Better Half
In the summer of 1840, two infant girls were born on a Georgia cotton plantation, located midway between Atlanta and Savannah. Both were sired by the same man: Lyman Payson, the plantation's owner. One of them, Annabelle, was born to his wife, Carlotta. The other, who was given the name Chloe, was the product of Lyman's adulterous union with Petunia, a house slave.
There was a good deal of joy and celebration accompanying little Annabelle's arrival. After their first two children, a son and a daughter, died in infancy, the Paysons, at last, had a healthy child. Conversely, there was little fanfare surrounding Chloe's birth. She was but one more slave in the household. Carlotta was well aware of the birth of the second baby, but she took the child's birth in stride. Having been raised on a plantation, she had several light-skinned half-brothers and half-sisters herself. She was taught by her mother to view her father's and husband's "indiscretions" as a way of life and not to let them bother her.
By the time the two toddlers took their first steps, a strong family resemblance could be detected. Petunia, whose grandmother was a mulatto and whose grandfather and father were both white, was fair-complected; Chloe, who was half-white, was even more so. Given her light coloring, she could easily have passed for a Caucasian child.
The girls' physical appearance, however, was where the resemblance ended. Their dispositions were as different as night and day. An only child, Annabelle was pampered and indulged by both her mother and father. Due in large part to this cossetting, the pride of the Payson family became an arrogant, temperamental young woman who expected much out of life and would not settle for less. Chloe, who had not shared her half-sister's privileged upbringing, was quiet, demure and always well-behaved. Lyman hated to admit it, even to himself, that his bastard child had all the ladylike bearing he would have wanted in his legitimate daughter.
At Carlotta's age, she was not likely to have any more children—sickly or healthy. With no male offspring to inherit the estate, the Paysons began searching early on for a suitable husband for their daughter. They did not have far to look. The Pittards owned Oakview, a large cotton plantation that bordered their own. The family was blessed with four children—three girls and one boy. Since their son was only two years older than Annabelle, both sets of parents considered the future union between them a perfect match. Combining the two properties would create one of the largest farms in the South.
In the summer of 1856, while pro-slavery and anti-slavery settlers were battling in the Kansas Territory, the Paysons held a barbecue and ball to celebrate their daughter's sixteenth birthday. Friends and relatives from around Georgia were invited. Naturally, Suzanna and Beauregard Pittard were in attendance with their son, Bradford. The eighteen-year-old had just returned home after completing his education in New England. He had not seen Annabelle since she was a young teen and was delighted by her adult appearance.
"She was always pretty as a child, but now she's absolutely radiant," he declared.
"She'll make you a lovely bride," his mother said in confidence. "You'll be the envy of every man in Georgia."
"How do you know she'll want to marry me?"
"Don't be silly! She knows what's in her best interest."
It saddened Bradford to think a woman would marry him solely for financial gain. False modesty aside, he was a handsome young man. He was also intelligent and personable. Even if there was no love now, he predicted, surely it would develop over the course of their courtship.
Across the room, Carlotta was scolding her daughter for her behavior.
"Don't laugh so much. It's unladylike."
"Why shouldn't I laugh? It's my birthday, and I'm having a marvelous time!"
"And stop dancing with that Titus Wickfield. That's the third time in a row you danced with him."
"But I like him. He's fun to be with."
"Look. The Pittards have arrived. And there's Bradford. My! How handsome he has become."
"Hmmph!" Annabelle snorted. "I wonder if he still keeps his nose buried in a book all the time."
"That's no way to talk about your future husband."
"Why not? You know I don't like him."
"Annabelle!" her mother cried, distress making her appear much older than her years.
"Don't worry. I'll marry him. But it will be a marriage of convenience only."
"You mustn't think that way. Your grandparents arranged for your father and me to marry, and the union turned out quite well."
"That's because you don't object to Daddy's frequent trips out to the quarters."
If they were not in a room full of people, Carlotta would have slapped her daughter across the face for such an impertinent remark. But, to her credit, she was able to restrain her anger.
"You're a child yet," she said through tightly clenched jaws. "You know nothing of men and their needs."
"And you know nothing of a woman's needs," her daughter heartlessly countered.
This time, Carlotta's hand shot out, but she managed to halt its course before it made contact with her daughter's cheek.
"I think I need some fresh air," she said, fighting to regain her composure.
