“She’s dead. A few years ago,” Maizie answered, disbelief still registering on her face.
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. Do you have time? Maybe we could talk a bit?” said Millie. Sugar tapped Maizie on her arm and nodded, giving her permission to talk with the stranger. Maizie and Millie found seats in the fellowship hall while Meadowlark and Sugar gave them privacy.
“Could you tell me about my mama? About when she was here in Vicksburg, I mean.”
“Ain’t a pretty story, dear.”
“I need to know. Need to put my mind to rest about it all,” said Maizie. “You see my mama told me stories. I just want to know what’s true.”
“Caroline was sure good at tellin’ a story. Think her wild tales helped her survive.” Millie paused, looking closely at Maizie. She reached for Maizie’s hand as she continued: “You don’t have your mama’s auburn hair. I used to wish I had hair as pretty as your mama’s. But you sure got her eyes.”
“I do?”
“Yeah, deep blue ones. Gorgeous.” Maizie looked down at her hands, and then, raising her head she waited for more.
“Your mama was from a clan of cotton growers. They were very successful before the Civil War. People still talk about how much money they made selling cotton to indigo dyers in South Carolina and of course, Europe. But times changed after the war. The slaves on cotton farms were declared free. Caroline’s ancestors asked their slaves to stay on as freemen. Your great great-granddaddy was a cotton farmer, and kind. He paid them a wage and let them live on the farm.”
“So my mother’s relatives were nice people?”
“Well, most were, but back then many a family was divided. Some thought the slaves should be free, but others did not. Your great-granddaddy inherited the cotton business as a young man. He kept to his daddy’s ways and paid his workers a wage and provided housing and food.” Millie paused and took a deep breath before she continued. “But some in the family hated the ‘freedmen.’ The family had been split between abolitionists and committed slave owners before the war, but after the war, well then it got even worse. Some joined the Red Shirts, a militia of white racists. And they attacked your great-granddaddy’s cotton farm and killed the freed workers who lived and worked there.”
Maizie sat still. Her eyes widened as she looked for Sugar and Meadow. The church, now empty except for her two friends, offered an eerie silence, the room lit by a few ceiling fixtures that cast large and foreboding shadows. Sugar smiled gently and waved.
“I know this is not a nice story to hear. Do you want me to go on?” Millie asked.
Maizie nodded, rubbing her neck and shoulder.
“Story says, your great-granddaddy escaped, traveling north. Took a colored woman with him. Some even said she was having his baby.”
“A baby? A mixed-race child?”
“That’s what some says.”
Maizie felt her eyes well with tears. “A child like me?”
“Could be. But no one knows for sure. You see this is a story that has been told many times. Became legend.”
“To me, it’s a secret, Millie. Just another secret.”
“It shouldn’t be. Only if we know about our history can we fix mistakes we made.”
Maizie looked up at her mother’s friend, ready to accept whatever she would hear. “Go on, please.”
Millie nodded. “Your great-granddaddy managed to take all the family’s gold and silver, leaving his relatives angry. The family didn’t have it too good after that. They tried to make the best of the abandoned cotton fields, but without much success. Some of them stayed in Mississippi and grew to hate your great-granddaddy and what he had done.”
“My mama never told me.”
“Your mama carried that story in her heart, always. She told me over and over again when we were children. Seemed she was proud of your great-granddaddy, no matter what the rest of the family said. Freedmen having rights, she believed in that with all her heart and soul. Talked about it often. Somehow I think that is why she left and traveled north. She was looking for the part of her family that was thinkin’ like her.
“I wish she would’ve told me.”
“I can only think she thought it would hurt you in some way to know. Hate is a terrible thing and those Red Shirts were full of hateful thoughts. They felt their lives and livelihoods had been taken away by the freeing of the slaves.”
“Yeah, I met people like that. Even now some folks feel that way.”
“I can only imagine,” Millie said as she took Maizie’s hand in hers. “Your mama’s life was as hard as anyone’s in Vicksburg, colored or white. And yet, she believed in the good in people. ”
“What made her life so hard?”
“This is the part of the story I know really well. Caroline hardly ever went to school. Her parents had died of the fever and she lived with an aunt who had her doing chores all the time. Even had her workin’ at other people’s houses instead of going to school. She was earning money for food. Her uncle didn’t care for colored folks. He was a Confederate drunk. He’d get himself into a rage, talking about the freemen.” Millie paused for a moment, waiting.
Maizie just looked into Millie’s eyes, asking for more. Encouraged, Millie returned to her storytelling.
“Now Gabriel Freedman, your daddy…”
“Gabriel?”
“Yes, that was his name. We’d call him Gabe. I think she took to watchin’ him sing on the street and his singing made her feel better. Listening to him was like listening to songbirds in the trees or sweet water fallin’ over rocks. He was somethin’. And she fell in love with him when she was fourteen years old. Why he was maybe only eighteen. They’s just children really. They took to spendin’ more and more time together, sneaking around in the dark. Caroline would wait until her aunt and uncle were asleep or passed out from drink. It was dangerous for Gabe
