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Part VII: 1846- On Whose Bones We Built Our Glory
"My life flows on in endless song/Above earth's lamentation/I hear the sweet, though far-off hymn/That hails a new creation…"
The southern shore of the lake is rich with sugarcane. Tall, green stalks waving back and forth in a harsh winter's wind, the brightest and most vibrant thing around for any direction. The crop stretches as far as the eye can see to the east and west, reaching almost directly as far as the water.
"Through all the tumult and the strife/I hear that music ringing/It finds an echo in my soul/How can I keep from singing?"
On the crest of the hill above, the grand plantation house sits like a palace overlooking its domain: white gables and elegant porticoes catching the light of the weak wintery sun so that it appears to glow from within in the comparative bleakness of the horizon.
"What though my joys and comforts die?/I know my Savior liveth/What though the darkness gather round?/Songs in the night he giveth…"
The hymnal comes from the little chapel adjoining the house. Voices raised in song, harmonizing like the most well-trained choir. It's a beautiful song, angelic and otherworldly.
In the field below the house, the barebacked laborers are singing songs of their own.
"No storm can shake my inmost calm/While to that refuge clinging/Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth/How can I keep from singing?"
Heaving Black bodies, glistening with sweat and grunting with the exertion of their work, slicing their blades through the stalks to collect them in heavy burlap sacks. The air smells sticky, sweet, and sweaty.
"I lift my eyes, the cloud grows thin/I see the blue above it/And day by day this pathway smooths/Since first I learned to love it…"
The enslaved men among the stalks sign their own songs, rousting choruses harmonizing as one. The sound is its own sweetness, though it is a sad sweetness. It cannot drown out the music from on high.
"The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart/A fountain ever springing/For all things are mine since I am his/How can I keep from singing?"
The girl called Beth appears among the stalks, dazed and bewildered. Her arrival is unheralded, unexpected, and unannounced. For the moment, she is unnoticed amid the wider machine, and the dueling songs from above and around.
"No storm can shake my inmost calm/While to that refuge clinging/Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth/How can I keep from singing?"
"Oh hell," Beth pushed her way through the tall sugar stalks, aware of the bitter cold on the wind.
She wasn't sure what she was expecting Galdamez's 'I Spit in the Face of Your God and All His Servants' séance to turn into, but 'Temporal Anomaly' was nowhere in the top 10 or, indeed, 20.
She was sure it was somehow the Teague girls' fault. Probably Jamie, with her big principles.
"Well, this is where principal will get you," Beth muttered sardonically, "Right in the middle of the goddamn Color Pur..."
A machete went sawing through the air, inches beside her. Beth let out a short scream as the stalk beside her was cleaved in half.
The half-naked, seven foot tall slave man on the other end of the bushel stared at her in naked shock. He wasn't the only one. Beth had suddenly become the most interesting thing on the plantation.
Oh Christ. You're on a plantation.
Ethics probably demanded she rip off her bra and tell these people to rebel against their cruel masters, but Beth had never traveled in time before, and she wasn't sure whether the Back to the Future or Harry Potter schools of thought applied to whatever the hell Galdamez had done.
"Um..." she cleared her throat, "Hi. Hello."
Why were they all averting their eyes? This wasn't like some Montezuma situation, was it?
You idiot. You're a white woman in whatever time period this is. Christ knows what happens to these men if they look someone like you in the...
There was a steady plodding of hoofbeats on the earth, coming closer. Beth tensed, slowly turning to the sleek black plow horse coming along the way to them, and the man seated astride it.
-Beth
Everett had been startled by the scream, and so he took his horse to investigate the situation. He hadn't been to far off, so no need to rush out. As he approached the middle of the field, he had noticed a majority of the slaves had stopped working, and were all half looking at something.
As he came upon the cause of all this commotion he steadied his horse as he looked down at the strange young woman, tilting his head to the side, before climbing down from his stead. He patted one of the men on his shoulder, nodding to him and telling him to get back to work, before his father came along and noticed a lack of production.
"Ma'am are you alright? And what's all that on your face? Some new Englander lady face making its way to the states?"
He asked as he placed his hands on his hips, trying to make sense of her.
"We'll come on now, let's get you to the manor and you can tell me just how you found yourself on our property."
Oh look, it's Nathan J. Robinson. You're saved.
