren was not one to ever be in good humor, but Hampton knew how to address him. He was silent and attentive.

  “In my absence,” Henry began, “I charge you, to the last inch of your life, to take care of my family: your mistress, Catherine, my wife; and my daughter, Susanna; and my farm. I remind you of your family obligation to them.

  “Through the years you have proven yourself to be honorable enough to be bound by this duty and responsibility. But if you are not honorable enough and you put your needs first . . . if you should run off, or any harm comes to my family, I promise you, Hampton, I shall find you. And when I find you, freedman or not, I will make you pay dearly for y
our transgression and your disobedience.”

  Henry Warren wanted everyone to hear and know this charge, though very few servants were left. It was a matter of honor. They would never favor him as they would Hampton, but they would know who was master of this house. He thought the look in Hampton’s eyes told Henry he had done just that. But he was wrong. It was mostly just the opposite. Henry had no hold over Hampton, who was a freedman, and could not make demands or commands on his life.

  It was a sad and empty departure. Not one Henry had ever hoped for, but he was willing to risk his life. In his heart, Henry did not know what the future would hold for them in these uncertain times.

  As Henry Warren led his horse and wagon out onto the main road, it occurred to him that he had left something behind. The thought brushed through his mind for only a second. And then he realized that all the while he made pronouncements of his expectations to Hampton, he had said nothing. He neither agreed to nor disagreed with the commands Henry made to him.

  Now Henry wondered if what he had said was compelling enough to cause Hampton to follow his orders and remain at Belle Hill. He wouldn’t leave. Where would he go? Suddenly doubt filled Henry’s mind.

  But there was little Henry could do now, as the road took him farther and farther away, until Belle Hill was barely a speck on the horizon. He headed south toward the battlefield.

  On April 17, 1861, the Virginia legislature adopted the Ordinance of Secession. On May 23 voters confirmed it, repealing Virginia’s 1788 ratification of the Constitution of the United States. The North felt there was much to do before the rebellion would be crushed. It was said to be a desperate contest for superiority between men of the same race. Either the North or the South would become master of the continent.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Hampton Wilcomb

  May 23, 1861