The Laundress
Tucker Henshall could not recall the first time he saw Lucinda, for as far back as he could recollect, she had been part of his life. Even when they were not together, she remained a shadowy figure in his peripheral vision. Whenever he thought of her, which was frequently, he was glad that his feelings for her had not been influenced by his mother's opinions. Lucinda was not like him, his parents insisted. She was not his kind.
Carolyn Henshall was not referring to the difference between their sexes. Young Tucker had three sisters, so he knew girls dressed and behaved differently than boys. He even had a strange suspicion that the dissimilarity between males and females went beyond britches versus frocks and hunting versus needlework. Women, after all, had babies and men did not. Tucker figured there must be a good reason for this, but he was in no particular rush at the time to solve the mystery. He was far more interested in catching tadpoles and riding horses than he was in learning about human biology.
What the boy's mother actually meant was that Lucinda was a slave whereas Tucker was the only son of Alton Henshall, the owner of Sycamore Grove, one of the finest cotton plantations in Georgia. Lucinda lived in a small cabin out in back of the mansion while Tucker lived in the big house. He, as the heir to the estate, had every advantage accorded to a wealthy planter's son. Lucinda, on the other hand, owned nothing and could be beaten or sold at the whim of her owner. Luckily for her, Alton Henshall was a decent man who treated his slaves well.
Lucinda's mother had been a house slave who worked in the kitchen, and her daughter often played in the garden with Tucker and his older sisters. Eventually, the three white girls outgrew childhood pastimes and began spending their days inside the house learning the skills needed to be wives and mothers. Despite the difference in their stations, Tucker and Lucinda, nearly the same age, became close friends. In fact, they were practically inseparable. Wherever the white boy went the little black girl was sure to be nearby.
Not long after his twelfth birthday, however, Tucker noticed that his mother had apparently taken a dislike to Lucinda, yet he could not understand why. The young slave was a well-mannered, happy child who always treated the master and his family with the deepest respect. Regardless of Carolyn's motives, as her son neared the border between childhood and manhood, she tried to keep the two apart.
"You're not a little boy anymore," she told him. "You ought to be spending your time with male friends, not girls—especially not slaves."
"But there aren't any boys my age on the plantation."
That night Carolyn took her concerns to her husband, requesting that their son be sent away to school.
"Does he want to go to school?" Alton inquired.
"I didn't ask him. I just think it's in his best interest."
"Why?"
"Our son ought to be around young men of his own kind. He spends far too much time with the slaves."
"You mean Lucinda, don't you?" her husband asked in a strained voice.
"Yes," Carolyn replied, unaware that her son was in the hallway listening to every word his parents said. "How long do you think it'll be before he notices that her skin is much lighter than that of the other slaves?"
"I don't see what that has to do with anything."
"Don't you? Do you think everyone is blind to the strong resemblance between them? If it weren't for the difference in the color of their skin, they could pass for twins!"
"I suppose he ought to get a decent education," Alton decided. "Let me think about it for a few days. Now, if you'll excuse me, my dear, I need to go have a word with the overseer."
Fearing his father was about to catch him eavesdropping, Tucker ran up the stairs to his bedroom.
What did Mother mean that Lucinda and I could pass for twins? he wondered.
He looked into the mirror above his dresser and stared at his reflection, carefully examining his face, feature by feature. Although his eyes were blue and Lucinda's were brown, they were similar in size and shape. The noses were the same, as were the mouths.
We do look alike! But how is that possible?
* * *
Without consulting with his son, Alton Henshall conceded to his wife's wishes, and Tucker was sent away to school. He soon met the sons of some of the wealthiest and most respected families in the South, including Price Robillard. Although chronologically they were of the same age, Price, the son of an importer, grew up in Savannah rather than on a plantation and was far more mature and worldly than his newfound friend.
As winter approached, Tucker looked forward to returning to Sycamore Grove for the holidays.
"It must be nice to have a family to go home to," Price said.
"Aren't you going to Savannah for Christmas?"
"There's no one there except a maiden aunt who barely knows my name. My father will be in London until March, and ... well, my mother died when I was three."
"Why don't you come home with me, then?" Tucker offered. "We've got plenty of room, and my parents would enjoy meeting you."
