Copyright © 2013

Lori Roberts

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or any other means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published by Warren Publishing, Inc.

Huntersville, NC

www.warrenpublishing.net

ISBN: 978-0-9894814-96

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013943192

ISBN: 9781483514659

This book is lovingly dedicated to the memory of my father, Revis Crecelius, and to my mother, Janet Crecelius Johnson.

For Haden, Hadley, and Gibson∼Mammie’s little angels.

To my husband, Doug. Thank you for your love and support in everything that I do. I’m blessed beyond measure.

With love, to Jerry and Kathleen Roberts.

Special thanks and gratitude to Kathie Hicks Fuston.

Robert Barrow Sweeney: Thank you for your kindness and true Southern hospitality. Your memories and pictures of the home which your ancestors built and in which you grew up were priceless.

Charlotte Hopps∼Another one of God’s blessings in my life.

Prologue

COLUMBIA, TENNESSEE, 1925

The 1921 Dixie Flyer made its way up the narrow street, pulling over to the curb. The oriental green paint looked stark in contrast to the gray overcast that blanketed the quiet autumn day. Having come around the side to open the door, the driver stood waiting while a young girl dressed fashionably in a brown suit and hat extended her hand to the elderly woman still inside.

“Grandmother, do you want me to go on ahead and ring the bell?” her granddaughter inquired.

The aged one spoke softly, sounding as if her breath had all but left her.

“No, dear, there’s no one here that would remember me now.”

Standing on wobbling knees, she surveyed the long brick sidewalk that led to the large two-story brick home before her.

The young girl held on to her grandmother’s withered hand, steadying her, as she approvingly eyed the stately home standing proudly before them. The memory of a time long ago brought a smile to the wrinkled face, letting a special light emit from the sagging folds of skin that all but veiled her eyes.

“Who lived here, Grandmother?” the girl asked.

Cordelia turned to her granddaughter, remembering an image only she could see.

“Love lived here.”

Chapter 1

GALLATIN, TENNESSEE, 1844

Lucretia Barlow knew this birth would be different from her last, only fifteen months before. Her pains had begun earlier that day, but she had delayed summoning her sister and Mammy Nancy from the adjoining room. It had been a difficult pregnancy for Lucretia, and that was the reason her sister had come from her home south of Nashville to tend her during her time of confinement.

Judge Barlow, almost twelve years his wife’s senior, was away with a court case in nearby Goodlettsville when the birth pains began. He had been cold, barely giving his wife a passing glance since her condition was obvious. The small toddler lying asleep in the nursery down the hall received only slightly more affection than her mother.

Cordelia Barlow was a healthy, robust toddler. Her dark curls and large eyes reminded Lucretia Barlow of her own mother. Barely walking, she was allowed to see her mother only for a short time before the young Priscilla, servant to Lucretia, took the young child from her mother’s birthing room.

Chapter 2

JULY 1853

The incessant buzzing of the gnats circling Pharaoh’s ear did little to improve his disposition as he walked along the well-worn path the slaves had made over the years at Fairview Plantation. As long as he could recollect, he had lived in one of the cabins amongst the row of white clapboard dwellings behind the big house of Judge Absalom Barlow. Pharaoh had been born at Dryer Hall, the tobacco and cotton plantation of Judge Barlow’s first wife, Lucretia Dryer. If he had to guess, his people had been the Dryer’s property since they were snatched over from de Guinea in Africa. Dr. Dryer had named him Pharaoh, said he had a look to him like the pictures of them fancy drawings on the tombs in Egypt. Pharaoh had no use for such things in the cotton fields of Tennessee. As far as he could see, he was more like the slaves old Pharaoh was lawdin’ over.

