I needed to get back to the diary for now. I would deal with the memoir later. I found my place and began to read.
Two weeks after Rachel recorded the death of the three little Singletarys—how sad that she didn’t even mention their names, I thought—she noted the death of Vidalia Singletary.
As a mother myself I understand the grief of a woman who has lost all three of her children at once. I doubt that I could withstand such a horror, and it is no wonder to me that poor Vidalia did not have the will to live through this harsh winter. Far better to be reunited with her loved ones in the Kingdom of Heaven than to suffer their loss in this sad and frightening world. As the war continues I wonder how we will continue the fight and whether our cause is worth such bloodshed and loss.
I felt Rachel’s anguish, and I could have told her that no, it wasn’t worth it. The loss of all that life, those years of privation and hardship, weren’t worth it, particularly to preserve such a heinous system in which persons were property just like plows and chairs.
Rachel continued to mention the harsh winter and the difficulties caused by the weather. Her parents-in-law suffered particularly, her mother-in-law struck down by pneumonia. She died two days after Christmas. Rachel recorded the fact but did not elaborate, saying only that her own husband would be devastated when he received the news. He was last known to be in Virginia, and she had written but had no idea when, or if, the letter would reach Major Long.
The entry for January 3, 1862, contained startling news. I shared Rachel’s shock, once I read through it completely.
Franklin Singletary came to speak to Father Long today, and though I was not privy to the conversation, Mr. Long later shared with me the gist of it. Father Long is most anxious that I should agree with the scheme that Franklin has proposed, but I am reluctant. In the end, however, I fear I shall have no choice because Father Long is so insistent.
Franklin is obsessed with Celeste, it seems, and with the child she will bear him. He has proposed to Father Long that he and his father will cede one hundred and fifty acres from their farm in return for Celeste and her unborn babe. Franklin will take the necessary steps to have Celeste declared a freewoman. While I admire his determination to win freedom for Celeste—a state to which I have no objection—I am fearful of the outcome. Celeste is light in color and may almost pass for white, owing to the fact that both her father and grandfather were white men who had relations with her mother and grandmother, but by law she is black. Franklin cannot marry her, because the law forbids it. He may call her his wife, but in law she cannot be, and any child of their union will be illegitimate.
I wonder that Jasper Singletary has agreed to this, for he has for many years resisted the attempts of Father Long to buy this same land. Jasper has lost all hope, it seems, because of his tragic losses, and perhaps that is why. Father Long insists that my husband would agree that I should sell Celeste for this parcel of land. Celeste herself has begged me, and I find I cannot withstand such pleas, no matter my worries for her welfare and that of her child. They will be desperately poor, with little good farmland left, and they will face the opprobrium of the townspeople. I foresee nothing but ill fortune awaiting them.
I hadn’t yet finished reading the diary but I closed the file and turned away from the computer. I wondered how the current Jasper Singletary would feel when he read all this. It could come as a great shock to him that his great-great-grandmother was a freed slave.
TWENTY-SIX
“Let’s go home, boy,” I told Diesel. Though it was only a few minutes past four, I felt ready to get away from the archive and think about something besides the Longs and the Singletarys and their tangled histories.
Diesel slid down from the windowsill and went over to the door while I powered down the computer and gathered my things. Minutes later we were down the stairs and ready to walk out the front door, when Melba hailed me from her office. I suppressed a sigh and turned to greet my friend as she hurried out to where we stood. I had hoped to sneak out without her seeing us because I couldn’t tell her what I had read in the diary. Melba had an unfailing instinct, however, for the times when I tried to duck out on her.
“How’re y’all doing?” She bent to rub Diesel’s head and coo at him.
“Fine, but tired,” I said.
Melba straightened. “What have you been doing that’s so tiring besides sitting up there in your chair all day? I’ve been run off my feet or else I’d’ve been up there to visit earlier.”
“Staring at a computer screen,” I said. “That always tires me out and gives me a bit of a headache.” I did have a headache, so I wasn’t making a play for sympathy, hoping she would be satisfied and let us go without further questioning.
“I’ve got aspirin in my desk.” Melba turned and walked back into her office.
I had no choice but to follow because I knew she would be offended if I didn’t accept the aspirin.
“Here.” She held out two of the pills and went over to the watercooler to fill a paper cup for me.
I took the pills with the water and thanked her. Diesel warbled anxiously. I was sure he felt my tension, and I made a conscious effort to relax. I was being silly, trying to avoid talking to Melba.
She beamed at me. “By the time you get home that aspirin ought to kick in, and you’ll feel better. Sit down a minute before you head into that sticky humidity out there.” She gestured toward the visitor’s chair by her desk.
I waited until she sat before I complied with her order. Diesel rubbed himself against her legs, and she scratched his head and neck.
“Anything new on the murder?” Melba asked.
“Not that I know of,” I said. “This is one time when I’m probably not going to be much help to Kanesha.” I didn’t think I’d found information in the diary all that significant to the investigation. It could certainly lead to embarrassment on Jasper Singletary’s part depending on how he felt about his heritage, but I wasn’t sure it was connected to Marie Steverton’s death.
“You do know something,” Melba said with a shrewd glint in her eyes. “I reckon, though, you’re not going to tell me because it’s confidential, right?”
I nodded. “Right. Anything I find in the diaries I have to discuss with the mayor first, and then with Kanesha, if it’s at all pertinent. If the mayor decides to let the diary be publicly available, well, then I can tell you.”
“Fair enough,” Melba said. “I bet you there’s going to be something juicy in there somewhere. Every family has skeletons in the closet, but nobody’s been able to find the ones the Longs are hiding.” She grinned broadly.
“I thought you were a big supporter of the mayor’s,” I said. “Sounds to me like you’re hoping there’ll be mud to sling.”
“Lucinda’s a Long only by marriage,” Melba said. “And I do support her. I just don’t have much use for her son.” She shook her head. “That boy didn’t get a full serving of brains the day they were handing them out. If he wasn’t so dang good-looking, nobody would think twice about voting for him.”
Based on the scene I witnessed earlier today, I couldn’t disagree with Melba. “I haven’t heard him speak that much,” I said. “But what little I have heard hasn’t impressed me.”
“Guess that’s why Lucinda is doing all she can to help get the boy elected. I don’t know why she didn’t run herself. She’d be a lot better state senator than her son.”
“That may be,” I said, “but she isn’t running.”