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The Legacy (Grandmother's Treasures, Book Two)

By Cherie L. Dargan

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Chapter One, A Plan Goes Awry (Sarah)

"Men say that women's lives are without danger
They stay at home while their husbands go to war
False! I'd rather stand ten times behind the shield-wall
In battle than but once carry a child." Medea.
SUNDAY. A village ten miles from Winchester, Virginia, Sept. 18, 1864, during the third battle of Winchester.
I'd been waiting for the knock on my door—and worrying about my sister Emily, about to give birth. I grabbed my bag and shut the door.
"Thomas, it's time?"
The young slave nodded, "Yes, Miss Sarah. Miss Emily needs you."
Thomas helped me into the small buggy, and as soon as I'd settled in the seat, he cracked the whip, and the horses galloped down the road. My heart raced as I gathered my skirts, the bag gripped to my body, grasping the seat with the other hand.
Racing toward Evaline, I tried to control my breathing the way Abigail had taught me. I couldn't help Emily unless I calmed down. Almost seven years ago, I traveled to Boston to train as a teacher. My roommate, Abigail, introduced me to her parents, Methodist ministers, active in the suffrage and abolitionist movements. On weekends with them, my real education began as I learned about the struggle for equality shared by women and Blacks.
Four years ago, I married my childhood sweetheart, Simon. We'd gotten engaged before I left for college. I loved him, but the girl he married was not the same girl who'd accepted his ring. We argued over my new beliefs, made up in bed, and then argued more.
"Sarah, you're the most stubborn woman I know. If I didn't love you so much, you would drive me completely mad." More than once, Simon expressed his frustration.
He left three years ago when a group of local men joined the Confederate Army and died in the middle of fierce fighting at the Battle of Bull Run on July 21, 1861. Now, in the fall of 1864, I still grieved. At twenty-four, I stood five feet four inches tall, with thick black braids down to my waist complementing my bright blue eyes. I styled my hair up in a bun and wore all black, customary for a well-bred young widow.
My brother-in-law, George Phillips, left for the war with Simon, along with most of the white men in the area. About nine months ago, during a lull in the fighting, George received a furlough to spend with Emily before returning to his regiment.
Emily began having morning sickness about six weeks after George returned to battle, and she'd only received one letter in March and nothing since then. She'd written to George to let him know of her condition, but never heard from him again. Whenever Confederate troops passed through town, Emily sent Peter, a house servant, to enquire about George, but they couldn't help her. No one knew his whereabouts or if he was dead or alive.
George's lawyer had sold most of the field slaves at Evaline and other plantations in the neighborhood had emptied. Half a dozen loyal house servants remained to help the young mistress through the birth of her first child after a miscarriage. They loved Emily and the way she treated them, especially Rebecca and Bobby. Now Emily needed me as she gave birth.
Meanwhile, the war was returning to our part of Virginia. As if Winchester hadn't seen enough bloody battles, General Phil Sheridan's Yankee cavalry pummeled Jubal Early's barefoot Southerners only ten miles away. The thunder of the artillery and cannons echoed through the valley.
I pondered all of this on the short ride to Evaline.
Thomas guided the buggy up to the hitching post by the front veranda and lashed the reins to a post. He helped me down, and I gathered my skirts as I ran up the steps where Mother greeted me. Her wrinkled dress, bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair made her look years older.
"Sarah, things aren't going well. I sent Peter to fetch the doctor yesterday, but he hasn't come. Emily is in so much pain — Mama Cee tried to help her last night, but the midwife made her leave. Oh, what shall we do?"
"Is the midwife still here?" Why had Mother sent for the doctor? Devastated when both his sons died during a battle several months ago, he'd taken to drink and was useless. The midwife was more than competent. What had happened?
"Yes, she's still here." Mother sat back down at the dining room table, slumped in fatigue.
Next to her, Bobby, the son of Emily's maid, sat with his head down on his arms, his legs dangling below the chair.
Bobby lifted his head when he heard my voice. "Is Miss Emily all right? I heard her screaming last night."
"She's having a baby, and it can be painful, but I'm here to help now." I tried to sound reassuring, but my stomach turned, and I began walking towards the stairs.