* * *
Eighteen months later, most of the same people who had gathered to celebrate Annabelle's sixteenth birthday came together again to witness her marriage. A party, the likes of which many in rural Georgia had never seen, followed the ceremony. Food and alcoholic beverages were available in abundance. There was music, dancing and merriment not only for the people in the main house but also for the slaves. Large tables full of food—but no strong spirits—were placed near the quarters, and Moses, the plantation's butler, played the fiddle.
In between their frequent trips to the dancefloor, many of the male partygoers stepped out onto the veranda to smoke and talk politics. Traditionally, women were excluded from such conversations. Annabelle, however, was not one to adhere to tradition. When she stepped outside in her bridal finery to join in the discussion of what was to become known as the Dred Scott decision, the men momentarily fell silent. Then Titus Wickfield smiled and asked for her opinion on the subject.
"I think the court made the right judgment," she replied. "Why should a slave be given his freedom simply because he is now living in a territory where slavery is illegal? He's still the property of his owner."
"Spoken like a true Southerner!" Titus laughed, beaming at her with unconcealed appreciation.
Of all the women he had ever met—and there were quite a few—Annabelle was the only one he would consider marrying. Unfortunately, he could not compete with the Pittards' landholdings.
While Titus was more than happy to speak to a woman of "gentlemen's subjects," the other men on the veranda were uncomfortable doing so. Shortly, they returned to their wives and girlfriends on the dancefloor, leaving the bride alone with a man who had a well-deserved reputation as a lothario.
"Aren't you afraid to be seen out here alone with me?" Titus asked.
"Why should I be? It's not as though we're doing anything wrong. We're just talking."
"A woman with a man, unchaperoned, risks losing her good reputation."
"I fear a woman's reputation is overrated. I ...."
"There you are!" Bradford said, stepping outside the French doors. "I've been looking for you. They're about to bring out the cake."
"I was just talking to Mr. Wickfield," his bride explained. "We were discussing the Dred Scott case."
"Yes, your wife seems to have a strong opinion on slavery," the rakishly handsome young man added.
"Maybe it's best she saves her opinions for another day. This is our wedding celebration, after all."
"There's no need to remind me," Annabelle said snappishly, walking past him into the house. "Let's go eat the damned cake!"
Clearly, if Bradford had expected to win his wife's love and affection, he was off to a bumpy start.
Over the next few years, things did not improve. Not only did there appear to be a permanent frost on the relationship, but the political situation in the South worsened as well. There was frequent talk of secession; and when South Carolina officially cut its ties with the Union, talk in Georgia heated up.
When the Paysons and Pittards gathered with friends to celebrate the Christmas holiday in December of 1860, the men were eager to discuss the need for Southern states to band together. As she had on her wedding day, Annabelle added her opinions to the conversation, despite it being clear they were unsolicited.
"When the colonies found life under British rule intolerable, they declared their independence and formed their own government," she contended. "I don't see why Georgia and her sister states can't do the same thing now."
"It's not that simple, my dear," Bradford patiently explained, embarrassed by his wife's presence in the room full of gentlemen. "The colonists had to endure eight long years of war before they finally won their freedom."
"Even if the federal government hoped to keep the South in the Union by force," she reasoned, "the North wouldn't stand a chance of beating us."
With the exception of her husband, the men in the room agreed with her. Bradford, however, was by far the most intelligent person there. He alone realized that in a protracted war, the industrialized North had the advantage over the primarily agrarian South.
"Even if all the states in the South were to join together, our population would still be half that of the states remaining in the Union."
"So?"
"If fighting should break out, we would be greatly outnumbered."
"It seems to me," Titus Wickfield said, his eyes narrowing in a scornful expression of distaste, "you don't have a very high opinion of our ability to defend ourselves."
Bradford could feel the eyes of every man in the room bore into him as they waited for him to respond to Wickfield's statement. If he were to answer with honesty, he would evoke the ire of friends, neighbors and family. He might even be challenged to defend himself on the so-called field of honor. To keep the peace, he would have to lie.
"Of course, our Southern gentlemen are far braver than the men in the North. I suppose one soldier from Georgia or Alabama could easily take out three or four from New York or Pennsylvania."
Although he felt like a coward for not speaking his mind, that ridiculous statement brought smiles to the faces in the room.
Crisis averted. For now.
* * *
On January 19, Georgia followed in the footsteps of South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida and Alabama and became the fifth state to secede from the Union.
"Lincoln hasn't even been sworn in as president yet, and already the South is leaving the fold," Bradford said to his father one evening as they made their way toward Oakview's dining room.