Today, he was one of the fifteen fieldhands that had been working Judge Barlow’s cotton field. It was going to be a good crop, thanks to the long hours he and the others had put into the field this spring. The afternoon sun was beginning to slouch down behind the big house. From the field, Pharaoh could see his wife, Cilla, short for Priscilla, toting the basket of sweet corn atop her turbaned head. She was a right handsome woman, thought Pharaoh, as he surveyed her hips swaying to and fro as she trudged up the dirt path to their cabin door. Pharaoh had been with Cilla since he was seventeen and she was sixteen. Dr. Dryer even said the marryin’ words over them to make it as legal as it could be in slave times. The two came with Lucretia Dryer Barlow when she brought her slaves with her to Fairview. In no time, Priscilla became the mother of four youngins. All the memory that Pharaoh could recollect was slave times, and he wished for something better for his own youngins. For now, this was the long and short of his life: working from “can to can’t,” from when the sun stands up until it lays down in the night. Most of the slaves on the Barlow plantation had been with the judge since he married Lucretia Dryer. A total of 25 slaves now made up the Barlow slave family.

Life was such as this for all of Judge Barlow’s servants, as he called them. Most would say he wasn’t a cruel master; he provided for his people and didn’t see benefit in a servant that was too sick or underfed to work. They had plenty to eat, and the judge made sure clothes were allotted to his people regularly. His overseer, Lucas Crenshaw, was the devil in breeches, so the black folks said. He would take the whip to a lazy darkie quicker than you could shake a stick. He wasn’t above more severe punishment either, if he deemed it necessary. Judge Barlow left much of the plantation doings to Lucas. As of late, he was busy keeping company with a widowed socialite in town.

The big house, a large two-story dwelling with large Corinthian columns and a wide front porch, was left to his older, spinster sister to manage. Aunt Eugenie was beyond the age of managing a large plantation. Six years ago she had been summoned to Fairview when Judge Barlow’s wife, Lucretia, had passed away giving birth to a lifeless son. Absalom Barlow knew nothing about raising children; the thought of being the sole caregiver to a one-year-old girl was something he feared more than a slave uprising.

Seven-year-old Cordelia Barlow spent this afternoon lying on the cool wooden floor of Mammy Cilla’s cabin. If Aunt Eugenie caught wind of this favorite pastime, a litany of reprimands, as well as the sharp sting of a mulberry switch across her backside, would follow. Aunt Eugenie didn’t mind Mammy Cilla having the love of Cordelia, but she wouldn’t abide her young charge behaving like one of the servants. As far as Cordelia was concerned, what Aunt Eugenie didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. She would steal away to the loving arms of Mammy Cilla whenever she could. The small cabin offered a haven for Cordelia, and the children of Cilla and Pharaoh were her playmates as she grew up at Fairview.

Mammy Cilla’s cabin was a far cry from the finery that Cordelia was accustomed to at the big house. The only table was handmade by Pharaoh, and the few pieces of furniture to be seen in the sparsely decorated room were two high-back wooden chairs and a couple of small benches that Pharaoh had constructed years ago to accommodate his growing family. Next to the fireplace sat the small wooden rocking chair. This was passed down to Pharaoh from his Mammy. But it was the bed in the corner that Cordelia loved. Mammy Cilla wouldn’t allow any of the darkie children to touch her quilted bed. However, she allowed Cordelia to find solace on the rope bed, between the soft sheets, when she was feeling poorly from eating too many pokeberries. The quilt was Cilla’s most prized possession, made from the scraps of dresses that Cilla had saved as Aunt Eugenie tired of this bodice or that skirt. All of Judge Barlow’s people knew she was the favorite of the mistress of Fairview.

“Aunt Eugenie, why does Father stay gone so long?” Cordelia asked, turning her small, round face toward the direction of her aunt. Putting her embroidery hoop aside, Eugenia fixed her gaze on Cordelia, her best smile showing.

“Cordelia, your papa has a good many cases to hear in and around these parts. You mustn’t worry yourself about his being away,” Eugenia replied. “Don’t you remember him telling us about stopping off in Nashville to bring your new mother home to Fairview?”

Cordelia remembered her father telling her about Mrs. Marshall. She remembered how much she wanted to spend the afternoon that day with her father, lying on the large sofa in his study while he worked busily on matters of the court. She hadn’t given this woman who would be her new mother much more than a passing thought.

“Do you think my new mother likes little girls?” Cordelia pondered, feeling a sense of dread snake itself around her insides.

As she made the comment, she made large circles with her tiny satin slipper thrust into the air. Aunt Eugenia saw her unladylike maneuver, and quickly made her way to the settee where her niece was lying. Hearing the movement of her aunt’s taffeta skirt swishing about, Cordelia quickly sat upright.

