“I’m going to give a party for the field hands,” she said.
He pulled on his shirt. “What kind of party?”
Lizzie found herself wishing he had left the shirt off a little longer, she liked looking at his body. “What kind would you like?”
He looked thoughtful. “You could have a bonfire in the backyard. What the hands would like most of all would be a good meal, with plenty of meat. They never get enough to eat.”
“What food would they like?”
“Hmmm.” He licked his lips. “The smell of fried ham coming from the kitchen is so good it hurts. Everyone loves those sweet potatoes. And wheat bread—the field hands never get anything but that coarse cornbread they call pone.”
She was glad she had thought to talk to Mack about this: it was helpful. “What do they like to drink?”
“Rum. But some of the men get in a fighting mood when they drink. If I were you I’d give them apple cider, or beer.”
“Good idea.”
“How about some music? The Negroes love to dance and sing.”
Lizzie was enjoying herself. It was fun planning a party with Mack. “All right—but who would play?”
“There’s a free black called Pepper Jones who performs in the ordinaries in Fredericksburg. You could hire him. He plays the banjo.”
Lizzie knew that “ordinary” was the local term for a tavern, but she had never heard of a banjo. “What’s that?” she said.
“I think it’s an African instrument. Not as sweet as a fiddle but more rhythmic.”
“How do you know about this man? When have you been to Fredericksburg?”
A shadow crossed his face. “I went once on a Sunday.”
“What for?”
“To look for Cora.”
“Did you find her?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “Everyone has lost somebody.” He turned his face away, looking sad.
She wanted to put her arms around him and comfort him, but she restrained herself. Pregnant though she was, she could not embrace anyone other than her husband. She made her voice cheerful again. “Do you think Pepper Jones could be persuaded to come here and perform?”
“I’m sure of it I’ve seen him play in the slave quarters at the Thumson plantation.”
Lizzie was intrigued. “What were you doing there?”
“Visiting.”
“I never thought about slaves doing that kind of thing.”
“We have to have something in our lives other than work.”
“What do you do?”
“The young men love cockfights—they’ll walk ten miles to see one. The young women love the young men. The older ones just want to look at one another’s babies and talk about brothers and sisters they’ve lost. And they sing. The Africans have these sad songs that they sing in harmony. You can’t understand the words, but the tunes make your hair stand on end.”
“The coal miners used to sing.”
He was silent for a moment. “Aye, we did.”
She saw that she had made him sad. “Do you think you will ever go back to High Glen?”
“No. Do you?”
Tears came to her eyes. “No,” she said. “I don’t think you or I will ever go back.”
The baby kicked her, and she said: “Ouch!”
“What?” said Mack.
She put a hand on her bulge. “The baby is kicking. He doesn’t want me to yearn for High Glen. He’s going to be a Virginian. Ow! He just did it again.”
“Does it really hurt?”
“Yes—feel.” She took his hand and placed it on her belly. His fingers were hard and rough skinned, but his touch was gentle.
The baby was still. Mack said: “When is it due?”
“Ten weeks.”
“What will you call it?”
“My husband has decided on Jonathan for a boy, Alicia for a girl.”
The baby kicked again. “That’s hard!” Mack said, laughing. “I’m not surprised you wince.” He took his hand away.
She wished he had left it there a little longer. To hide her feelings she changed the subject. “I’d better talk to Bill Sowerby about this party.”
“You haven’t heard?”
“What?”
“Ah. Bill Sowerby has left.”
“Left? What do you mean?”
“He disappeared.”
“When?”
“Two nights ago.”
Lizzie realized she had not seen Sowerby for a couple of days. She had not been alarmed because she did not necessarily see him every day. “Did he say when he was coming back?”
“I don’t know that he talked to anyone, directly. But I’d say he isn’t coming back at all.”
“Why?”
“He owes money to Sidney Lennox, a lot of money, and he can’t pay.”
Lizzie felt indignant. “And I suppose Lennox has been acting as overseer ever since.”
“It’s only been one working day … but yes, he has.”
“I don’t want that brute taking over the plantation!” she said hotly.
“Amen to that,” Mack said with feeling. “None of the hands want it either.”
Lizzie frowned suspiciously. Sowerby was owed a lot in wages. Jay had told him he would be paid when the first tobacco crop was sold. Why had he not simply waited? He could have paid his debts eventually. He must have been frightened. Lennox had threatened him, she felt sure. The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. “I believe Lennox has forced Sowerby out,” she said.
Mack nodded. “I don’t know much about it but that’s my guess too. I’ve done battle with Lennox, and look what happened to me.”
There was no self-pity in his tone, just a bitter practicality, but her heart went out to him. She touched his arm and said: “You should be proud. You’re brave and honorable.”
“And Lennox is corrupt and savage, and what happens? He’ll become overseer here, then he’ll steal enough from you, one way and another, to open a tavern in Fredericksburg; and soon he’ll be living much as he did in London.”
“Not if I can help it,” Lizzie said determinedly “I’m going to speak to him right away.” Lennox had a small two-room house down by the tobacco sheds, near Sowerby’s house. “I hope he’s at home.”
“He’s not there now. At this time on a Sunday he’ll be at the Ferry House—that’s an ordinary three or four miles upriver from here. He’ll stay there until late tonight”
Lizzie could not wait until tomorrow: she had no patience when there was something like this on her mind. “I’ll go to the Ferry House. I can’t ride—I’ll take the pony trap.”
Mack frowned. “Wouldn’t it be better to have it out with him here, where you’re the mistress of the house? He’s a rough man.”
Lizzie felt a pang of fear. Mack was right. Lennox was dangerous. But she could not bear to postpone the confrontation. Mack could protect her. “Will you come with me?” she said. “I’d feel safe if you were there.”
“Of course.”
“You can drive the trap.”
“You’ll have to teach me.”
“There’s nothing to it.”
They walked up from the river to the house. The stable boy, Jimmy, was watering the horses. Mack and he got the trap out and put a pony in the traces while Lizzie went into the house to put on a hat.
They drove out of the estate onto the riverside road and followed it upstream to the ferry crossing. The Ferry House was a wood-frame building not much bigger than the two-room houses lived in by Sowerby and Lennox. Lizzie let Mack help her down from the trap and hold open the door of the tavern for her.
It was gloomy and smoky inside. Ten or twelve people sat on benches and wooden chairs drinking from tankards and pottery cups. Some were playing cards and dice, others smoking pipes. The click of billiard balls came from the back room.
There were no women and no blacks.