"It was inevitable," Beauregard replied. "For years, the tensions surrounding the subject of slavery have been simmering. Now, they're coming to a boil. When Lincoln enters the Executive Mansion ...."
"War will soon follow."
The gloom of pessimism was somewhat dispelled when the two men encountered the women coming down the grand staircase. Annabelle was chattering to her mother-in-law about the latest fashions from Paris and did not so much as look in her husband's direction. It was not that she was angry at him. She simply had no interest in him or his opinions. He might just as well have been a piece of furniture in the room for all the attention she showed him.
"I think I might go to Savannah at the end of the month to be with Doralee when the baby arrives," Suzanna announced when the family sat down to dinner.
"That's an excellent idea," her son opined. "I would imagine a woman needs her mother at such a time."
"Let us hope we will soon welcome another grandchild," Beauregard added, looking from his son to his daughter-in-law. "One to carry on the family name."
"I wouldn't mind a trip to Savannah," Annabelle said, finally speaking to her husband. "Or even Atlanta—although I'd much prefer New Orleans. Why can't we go away for a few weeks?"
"I don't think that's wise. We should wait and see what happens when Lincoln takes office."
"You're no fun at all! Are we to just stop living because that abolitionist was elected president?"
Bradford's face turned red with shame. He was used to his wife's waspish tongue when they were alone, but it humiliated him when she spoke to him in such a manner in front of his parents.
"Perhaps in the summer, we could go to New Orleans," he said, keeping his eyes on the plate in front of him.
Having gotten her way, Annabelle smiled and politely listened to her mother-in-law discuss the upcoming birth of her first grandchild.
* * *
With Suzanna in Savannah, Annabelle was temporarily called upon to serve as mistress of Oakview. Although she liked the prestige the title brought her, she did not enjoy the work that came with it. Rather than see to the running of the household, she yielded that responsibility to Chloe, who had accompanied her to Oakview when she married into the Pittard family.
"It's not usual for a slave to take on the work of the mistress," Annabelle explained, "but I can't be bothered with all those boring details."
"I don't mind doing it, Miss Annabelle."
Although everyone at Oakview knew that the two women were related, no one dared speak of it. While Annabelle often had the eerie feeling that she was speaking to her reflection in a mirror, she never thought of Chloe as a sibling. In her eyes, the young woman was nothing more than a slave—Payson blood or not—and she would not be given special treatment simply because Lyman had fathered her.
Annabelle occasionally wondered if there was a female slave at Oakview who attracted Bradford's attention. He was a man, after all, and she knew from personal experience that he could be quite passionate.
I don't suppose it matters if he does visit the quarters now and then, she thought with not so much as a hint of jealousy. It's not as though I care anything for him.
Bradford, however, was not a man like her father. In fact, he secretly planned on freeing his slaves once he inherited Oakview. Hopefully, the majority of them would remain on the plantation as workers, sharing the profits of their labor. It was a revolutionary idea in the South and no doubt he would gain the hatred of his fellow planters, but in his own way, he deplored slavery as much as the abolitionists did.
Fate, though, has a way of altering people's plans. Annabelle would soon be denied her trip to New Orleans and Bradford his experiment in social order. On April 12, 1861, Confederate forces fired on Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor. The much-anticipated war between the states became a reality.
"I suppose I'll have to join the army," Bradford announced when he heard the news.
"I'd go myself, but I'm too old," Beauregard added. "The Confederacy needs young men."
Bradford did not dare tell his father that his views on slavery were more in sympathy with those of the Union, for such an admission would surely cause a rift in their relationship.
Still, I'm a Georgian, the young man thought despondently. Right or wrong, I suppose I'll have to defend my home.
"I don't see why you're crying," Annabelle said to her mother-in-law when the family saw Bradford off at the train station following his enlistment. "He'll be back soon enough. The Yankees turned tail and ran from Fort Sumter when it was attacked, didn't they? If you ask me, every last one of them will run when they see our boys coming."
Suzanna did not bother to reply. She was too upset over her son's leaving.
"Promise you'll write?" the departing soldier asked his family.
"Of course, we will," his parents said in unison while his wife remained silent.
"Stay safe," his mother declared, wiping the tears from her eyes with a lace handkerchief.
After a kiss on each woman's cheeks and a firm handshake with his father, Bradford boarded the train and went off to war.
When the Confederates won the Battle of Bull Run at Manassas, people in the South were confident the war would be a short one. Lincoln would be forced to let the slave states leave the Union, and, hopefully, the two countries would peacefully coexist on the North American continent. In the face of so much optimism, Bradford dared not voice his concerns over Grant's victory at Fort Donelson. However, his fears seemed to be confirmed when the City of New Orleans was captured.