Beth thought at first she'd hit her head or something, but soon realized he was commenting on her makeup, not any sort of weltering injury. Or maybe he thought her makeup was a weltering injury.
"Um...well..." she blinked, "I, er, got a little turned around."
There. That wasn't likely to set a torch to the space time continuum.
"Didn't know this was, er..." she looked at all the human chattel, "Private property."
She smoothed her coat down, looking the horse over, "Does that thing seat two?"
-Beth
"Seat two? Hell, Sally can seat two adults and a child if you position right."
Everett said as he got back on the horse and offered her a hand to help her up.
"Not sure how you got turned around, next plantation is about ten miles East. Hell, mother will sort it out, she knows everything and everybody, until then, let's get you out of the field before you cause any unwanted trouble."
"Oh, there are, er, a lot of plantations?" she asked hoarsely, "In the neighborhood?"
Somehow, this comment did not do much to make her feel better about taking his hand, but she wasn't sure she had a wealth of options here, so she accepted the hand, "It's...um...a lot of property."
Maybe she could employ delicate investigative tactics to determine what year it was, besides her current loose approximation of 'somewhere between the War of 1812 and the Civil War', which did nothing to narrow it done.
-Beth
"Yeah, just near the biggest in the region. Don't think a soul in Louisiana doesn't know the Maddox name."
He said as he pulled her up behind him on the horse, giving a light press of his heels into the sides of the hors, as it started a light trot.
"I reckon many more folk'll be headed this way, Polk has a right mind, investing in the southern states, reckon it's cause he's from the Carolinas. he's a strong man. A good man."
Everett said. They began approaching the manor soon enough and he stopped sally, guiding her to hitch her down as he offered the girl a hand once again to help her down.
"Maddox," Beth repeated hollowly.
It felt like the previous mayor (or, well, future mayor) being descended from slave owners would've made the news at some point. Was it just common knowledge that nobody talked about anymore, like the Bushes being part of that weird cult thing at Harvard?
And did that make this guy Quinn Maddox's great-great-great-however-many-times grandfather?
"Polk," she said without much enthusiasm, "Right. Yep. Love him. Great guy."
Why did this country have so many forgettable presidents? Was he before or after Grover Cleveland? Definitely before Lincoln. Probably.
The great white columns of the plantation house loomed ahead, looking depressingly stark under the overcast sky. Beth wondered how much of the town existed yet, or if the entire area was plantation land. She dimly recalled Social Studies classes at Garfield Middle (another one who probably wasn't president yet) establishing that Lakewood was founded in 1816, so she probably hadn't gotten that far back.
"Hey, uh," she began, "Not to be rude or anything, but..."
"Everett! What the blue blazes do you think you're doing?"
A creature that was either a woman or an animated pile of linens descended the white steps from the white portico of the white house, skirts billowing around her as though filled with helium. Beth was given to assume she was the lady of the house.
"I never thought I'd live to see the day you, of all people, would be bringing girls unescorted to the house," she drew herself up very importantly, hawkish eyes settling with naked malevolence on Beth, though she seemed still to be talking to Everett, "You have some explaining to do."
-Beth and Delilah
Everett had been listening intently to what the strange woman was saying, before his attention was immediately drawn to his mother berating him for seemingly cavorting with the gal.
"Now mother listen, she was walking down the pathway, and I just decided to give her a ride to the manor, I figured she must have been one of your guests."
He had decided not to tell his mother that she was found in the fields, it was better that way.
"Now do you know this young lady or not?"
Beth's first impulse was to trot out ol' reliable ("What crawled up your ass and died?"), but the other woman's mouth moved at a rate approximately twice that of the average human being's.
"I have never seen a creature like this in all my days! The presumption that I would be entertaining something made up like a streetwalker is entirely..."
"Lady, if you think this outfit is for picking guys up, I'd love to see your closet."
The older woman's eyes bugged nearly out of her skull, "Well, then, Missy, perhaps you can tell me just who and what you think you are?"
This was a difficult point. Beth wasn't sure what, exactly, the winning answer would be here. All she knew was that she was better off getting the hell away from this place so she could assess what the hell was going on in peace.
"I am...Beth," she said at last.
"Beth," she wrinkled up her nose as if she'd smelled something, "As in Elizabeth?"
"Usually."
The woman's face changed completely, "Then you're the new governess!" she appeared horrified at the prospect, but not nearly as much as Beth was herself.
