January 29th, 1866.—Sister Mag and her family are living with us now, Brother Amos has broken up his plantation in Georgia. He can do nothing there without labor and all the negroes have left that section of country.
We have a pretty good cook and last night Brother Amos brought in a servant he had hired. It seems that some of the colored troops have been disbanded and this one was the drum major (whatever that may be). He is very small, black and wiry and active as a cat. He says he belonged to a maiden lady in Virginia and she trained him for dining room work, so we have put him at the same thing and so far he is acquitting himself very well. Josie and I clean up the house and it is a little easier every day. It is funny to ask a little darky in blue uniform to go to the kitchen for hot biscuits.
January 28th, 1866.—Aunt Sue spent yesterday with us. She is going to have a house-party and says she must have me. I told her I could not be spared but my vanity received a blow, for all at the table insisted that I must go. I love aunt Sue and it is always a pleasure to be with her and then, too, I feel flattered that she should think I am capable of helping her to entertain.
Mother says I need not trouble about clothes, Father has given aunt Sue carte blanche, where I am concerned and Mrs. Brookes lives on Goodwood plantation and she can do any sewing I may need. Isn’t it delightful to be cared for in that manner?
The house-party will consist of two daughters of General Sprague of the U. S. A. It seems he is an old friend of the family; Mrs. Harrison Reed, Mrs. Miller and her invalid son, Charles, who is a lieutenant in this same U. S. A., also Eliza Meginniss and Josie Evans. Mother is so kind as to give Josie two weeks holiday that she may make one of the party. We will have a delightful time, I am sure.
January 9th, 1866.—Aunt Sue’s servants left, too, that is, all but Aunt Susan and Aunt Emily. They are both fine cooks and Aunt Emily’s husband, who has been free all his life, stays at Goodwood and he is “doing the chores,” as Charley says. Uncle Arvah has engaged a cook for her, as Aunt Susan cannot stand the fire long at a time. He says he can find a cook for us in the wilds of Wakulla County where Aunt Sue’s came from. They are white women and sisters, not entirely unencumbered as each has a child four or five years of age, but Mother is glad to get any help she can. A letter from Brother Amos this morning, says he and Sister Mag and the children are coming back to Florida to live. I am so glad, it has been hard to have her so far away, especially since her health has been so bad. Cousin Sallie Bradford sent Father such a fine loaf of bread; it is a kind he is particularly fond of, “salt rising” she calls it. They must have
“Heard her cry in the land of pie.”
for cousin Peggy sent a beautiful sponge cake this afternoon, and Hattie sent a leg of mutton beautifully browned all ready to be eaten. Aren’t they just too good?
January 8th, 1866.—This is Aunt Sue’s birthday and she has invited us to spend it with her. We accepted with pleasure. It is the first time I can remember that she did not spend her birthday with us, but we have no servants. Mrs. James sends milk for Father every night and morning. She, ( fortunate woman) can milk her own cow. I fear I could never learn to do that. You see I am so terribly afraid of Bossy. She looks like a dreadful monster to me. I must stop now and dress for Goodwood.
January 2nd, 1866.—1 have slept well and I feel decidedly better. I am not going to fret because the negroes are gone, nor will I bother my brains as to their whereabouts. I am going to learn to do all these things that need doing and bye and bye I shall do them well. I baked some corn bread for breakfast; batter bread, it was, with eggs and milk. We had plenty of butter to eat with it, then I boiled some eggs and father made the coffee, drip coffee is very little trouble to make when you have boiling water and I put a kettle on the fire the first thing when the fire was made.
This, I find is my stumbling block, I am the poorest hand at making a fire. “Make a note of that and improve,” said I to myself. I cannot milk a cow, neither can anyone else in the house. I think I shall have to hunt me a good milker and get married. Father just lives on milk. Boiled eggs for dinner again and more batter bread. The menu in this house seems to know no change. Supper is yet to come. What shall it be?
January 1st, 1866.—A New Year but a Happy New Year? No, indeed. We got up this morning to find ourselves the only occupants of Pine Hill plantation. It was a clean sweep, all were gone. Nobody to get breakfast; nobody to clean up the house; no maids to look after the wants of “milady;” no butler to serve the meals; no carriage-driver if we should care to ride. Not a servant, not one and we unused to work.
It is night now. Aunt Robinson taught me to make up beds long ago, when she took me to sleep in her room, so we have each of us a neat bed to rest in. Mother said she could mix muffins if somebody would bake them. Father offered to make the coffee, that being his specialty and Mattie said she would eat some when it was done and John Branch, who had spent the night here, stretched himself and said, “I’ll saddle the pony and go to town.” We did not ask him to stay, though I thought he might have brought in some wood as it was low in the wood-boxes.
I am tired—tired tonight, will all the days of the year be like this one? What are we going to do without the negroes? Will we have to do these manifold duties for ourselves? Or can we hire white servants as they do at the North? I wonder where the negroes have gone, and why did they not tell us they were going? Life is a puzzle sometimes.