"If it's not too much of an inconvenience," Price said, his face lighting up with anticipation.
"Not at all."
On the fifteenth of December, the two boys boarded a train and headed west. They were met at the station by Moses, one of the slaves that could be trusted not to try to run away.
"Welcome back, Massa Tucker."
"Thank you, Moses. It's good to be home."
"Are you going to introduce me?" Price asked as he got into the carriage.
"To a slave?"
"Forgive me if I'm unfamiliar with planter society etiquette," Price apologized. "My father doesn't keep slaves."
"He doesn't?" Tucker asked with surprise. "Who cleans your house, cooks your meals, washes your clothes?"
"We have a housekeeper. A delightful Irishwoman who works for us for wages."
"We could never afford to pay white people to work in the fields. It already costs us a good deal of money to feed the slaves, clothe them and keep a roof over their heads. If those damned abolitionists up north only knew ...."
"Let's not talk politics. We're here to enjoy ourselves. Tell me; what's Christmas like at Sycamore Grove?"
For the remainder of the drive to the Henshalls' cotton plantation, Tucker entertained his guest with stories about former holidays with his family, describing the foods that were cooked, the dances that were held, the entertainment that was provided and the gifts that were exchanged.
When the carriage pulled up to the wide veranda, Carolyn and her three daughters emerged from the house to greet Tucker and his friend. All four of the women welcomed Price warmly, immediately making the young man from Savannah feel at home.
"I can't thank you enough, Mrs. Henshall for inviting me to your lovely home for Christmas."
"The pleasure is all ours; I assure you. Please come inside and have something to eat. You must be hungry after your journey."
Tucker showed his friend to the dining room which was brightly festooned with greenery and red velvet ribbons for the approaching holiday. The two students were debating about which alcohol made the best punch when a beautiful young slave walked into the room carrying a plate of sliced meats, cheeses and freshly baked bread.
"This is Lucinda," Tucker said. "Lucinda, this is my friend Price Robillard from Savannah."
Price found it odd that Tucker introduced him to Lucinda but not to Moses. Was there some fine distinction between a kitchen worker and a driver? When he looked more closely at Lucinda's face, he immediately saw what Mrs. Henshall had seen: Tucker and Lucinda were clearly blood relatives.
* * *
Price woke late the following morning and could not find his friend in the house.
"Good morning, Mr. Robillard," Marie Louise, the oldest daughter, said as he was descending the grand staircase.
"Good morning, Miss Henshall," he replied. "Do you know where your brother is?"
"He's out riding. No doubt he missed the horses while he was away at school. If you're hungry, I'm sure Desdemona, our cook, can make something for you."
"Desdemona?"
"Yes. My grandfather had a fondness for Shakespeare. When she was born, he was reading Othello. Hence her name.
"Charming. Now, I think I'll take you up on your offer. I find I'm quite hungry this morning."
As Price was eating a plate of hotcakes, he looked out the dining room window and saw Tucker walk up from the stables to the rear of the house. Lucinda stepped out of the kitchen to greet him. The two hugged. It was an embrace of affection, not passion. When the brother and sister parted, Tucker walked into the house and greeted his friend.
"I didn't know you were in here," he stammered uncomfortably.
"I just woke up, and Desdemona was kind enough to prepare a late breakfast for me," Price explained. "I see you've been out riding."
"Yes. I normally go out every morning. If you'd like to join me tomorrow, I'm sure I can find a horse to your liking."
"Thank you. I look forward to it."
"What do you say to a game of chess?" Tucker asked as his friend finished the last of his morning meal. "The board is set up in the library."
Moments after the two men rose from their seats, Lucinda entered the dining room and cleared away the dirty dishes.
"Your sister is lovely, by the way," Price said to his friend.
"Which one are you referring to, Marie Louise, Genevieve or Violette?"
"They're all fine-looking young women, but I was referring to Lucinda."
Tucker's face reddened at the mention of his relationship to the slave.
"I want to apologize for my candor," Price said sensing his friend's discomfort. "I hope I haven't said anything untoward."
"I'm sure everyone in the family is well aware of Lucinda's parentage, but such things are never spoken of in genteel society."