"It's going to be alright." I gathered my skirts and rushed up the steps to my sister's bedroom. Then I stopped inside the doorway.
Emily sat up in her canopy bed, supported by pillows, with Susannah and Rebecca, two young slaves, on either side. Emily's nightgown, soaked in sweat, bunched up around her distended belly. She trembled and sweat drenched her face and hair.
Rebecca held a glass half-filled with water to Emily's lips and encouraged her to take a sip before greeting me. I saw the fear in the younger woman's eyes. Rebecca was young but had assisted Mama Cee at many slave births. What was wrong?
Mrs. Brown, the midwife, checked under the sheet and tried to position Emily for the next contraction, talking to her with a soothing voice, but Emily wasn't listening. She saw me, cried out, and collapsed on the pillows. All three women whispered words of encouragement.
"I'm here now, Emily." The scent of blood mixed with sweat and urine filled my nostrils as I set my bag down.
The midwife walked around the bed and guided me a few steps away. "Your sister's pelvis is too small for the baby. She's been in labor since last night, but she begged us not to call you too soon. We sent her manservant to fetch the doctor yesterday, but he hasn't come. Now she's exhausted."
"Please get me a teapot full of hot water," I asked Susannah. She hurried out of the room. "I have tea from Boston that eases childbirth pain."
Emily beckoned me. "Sarah, something's wrong. The baby isn't moving anymore. I'm so tired — I can't go on." She lay back, panting.
Within minutes, Susannah returned, and I poured the tea into one of Emily's porcelain cups. "I want you to drink as much tea as you can."
My sister drank it with help from Rebecca. Emily then asked, "Get the papers, please." Rebecca picked up a brown document folder on the side table and handed it to me.
I kneeled to place the folder in my bag. I knew what it held and put my bag by the door. Then I motioned to the midwife to step away. "How far along is she?"
"She's almost ready to push, but the baby is too big. It's going to tear her something fierce. I don't know what to do. I got out my forceps, but they frightened her, so I put them away. The doctor might have offered her ether or chloroform and cut her, but he didn't come. I gave her some whiskey earlier."
A few contractions later, the midwife told us, "It's time."
The two young women and I supported Emily.
The midwife and I urged her, "Push. You can do this. Push."
I couldn't believe my sister's endurance. Finally, Emily screamed in agony and then lay back and panted.
"I have it," the midwife cried, as she wrapped the baby in a towel and tied and cut the cord. Mrs. Brown touched the baby's chest, checking for a heartbeat, and opened his mouth and felt for anything blocking the airway. But the baby's skin was pale blue, and the cord had wrapped around his neck.
She called out, "It's a boy." In every other way, he appeared normal, and I stared in awe at his tiny features.
Emily opened her eyes, expecting a cry.
The midwife shook her head.
Rebecca's frightened voice grabbed my attention. "Miss Sarah, we have a problem." She held several blood-soaked towels between Emily's legs, and I noticed Emily's face was pale.
Susannah ran for more towels.
The midwife stared in alarm at Emily. She lay the baby down on the bed and checked underneath the towels. She shook her head and quickly replaced them.
Mother walked in and saw the quiet baby, then the scene at the bedside. She cried out, "Emily! Why is she bleeding so much?"
I shook my head. "She tore, mother. Rebecca, do you have anything to stop the bleeding?"
Rebecca shook her head. "I have my bag of herbs, but they wouldn't have time to help, ma'am. She's losing too much blood."
The midwife agreed.
Emily's hand was limp in mine. "Is the baby dead?" She grew weaker by the minute. "I want to see him."
Mother wrapped him in a tiny blanket before placing him in Emily's arms. She kneeled by the bed, tears coursing down her cheeks.
Standing beside Emily, I grappled with what was happening.
Emily gazed down. "Such a sweet little face. Last night, I dreamed. . . we both died. Promise me. . .to carry out the plan, Sarah. Take Rebecca. . . and Bobby. . . to freedom."
"I promise." I knelt then, wiping tears with one hand, tasting salt, while helping Mother support the baby in Emily's arms.
Susannah cried as she handed more towels to Rebecca.
Rebecca continued to apply pressure on the towel. "I love you, Miss Emily. I'm sorry about the baby. Please don't die. Don't leave us."
