“IT’S HERE! IT’S HERE!” FORTUNE WAVED THE LONG-AWAITED letter in the air. “I picked it up at the Pony Express office this morning. Go ahead,” he said, “read it.” Sarah eagerly ripped the letter open as Fortune pulled up a chair and listened intently.
September 8, 1785
My Dearest Fortune:
I wish to inform you that I received your letter. I am much relieved now that I know what has become of my mother. I plan to journey by boat from Yarmouth to Port Roseway on September 24, 1785. I should arrive mid-afternoon. I look forward to meeting my family members.
With affection,
Amelia Pinkham
“This is it.” Fortune said. “This is the last of her brood.”
“Should we share the news with her?” Sarah asked. “Or should we wait?”
“It might be too much excitement.” Fortune said, “Yet it amazes me how she remains so hopeful, even with death in search of her.”
“It’s her faith keeping her strong, Papa.”
“She has been like a shepherd gathering her flock. One last sheep to come to the fold. This blessing belongs to her and she will not be cheated out of it.”
It was just two days after receiving the letter that Fortune and Sarah, unable to keep the excitement to themselves, felt obligated to share the news. They stood at the old woman’s bedside announcing they had found Amelia and that she would be visiting soon. Grandmother lay still. She stared at Fortune a long time before she smiled and said, “All my children will know of their mama’s love.”
On the morning of September 24, the early sun unfolded through layers of pink and grey sky. It slowly released its warmth over Birchtown, promising a beautiful evening for a reunion. Fortune stood by his mother’s bed. “She’s going to be here today. Amelia’s on her way.” His deep voice slipped into a mellow sweetness. “I have to go to Port Roseway to meet her at the wharf.”
Grandmother struggled to raise her head. “Okay, I hear you.” She turned to Sarah. “Get my good nightdress, the one with the lace, and a pretty nightcap.” She bowed her head on her chest and murmured, “I’m counting on you, Lord.”
Sarah pulled the old woman’s hair back into a bun using the bone-handled brush. “You’re as pretty as a Carolina rose, Grandmother.”
“Come here, Sarah. Come sit a spell.” The old woman’s eyes were kind and they dazzled in shimmering amber. “I got something I need to say to you.” She paused and said, “I was blessed with a wonderful gift.”
“A gift?”
“Yes, Chile. You were the gift. You were mine as much as the rest, more like a dear daughter, a good friend. You and I and Fortune, we been through a lot together.”
“We have.”
“I want you to know that I heard about your troubles in Roseway.”
Sarah stared at Grandmother and sighed. “How did you know?”
“I could tell you were not yourself. You never came in to see me or sleep in the room. I tricked Fibby into telling me all the news. You know that Fibby. She could never keep a thing. I wished I could have been at the trial. I am proud of you, Sarah. You’ve got fire and you did good.”
“I tried to be strong, Grandmother.”
She took Sarah’s hand. “Do you see this black skin?” She ran her fingers up and down Sarah’s chestnut arm. “You love this skin because no one can love it the way you can.” She held Sarah’s eye for a long time. “Sometimes our voices, our hair, our features, they are not pleasing to others, but you love them. You love your wondrous self.” She was wheezing now, but she kept going. “I’m not long in this world. You and Thomas have a good life. I give my blessing.” She took only a sip from the water glass Sarah raised to her lips and fell back on the bed. “I got one last chile to claim, my Amelia.”
“You rest now. Amelia will be here soon.” Sarah stroked the old woman’s hair and planted a kiss on her forehead. “I love you, Grandmother. Thank you for all you have done.”
Sarah sat idly on the cabin step. Her back was sore and the bandages so thick that she could barely fasten her gown. She watched the wind breeze the maple leaves and listened to the birds flitting about in the tall trees. The day was calm, just still and peaceful. She thought of Amelia. Another member to add to the family, more gold.
Suddenly she heard strange moans that took her rushing back inside.
“Grandmother,” she called. “What’s wrong?”
The old woman’s face was a clump of flesh and the bedclothes twisted about her. “Did I scare you? I was just thinking out loud. I was thinking on what I was going to say to Amelia.”
“You will know when the time comes,” Sarah said. “Lie back and rest.”
Sarah was busy with needlepoint when Fortune returned with Amelia. It was still light outside. A short bronze woman in a green dress and black jacket came through the door. Sarah expected to see a fair-skinned woman, creamy-coloured, like Reece and Margaret, but Amelia was dark-skinned with a round face and thick, short hair. How strange it was to mix black with white and produce such a range of colours.
