May 20th, 1865.—It is late at night and this has been a perfectly horrible day. For three days Sister Mag has been very ill; last night death seemed very near and this morning her dead baby was laid in a little white casket and buried in God’s Acre. She does not know. She has known nothing for hours and the doctors give us little hope. Nellie and Fannie are nursing her. She may never be conscious again. Mother and Father do not leave her and poor Brother Amos is wretched.
Jane left this morning without bathing and dressing Rebecca, so that job fell to my share. I usually dress Eddie myself anyway but Rebecca is badly spoiled and it is difficult. I coaxed them out in the flower garden and then Mother sent me with some directions to the cook. Now, this cook is my own Emeline, who has always professed to love me dearly. I went to the kitchen, but she was not there. I looked around but could not see a single one of the servants who were generally, at that hour, busily employed, each one, in his or her portion of the day’s work. I went on to Emeline’s house and she was standing in the middle of the floor, tying on a sash of blue ribbon, which would complete quite a stunning toilet. “Emeline,” I said, “Sister Mag is so sick and Mother sends the key-basket to you and she says have a good dinner, for Dr. Betton and Dr. Gamble will be here and she is leaving everything to you.” Imagine how I felt when she answered thus:
“Take dat basket back ter your mother an’ tell her if she want any dinner she kin cook it herself.”
I was hurt and dazed. I had not slept all night and I pleaded weakly, “Don’t say that Emeline, Sister Mag is so sick, the doctors think she will die.”
“Dey do? Well, what is dat ter me? I ain’t make her sick, is I?”
Silently I left her house. They are free, I thought; free to do as they please. Never before had I had a word of impudence from any of our black folks but they are not ours any longer.
Retracing my steps I stopped at the laundry door; Melissa stood beside the table ironing a snowy cloth.
“Melissa,” I asked, “what has become of the other servants?”
Slowly she raised her big brown eyes to my face, “I thought you knowed dey wus all gone ter de meetin’ out ter Centreville, dem black soldiers, an’ de white man wid ’em is sont messages ter all de folks cum terday an denounce our freedom. He kin save heself de trubble; I ain’t no bond an’ pressed slave. I ain’t nuvver knowed no mother but Miss Patsy, an’ she ben mighty good ter me.”
Mother did not have to cook the dinner, Adeline saved the day and though dinner was late, it was excellent and, by the time it was served, Sister Mag was conscious and the doctors say the danger is over. We are so thankful.
I have learned a lesson today: we must not expect too much of “free negroes.” Nellie and Fannie could not have acted better than they did but of all the others on the plantation, only Melissa remained at her post and Adeline showed so much good feeling, such true sympathy, that I love her more than ever.
