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“I understand your feelings, Thomas,” my mother began. “I always have. But you must remember that every man has a motivation and sometimes that motivation isn’t known to all. Your father was not perfect, but he did what he felt was best. What followed was a pain you can only imagine. He hated himself. A light went out in him.”
“If he felt so much guilt why didn’t he apologize or try to bring her back?” I asked.
“There’s much you still don’t know,” she continued. “But you will in time. Just know your father made an unwise decision and he suffered because of it.”
“And I did, too,” I said.
My mother’s face changed upon hearing this. “What would your life would have been like if you had run off with Jeyne?” she asked earnestly. “Could your love have endured the suffering you were both sure to go through? All in all, your father believed he was protecting you. Put yourself in his position. Would you have reacted that much differently?”
“Why are we even talking about him now? He’s dead. Buried.”
“All I’m saying is don’t repeat your father’s mistakes,” she said. “Don’t go to your grave with regrets. Forgive. Only by doing that can your heart truly be free.”
My mother looked down at the letters in her lap. “Apparently, he cared more deeply about what he had done than we realize,” she said in a strained voice. “These belong to you.”
Her hands were shaking as she untied the bundle of letters and handed them to me. I took the letters out of her hands and looked at them closely. My heart began to race. The script looked familiar.
“But they’re addressed to you,” I said.
“Yes, they are,” she admitted. “But I read one that was already open and realized they weren’t for me after all.”
My anxiety increased upon hearing her words. I began to read the letter she was referring to and felt my heart stop.
Chapter Twenty-One
Upon entering the study, I locked the door and sat at my desk, the desk that once belonged to my father. After all these years, I could still see the pained expression on my Mother’s face the day when I confronted him here and spoke so openly of his infidelities with Marie Levereaux, only to regret the words the minute they left my mouth.
As I held Jeyne’s letters in my hand, a mix of joy and pain flooded my body. I stared at them, unable to move, unable to speak. Memories of my father’s deception had reached beyond the grave. Mother had spoken of forgiveness, but how was I supposed to truly do that? For years, I had tried to understand his motivations and look beyond the cruelty. Yet, all that remained was an empty shell of pain, and now, it was strong as ever as I held Jeyne’s letters in my hands. What is more, bitter questions lingered. Why had my father kept the letters hidden all these years? Knowing Lizzie’s grief and seeing my own, why didn’t he reveal what he knew about Jeyne? Was his cruelty truly that deep?
I brought the delicate envelope to my nose and inhaled deeply, hoping to obtain a scent, any scent from Jeyne’s hand. The letters smelled of aged wood, but in my mind I thought I could smell lavender and spring blossoms. I fought back emotions as I looked at the handwriting I knew so well. The letter was dated almost a year after she was sold and I could only imagine the hardships she had endured prior to writing these words.
Hamilton County
Red Bank, Tennessee
August 12, 1839
My dearest Thomas,
Please know that I love you very, very much. Nothing and no one in this world will ever change that. My feelings for you will never die. It’s important I begin this letter with these words lest some twist of fate prevent you from reading them to the end. And I fear, in light of everything that has happened, this letter may not find its way to you. I can only hope that it does. There may be forces preventing this letter from reaching you but this will not stop me from writing. This is the one thing that keeps me alive even though there are negative forces keeping us apart. But in my heart, I know I will see you again. As much as I hate my current circumstances, I don’t hate your father. It is the entire world I hate, a world that stands by while innocent men, women and child are torn apart. In some ways, I understand why he sold me. But in the deepest part of my heart, I will never be able to forgive what happened to me. He tore me away from everything that I held dear, including you. I’ll never forget that morning as long as I live. Mama begged Keegan not to take me but he was vile as ever and pushed and kicked her to the ground. He dragged me away and threw words around that no woman should repeat. When I was sold at the auction block in the city, Keegan smiled and gave me a look that could only be described as triumph.
As to my current whereabouts, I am living with a family somewhere in Tennessee, close to the main city of Memphis. My mistress’ husband is a doctor and they have a little girl, Lindsey, who is five years old. The mistress treats me with contempt and distrust and some of the other slaves do, too. When I entered the house I encountered nothing but cold looks and stares. One of the slaves told me she hated “half-yella” wenches like me and slapped me for no reason. I am so glad when the night comes if nothing else but to get a break from the abuse. Sometimes I lie in bed and cry until I fall asleep. But I am determined to get through this. We live in troubled times where evil and morality lay side by side. Until a better day arrives, I must endure this separation from you and continue to have hope that we will see each other again. I hold on strongly to that belief for that is what keeps me alive. And if you, like me, find yourself in despair, simply turn your face to the wind and know this is me kissing and loving you with every breath I have.
Yours forever,
Jeyne
I continued to read Jeyne’s letters well into the night – all eighteen of them -- barely stopping to eat dinner. I became immersed in each one, rereading each letter two, even three times. Every experience Jeyne described became my own, every detail so real. It was if she were sitting right there in front of me. I was discovering her all over again. Yet, many of her words also broke my heart.
Hamilton County
Red Bank, Tennessee
July 22, 1839
Dear Thomas,
I am rebelling against God today. I have not received His love in many weeks and do not feel as if I will receive more. I have not heard from you. This means you’re not receiving my letters. Or are you? I know I shouldn’t expect more. But this uncertainty doesn’t stop me from holding my breath in anticipation. I still wait to hear from you. I still remember how you feel, your lips I still taste. I long for you and ache at night at the thought of never seeing you again. I pray, hoping that I can see you if only for a day. No, not a day, but an hour. Yes, an hour. Even that would satisfy me now. I thought of you this morning as I do every morning, and I was filled with joy even though I realized this feeling will eventually come to a bittersweet end. You are in Louisiana and I am here in Tennessee. Oh, if only I could receive just one letter from you! To see words written in your hand! Even if you were to tell me you were betrothed to another, I would still rejoice. Because I know, in that same letter, you would also proclaim your undying love for me. Now, as time and distance widens the space between us, I begin to question whether I loved you enough in the time we had together. Hopefully you can feel the warmth of my love during the cold nights wherever you are. I shouldn’t torture myself with these thoughts. I should take comfort in the memories and hope beyond hope that I will see you again soon.