Once they have control of the Mississippi, they'll divide the South in half.
Meanwhile, Robert E. Lee was able to outfight Lincoln's generals. Although McClellan claimed victory at Antietam, the South came back to beat Burnside at Fredericksburg and then Hooker at Chancellorsville.
* * *
In the spring of 1863, after receiving a minor wound to his shoulder, Bradford Pittard returned to Oakview on leave. It was his first trip home since the war began. As he came up the long, tree-lined drive, he was saddened by what he saw. The place appeared "tired," looking much like he felt.
His parents immediately came out on the veranda to meet him, both delighted to see him again.
"Have you come home for good?" Suzanna asked.
"No. I have to go back in two weeks."
"Come inside," Beauregard urged. "We'll get you something to eat."
It was not until he made himself comfortable on the sofa in the sitting room that he saw Chloe. She walked in, carrying a tray of sandwiches. The beat of his heart quickened at the mere sight of her. She was so like his wife in appearance. Their eyes met for a moment before she quietly left the room. It was as though she had taken the sun with her, leaving darkness in her wake.
"How are things here at Oakview?" he asked.
Beauregard sighed.
"The Union blockade has made life difficult, but we're doing the best we can. Thankfully, Titus Wickfield has ways of getting around the embargo."
"Oh? Is he still here in Georgia? I would have thought he'd be off fighting the war."
"No. He's a civilian. People don't hold it against him, though. As I said, he has ways of getting things for people."
"For a price, no doubt. Where there's a war, there are men to profit from it."
"Let's not talk about such things," Suzanna said. "You are home for such a short time, and we should enjoy every minute of it."
"Yes. I don't know when I'll be able to get back to Georgia."
"I wonder what's keeping Annabelle," Beauregard said.
"Where is she?" Bradford asked, more out of courtesy than any interest in seeing his wife.
"She's probably trying to make herself as pretty as possible for you," his mother answered.
It was nearly an hour later when Annabelle descended the grand staircase and sauntered into the room. Despite their not having seen each other for two years, there was no joyous welcome for the returning warrior. She did not even kiss him.
"How have you been?" she asked coolly.
"I'm alive."
"That's obvious."
"And you?"
"Bored. What with the war, there are no more parties, balls or barbecues."
"There are plenty of worthwhile things you can be doing," Suzanna said.
"I'm not like you. I don't find charity work rewarding."
Beauregard, wanting to inject some optimism into the conversation, suggested, "Once the war is over, perhaps you and Bradford will start a family. Then you won't have the opportunity for boredom."
"Speaking of the war," Annabelle said, not bothering to comment on her father-in-law's persistent desire for a male heir to the family fortune, "when will it finally be over?"
"I wish I knew," her husband replied.
"Surely, after Lee's victories at Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, the Yankees realize they have no hope of defeating us."
"We may have won some battles, but we have no guarantee of winning the war. The U.S. Army occupies New Orleans, and the North has control of the Mississippi. Everything seems to be going according to General Winfield Scott's Anaconda Plan. If that succeeds ...."
"You can't honestly believe the Yankees might win!" Annabelle cried, outraged at the idea.
"Only time will tell, I'm afraid," he answered, not wanting to alienate his family by revealing his true feelings.
* * *
The morning Bradford left Oakview to return to his regiment, he went to the kitchen to see Chloe before leaving. Although he had never spoken of his affection for her, she knew what was in his heart. Furthermore, she felt the same way toward him.
"I wanted to say goodbye to you before I left," he announced.
"I pray you'll be coming home for good soon, Master Bradford."
"There's no need for you to call me that when my family is not around."
Tears came to her eyes, and she turned her head away from him.
"I also wanted to give you these," he said, taking several documents from his pocket.
"What are those?"
"Manumission papers."
"But ...."
"I want to be honest with you. I think the South is going to lose the war. Maybe not right away, but eventually. If I don't make it back, I want you to get away from here. Go up north and start a new life. I've included the names and addresses of some of my close friends from college. They'll be glad to help you."
"But what will Miss Annabelle say?"
"Legally, you belong to me, and I have the power to set you free."
"I ... I'd never see you again," Chloe cried, not bothering to hide her tears any longer.
"Maybe that's for the best. Even if I weren't married to your sister, there can never be anything between us. It is forbidden by law."