Aunt Eugenie knew nothing of the new mistress of Fairview, but reached down to pat the young child on top of her curly head.

“Now don’t you go fretting about such things, Cordie. You run along and find something to do. I need to speak with Mr. Crenshaw.”

Satisfied with the reassurance from Aunt Eugenie, Cordelia skipped out the massive oak door, down the shaded brick walk that led past the summer kitchen, to the only person whose loving arms made everything seem better. If only Father could hug her like Mammy Cilla, or just tell her that he loved her best.

The sun was high in the sky, stretching its rays onto the row of tin roofs that covered the wood clapboard cabins of Judge Barlow’s slaves. Cordelia listened to the chatter of the slave children behind Mammy Cilla’s cabin. Benny and Silas sat cross-legged, rolling a ball of yarn back and forth in the dirt, while Matilda and Liza Ann played with their corn husk dolls, not hearing Cordelia’s silent approach.

“Daddy say old massa fetchin’ a new mama fo’ miz Cordie,” Matilda remarked, walking her doll across the dusty ground.

Liza Ann’s gaze never lifted as she replied, “I heerd Mammy say old Miss gonna have her nose plumb outta joint on account of it.”

Cordelia crouched low and crawled under the honeysuckle vines that coiled themselves around the old well pump and splitrail fence. The damp ground felt cool on her bare legs, and the smell of the dank soil somehow felt oddly welcoming.

Chapter 3

The harvest time would soon be coming on, and Fairview was much like all the other plantations and farms in and around Gallatin, Tennessee. The overseers made use of optimum daylight during the months of July and August to get the crops in from the fields. Crenshaw became unusually cruel and showed little tolerance for a slave who was sick or lazy.

Judge Barlow had paid a hefty sum for Doc Lewis to make a call out to the slave cabins. It seemed the illness that started with one soon spread throughout the little row of cabins behind the big house. Aunt Eugenie tried to doctor the symptoms as best she knew how, but when it was decided this was beyond her care, Judge Barlow sent for the doctor. He had already seen his fields practically neglected, save for a few of the older slaves plodding away during the two-week illness that invaded his servant family.

Cordelia wasn’t allowed to venture beyond the back of the house for fear of catching the flux that spread throughout the cabins. Mammy Cilla and Pharaoh came through it with only a few days of the fever and violent spasms that kept them weak as kittens. It was their youngest, Benny, who couldn’t seem to gather his strength. The old doctor told them the typhoid fever had taken its hold, and little Benny would slip into eternal slumber that very evening.

Cordelia had never seen Pharaoh or Mammy Cilla cry before. The grievous sounds wafting up to the big house from the slave cabins frightened her. The thought of Mammy Cilla leaving her suddenly made Benny’s dying more painful to her. Death wasn’t something she really knew much about, only that it was just like going to sleep and not waking up. She remembered her mother being very sleepy, then she was laid out in a big box downstairs in the parlor. She couldn’t remember the babe who died before taking a breath. Now she began to think about Benny lying in the pine box in Pharaoh’s cabin.

Aunt Eugenie wouldn’t allow her to go along to pay respects for fear she would contract the flux. Cordelia waited until her aunt retired for the night. Creeping down the carpeted stairway, her satin slippers kept her secret as she made her way out the heavy door which led to the slave cabins.

Mammy Cilla was laying over Benny’s coffin, weeping and wiping her tears on a long piece of cloth. Cordelia could see her through the window, the candle’s flickering light casting her shadow on the wall behind her. She knew Aunt Eugenie would switch her good if she caught the flux, but her love for Mammy Cilla was far greater than her fear of punishment.

“Mammy, please don’t cry,” Cordelia said softly, startling Mammy Cilla from her moment of grief. “For Lawd, chile, what you be doin’ here all by yoself?” Mammy Cilla said, rising from her chair. Hearing her, Pharaoh looked up from his vigil beside the child.

Cordelia ran to Mammy Cilla and put her little arms tightly around her soft waist.

“Mammy, please don’t cry,” Cordelia said softly. Cilla took the child and sat her on her lap.