"G-governess? You mean, like...teacher?"
"Your coach was supposed to arrive this morning! Do you mean to tell me you've been wandering the property unattended all this time?"
"Uh, well..." she shifted about uncomfortably, "There's a lot of property."
"Well, I tell you, this will be the last time I solicit the agency in New Orleans!"
"Yeah, they really suck. We aren't even allowed to unionize."
The other woman wasn't paying any attention, however, turning back to the house, "Come on, then, and I will show you to your quarters. Mind, the slightest toe out of line, and you'll be walking all the way back to the city. We don't tolerate laxity of any kind around here."
"High fiber diets, huh?" but Beth realized she was trap. There could be no swift escape now that she'd been caught up in time travel-induced Mistaken Identity. She wondered what would happen when the real governess showed up.
But, looking at her new boss's scandalized face gave her enough of a kick that she decided to keep mum on that score, for now. Just in case.
"Everett, bring that horse back around," the woman continued, "We'll speak after supper."
"Ooh," Beth intoned grimly, making an expression of exaggerated disgust at Everett, "Supper."
-Beth and Delilah
Everett looked at the girl, as he got back on the horse, preparing to leave her, offering a small embarrassed smile,
"I promise she's usually much more pleasant to be around...Sometimes. Anyway, pleasure to meet you Miss Elizabeth."
He said, tipping his hat to her, before slapping the reigns and hauling off to the back to put Sally away.
Beth supposed she was supposed to curtsy or something, but she was wearing a winter coat and leggings from offbrand Hot Topic, and she wasn't sure what the decorum was there.
"Right," she smiled awkwardly, "Guess I'll see you on the governessing beat."
"Idiot girl," the other woman said at once the moment Everett was out of sight, "You won't be getting near him again, if I have half a say in it. It's my other son you'll be instructing, and I'm less sure of that each time you open your mouth."
Beth tried to formulate a response other than 'Well, fuck you,' but words failed, which seemed to vindicate her hostess at least.
"You shall refer to me as Mrs. Maddox as long as you are in my employ," Delilah continued as they passed through the big doors into a well-appointed entry hall, "Meals shall be taken in the servants' quarters, which are behind the east wing. You do not enter the main dining room unless my son is with you. And as you will discover, there shall never be an opportunity where shall find it necessary to eat in the presence of my son."
"Why? Does he start glowing with holy fire?"
"What was that?"
"I said 'Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!' What an impressive statue of...um..." Beth studied the bronze edifice on the end table, "A dude getting whipped."
"It was a gift from the governor."
"Oh, well, that's great. Where I come from, lobbyists just bribe people with oil bonds and stuff."
"The agency said you had been classically trained. Do you speak Latin?"
"Yes!" Beth answered immediately, "I do."
She decided it was best not to point out this was because she'd taught herself how to read grimoires in middle school. Something told her this lady wouldn't find that a very diverting hobby.
"You changed at Miss Bodycote's school?"
Sounds like a bordello.
"All the best girls learn their tricks at Miss Bodycote's."
"So I was informed. Well, it's good hat you can speak Latin. Ellis is woefully behind, which makes Mass a torture."
"Oh, right," Beth recalled the distant hymn she had heard on arriving, "I guess the church is, uh, your private church?"
"My husband's bride gift to me. Are you Catholic?"
"Sure, right. Who doesn't love ritually consuming the flesh of their God?"
To Beth's mingled amusement and terror, Delilah didn't seem to read this as a sassy comment.
"We keep a strict schedule of the Mass. Observances are every Sunday at 8:00 sharp. Occasionally, we will take evening Mass. There is never any drink to be consumed on Fridays or Sundays. But you needn't worry about that. Staff do not imbibe at all, except on Christmas and Easter."
"Right."
They had passed into a plush sitting room. Delilah rang a bell on a table and, in due course, two young slave women entered bearing a tea tray between them. Beth wasn't sure where they had come from or how she hadn't seen them on the way. They may as well have made themselves invisible.
"How do you take your tea?"
"Virgin,"
Delilah raised one eyebrow and Beth corrected, "No sugar. No mean to knock the family trade."
But Delilah didn't seem to mind, "Tea should be bitter as wormwood. Sharp as a two-edged sword. I never take anything in it. Too much of a good thing is good as poison," as she spoke, the women poured out, never making eye contact with each other or anybody else. Beth reflexively reached for a teaspoon, but one of the slaves got to it first.