"As I understand it, light-skinned slaves are not at all uncommon on the plantations. I don't see why the need for secrecy."
"I imagine in Savannah if a gentleman fathers an illegitimate child, he has no qualms about discussing said son or daughter with his family."
"I see your point," Price responded with an amused grin. "I just presumed that you and I being such good friends, there would be no need to prevaricate, that we could speak openly of these things, man-to-man. I certainly had no intentions of bringing the matter up in front of either your parents or your sisters."
"You're right," Tucker agreed, his anger fading. "There's no reason why we can't talk about these matters between us. My sisters and I grew up playing with the children of the slaves. I never noticed how much Lucinda looked like me, so I had no idea she was my sister until I overheard my parents talking one day. I was still a green lad and couldn't understand how a sister of mine could be a slave."
"I bet it came as quite a shock to you."
"That it did," Tucker admitted with a humorless laugh. "And yet, it made me glad as well. I had always been very fond of Lucinda as a playmate. Once my sisters were too old to join in our games, she and I became inseparable. Oddly enough, in a way, I'm closer to her than I am to Marie Louise, Genevieve and Violette."
* * *
During the remainder of that Christmas visit, Price Robillard formed a close bond with the Henshalls. In the years that followed, he spent all his school holidays at Sycamore Grove. He also attended both Marie Louise's, Genevieve's and Violette's weddings and other family celebrations. Carolyn often claimed the young man from Savannah was like a second son to her.
Eventually, it came time for the two young men to leave school. Tucker was naturally expected to return to Sycamore Grove where he would learn the cotton business from his father until it was time for him to take over the running of the plantation. Price, on the other hand, had no desire to follow in his father's footsteps.
"I don't want to be a merchant," he averred. "I thought I would apply to William and Mary and study law instead."
Neither of the two friends gave thought to the volatile political situation that threatened their future. Tensions between North and South were steadily worsening, and should Abraham Lincoln be the victor in the upcoming presidential election, it was likely to cause even more bad feelings in the South.
"I suppose I'll have to get married soon," Tucker said as the young men prepared to leave school for the final time.
"Is there a particular lady you have an eye on?" Price asked.
"No, but my family expects me to wed and have a family. When I get back to Sycamore Grove, they will no doubt have a ball and invite every single girl in Georgia."
"That doesn't sound so bad. After attending school with only males, I would look forward to meeting all those pretty belles."
"You must come then. Who knows? Maybe you will meet the future Mrs. Robillard there. After all, even lawyers ought to be married."
The last celebration ever to fill the ballroom at Sycamore Grove was held during the summer of 1860. As Tucker had predicted, families from Savannah, Atlanta and small towns across the state brought their unmarried daughters in hopes of making an advantageous match. Price, who had been accepted into William and Mary, was in attendance. He immediately fell under the spell of a vivacious blonde from Macon, while his friend was attracted to a quiet brunette from a plantation that was contiguous to his own.
"Isn't that just like you?" Price teased. "You have women here from across the state, and you fall for one from a neighboring farm."
"You have to admit the short distance will make courting her much easier."
"How romantic!"
"I'm practical," Tucker argued. "If we marry, we can combine our two parcels of land and have quite possibly the largest plantation in the South. Besides, romance has little to do with marriage. It's more of a business arrangement."
Price did not share his best friend's pragmatic, emotionless approach toward relations with the opposite sex. He could not imagine having a wife he did not love—but then he did not have a dozen or so attractive slaves to choose from should he want female company.
I'm being unfair to Tucker and his father, he thought feeling guilty for his disloyalty.
However, he was one of the minority in the South that did not believe in slavery. As much as he had grown to care for Tucker's family, he could not in good conscience say he respected Alton Henshall, a man who had not even freed his own child.
As the young ladies of the proud Southern aristocratic families gracefully danced to reels and waltzes in their dainty slippers, the hoop skirts of their taffeta and silk gowns brushing against the well-polished floor, Lucinda, who had as much Henshall blood in her veins as did Tucker, Marie Louise, Genevieve and Violette, was in the kitchen, sweating over the ovens and stoves as she helped Desdemona prepare the feast for the guests to enjoy.