“You must be Sarah,” Amelia said. She reached over and squeezed Sarah’s face. “My, if you ain’t a picture to behold.” Amelia’s voice was loud and robust and the joy in it tickled Sarah. “Well, well,” she said. “I’m happy to know that I have a family in Birchtown. I never thought I would ever see such a day. Your father has told me all about you.”
“Welcome to the family,” Sarah stammered.
Amelia looked at Sarah and said, “Well, thank you. I’m anxious to see my mother. Is she feeling better?”
Sarah nodded. She pointed to the back room. “She is waiting for you.”
Amelia followed Fortune. As they entered the room, Lydia mumbled, “Tell Sarah to put tea on and set the table for my daughter.”
Amelia approached cautiously and sat at the foot of her bed looking at the woman who came to the Big House every morning when the roosters first crowed. She remembered her with long, black braids wrapped around her head and a round face that rarely smiled. This was the woman, always with a big belly, keeping the fires, cleaning the house, making the meals and washing the clothes. She moved closer.
“Is that you Amelia?” Lydia smiled up at her.
“Yes Ma’am. It is Amelia.”
“You are a godsend, Chile.” With trembling hands, she reached over and gently patted Amelia’s arm. “Your coming here makes me happy.”
Amelia gazed at the tired face. She could read the years, like reading a book, not in words, but in wrinkles, scars and bleached white hair. Time, she thought, had left its mark, and yet there was joy in her eyes and a glow in her skin that magically erased the strain and worry of her long life. As she gazed down at her mother’s face, there arose in Amelia a burning pain that came from abandonment. All this time, she had known when she was carried off by the Pinkham foreman that she was being taken away to a new family, and she went in silence, fear sealing her lips. How she had missed Lydia’s kindness and Margaret’s friendship. Those she would never forget. It was not until the letter came that she realized her mother’s need to connect to family was the same as her own. Although time was snatching away the love she had regained, it was not too late to save some of it.
Lydia nodded slowly and moved her mouth. She wanted to speak, but Amelia pressed her finger gently on her mother’s lips to prevent her. “Hush now, my dear. Fortune told me that you need my forgiveness. There is nothing to forgive. There is no reason for you to feel guilty. There is not a thing you could have done differently.”
Fortune stood quietly to the side. He witnessed the closure of the long-held secrets, watched how it removed the weight from his mother’s shoulders and left a joyous woman. All that balling up inside had found a way to escape.
“You did the right thing,” Amelia said calmly. “I do not blame you. Rest now, knowing that the love of a child for her mother lives on in her heart.” She stroked Lydia’s cottony white hair. Their eyes met and held. She said, “I am blessed. I have finally found you and my true family.”
Lydia tried to speak, but again Amelia shushed her. “Save your strength,” she said. “All that matters is that I am here to comfort you.”
Amelia cradled the old woman in her arms, rocking her back and forth. “I remained with the Pinkhams though they often sent me to work on other farms. There were many times when I wondered what became of you,” she said. “My master’s missus was a nice woman who liked me and so they kept me on their plantation.”
“The Lord was good to you,” Lydia said weakly.
“You are right, Ma’am. The Lord was good. Now, you must not worry any more. We are family.” Amelia leaned over and tenderly kissed her mother’s cheek.
Lydia leaned forward and whispered, “Ask Sarah to come in. There is a small wooden box under the bed. She knows which one.”
When Sarah entered the room, she reached under the bed for the box, only to find when she stood up a look of disapproval on Amelia’s face. Sarah glanced quickly at her aunt, wondering what sort of thoughts lay beneath the pleasant surface. With a slight raise of the brows at her aunt, she handed the box to Grandmother.
The old woman’s jittery hands opened the box and she pulled out a sheet of paper. “Margaret wrote these names … they are all my children’s names.” She unfolded the paper and laid it on the bed. In the box was a tiny wooden ring. She held it up and said, “This was your ring. I got Tally to carve one for each of my girls. This one was carved after you were gone, but I kept it, just in case.” She stopped for a moment to catch her breath, then said, “You have a sister, Margaret Cunningham. You must get to know her.”
“A sister?” Amelia asked. “Why I had no idea.”
The old woman’s mouth was dry. She rolled her tongue over her lips. “Margaret Cunningham, Amelia Pinkham, Prince, Fortune and Reece Johnson,” she murmured, “all my children!” She paused a moment before whispering, “I love them all. I am sorry that I had to keep this secret … Lord, I am sorry.” The old woman fell back into the soft feather pillows and closed her eyes.