“Miz Cordelia, you ain’t suppose to be down here. Miz Eugenia be whipping the hide clean off yo’ backside. Now run on, Mammy and Pharaoh just be sad cause Benny ain’t gonna be with us no mo’.”

Cordelia could see the feet of little Benny down in the coffin from her perch on Mammy Cilla’s lap.

“You wanna see him, miz Cordelia?” Pharaoh asked. He knew her just being in the cabin could bring about a severe whipping by the overseer if he caught wind of her being there.

Cordelia nodded her head, then peered down into the box where the little boy lay peacefully.

“He don’t look sick, Mammy,” Cordelia said, almost disbelieving that he was dead.

Cilla began to weep again, and Pharaoh bent down to touch the young boy’s curly head.

“He be sleepin’, Miz Cordie. Already gone to the Lawd where he be free and no mo’ bein’ a slave.”

Pharaoh wiped his eyes as a steady stream of tears flowed down his ebony cheeks. Cordelia then noticed the other slaves who were sitting in the little room. They began to sing a mournful song, and they gathered around the coffin, swaying and wiping their tears singing, “Oh Mary, Don’t Ya Weep, Don’t Ya Mourn.” Cordelia wanted Mammy Cilla to stop crying, to be happy again. She wondered if Benny was in Heaven with her mama.

The next day, the slaves were allowed to break from their labors to bury the young child and mourn the death of another on the plantation. Cordelia watched from her bedroom window as her father touched Mammy Cilla’s shoulder sympathetically, saying words over Benny’s little mound of dirt. He didn’t even come to check on her, going out to the slave cemetery first. In her father’s room at the end of the hall was her new mother, Rachel. Sometime earlier the evening before, her father brought his new wife and her servants to live at Fairview.

After breakfast, Rachel Barlow descended the stairway into the formal parlor. Cordelia was lying on the couch, listening to her father and Lucas Crenshaw discussing slave issues occurring during Absalom’s absence over the last three weeks. When Rachel cleared her throat rather loudly, the two men suspended their conversation.

“Mr. Crenshaw, this is my wife, Mrs. Barlow,” Absalom said, smiling at her.

Lucas Crenshaw smiled, tipping his cap. He looked the new mistress of Fairview over, imagining her shapely form without her chemise and drawers. His eyes darted toward the floor, almost giving away his adulterous thoughts.

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Barlow. You won’t have to be worrying yourself over the Negras on this plantation. I have a firm hand over them.”

Absalom Barlow didn’t like the tone his overseer used in regard to his servants.

“Yes, well, that will be all for today, Mr. Crenshaw. I would like to take Mrs. Barlow around the grounds to show her Fairview properly,” Judge Barlow countered.

Cordelia was invisible to the adults in the room. She moved from her place on the couch, and it was then that Rachel saw her.

“Who do we have here?” Rachel asked, using what she thought was her best motherly tone.

Cordelia slowly walked over to her new stepmother, noticing the smell of rose water as she came closer. She had to stretch her neck to look at Rachel Barlow’s dark black eyes.

“Cordelia, please introduce yourself properly to your new mother,” her father reprimanded.

Cordelia’s throat suddenly felt dry; she wasn’t sure why the cat suddenly caught her tongue.

“My name is Cordelia Lucretia Barlow, and I’m nine years old.”

The judge smiled at his new wife as Cordelia made her formal introductions. Rachel bent down to set her eyes evenly with her stepdaughter’s.

“I’m very pleased to meet you Cordelia. I hope you are a good girl, not like those Negro children you have been playing with for so long.”

With that comment, she turned to her husband, her tone changing as she spoke.

“Absalom, you must put a stop to her being down in the slave quarters like a common pickaninny. A young lady should be spending her time at the academy, learning the proper social graces,” Rachel implored.

Cordelia felt her new mother’s comments were meant to be something bad, as if she were not to be friends with Pharaoh and Mammy Cilla’s children, or even the other slaves’ children that were her playmates.

Absalom had given full reign in the rearing of his daughter to his sister, Eugenia. Since the passing of his wife, Lucretia, he had kept himself busy with traveling back and forth to Nashville. He wasn’t a very affectionate man, barely giving Cordelia a hug or kiss. He also never spoke of his wife. Cordelia wondered if Father cried for her mother and the baby lying beneath the blanket of grass as Pharaoh and Mammy Cilla cried for Benny.