"No law can prevent what I feel for you."
"Nor what I feel for you. But we must keep our emotions to ourselves."
There was a brief kiss, and then Bradford departed.
Stay safe, my love, Chloe thought as she watched his carriage drive away.
* * *
Bradford had always associated July 4 with American independence from Britain. In 1863, however, it took on a different meaning for him. For the previous three days, he had fought at the Pennsylvania town of Gettysburg. The three-day battle was later considered by many to be the turning point of the war. For him, it was a harbinger of what was to come. He had assumed from the beginning that the North would win. After Gettysburg, he was sure of it.
Oh, we may win a few more battles before it's all over, but it won't matter. The Confederacy is doomed.
Still, the war dragged on. It was nearly a year later, in June of 1864, that Bradford returned to Oakview. Unfortunately, he was badly wounded at the Battle of Cold Harbor and was sent home to die. He was in such a bad state that he had to be carried into the house by three fieldhands. His wound was infected, and he slipped into and out of consciousness.
"My poor boy!" Suzanna cried when she saw her son. "He's so thin and pale."
"Maybe now that he's home, we'll fatten him up," Beauregard said, knowing full well the young man's chances for survival were slim.
Annabelle alone seemed unperturbed by her husband's sickly appearance and his failing health.
Oh, my god! The smell! she thought when she entered the sick room.
As his wife, she would normally have been expected to take care of him for whatever time he had left. But she was no nurse, nor did she intend to become one now.
"I'll take care of Master Bradford," Chloe volunteered in a voice barely above a whisper.
"Good. I can't stand the stench in that room."
Night and day, Chloe remained at the patient's side. She bathed him, fed him and dressed his wounds.
"Why didn't you leave?" he asked one day as she wiped his brow with a cool cloth.
"Georgia is my home."
"But once the war is over ...."
"Hush now. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it."
Thanks in no small part to the devoted slave's ministrations, Bradford slowly recovered from his wound. He also gained twenty pounds, and the color returned to his pale complexion. During his convalescence, he saw little of his wife. Her absence did not trouble him. He had long accepted there was no love lost there.
Till death do us part. The vow he took at his wedding haunted him.
Maybe it would have been better had I died. At least it would have put an end to this awful mockery of a marriage.
Unbeknownst to him, the same thought occurred to Annabelle. She was in love with Titus Wickfield but could not marry him as long as Bradford was alive. As someone used to always getting her own way, she was livid with rage that her husband showed signs of improvement every day.
"I can't spend the rest of my life married to a man I don't love," she cried into her pillow one night.
Of course, people who are recovering often take a turn for the worse, she thought, wiping the tears from her eyes. If he were to die in his sleep, surely no one would question his death.
Mariticide was not an act to be taken lightly. While killing, in general, was unlawful, the murder of one's husband was especially heinous. She had sworn an oath before God to love, honor and obey. If she were to snuff out his life like the flame of a candle, her soul would no doubt be doomed to hell for all eternity.
But if I don't kill him, I might be stuck with him for the rest of my life!
In the end, it was simply a question of weighing possible damnation against certain unhappiness.
Besides, she concluded, even if I don't go to hell for killing Bradford, I'm sure something else will eventually trip me up.
Once her decision was made, Annabelle chose to act quickly. Each day that her intended victim grew stronger, the less likely people were to believe he died of natural causes. The following night, she went up to bed early but did not go to sleep. Instead, she waited in her room until everyone else in the household was asleep. She then tiptoed into the adjoining room and found her husband sleeping peacefully. Since the doctor declared him out of danger, Chloe no longer stayed the night watching over him.
When Annabelle looked down at Bradford, she felt no reluctance to complete her mission. There was neither love nor pity in her heart. Determined to rid herself of him, even if it meant going into mourning for a year or to hell for the hereafter, she picked up the spare pillow on the bed and placed it on his face.
Because he was near death when he returned to Oakview, she was surprised at how much he struggled to save himself. During her attempt to suffocate her husband, she did not hear his bedroom door open. Suddenly, Chloe, who was in the habit of briefly checking in on her patient during the night, entered the room. Her only thought being to save the life of the man she loved, she struck her half-sister over the head with the candlestick in her hand. The blow was dealt with enough force to crush Annabelle's skull.
"Are you all right?" she cried, running to Bradford's side.
"Y-yes," he replied, gasping for breath. "S-she tried to k-kill me."
Once his breathing returned to normal, he got up from the bed and went to his wife's side. Her eyes were open wide, but she saw nothing. He checked her pulse and then dropped her arm.