* * *
During the autumn of 1860, Tucker spent many hours with his father learning how to efficiently run the family's cotton business, from planting, to picking to selling. In his spare time, he paid court to Varina Randolph, the timid brunette he had selected to be his wife. Meanwhile, Price was in Williamsburg attending school. Although separated by more than five hundred miles, the two men continued their friendship through letters.
At Christmas time, Price journeyed from Virginia to Georgia to spend the holidays at Sycamore Grove, unaware that it would be the last time he would see the beautiful antebellum mansion. The holiday season was more festive than any he could remember. Perhaps it was forced good cheer in the face of an uncertain future. Varina and her family were guests for the holiday as well, patiently waiting for news of a betrothal.
"When are you going to ask her to marry you?" Price inquired as the two men stopped to rest their horses during their morning ride.
"I had originally planned on doing so on New Year's Eve, but I'm not so sure that's wise now," Tucker admitted.
"Why not?"
"With Lincoln winning the election and South Carolina adopting an ordinance of succession, who knows what will happen next. I'd rather not make any long-range plans until I know what the future has in store."
"You think Georgia will secede?"
"Of course, don't you? The election was a casus belli—as our old Latin instructor would have called it. You know Lincoln is an abolitionist. He and those sententious old Quakers in New England are sure to put an end to slavery, and then what will become of the South's economy?"
"Slavery was abolished in the North, and people there seem to be surviving."
Tucker stared at his friend as though seeing him for the first time.
"Don't tell me you share their opinions on slavery?"
"Honestly? I'm not sure. I recently read there are nearly four million slaves in this country. That's a lot of people in bondage."
"They are not people," Tucker argued hotly. "They are property."
"Does that include Lucinda? Do you consider her just property?"
Price had hit a sore spot, the one chink in his friend's armor.
"I have already vowed that when I take control of Sycamore Grove, I shall set my half-sister free."
"I'm very glad to hear that because even though you had different mothers, Lucinda loves you more than most sisters love their brothers. There's a bond between the two of you that transcends race, politics, slavery and legitimacy."
"I know. Aside from you, she is the only person I've ever been able to talk to, the only one who understands what I think and how I feel."
"What's her opinion of your relationship with Varina?"
"She says she only wants me to be happy, but I think the idea of my being married makes her sad. She probably believes that once I'm Varina's husband, the bond between us will be broken."
Price sympathized with Tucker's predicament. Despite the deep affection the siblings felt for each other, they could never have a normal family relationship. Even if Lucinda were set free, she would not be invited to sit down at a family dinner or be accepted as an aunt to her brother's children. A free black woman—even one who was half white—would never be seen as equal in the eyes of Southern white society.
* * *
The following month, Tucker's prediction proved true. On January 19, Georgia seceded from the Union, joining South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida and Alabama. In February, one month before Abraham Lincoln was to be sworn in as president, these five seceding states, along with Louisiana and Texas, formed the Confederate States of America. Four additional states (Virginia, Arkansas, Tennessee and North Carolina) joined the Confederacy after the battle at Fort Sumter.
"It was a good thing I didn't ask Varina to marry me," Tucker said as he sat with Lucinda beside a stream that ran through a small patch of peach trees at Sycamore Grove.
"Why? Won't people still get married under the new government?" his sister asked.
"I'm sure they will, but with the North blockading our Southern ports, it will no doubt lead to all-out war. If it does, I intend to volunteer."
"If you go off to fight, then I'm going to go with you," Lucinda declared bravely.
Her foolish idea made her brother laugh.
"You can't join the army! One, you're a woman, and, two, you're a slave."
"Slaves can't be soldiers?"
"Of course, they can't."
It seemed odd to Lucinda that slaves did most everything else for their white masters: they cooked, cleaned, worked the cotton fields, tended the livestock and drove the carriages. Why, black women even nursed white babies at their breasts! She did not understand why a black man—or woman—could not fight off the Yankees. But then after Nat Turner led a slave rebellion that resulted in the death of more than fifty white people, it was doubtful any white person would put a gun in the hands of a black man.
After Johnston and Beauregard squared off against McDowell and Patterson at Manassas in July, Tucker said goodbye to his family, joined the 11th Georgia Infantry and headed for Virginia. True to her word, Lucinda went with him. Serving in the capacity of an army laundress along with other slaves and freed blacks, she followed the troops from camp to camp. Even on the days when Tucker's military duties kept them apart, the siblings took great comfort knowing the other was close by.