That evening, Cordelia thought about Benny’s little form lying all alone in the wooden box in Mammy Cilla’s cabin. She couldn’t remember her mother or the baby. She tried to fall asleep thinking about pleasant things as Aunt Eugenie would tell her when she began to worry and fret over something. The one thought that brought such peace to her little soul was Mammy Cilla and her loving arms.

Eugenia sent for Lucas Crenshaw. She had overheard Spicey and Nancy talking about the whipping he had given to two slaves. The two had been relieved of their afternoon duties due to the flux they had contracted. Lucas had whipped them both for lying down on the carpet of grass under the willow tree down by the spring.

Lucas made his way up to the large doors of Fairview. He stood, waiting before he knocked. He adjusted the cap squarely on his head, then rapped the door rather loudly. Spicey opened the door slowly, seeing it was devil Crenshaw.

“Afternoon, Mr. Crenshaw. Miz Eugenia said to go on to the parlor, she waitin’ for you in there,” Spicey said, not wanting to look him in the eye.

“Move out of my way, girl. I know where the parlor is,” Lucas snapped.

He made his way down the hallway, taking his cap off before entering the formal parlor.

“Come in, Mr. Crenshaw. I would like to speak to you,” Eugenia commanded. “Mr. Crenshaw, I won’t bother dancing around the purpose of my summoning you. I was told of a beating Thursday last, one which you had no right to give.”

Lucas felt the tide of anger rising. He couldn’t abide the likes of any woman questioning his authority in the overseeing of Fairview.

“Now Miss Eugenia, there’s no sense in getting all riled over two lazy darkies. The judge himself left the discipline to me where his Negras are concerned, Ma’am. They deserved that whippin’, and I was just doin’ what the judge wanted.”

Eugenia moved from her place on the settee, coming within inches of Lucas Crenshaw’s face. “Billy and Josiah had been down with the flux. You had no right. I will be speaking to my brother about this. And another thing, Mr. Crenshaw. You are to stay away from Molly’s cabin. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” Eugenia snapped.

The last words took Lucas by surprise. He was sure he and the young slave had kept their meetings a secret from the Barlows. This was one thing the judge would not abide ∼ his overseer taking liberties with his slaves.

“I don’t know what you mean, Miss Eugenia,” Lucas lied.

“I’m sure that you do, and I will be speaking to my brother about you. Perhaps Fairview needs a new overseer,” Eugenia said, seeing the look of disdain in his eyes.

“Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?” Lucas asked, suddenly wanting to be out of the presence of Eugenia Barlow.

“Yes, you may go. But remember, you are just an employee of the Barlow family, Mr. Crenshaw.”

Lucas made his way out of the room, almost knocking the tray out of Nancy’s hands as he moved past her on the way out the front door.

“’Scuze me, Mr. Crenshaw,” Nancy said, smiling at the conversation she had overheard.

Nancy and the other slaves knew Lucas Crenshaw was the father of that baby Molly was going to be bringing into the world, even if the judge didn’t know of it yet. Secrets were something the slaves were accustomed to at Fairview. They had kept a few over the years, and they weren’t alone in harboring secrets on this plantation.

Eugenia didn’t like Mr. Crenshaw, and since arriving six years ago, always felt an uneasiness when near him. She wondered why her brother would dismiss the more amiable Benton Hallert, the previous overseer. There was only a slight mention of his name when she arrived. Something about him having to leave abruptly, but nothing more was said. What brought him to mind now puzzled Eugenia, but she let the thought pass. She walked out of the parlor, just as Nancy entered with her tea.

“Nancy, if you don’t mind, I’m not going to be needing my tea just now. Please take it back to the kitchen.”

Nancy knew the conversation with old devil Crenshaw had left her in a mood. She moved to let Eugenia pass.

“Yes’m, Miz Eugenia. I’ll be takin’ this back to da kitchen.”

