After much deliberation Mr. and Mrs. Templeton, with the little boys and their cumbrous retinue of wagons, horses and slaves, went to Texas, leaving their daughter Vine, Miss Eliza and two faithful servants as sole tenants of Beechwood. The expected advance of Federal forces in the spring seemed to justify the reduction of the place to such slender equipment. Meanwhile, Captain Paul had been through a campaign in Virginia. On the very day of the battle of Bethel, Vine clasped a new-born daughter in her arms, and the father requested that its name should be Bethel in commemoration of that engagement. This child was a year old before he saw its face. The time came when Louisiana soil was to be plowed up with military trenches and fortifications, and Captain Paul was ordered to Port Hudson. The siege of that place soon followed.
In the evenings Miss Eliza sat on the gallery holding Bethel in her arms, while Vine rocked little Dan, the baby of seven months, and they would all listen in wistful silence to the volleys of heavy guns sounding regularly and dolefully far down the river. The regular boom of the thundering volleys kept on day and night. The two servants, Becky and Monroe, would occasionally join the group; “Never mind, Miss Vine, don’t you fret,” they would say; “sure, Captain Paul’s all right.” After many weeks of painful suspense and anxiety the shocking news came that Captain Paul had been killed by the explosion of a shell. Vine’s grief was wild. She wept and raved by turn, until Miss Eliza feared she would die. Becky with womanly instinct brought her the children and reminded her that she still had these. “Take them away,” cried Vine, “I loved them only for his sake; children are nothing! Take them out of my sight! Oh! Lord,” she cried, “let us all die and be buried together! Why does anybody live when Paul is dead?—dead, dead, forever!”
Vine put on no mourning in her widowhood, for such a thing as crepe was unattainable in those days. The girls in the neighborhood came and stayed with her by turns, and did all they could to divert her mind from her loss.
In a short time even punctilious Miss Eliza rejoiced to perceive some return of Vine’s former cheerfulness. She said it was sad enough and bad enough to have a horrible war raging and ravaging over the country, without insisting that a delicate young thing like Lavinia should go on forever moping herself to death in unavailing grief. There was no need of anything of the kind. While wishing her niece to avoid “getting herself talked about,” Miss Eliza yet thought it needful, right and proper that she should take some diversion and some healthy amusement. So it came to pass after awhile that one day all the officers and soldiers who were temporarily at home, and all the young ladies living on the river, were invited to dine together at Beechwood.
The day was cool and delightful, with just a tinge of winter in the air. Extensive fields, where hundreds of bales of cotton and thousands of barrels of corn had been grown annually, were now given up to weeds, briars and snakes. Here and there in protected nooks and corners clusters of tall golden-rod or blue and purple wild asters waved their heads. Only one small patch of ripened corn near the dwelling indicated that the inhabitants had not entirely forgotten seed-time and might possibly have hope of even a tiny harvest later on.
It was eleven o’clock before Vine had finished the work of decorating her parlors. She felt weary from the unusual exertion, but remembering her duties to her expected guests, she ran to the window overlooking the kitchen and called, “Becky, Becky, you know who are to be here; now do have everything all right for dinner; and, Becky, please keep the children quiet, for I should like to take a nap before I dress.”
“Y’as’m,” said the woman, while a shade of care came into her honest face, as she regarded the two children playing in the corner of the kitchen. “I ’clar to Gawd, dat’s jes’ like Miss Vine, she’s done got in de bed dis minit and lef’ me wid bofe dese chillun on my han’s, en she knows, mitey well, dat um got a heap to tend ter, dis day. She tole me dat she wus gwine to he’p me, she did, en it’s de Gawd’s trufe dat she ain’t done er spec of er blessed thing ceppin gether dem bushes and flowers, en Captain Prince he hope her at dat. Now, ef she had put her han’ to de vegables, dat would er ben sumpin. Flowers will do for purty and niceness, but you cayent eat ’em, en you cayent drink ’em. Dey’re des here to-day and gone all to pieces to-morrow; whut good is dey anyhow? a whole kyart load of um don’t mount ter er hill er beans. Well,” she continued, “I jes’ won’t blame de young creetur, but Gawd ermitey only knows when all dem white folks will set down ter dat ar dinner Miss Vine done ’vited ’em ter come here en eat! Here, Beth,” said she kindly to the little girl, “clam up on dis stool, honey, by dis table; um gwine ter fix yo a nice roas’ tater in a minit. Yo, Dan,” she called out sharply to the boy, “yo jes’ stop mashin’ dat cat’s tail wid dat cheer ’fo’ he scratch yo to deff! Min’, I tell yer! It jes’ looks like Miss Vine wouldn’t keer ef I bust my brains er wukin’; but I ain’t er gwine to do dat fer nobody. Well, not fer strange white folks, anyhow.”
Here Beth with a mouthful of sweet potato asked for water. Becky promptly dipped a gourd full and held it to her lips grumbling all the while, “Lamb O’ Gawd, how in de name er goodness is I gwine ter wait on dese chillun, wash up dese dishes, put on dinner, en fetch all de wood from de wood pile?” As she stood contemplating her manifold duties, she heard the clock in the house striking the hour. “Lord, Gawd,” said she, “ef it ain’t twelve o’clock er ’ready, en shore nuff here comes all dem white folks jes’ a gallopin’ up de big road. Eh—eh—eh—well, dey’ll wait twell em ready fur ’em, dat’s all. But I does wish Miss Vine was mo’ like her mar. Ole Mis’ wouldn’t never dremped ’bout ’viten a whole pasel er folks here, widout havin’ pigs, and po’try, pies and cakes, en sich, all ready, de day befo’. She had plenty on all sides an’ plenty ter do de work too. Now here’s Miss Vine she’s after havin’ her own fun. Well, she’s right, you hear me, niggahs!”
“You ain’t talkin’ to me, Aunt Becky,” said Beth; “I ain’t no nigger.” The woman laughed, dropped her dishcloth on the unswept floor, grasped the child and tossed her up several times over her head. “Gawd bless dis smart chile! no, dat yo ain’t! yo is a sweet, little, white angel outen heaben, you is dat, you purty little white pig!”
In the height of this performance Monroe came to the door and thrust in an enormous turkey just killed. Seeing what was going on he exclaimed: “Why, Aunt Becky, yo better stop playing wid dat white chile en pick dis turkey ’fo’ Miss Eliza happen ’long here en ketch yer.”