"She's dead." Fearing for Chloe’s safety rather than his wife's, Bradford urged, "You have to go. I'll tell everyone I killed her. God knows she has given me enough reason to do so."
"But they'll hang you!"
"And what do you think they'd do to you? They won't care that you were trying to save my life."
"I won't mind what they'll do to me. As long as you're all right."
Bradford took Chloe in his arms and consoled her.
How could two women who look so much alike be so different? he wondered.
Suddenly, he thought of a way out of their predicament.
"Maybe neither of us has to die," he announced, his mind formulating the details of a plan.
"Are you going to make her death look like an accident?"
"No. Help me put her body in the closet for now."
Thankfully, despite the severity of the blow, the skin was not broken, and there was no blood or evidence that a crime had been committed in the room. Once the corpse was hidden from view, Bradford told Chloe to return to her cabin.
"Say nothing about this to anyone. Tomorrow, I want you to tell a few people that you're not feeling well, that you're more tired than normal. Go back to your cabin early and remain there until I call for you. Have you got that?"
"I'm to be sent away then?" she asked, heartbroken at the prospect of never seeing him again.
"Yes. We can't stay here."
Her heart leaped at the use of the plural pronoun we. Could it be possible? Was he going with her?
"Hurry now, before anyone sees you."
* * *
Chloe had little difficulty projecting exhaustion she did not feel. The only time her composure slipped was when Suzanna inquired about Annabelle.
"She's feeling a bit under the weather," the slave lied. "I took her breakfast up to her room, but she ate very little. I'll check on her later on in the day."
Since neither of Bradford's parents cared very much for their daughter-in-law, they made no attempt to disturb her rest.
"Is everything going all right?" Bradford asked when she brought him his lunch on a tray.
"So far."
"Good. I've spent the morning getting things ready. I've written a letter to my parents. I'll have to give them some explanation for our absence."
Chloe did not see what there was to explain. Annabelle was dead, and the only two people who could have killed her would vanish in the middle of the night. It was clear one or both of them were murderers.
Later that evening, as she was instructed to do, the slave finished her chores and returned to her cabin, supposedly to turn in for the night. She waited for several hours and then heard the soft knock on her door.
"Where are you going?" she asked when he headed back toward the house.
"Help me carry Annabelle's body to your cabin."
"Wouldn't it be better to bury it and hope no one finds it?"
"I've got something else in mind."
Since the dead woman was slightly built, they had little difficulty carrying her outside and across the yard to the slave quarters even though Bradford had not fully recovered his strength. Once they were safely inside Chloe's cabin, he told the slave to dress the dead woman in one of her simple cotton shifts.
"Why?" the slave asked, unsure of what he had in mind.
"When they find her out here in your clothes, they'll naturally assume she's you."
"And then what?"
"Early this morning, I packed some of my clothes and Annabelle's and had them sent to Savannah. You'll put on one of her dresses now, and we'll go there, collect the bags and board a boat for Baltimore. Once there, we'll head north."
"And what will become of me once I'm free?"
"You will assume Annabelle's identity, and we will live as Mr. and Mrs. Bradford Pittard. Unless, of course, you object to that arrangement?"
She answered not with words but with a kiss.
The following morning, Suzanna and Beauregard found their son's letter on the dining room table.
"That's odd," the father said after reading it. "He writes that now that he's feeling better, he wants to return to the war, not as a soldier but in some government capacity. So, he's left for Richmond."
"Without saying goodbye?"
"Maybe he was afraid we would try to talk him out of it. But this is even more bizarre! Annabelle has gone with him. Imagine that!"
"You know how she is," Suzanna said. "She was probably bored and thought a trip to Richmond would offer more excitement than remaining here at Oakview."
Less than an hour later, Annabelle's body was found in the slave quarters. Just as Bradford had suspected, the remains were assumed to be those of Chloe.
"She was feeling tired and sickly yesterday, Miz Suzanna," Moses explained when he brought his mistress the news.
"The poor thing has been working so hard lately, taking care of Master Bradford. Well, see to the burial, won't you, Moses?"
"Yes, Miz Suzanna."
By the end of the day, Lyman Payson's legitimate daughter was laid to rest in a slave's grave, and his bastard child by Petunia was on her way to freedom and a life filled with happiness.
Salem is a Civil War buff, but he thinks taking a ghost tour in Gettysburg is more entertaining than studying the causes, battles and outcome of the war.