Eugenia made her way down the hallway to the large stairway. As she started up the steps, she noticed Crenshaw glaring back at the house before mounting his horse. She continued up the stairs, remembering her mission at hand. Just as she was about to knock on the bedroom door, she overheard her brother and his new wife speaking softly.

“I would be happy to write the proper inquiries to locate the perfect academy in Nashville for Cordelia,” Rachel offered sweetly. “Of course, you know what is best for your daughter. I just don’t see how fitting it is for a nine-year-old girl to be spending all her time with the slaves.”

Absalom raked his long fingers through the thick mane that had begun to turn grey near his temples. He was twenty years beyond his new bride, priding himself on such a fine catch. He didn’t much like Cordelia spending her time with the servants, but there were no finer darkies in all of Sumner County than Pharaoh and Mammy Cilla. Why, Pharaoh’s own mother was Lucretia’s nursemaid from birth. Perhaps that is why they were held in such high regard at Fairview. He didn’t see how he could discourage Cordelia from spending time with them and their children. They had always been hardworking, loyal servants.

“Rachel, darling, my sister has done an exemplary job raising Cordelia in the way our own mother raised the two of us. I don’t think sending Cordelia away from Fairview at this young age would be of benefit to her rearing,” Absalom stated.

Mammy Cilla brought a large dressmaker’s dummy down from the attic, Matilda toting a bolt of fabric that was obviously too heavy for her nine-year-old hands to manage. Aunt Eugenia had summoned Mammy Cilla early that morning to fetch the patterns and material for a special dress.

“Now don’t you be draggin’ Miz Eugenie’s prized tafta ‘cross da floor, girl. I ain’t goin’ ta’ have Miz Eugenie wearin’ yo’ dirty footprints across dis here new dress,” Mammy snapped.

Matilda tried to hoist the bolt of taffeta higher on her shoulder, trying her best not to trip over the heavy material.

“Yas’m, Mammy,” Matilda softly replied.

Cordelia heard the commotion outside her bedroom. The rustle of Mammy Cilla’s skirts meant she would be downstairs before Cordelia could don her slippers and wrap.

Aunt Eugenia was bent over the dress patterns trying to find a suitable gown for traveling. It had been quite some time since she had taken leave of the plantation, and whenever she did, a new frock was in order. Mammy Cilla had been making the dresses for Eugenia Barlow since she arrived at Fairview. She was about to make another on this fine fall day.

Mammy Cilla and Aunt Eugenia began arranging the fabric on the large rosewood dining room table. Cordelia entered the dining room unnoticed, crawling under the table to sit with Matilda.

“Wanna go outside and play with the new doll Father brought me?” Cordelia whispered, leaning into Matilda’s ear.

Since Matilda had no real dolls to play with, the offer didn’t need to be in the form of a question. Matilda had already scooted herself from beneath the table, making sure she didn’t catch the drooping end of the linen tablecloth as she left her hiding spot. She almost made it past the keen ears of Mammy Cilla. Cordelia slipped back under the table.

“What you be sneakin’ around de floor, Tillie?” Mammy questioned, giving Matilda a look.

“Mammy, Miz Cordie wonts me ta play wit her new dollbaby,” Matilda said in a simpering manner.

It was then Cordelia came out from her hiding place, sensing she needed to come to her friend’s aid. Looking up from her dress patterns, Aunt Eugenia turned to Cordelia.

“I don’t see what harm it would be for you to take Matilda outside. You girls will just be underfoot while we are cutting the pattern,” she announced.

Cilla felt something was bothering her mistress; she had been very quiet as of late.

“Miz Eugenia, I’s sorry for mah girl bein’ in da way. She has chores down in da’ garden.”

Mammy turned and gave Matilda a look again. Few words needed to be exchanged between the two. It was something they had been taught: obedience to the Master without question. Mammy Cilla had never questioned her lot. She had been loyal to Judge Barlow’s first wife, Lucretia, and felt her mistress would come back as a haunt if she let anything happen to her little girl. Maybe that was the reason Mammy Cilla showered Cordelia with the love the Master had denied her and her mother. It was something Eugenia Barlow didn’t like, but she herself had no idea how to show the affection she so desperately needed. Cordelia frowned as her playmate was sent to the garden, leaving her once again alone in the quiet house. She took her new doll and walked sullenly to her room.