"You are unaccustomed to having help?" asked Delilah, "I suppose they do not keep staff as Miss Bodycote's?"
"...they do not."
"Well, here, we have staff to attend to us. They attend to their duties, and you attend to yours. This is how an orderly house is run."
Just like that, the women were gone. Delilah took a short sip from her cup, "Your reference mentioned you had experience with difficult cases."
Oh fuck.
"Difficult cases?"
"Not to degrade young Ellis, but his temperament can be volatile at the best of times. You must know this if you are to succeed with him. I will take no compromising. The other girl was most unsuitable..."
"You mean..." Beth got a sickly feeling, "The other governess?"
"But of course."
"What happened to her?"
Delilah looked at her as if she'd gone stupid, "As I say. She was most unsuitable."
-Beth and Delilah
Beth's quarters comprised a brass bed, a washstand, and a window barely the size of her head. The square footage was comparable to a horse's stall. Beth got the impression the slaves had similar arrangements, but they shared.
There were other white servants, Beth had gathered, whose jobs were primarily to oversee the slaves. Beth wasn't sure the kind of sense that made, but whenever she began to think too hard about literally being on a literal plantation in literal plantation times, she began to get a headache.
The optimistic explanation for all of this is that she was here for a reason. That this, in face, was part of some grand plan connected to Galdamez's bullshit, and there was some sort of task she was supposed to accomplish here before she could return to her own time.
The pessimistic explanation was that Galdamez had no idea what the fuck he was doing, and now she'd be lucky to live to see the 13th Amendment and, possibly, the invention of the telephone.
But, on the bright side, this had been the best job interview she'd ever had. They hadn't even demanded a drug test.
She sighed, wringing her wet hair out into the basin. Showers didn't seem to be a luxury she was allotted to, and she hadn't wanted to ask about baths for fear the answer would disgust and depress her.
Clothes had been left on the bed: a white starched shift, and a sort of pinafore in a mustard brown color that must have been designed to ensure underfed laborers never developed an appetite. There was also (sweet Jesus) a bonnet, three layers of stockings, and several white droopy things Beth assumed were an incomprehensible form of period undergarment.
"Beautiful," she rolled her eyes, shedding her top and throwing it across the room.
-Beth
"Who is, I say, who is running the taps in guest bath? I am expecting no visitahs this mornin'! What is the meaning of this?!" A domineering figure stormed through the bathroom, only to be shocked by a scantily clad woman! "WELL, I DECLAH!"
Beth whirled around, realizing only too late that, from the waist up, she was only wearing a sport's bra from T.J. Maxx, "Oh, uh...hey, man," she greeted flatly, "I'm the new babysitter. There was, like, a whole production about it before. I figured everybody had heard."
-Beth
The man nodded. "Oh." In an instant he closed the door back shut, stifling a little moan, and resuming conversation as normal, as a gentleman does. "Pardon mah intrusion, madam. I was not expecting to meet you in such...unorthodox fashion." Supposing she'd be none the wiser, he cracked the door open a nudge to peek inside, unable to helps his...urges. "I am Delwyn Maddox, master of this here house. I hope you've been greeted warmly thus far?"
So supple... Delwyn's eyes followed her ankles to her hips to...dare he go there? DARE HE GO THERE?! Oh, yes he will! To her luscious cleavage! Oh, the Lawd was testing him today!
Beth watched her new boss watching her, quietly supposing that being spied on by an old pervert was, in fact, the most normal thing that had happened to her so far today.
"Yep," she nodded tightly, "Just getting warm welcomes from everyone in the household. Feels like home."
She really wished she knew which order her new undergarments were supposed to go on in but, failing this, picked up the pinafore-looking thing and began pulling it on, "So, I guess knocking goes out the window when you're the House Master?"
-Beth
"It is a horrible disregahd of mannahs, I agree," Delwyn replied, sidling himself closer to the door. "But I'd argue it's justifahed, considering some of the company my dear wife invites onto the grounds. Stragglahs and wayfarahs, all to satisfy her Samaritan instincts." He licked his helps, having trouble containing his mirth. "It's company not suited for our station. You, however, come from a noble profession, one that is in increasingly low supply in this country: education." A look of concern passed his pace. "I'm sure you've heard about the boy and his...tendencies?"
