(from Chapter 2)
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Uncle Victor climbed into the carriage, and Jenks helped me up. I could see the people gathered at the local Baptist church from a distance. They looked like ants, shimmering in the heat as they stood on the pale, sandy soil. Perspiration began to drip inside my bodice. I'm not sure if it was the heat, fear, or both that caused it. As we came to a stop, I dumbly focused my vision on the brown horses flicking flies off with their tails. Then I caught a glimpse of Byron standing with a group of men. As he turned to look at me, his cool, blue gaze seemed to communicate a hundred things to me all at once. Some of them scared me. "Don't be lookin' at him," Polly whispered. "It's bad luck." Jenks handed me out of the carriage, and Polly brushed the road dust off my dress. The church was cool, dark and comforting after being out in the blinding Carolina sun. As I waited downstairs, I felt silly for being so nervous. I imagined other women felt more confident. My whole childhood flipped through my mind like pages in a book. I remembered very little of my parents since they'd died when I was so young, but I felt their presence now. The bleat of the organ reverberated through the church and propelled me to my feet. I clung to Uncle Victor's arm like I was drowning in floodwater. Even as my mind refused to work, my feet correctly marched down the aisle. When my uncle sat down, a cool rush of emptiness filled me. It was quickly replaced by something else. I felt Byron's energy just standing next to him at the altar. It reminded me of standing too close to our barn when it had accidentally burned down last spring. The cool ring slid neatly onto my finger, and Byron looked very pleased. His kiss was strong and proprietary. It was very different than the chaste kisses on the cheek during our short courtship. It reminded me of the evening to come, and more perspiration migrated to my waist. It was over. I now belonged to Byron Walters and was mistress of Chesterfield, a place I'd scarcely even seen. Matronly women kissed the air around my face and patted my arms, telling me how beautiful I looked and how happy I would be. They hinted at socials and babies. I just smiled. I hugged Uncle Victor outside, and we talked for a while. Polly and Jenks watched us from a distance like the other black folks were doing. I moved to go hug them too and say goodbye, but my uncle gave me a look. "I know, it isn't proper, but I don't care," I said. "I'll miss them so." "I know how you feel, love," he replied quietly, "but Chesterfield is going to be very different than what you're used to. You have new responsibilities now as lady of the house. You'll need to conduct yourself with a little more restraint." "What if I don't wish to?" Suddenly I felt six years old again. "You must," he said firmly. "You're very lucky to marry so highly. I'll say goodbye to everyone for you." As I nodded, Byron took my arm and led me to their carriage. It was much grander than ours, but the coachman looked rather surly. He didn't smile at all. He didn't even talk to us. The fingers of late afternoon shadows reached across the trail in front of us. We turned off onto a small road flanked by statuesque live oaks festooned with moss. Chesterfield looked beautiful when it came into view. Pink sunlight bathed its white pillars. The main house was huge. As we got closer, I was amazed by the number of slave houses. I was also surprised to see workers still toiling in the fields at that hour. Their skin was slick with sweat since it was still so hot. There were acres of cotton as far as the eye could see. "Goodness, me," I said. "How many negroes do you have?" "Over a hundred," my new husband told me proudly. "Will I meet them all tomorrow?" I asked. Byron looked at me strangely and then laughed out loud. The coachman was silent and expressionless. "How lucky I am to have such an amusing wife." I stumbled up the front steps on numb, tired legs and entered the house. The main staircase was breathtaking. The steps looked like solid marble, and they curved below a window on the roof. The stone landing below was just as majestic. I walked toward the left, anxious to get a tour. A young negro woman instantly appeared and took me in from head to foot with one glance. "Welcome to Chesterfield, Mistress Olivia." She even curtsied, but her eyes didn't look very welcoming. "Harriet will show you around," Byron said. "I'll see you at dinner." I stood there with my mouth open for a moment. I didn't expect my new husband to abandon me so quickly in this strange place. Fatigue descended on me and wrapped me in sticky casings. Harriet was lovely. She was tall and slim, and there was long hair under her cap. No one could replace Polly, though. And this girl wasn't even coming close. I felt like I'd woken up in a strange country. "First, we'll go to your room and change," Harriet said. I struggled to follow her quick pace up the stairs in my long dress. The bedroom was grander than anything I'd ever seen before. Everything was accented with pale blue silk. From up high, the cotton fields seemed to stretch even further into the horizon. Harriet set about unpacking my bags as I drifted through the room, trying to feel at home in it. I wanted nothing more than to go to my old room at Goldthrush, but I knew I couldn't. Harriet didn't look pleased with the gowns I brought. "You'll need fancier gowns here," she said. "I reckon this one will have to do for tonight." She picked up my best gown, a plain green silk, and tossed it on the large bed. Then she unfastened all the buttons on my wedding gown. Gratefully, I stepped out of it. "You need to wash up," she said. She marched stiffly to the door and called out in the hall to someone. A girl quickly arrived with a bowl of water. Harriet told me how much time I had to wash up before she would come to show me around the house. I washed all the dirt and fear from the day off, and I even felt a bit jubilant once I was cleaned up. Harriet showed me so many rooms I got desperately lost. There were dens and dining rooms and bedrooms. I finally gave up trying to remember it all. She pointed out the names of several slaves as we passed by them, but she didn't introduce any of them to me. I saw some of them turn and watch me as I passed by. As we headed back toward my bedroom, I noticed a large painting of a man that looked a lot like my new husband. It seemed to guard the staircase. "Who is that?" I asked. "The previous Master Walters," Harriet replied. I waited for her to tell more while she helped me get dressed for dinner, but the only sound was the rustle of silk. |