"I love you, Rebecca. . .and Bobby. Mother. . .and Sarah. Name the baby George, Junior and. . .bury us together." Emily gasped. Her struggle ended as she fell back.
Weeping, I kissed her forehead. She was still beautiful in death. Only twenty-eight, she'd married George Phillips, a charming, wealthy man almost seven years ago. He was an only child of the old plantation owner, and selfish, controlling, and cruel. It was a relief when George left. Father thought he'd be the perfect match for my beautiful older sister, but George hadn't made her happy.
Rebecca was her maid but also became her confidant. Emily adored Bobby, born seven months after her big wedding to George. Rebecca and I had since spent hours together with my sister, helping her through a miscarriage after George left, and then this pregnancy in George's absence.
Rebecca stood, sorrow on her youthful face, tears streaming down her cheeks. She left the room and returned with a pitcher of water. Then she poured the water into the large bowl on the dresser.
Mother let go of Emily's limp hand. She sat in a bedside chair with baby George cradled tenderly in her arms.
I slumped in Emily's wingback chair, unable to believe my beloved sister and nephew were both dead. Rebecca washed my bloody hands with a sponge, but blood had splattered on my skirt and the floor. She cleaned up her young mistress, tears dripping down her face.
Our eyes met, and she whispered, "I'm sorry, Miss Sarah. Mama Cee tried to help last night—she had a knife and wanted to cut Emily, but the midwife stopped her from coming in."
Mother hadn't told me that detail downstairs. "Could Emily and the baby be alive if Mama Cee had helped?"
She nodded and continued working. "Maybe. I don't know. Mrs. Brown told your mother she didn't need that slave's help, but Mama Cee has delivered lots of babies. Sometimes she needed to cut a woman to keep her from tearing and bleeding more ."
I stood to talk to the midwife, my face hot with anger.
Rebecca wiped tears from her face wearily as she continued to clean Emily. "We can't bring her back, Miss Sarah."
The midwife glanced at Mother, shook her head, offered her sympathy, and left before I could confront her about why she hadn't allowed Mama Cee into the room.
Susannah picked up the bloody towels and left. When she returned, she approached Mother. "Oh, Miss Harriet. I'm sorry about Miss Emily and the baby."
Mother nodded through her tears. "Thank you, Susannah."
She sighed. "What did you promise her, Sarah?"
"To free the slaves and give them money so they could start new lives. Emily and I planned to take Rebecca, the baby, and Bobby to a free state as soon as the baby could travel."
"To free the slaves? Sarah Elizabeth McDonald, what can you mean? The nation is at war. It's come to Winchester with a battle taking place a few miles away! You cannot travel with Rebecca and Bobby. It isn't safe, and I forbid it—I've lost one daughter and I don't want to lose you, too."
I sat up a little straighter. "Mother, my husband, sister, and nephew are all dead. I'm keeping my promise to Emily. My house is going to Peter's parents and we're leaving soon. The papers are in my bag."
"What about me?" she asked.
"You're welcome to come with us, Mother."
"I can't leave. My life is here. Your father might come home." She stood up, laid the baby on the bed near Emily, and paced in agitation.
Touching Emily's cool hand, I whispered, "Emily, I hope you find peace. I'll miss you and baby George."
Mother stopped pacing. "Very well. I'll bury my daughter and grandson without you. Please take Thomas with you because he can protect you."
I nodded.
Then she inspected me. "Sarah, take off your bloody skirt."
Mother turned to Rebecca. "Rebecca, please find something for Sarah to wear."
"Yes, Miss Harriet. I'm sorry, ma'am."
Mother shut her eyes. "I should have insisted that Mrs. Brown allow Mama Cee to help. I'll regret that mistake until my dying day." Mother embraced me, sobbing. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I failed Emily. "
Rebecca helped me remove the bloody skirt and brought me a clean one. The familiar routine released the tension in my shoulders. My anger toward the midwife dissipated, replaced by sorrow at our loss.
Mother sat down to hold baby George. Rebecca picked up the dirty skirt and left us.
I stood by Emily's bed. "This was your plan, Emily. We were leaving once the baby was a few months old. I can't do it alone. But with the battle raging in Winchester, we can't wait. I promised you, didn't I? I must try."
 

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