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I went to her. “Lizzie, if I could undo all the hurt I caused you I would. You know that, don’t you?”
“It wasn’t all you,” she said softly. “The cruel thing with Jeyne was hurtful indeed. For everybody, including your Pa who done the thing. But we here now, getting ready to leave all dese ghosts behind, and I’m real happy ‘bout dat. God is givin’ us another chance. It’sourturn for freedom now.”
My eyes stung at hearing Lizzie’s words. She opened her mouth to say more but simply nodded her head to my silent question, patted my hand and rose to leave without saying another word.
The night was filled with strange and cryptic dreams, one in particular so disturbing it woke me from the start. I tried to return to sleep but the tug of memories called me downstairs to the den where I went to my desk and unlocked a drawer. I pulled out a brown, leather diary and held it for a long time, reluctant to open it. Many of the entries revolved around Jeyne and our early life together. I told myself there was no need to revisit the past and reread the entries. But soon, I found myself flipping through pages and caught sight of phrases and words that only a lovesick teenage boy could outpour. Some of the entries were amusing in their adolescent hopelessness, but most importantly, they were a link to all that was and is. Within minutes, I was immersed in a world I had long ago tried to forget.
My heart beat wildly as I struggled to control my shaking hands. Fate was finally shining its light upon me. So, why was I so nervous? As the cold air blew outside, I was reminded once again of that winter morning of 1838 when my life changed forever. The memory overpowered me, heavy and urgent in its need to be recognized. For it seemed like only yesterday when I was hopelessly and madly in love with Jeyne, a young, beautiful girl who had once been my father’s slave.
THOMAS’ DIARY
(EXCERPTS)
“To know a man’s thoughts, is to know his heart.”
- Anonymous
January 14, 1837
I can't believe it, but January is almost half over. There has been so much company coming and going that I have not had much time to myself. But nearly every day, I manage to steal away for a few hours in order to be with Jeyne. I didn't realize how much I enjoy reading with her. I often ask myself how a girl so young can make even the simplest of words sound like poetry. I could listen to her all day. But today our reading was interrupted by Jeyne’s sudden burst of laughter. This alarmed me, particularly since there was nothing inWuthering Heightsto engender amusement until she explained that something in the novel reminded her of when she, Jeb and I had fallen knee-deep in the mud, me in my new riding pants and new boots and Jeyne, in her cotton-flowered dress. Jeb had looked a sight too with his face caked in fresh mud. All of this struck us so funny that we were roaring with laughter until my father laid eyes upon us later. And for the first time, I realized he was not pleased to find me in their company, something that he made very clear later when we were alone. Furthermore, he said, Jeyne and I were forbidden to read to each other. He said that it was inappropriate for me to be associating with a slave. He said I was getting older and that I would be the “master” of this house one day. “If you wish to keep their respect, you must treat them as your inferiors,” he told me sternly. “They are not your equals and you must treat them as such.” I didn’t understand his reasoning because Jeyne and I had read together many times before. I openly disagreed with him and told him that I saw no harm in it. After all, we had been reading to each other since we were children. But my father said that Jeyne and I were no longer children and that I was to do as I was told. This whole incident has me dumbstruck.
February 21, 1837
Father warned me again to stop reading with Jeyne, as if I had forgotten. It has been several weeks now since we last read together and it feels like years. We still see each other in passing, but that is not the same. She is kept so busy that we have little time to talk. I’ve come to realize now that Jeyne is my best friend. We have so many things in common. In fact, if I did not know better, I would think we were twins. Earlier this morning, I was thinking about all the fun we had when were children, especially during the summers when we seemed to play endlessly, climbing trees in the arbor, playing marbles and solitaire, and sharing our deepest secrets. But the best times have been when Jeyne and I are in the library reading, discovering other worlds together. Jeyne craves learning with an eagerness that I admire and questions everything she reads. But father has taken that away from us, or he thinks he has. I won’t let him.
February 25, 1837
I saw Jeyne again today. I followed her down to the wine cellar. Once I was inside, she was surprised to see me, but also afraid that we would be seen together. Overcome with emotion in not seeing her for hours, I tried to kiss her, but she must have been shocked for she slipped out of my arms and retreated into silence. I may have offended her, but I couldn't help myself. Our lips were so close. I can't say when these feelings began. All I know is that they are in my heart and they are real. I wanted to tell her this but she, no doubt, would have thought me silly.
March 12, 1837
For reasons I cannot explain my feelings for Jeyne have become stronger. I am having difficulty concentrating these days. I miss her. Even though we don’t see each other that often, I have become more dependent on her companionship. I think about her every day and grow sad when I cannot see her. Her eyes, her hands, her soft voice. I want to touch her and kiss her and tell her how beautiful she is. I think father senses changes within me, but he has yet to inquire. He sometimes gives me curious looks when he thinks I don’t see him. I try to avoid him these days, lest he be tempted to ask what is bothering me and force me to lie.
April 10, 1837
The sky has darkened to a midnight blue and I find myself dreaming of the time spent with Jeyne this afternoon. She gave me her handkerchief and the scent from it reminds me of our kiss. I want to hold her again, even if it means doing it in shadows. I told her that I loved her and she told me she loved me too. And that’s when we kissed which surprised us both. I have never kissed a girl like that. Her lips were warm to the touch and I felt as if I could fly. My heart was beating out of control.
May 15, 1837
It was raining heavily today but I needed to see her. She was waiting for me in the barn. Meeting like this is dangerous, but I don't care. I love her. Somehow, I have to temper these feelings for both our sake’s so that we don’t rouse suspicion. Is this what love feels like? I feel like my whole body is being filled up with something close to God. The poet John Keats wrote of feeling like this in his poem “I Stood on Tiptoe.”
May 18, 1837
The goodbyes are tearing me apart. They are so sudden and abrupt. When she leaves me I feel empty and alone. But I know we must endure this, at least for now. Sometimes I don't understand this world, the extreme cruelty of it all, especially slavery. I often look at all the slaves on our plantation and ask myself in what way do I make their lives better or worse. Just the other day Keegan caught two slaves who tried to escape. He hunted them and whipped them like stray dogs. I swear, he is the nastiest man alive. He should be shot. To add to all this misery, we received a letter from Mr. Riley today. He’ll be coming to Bellevue this summer. God forbid.
May 22, 1837
My heart breaks when I can’t see Jeyne, to have her so close and yet so far away, that is my torture. My loneliness for her is so strong sometimes that I feel like I could die. There are many days when I just want to take her far, far away from here.
THOMAS & JEYNE
“But to see her was to love her, love but her, and love forever.”
– Robert Burns
Chapter Seven
It was the summer of 1837 and my family and I were acting as obligatory hosts to Marcus Riley and his father, Lawrence, a semi-successful bean and cotton farmer who lived in Lutcher, a few miles west of New Orleans. What my father ever saw in this overweight, loud-mouthed, ignorant man I could only guess, but Lawrence had become a familiar face at Bellevue, never refusing an invitation. And although he blamed his frequent visits on his widowhood, I knew better. Our plantation attracted many such opportunists like Lawrence, men who wanted nothing more than to elevate their financial and social status.