Chapter 4

Since her arrival at Fairview, Rachel Barlow had found little about plantation life that interested her. Her days had been filled with making sure there was plenty of brandy in the glass decanter in the judge’s study, and discussing with Spicey, the cook, what foods she would be preparing for the meal that day. She quickly saw that Absalom Barlow was a man of means, and his successes in the courts had afforded him quite a comfortable lifestyle. The furniture wasn’t as fine as she expected someone of his means to have, but the home was furnished with family heirlooms that attracted her eye. Hanging above the mantle in the formal parlor was a sword from the Revolutionary War. She was too short to see the inscription on the sheath. Perhaps the judge was the son of a decorated soldier.

Rachel Greely married Francis Marshall, an up-and-coming member of the Democratic Party in Nashville, when she was 21 and he was 30. Their residence was one of the loveliest new homes in Nashville, and frequent visits by local politicians kept the Marshalls in the public eye.

Rachel was widowed at a young age, the dashing Marshall mortally wounded in a carriage accident on his way home from a political meeting. She was left to manage a large home with several servants. Her eye quickly revolved around gentlemen again once her period of mourning passed.

Rachel met the much older Judge Absalom Barlow at the home of the Governor during the previous Christmas season. Besides being enamored with her piercing dark eyes, Barlow became captivated with her witty conversational skills. She found Absalom charming, but wasn’t attracted to him. It was only after she weighed her options for her future, and the somewhat less-than-adequate estate her deceased husband had left her, that she began to see the older judge and widower in a new light.

Rachel watched her young stepdaughter, Cordelia, running across the front lawn of Fairview Plantation with two Negro children, her braids hanging loosely in her face and the front of her dress covered in dirt. She never expected to have a young child to raise when she first met Judge Barlow. He waited to mention his daughter, keeping her a well-kept secret, until several months into their courtship. Why he wasn’t forthcoming in his fatherhood baffled Rachel, but she didn’t let her impending motherhood cause her to back away from their relationship. Now, here she was, miles from society and balls, and the only female with whom she could carry on an intelligent conversation was twice her age, and not of interest to her. Eugenia Barlow didn’t hold her new sister-in-law in any higher regard.

She sat staring now at this child with whom she was to be a mother, and didn’t find the task appealing. Children were always underfoot, and this child needed proper schooling and grooming. That Cordelia spent more time in the slave cabins than in the plantation house had not missed the attention of her new mother.

“Cordelia, you need to fix your hair and change your dress for dinner,” Rachel said from her perch on the front porch.

Cordelia stopped in her tracks, her two young slave charges practically knocking her down from her abrupt halt. Matilda and Liza Ann looked at their young miss’ dress, noticing a small rip in the hem. Their patched dresses looked much worse than the little tear in Cordelia’s. When Cordelia made her way up the steps to the big house, her appearance drew a sharp comment from the new Mrs. Barlow.

“Cordelia! Look at your new dress. March yourself upstairs this instant and clean yourself.”

Cordelia wasn’t used to having someone other than Aunt Eugenia reprimanding her. Granted, she was a sight, her braids now mostly long strands of wavy curls, and it appeared there was a remnant of corn silk stuck to one of the strands. Matilda and Liza Ann stood as still as the gravestones behind the slave cabins.

“You girls run on now. Go help Cilla and Pharaoh do their chores. You’ve done enough playing for one day,” Rachel snapped.

Cordelia looked over her shoulder as her two playmates ran barefoot across the sloping backyard, down the path to the back of their cabin. Making tiny balls with her fists, Cordelia turned toward her new mother.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean to ruin the dress,” Cordelia said, seeking some sort of compassion, and swallowing hard to keep from crying.

Rachel stood, smoothing down her skirt. She placed her hand under the child’s quivering chin.

“Cordelia, you are getting to be a young lady. How would you like to go to Nashville and be with other little girls your age?” Rachel asked, smiling.

Cordelia had never been to Nashville. She had heard her father and Aunt Eugenia mention that place many times. She just couldn’t imagine being away from Mammy Cilla, though.

“You will like school, Cordelia. There are several fine academies for young ladies, and you can come home for visits on vacations.”