Although providence seemed to favor the South during the first two years of the war, the triumph was not without its sorrow. Marie Louise's husband died during the battle of Sharpsburg, and Violette's died of dysentery during the Vicksburg campaign. The deaths of two of his brothers-in-law notwithstanding, the greatest blow Tucker received was the news that Price Robillard, who was like a brother to him in many respects, had joined the Union Army.
One evening, while many members of his regiment were either reading their mail or writing letters to be sent to family back home, Tucker headed for "Soap Suds Row" to break the news to Lucinda. When he told her of his friend's defection, she failed to fully grasp the situation.
"But he's from Savannah. How can he fight with the North? Would they take him into their army?"
"He's a traitor; that's how."
"What would make him do such a thing?"
"I always suspected he had abolitionist leanings, but I never dreamed he would turn against his own people."
"So he's fighting because he thinks slavery is wrong. Then are you fighting because you think it's right?"
"It's not that simple," Tucker said, hating to discuss the time-honored Southern institution with her. "It's a question of states' rights. Georgia ought to be able to make its own laws without interference from Washington."
"Well, people say the war will be over soon anyway," Lucinda reasoned as she poured boiling water into a tub to rinse the soap from the uniforms she was washing. "I suppose we'll be going back to Georgia then."
Tucker did not share his sister's optimism. The Union Army had taken its share of beatings, most recently at Fredericksburg, yet the fighting continued as though the North had an inexhaustible supply of men and arms.
"I wonder what Mr. Robillard will do after the war," Lucinda said, wiping the perspiration from her brow. "Will he stay in the North or return to Williamsburg to finish his schooling?"
"Maybe he'll go live in New England with the rest of the abolitionists and attend Harvard."
"Sounds to me like you hate him now."
"No," Tucker replied, the bitterness leaving his voice. "Despite what he's done, I still love him as a friend. My greatest fear is that someday we'll meet on a battlefield—Price on one side and me on the other. I wonder what we would do if that were to happen."
Since no one was around to see them, Lucinda put her arms around her brother and hugged him.
"Neither one of you would raise a gun to the other," she said. "Regardless of what army you're fighting for."
* * *
The South was riding the tide of victory when it entered Pennsylvania after defeating Hooker's Army of the Potomac at Chancellorsville. Neither Robert E. Lee nor any of his men guessed that they were about to face the turning point in the Civil War. The battle that was soon to take place at Gettysburg would result in the greatest number of casualties in the entire five years of hostilities.
For the next three days there was fierce fighting at Devil's Den, Culp's Hill, the Wheatfield, the Peach Orchard and Little Round Top. Given the alarming number of wounded men, Lucinda and many of the other laundresses went to work outside the field hospital, washing bandages and linens. She prayed for her brother's safety as she scrubbed, and she scanned the face of each new patient as she hung the wet laundry out to dry.
After George Pickett's disastrous charge up Cemetery Ridge, Lee decided to retreat back to Virginia. Lucinda, who had not seen or heard from her brother since the Confederate Army had entered Gettysburg, vowed she would not leave until she knew he was safe. More than half the men in his regiment had been killed. Of those that remained, nearly two-thirds were wounded. No one she questioned knew what had become of Tucker Henshall.
According to Union General William Tecumseh Sherman, "War is hell!" This may be true of the raging battle, but it is not a strong enough word to describe the aftermath of the three-days of fighting that took place on the green hills of Pennsylvania. When the two opposing armies moved on, they left behind twenty-thousand wounded and dying men in need of medical care, and more than seven thousand corpses and five thousand dead horses and mules were left where they fell.
Lucinda tied a piece of cloth over her nose to lessen the foul stench of decay and death as she walked among the blackened, bloated bodies looking for Tucker. As she was heading back into the center of town, she saw a familiar face: Price Robillard, her brother's best friend. The man from Savannah had survived the battle, although he was wounded and walking on crutches.
"Lucinda? What are you doing here?" he asked with astonishment. "It's a long way from Sycamore Grove!"