"Yes. Him and his tendencies," Beth started with the stockings, the next most recognizable bit of clothing that had been left out for her. At this point, she fully expected the kid had a forked tongue or a vestigial twin or something.
"I guess he's a handful, huh?" she asked as tactfully as she was capable, figuring she may as well get an idea of what she'd stumbled into.
-Beth
"The boy really is too attached to his mother," Delwyn purred, reaching down for his trousers. "Nothing like me, I assure you, Miss...?"
Oh this is fucked. What is Elizabeth's last name supposed to be?
She supposed she was only going to be able to coast for so long on whatever odd provisions the laws of time travel had set aside for her.
"Bachman," she replied automatically, hoping he asked as few questions as his wife, opening the door, to see her new boss fussing with his pants, "Um..."
Delwyn hurried back to his feet, stretching his waistcoat over his now-loosened trousers. "Oh, this heat!" He (in his opinion, quite cleverly) excused his lascivious behavior. "We live in the muggiest province, do we not?" Now, following gentlemanly protocol, he bowed, taking this sweet Miss Bachman by the hand and kissing it. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Bachman. I assure you, we will treat you like family." He kissed her hand again, this time lingering a wee bit longer...
"Yep," Beth grimaced as he slobbered all over her knuckles, "Positively slimy," she wrenched backward.
"Delwyn!" barked a voice, as Delilah appeared just behind him in the doorway, "Acquainting yourself with our new governess?"
"The hell he was," Beth snapped. Delilah's eyes looked fit to bug out her skull at that comment, "We do not take kindly to blasphemy in this house."
"What's your opinion on workplace macking?" Beth rubbed her hand off on her apron (she wondered if that's why aprons were so popular about this time), "Because..."
"It is time for supper!"
"And I have the teeth marks to prove it."
"You shall take tonight's meal in the formal dining room with the rest of the family, as a point of introduction. Henceforth, however..."
"Out of sight, out of mind. Got it," Beth looked from husband to wife, "Thanks again for the welcome wagon."
-Beth and Delilah
Delwyn regained his posture, cursing the damn woman to himself! Why must she ruin everything good and youthful and vivacious in his life? Damn, damn, damn!
But he kept his tongue. A man does not dress down his wife before company.
But then who is the true head of the household? Feh!
"Yes. Let us eat!" Delwyn gave the little miss a nod of courtesy and a glare of contempt to the missus, before leaving the room with dignity, as a Maddox should!
He then buttoned up his pants (with dignity!) in the hallway and made his way to the dining hall!
Delilah lingered to give Beth a piercing look, "You will learn to mind yourself around my husband, as you will with my son."
"What, is he a professional pervert too?"
"Rest assured, if I ever hear tell of anything untoward occurring in Mr. Maddox's presence..."
"Believe me," Beth said stiffly, "You won't."
"See that it is so," she pronounced the words like a threat, "Supper commences at 8:00. See that you look presentable."
"Alrighty then," Beth forced a smile, closing the door behind the other woman, "Oh fuck."
She was prepared to retract all previous comments about believing she could handle this. It was increasingly apparent that she did not. Aware that her hand was shaking, Beth returned to the washbasin and splashed some lukewarm water onto her face in a desperate attempt to wash the feeling of Delwyn Maddox's hands from her.
-Delilah and Beth
A mysterious figure approached Beth from behind. "Salutations, young Elizabeth!"
Beth screamed, whirling around and reflexively hurling the nearest weapon at her assailant: a bar of lye soap.
-Beth
"Soap of lye! Oh my!" The man staggered bag, holding his hands up in surrender. "Please! Please! I mean no harm! I am a friend!" He certainly wasn't dressed as a hostile, as he was clothed in the finest antebellum garments a girl could procure in that day and age. A beautiful and large gown, indeed!
And who else would be wearing it other than...
"It is I! Galdamez!" The doctor in drag fluttered a fine fan as if to accentuate this point. "I have come to assist you!"
"Galdamez!" Beth repeated, aghast, "Why are you dressed like Scarlet O'Hara?" she shook her head, "And what the fuck is going on here? These people, this place..." she scrambled for words, "They hired me! For a job!"
-Beth
"Quite the coincidence, no?" Galdamez purred, sauntering around with bathroom with pizzazz. "Or is it as it was always meant to be? Time, time--who can understand your pantomime?"