When Matthew had arrived at Wood Place, he’d had no idea that he was the subject of much female speculation. For example, at Christmas Eve dinner, Grace looked at him and then at her husband, who smiled in fawning admiration of the green-eyed Yankee. After five years of marriage, and only four instances of conjugal congress—and after pulling a succession of nine attractive Negresses from the fields to serve as maids, and making sure to place each in Victor’s path, and Victor paying absolutely no mind to any of them—Grace had concluded that her husband’s interest might not lie with women. And now here he was, smiling and offering Matthew Thatcher glasses of port wine.
Then there was Lady, who, with a mother’s intuition saw that her husband intended to somehow beguile Matthew into marrying the strange Gloria, who was thirty-one years old and never had a beau, despite her bountiful beauty. Lady’s consolation was that Samuel had never abused his daughter. Despite her pure state, however, time had wasted for Gloria—in a decade, she might already be entering her woman’s change. Matthew Thatcher seemed nice enough. And if he wasn’t Lady would find a way to kill him. Though she and Aggie had not been friends—or even on speaking terms—for many years, Lady was certain she would find a way to seek Aggie’s help in killing this Yankee man, if the need arose. If the crime were to be discovered, she would place the blame on Aggie.
At Christmas dinner, after Venie’s turkey and one of Matthew’s huge hams were served to exclamations, Gloria turned to him. She announced that though he was not as handsome as her father and brother, she wanted Matthew as her beau. And what did he think about that? With his characteristically dark blush, Matthew smiled and shyly dipped his head.
The Delivery of Meals
The women of the kitchen house and the yard were not only curious about the Yankee named Matthew Thatcher, they were also anxious, for white men could not be trusted. Yet they were trapped, for they had been ordered to serve him his morning and midday meals, way out at the guesthouse.
After assuring Aggie and Venie that she would be careful—and after receiving instructions from Pompey that he had placed extra firewood in the guesthouse, which could be used as weapons—Rabbit headed through the woods with her large basket of food that early Christmas morning. She placed the basket on the porch, knocked sturdily, and walked away in case the Yankee liked to sleep late. At midday, she brought another basket. She noticed that the basket on the porch was gone, so she knocked again, but this time Matthew immediately opened the door. He wasn’t a tall man. Even a petite girl like Rabbit could see that. And like Gloria, Rabbit didn’t think he seemed so good-looking, either, though she was prejudiced. Her father and Pop George were the two most handsome men in the world, in Rabbit’s opinion. Yet with her keen sensitivity, she could see he wasn’t dangerous. He was only gawky, and though he was white, she felt rather sorry for him.
Matthew assessed the tiny girl in front of him as well. To his eyes, she was strikingly beautiful—the most beautiful person he’d ever seen—and he blushed darkly: he knew he should not be thinking about a Negress this way, but already, he had surrendered to his appreciation. And when he smiled at her in his self-conscious way, Rabbit smiled back, and the entire porch was lit with her empathy. And he invited her inside to share the meal in the basket that she’d delivered. After she pointed out the cupboard in the corner, he brought out the china plates and she served his food, but he refused to eat until she had prepared a plate for herself. At first, she demurred: this man was not from this place. His foreignness was apparent, the dark and unattractive winter clothes that were far too heavy for the mild Georgia winter, the blunt accent of his speech, his smiling at a Negro girl and asking her to sit at the same dining table and eat along with him. Yet Matthew was aware that he held the power here, and when he insisted, Rabbit had no choice. She sat at the table with him, her small feet dangling above the shiny floor. Though her sensitivity told her that he was harmless, she was cautious. She kept her chair partially away from the table and trained her sight on the firewood that Pompey had strategically arranged. In the pocket of her dress, there was a razor-sharp kitchen knife, just to be on the safe side.
There was no need for her precautions, however. Matthew and she only sat together and shared the meal. When that was over, he thanked her and bowed. At supper that evening, he was disappointed to see that Rabbit was not there, serving at the table. And the next morning, the food basket was placed on the porch: she had knocked so softly, he hadn’t heard. The hours between breakfast and lunch dragged for Matthew, as he waited and hoped to see the petite Negro girl again. At midday, he tried not to show too much happiness when he opened the door and saw her there, but failed in that endeavor. Again, they both stood on the porch smiling, until they were aware that they had not moved. And so Rabbit walked inside, and he insisted that she share his meal again.