He nodded. “But they were sold years ago to a man in Texas. My brother doesn’t think he’ll ever see them again.”
She couldn’t imagine what Eb’s brother and the thousands of others searching for sold-away family must be going through, but offering her assistance in any way possible was the reason she’d come south. She credited her grandmother Rose for instilling that desire. Rose had been helping to uplift the race in their New York City community for as long as Val had been alive. Whether it was aiding the elderly and poor with food and clothing, attending abolition rallies and marches, or staying after church to read articles from the newspapers published by Mr. Garrison, Mr. Douglass, and Mr. Martin Delany to those who couldn’t, Rose and the women of her circle were who Val aspired to be.
As the slow ride continued, she thought about her own efforts. She’d been in New Orleans for a month now. The city was so different from the strict, staunch confines of New York, it was like being in another country. Music seemed to be everywhere. The women of the race wore headwraps calledtignonsthat could be plain and unassuming, or colorful and decorated with items like beads and cowrie shells. Back home the primary foreign language was Dutch. In New Orleans people spoke French, Spanish, Italian, and all manner of variations in between. New York had its street vendors, but the ones here sold fruits and vegetables she’d never seen or eaten before like okra and sugar cane. She’d come to love the little baked balls of rice calledcalasthat were dusted with sugar and sold in the mornings by women of color. On Sundays, people of the race gathered in a spot called Congo Square, something they’d been doing since slavery. There was music, dancing, and more vendors. She’d never seen anything like it before. Also new to her was the selling of charms and potions that supposedly cast and counteracted spells. The food in New Orleans was rich with cream, seafood, and yeast, and the streets were thick with armed Union soldiers, poor Whites, and crowds of freedmen searching for work. There was also a volatile undercurrent of fury from the former masters who’d lost their way of life. Some of the local newspapers were filled with vitriolic editorials directed at the soldiers and the Radical Republicans. Most alarming were reports of the increasing incidents of violence visited upon the freedmen and their families from terrorizing Lost Cause groups.
Eb halted his wagon in front of the house in the Treme section of the city where Valinda rented a room. She waved goodbye and he and Willie drove off towards the St. Louis Hotel where he worked as a pastry chef. Ironically, at age nine, he’d been sold at a slave auction in the same hotel. She found it hard to reconcile the city’s most famous hotel hosting fancy balls and celebratory dinners while slaves were also being sold under its roof.
Another thing Val found hard to reconcile was her Creole landlady, Georgine Dumas, who shared the home with her older sister, Madeline. Both were elderly but had personalities as different as night and day. Where Madeline was kind and considerate, Georgine was haughty and intolerant. Georgine complained about everything from the weather to Madeline’s cooking, but saved her most acerbic vitriol for the Union soldiers and the newly freed.
“They should ship them all back to Africa,” she declared angrily during dinner the day Val arrived. “They’re as ignorant and useless as the bluecoats.”
Later, Madeline explained that her sister’s anger was rooted in how the surrender changed their lives. Their plantation was gone, as were their slaves, leaving them to do the mundane yet necessary chores tied to living like cooking, cleaning, and the rest. Luckily Madeline knew how to cook. But many of the South’s mistresses hadn’t touched a stove for generations, and now, not knowing turnip from tripe, couldn’t feed their families.
Entering the small flat, Val found Madeline in the kitchen. The fragrant spicy aroma of gumbo cooking filled the space. Val had known nothing about the flavorful stew before coming south but now loved the dish as much as she did the morningcalas.
“And how was school today, Valinda?” Madeline asked, putting a lid on the gumbo on the stove and taking a seat at the small table where they shared their meals.
“Good. Two new students showed up, so I now have fifteen. I’ll need to find more spellers somehow. Having the students share makes teaching a challenge.”
“Do you think your grandmother’s church can help?”
“I’ll write her tonight and ask.” Her grandmother’s church back home in New York was her sponsor. In response to a plea for help from the American Missionary Association and the Sisters of the Holy Family, Val and other teachers had traveled south.
They spent a few more minutes talking, and Madeline rose to check on the gumbo. Determining it ready, she called out to her sister. Georgine entered and, upon seeing Val, glowered and took her seat.
Madeline said, “You could at least speak to her, Georgie.”
The response was an impatient huff, before Georgine asked Val, “Have the blue bastards paid you yet?”
She replied simply, “No, ma’am.”
“Food and a place to sleep is not free.”
“I understand.”
Madeline spooned the gumbo into bowls, and said tightly, “She’s paying us what she can, Georgie. You know that.”
“I know nothing of the kind. Who’s to say she isn’t giving the money that should be coming to us to those wastrel freedmen?”
Val didn’t reply. The Freedmen’s Bureau was supposed to pay teachers a stipend. Since her arrival a month ago, she’d spent her free time standing in long lines for hours on end only to be told she needed a different requisition form, was at the wrong office, or the person she needed to speak with was unavailable. It was maddening. Having to endure Georgine’s caustic tongue was worse. “I’ll be writing my grandmother to ask if she can send me extra funds so that I may meet my obligations to you and your sister.”
“Otherwise you’ll be asked to leave.”
“Georgie!”
“We can’t afford to keep her here for free, Maddy. She isn’t a pet spaniel.”
“But we promised the Sisters we’d let her stay with us.”
“In exchange for funds. We have no money, Madeline, and no prospect of receiving more. She either pays or she goes.”
Madeline’s voice tightened. “We have money in the bank, Georgie, and you know it. It may not be as much as it was before the surrender, but we won’t starve. You’re just being nasty.”
“You have one week, Miss Lacy.”
Val met the cold black eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
The meal was eaten in silence. Madeline shot her sister angry glares which Georgine ignored. When they were done, Georgine left the kitchen. Val helped Madeline with the dishes, then sat at the table to begin her letter.
Before exiting Madeline said, “Don’t worry, I won’t allow her to put you on the street.”
“Thank you.”
It had been a week since Val had written to her family, and like the last time, a bout of homesickness came over her as she began. She missed her mother, her older sister, Caroline, and her grandmother Rose, with whom Val and her parents lived. It would be uncharitable to admit to not missing her father, Harrison, but being alone and so far away from home, she even missed him and his overbearing ways a bit as well.
She wrote first to her mother and sister, and lastly to her grandmother about how she was faring, the challenges she faced, and the progress of her students. She also asked for help in acquiring more books, supplies, and an increase in her personal funds so she could pay what she owed the Dumas sisters. When she finished the letters, night had fallen. She prepared her letters for the post, then went to her hot windowless room and changed into her night things. In the morning, she’d go back to the Freedmen’s Bureau office. She didn’t relish another day of standing in a mile-long line, but the pay issue had to be resolved, so Georgine wouldn’t toss her out on her ear. After saying her prayers and dousing her lamp, she stretched out on the thin uncomfortable mattress and hoped the oppressive heat would eventually let her sleep.