She quickly filled him in on what had transpired since he had last been to Georgia.
"And you haven't been able to find Tucker?" he asked when she concluded her story.
"For three days I've kept an eye out for him at the hospital, and I've questioned many of the men from his regiment. No one knows what's become of him."
"I wish I could offer you some hope, but they've already begun burying the dead. If Tucker didn't survive the battle, you may never learn his fate."
Price did not have the heart to tell her that many of the fallen Confederates were being buried in mass graves or that some of the bodies were already beyond recognition.
"I can't go back to Georgia until I know what's happened to him," Lucinda cried.
"Why go back to Georgia at all?" Price asked. "Mr. Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation. You're a free woman now, not a slave."
"Free to go where? To do what?"
"I have friends, Quakers, in Philadelphia. They'll help you find a place to stay and a means by which you can support yourself. I'll be heading that way to recuperate in a few days. You can come with me."
"If my brother is ... gone, I'll be happy to go with you. But I need to know what happened to him first."
* * *
Thanks to a monumental effort on the part of men from both armies and volunteers from the town and surrounding areas, nearly all the dead were buried during the two days after the battle ended. They had worked in the blazing sun during the day and by lantern light during the night, putting both Rebels and Yankees into the ground.
Then a summer storm came bringing with it thunder, lightning and a torrential downpour that washed away the dirt from some of the more shallow graves. Arms, legs, hands and feet were protruding through the ground at various angles like harvested cornstalks.
Lucinda, exhausted from little sleep and hardly any food, trudged wet and muddy through the mire. On some level her brain saw the futility of her actions. How would she recognize a dirt-covered, bloated appendage even if one of them happened to be her brother's? It was not a time for logic, however. She was being driven by the overwhelming need to find the man whose life meant so much to her. The bedraggled slave knew her quest was hopeless. She ought to embrace her freedom and go to Philadelphia where there were kindhearted people who would help her start a new life. Yet the idea of living without Tucker held no appeal for her.
As she walked through the ruined field of wheat, she paid no attention to the broken and trampled, bloody chaffs. Her eyes were on the ground at the mounds of freshly dug earth with an occasion limb rising from the grave. One hand, exposed from the elbow up, caught her attention. The slightly curving fingers seemed to beckon to her. When she drew nearer, she noticed a ring on the swollen digit.
Is that ...? she wondered, trying not to get her hopes up.
Lucinda knelt in the mud and reached for the hand, feeling no revulsion at the thought of touching the dead flesh. When she wiped the mud from the ring using the sleeve of her sodden dress, she was able to read the initials engraved upon it: TLH, Tucker Lamont Henshall.
"It's you!" she cried, leaning forward and kissing Tucker's palm.
The slave's tears mixed with the raindrops on her wet face as she cried for her fallen brother. Suddenly, his dead fingers closed on her hand. She smiled as though a weight were lifted from her, for she knew she would never be parted from him again.
* * *
Today, the former Pennsylvania battlefield is the site of the Gettysburg National Military Park. Run by the U.S. National Park Service, it covers almost four thousand square acres and boasts more than thirteen hundred monuments, markers and memorials and an estimated forty-three thousand Civil War artifacts. Home to the Soldiers' National Cemetery and the location of many battle reenactments, Gettysburg draws more than a million visitors every year. History buffs from around the world flock to its many museums and take part in its guided tours including the popular haunted Gettysburg walks.
A number of tourists who have taken the candlelight guided ghost tours, hoping to find evidence of paranormal activity in the vicinity of Devil's Den, Gettysburg College, the haunted creek bed, Jenny Wade's House and the Dobbins House, claim to have captured on camera mysterious orbs, shadowy soldiers and wisps of ectoplasm. There are those that have photographed what appears to be the ghost of a black female in the vicinity of the Wheatfield. A few people prone to psychic experiences have even seen the woman walking across the battlefield, periodically stopping as though searching for something or someone near and dear to her heart.
I recently read an article about the aftermath of the battle of Gettysburg and the formation of the National Cemetery there. The article describes the temporary burials immediately after the battle, including the fact that heavy rains washed away some of the soil, exposing arms and legs.
Salem never offers to do the laundry, but he does enjoy curling up in the laundry basket for a nap.
