Today's Reading
"How can you be too successful, one might ask, and why is the South richer? Cheap labor, for one. But here's the reality. If them darkies go free, how's Poole gonna manage all that crop he's got? Imagine. Work all your life to get where you are only to have the government and the damn Yanks telling you what to do. That's why it can't happen. It ain't right."
Robert said, "What if we win?"
"Why, things would go on like always, what with everyone knowing their place and such. That's the God's honest truth. Listen to me now. I'm telling you, farming like this"—he gestured out the window at the rich land, which gave Joetta comfort, but apparently fueled his derision—"ain't doing nothing 'cept breaking your back day in and day out. If you have a lot of land, and the slaves to run it, you got something then."
Joetta banged the lid onto the pan. Where did he think his food came from? It was difficult to watch as he sat stuffing himself full with that which had been planted, picked, and prepared by her hands. What she and Ennis did was nothing to be ashamed of. She began setting the table, loudly placing supper plates, glasses, and silverware on the table, then interrupted the infuriating discussion with a question.
"How about Idiot's Delight for dessert?"
She stared at Mr. McBride and he paused. Then, as if she had not spoken, he moved on to recount a bloody battle, this time with Indians. She shut him out and his voice became a drone. This was how she managed even as she dwelled on the insults, and the meaning behind them. However, the more she reflected on what he said, the more indignant she became. She would certainly speak to Ennis about his horrible influence, and how he was tainting their sons' minds.
Once they finished eating, with Mr. McBride holding his plate out wordlessly for a second piece of dessert, Joetta noticed, she took up the plates and began washing them. Ennis came to her side, and she spoke quietly to him.
"He is poisoning them against our way of life. I do not understand it. As if all this"—she swept her hand around—"is not worthwhile or admirable."
Her husband leaned against the worktable.
"Pa's always been like that. He ain't never been happy with where he's at, or with what he's got. He's always had it in his head what would make him successful was to own more land, and slaves. I'll speak with him."
"Good. He certainly will not listen to me."
Ennis draped an arm over her shoulder, and squeezed.
"Does he listen to anybody?"
"Himself."
Ennis smiled, kissed her cheek, and went back outside. In the evening light, she noted, like she did on many occasions, the way he walked, his long-legged stride, his height, his hair, and his shoulders. His shape was as familiar to her as her own form. She wished when they were together like husband and wife it would result in another child. She could not see this taking place, not after so long. She did not want to think about the babies she had lost, most too small to know their sex. It did no good, but it made her ever more grateful for Henry and Robert.
She moved into the sitting room and sat in her chair, reaching into the basket she kept beside it for her sewing. After she selected some thread and began working, she looked at her sons.
"Henry, Robert, your great-grandfather actually fought in that other big war, remember?"
Mr. McBride looked at her, and huffed.
"We already heard about this."
"Not everything."
She faced the boys again.
"My grandfather, your great-grandfather Smith, died in the War of 1812 before I was born. Do you recollect my family once lived near the Albemarle Sound?"
Robert moved closer to her, while Henry remained where he was, his expression aloof.
Joetta went on. "He was working at a port when a press gang forced him into service. Do you know what a press gang is?"
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