“With love I remain, Reenie.”

“I remain, Reenie.”

“Reenie.”

The first thing Lizzie noticed was the penmanship. It was perfect, with looping gs and tall hs. She wondered if she would be able to write like that if she studied long enough.

She took a moment to thank God for her ability to read. She didn’t want to have to share this bit of heaven with anybody:

May 8, 1854

My dearest Lizzie:

I hope this letter finds you. I have asked my friend-to write and mail this letter in my stead because I am still learning to read and write properly! But I so desired to get a letter to you and let you know that I am doing fine. I am a free woman, Miss Lizzie, and I have a job as a maid in a rich family’s residence. They treat me fine, and gave me my very own room. I cannot go into detail how I escaped, but just know that I met many kind people along the way. There were many times that I thought I would not make it, but someone always appeared ready to give me a helping hand. My faith in the Lord is stronger than ever. I do hope that you will lean on him in your darkest hour. How are your children? have you heard anything about Mawoo? I know that I will never receive an answer from you as I cannot give you my address, but I thought I’d ask so that you know that I am thinking of you, my dear friend. Whenever I think of you and Mawoo and Sweet, it makes me happy and is about the only thing that I can remember from my past days, other than my darling girl, that brings me Joy.

Miss Lizzie, you will always remain in my thoughts. I do hope to see you again one day, in this life or the next.

With love

I remain,

Reenie

Lizzie wanted to hold on to the letter, wanted to take it back with her to the plantation, and tuck it into her things. But she knew she had to get rid of it. Keeping it could only bring harm to everyone involved. She would have to burn it.

Before she did, however, she wanted to read it again.

FORTY-ONE

Lizzie started drinking the tea the next morning. First, she prepared herself as much as she could. She said her goodbyes and prayers. One moment she was thinking of it as a baby-a boy or a girl, a younger brother or sister to Nate and Rabbit. The next minute she was thinking of it like a seed-a large seed, perhaps-but a seed no different than what one found in the middle of a plum or peach. Whenever she felt doubt, she brought up the image of this seed in her mind.

There really had been no decision to be made. If she kept this baby, she would not be able to escape very far. Everyone knew the journey north could take weeks or even months. She would also have to figure out a way, once she was settled, to make enough money to buy Nate and Rabbit’s freedom. If she kept the baby and returned to Tennessee, she would be adding another slave to Drayle’s plantation. And she had no intention of doing that. No intention whatsoever.

So she followed the instructions given to her by Mawu, used the herbs gathered by the red-headed woman before she left her cabin that day. Drink the tea every four hours for several days. The only thing she knew the tea contained were squaw root and pennyroyal. And it was bitter. She brewed it in the hotel kitchen, holding the bag of herbs close to her chest in case anyone noticed. At first, she felt the same. Would this really work? But on the second day, she began to feel nauseous and the bleeding started. It was a heavy bleeding that threatened to travel down her leg if she didn’t wrap up tightly enough. It soaked her rags so thoroughly she could smell the dark, rich scent of the blood once it dried.

Each day, when Glory delivered the goods, she met Lizzie on the back steps of the hotel kitchen and asked how she was doing. Lizzie tried not to look at the white woman’s pregnant belly when she answered.

“Fine,” was her answer each day. Then she would take the food off Glory’s cart and place it inside the kitchen.

On the third day, the cook sniffed the jar with the steeping herbs while Lizzie was tidying up the pots.

“Bless you child,” was all Clarissa said.

On the fourth night, Lizzie cramped so badly that she had to take to the bed. The young girl on the bed next to hers placed a pile of rags beneath her so her blood would not soak through to the mattress. Lizzie felt hot and feverish, and her entire body tingled. Every few minutes, her stomach cramped up into a knot and she had difficulty breathing. Then it would pass.

Clarissa sent Glory up to check on her the next morning.

Glory knelt beside Lizzie.

“How are you feeling?”

Lizzie shook her head. “Not so good. I can’t stand to drink this tea anymore.”

Glory spread Lizzie’s legs and pulled back the rags. The blood was thick and clotted and lay curled in bulbous lumps like tiny dead mice.

“How much have you bled?”

Lizzie started to cry. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

Glory dried Lizzie’s forehead. “You’ll be fine.”

Lizzie reached for Glory’s hand. Glory patted it. “Shhh. Hush now. You’ll be fine. Just don’t drink any more of that tea. Let the Lord take away your pain.”

Lizzie nodded.

“I’ve got to go. I’ll tell Clarissa in the kitchen to send you up something to eat. You’ve got to keep your strength up.”

Lizzie nodded and let go of Glory’s hand. A few minutes later, Clarissa sent up a bowl of soup. Lizzie tried to sit up in bed and drink it.

The same girl who had shown her to the attic on that first day now cleaned and changed Lizzie.

“I don’t even know your name,” Lizzie said to her.

The girl smiled, but did not respond. It was her turn to reject the intimacy.

Lizzie stayed in bed all day, mostly sleeping and resting, sometimes staring at the wall. What if she wasn’t pregnant after all? What if she had panicked for nothing? Mawu had said it was better to drink the tea than worry, that she had to drink the tea before she started feeling the quickening movements in her belly.

When she felt low, she pulled Reenie’s letter from beneath her mattress and read it again. It gave her hope, if only for a second. Reenie had been able to escape because she had no children to mess with her mind. She made a clean break because the only daughter she had ever known had been sold off from her. Lizzie wondered if Reenie was trying to find that daughter now. Surely, she was. Surely any free slave would work to find their family. But where would she start? how did you find someone who may not even have the name you gave them when they were born?

Lizzie could tell the time of day by the color of the light in the room. Even though she had just awakened, she knew it was an hour after supper when Drayle appeared in her doorway. He was freshly shaven and wore the trousers she had washed and pressed for him the week before. His blond hair lay neatly combed to the side, its thinness camouflaged.

He sat on the bed beside her and took her hand.

“I hear that my little Lizzie has been sick,” he said.

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Just a bellyache is all.”

He stood up and closed the door. She wasn’t ready. Not yet. What if one of the women returned? And how could she tell him she had just gotten rid of the child he never knew he had?

He unbuttoned his shirt.

The girl had just cleaned her bedclothes, so they were fresh. But Lizzie was still bleeding, and although the cramps had subsided for the moment, she was nauseous. She felt that she would vomit at any moment, as if the vomit sat right at the back of her throat.

He had to lift her to move her because she was nestled in the center groove of the bed. He lay beside her naked and stroked her chin as if she wore a light beard.

“I’ve missed you. I wish I hadn’t brought Fran this summer. This is our place,” he said.