Deliver Us From Evil

April 13, 1861

 “Lizzie! Lizzie!” Thomas yelled for his missy. Thomas was the stout and vivacious son of the Negro preacher, Cotton and Berdie, Lizzie’s nursemaid. Thomas, along with his sister Myzelle, and, the house servant Ruby’s daughter, Betsy, was Lizzie’s best friends and playmates. Living at Willow Ridge, the black children were all that Lizzie had to play with. But that was fine with Lizzie, she loved them and they loved her. Thomas was about a year and a half old when Lizzie was born and Myzelle was born about a year after Lizzie. Thomas and Myzelle were strong and muscular. Myzelle was a very pretty chocolate brown with high cheekbones and pretty eyes that had a slight slant to them. Thomas was tall, muscular, and a handsome man in progress. Betsy was much closer to Lizzie’s age, although she was not as pretty. She was gaunt, slinky, and tall. There was only six months span of difference between them. Mammy’s opinion was that Betsy was ‘a bit mouthy’. Truth was she just called the shots as she saw them.

     Thomas entered the stable doors in a long stride continuing in his search for Lizzie.

“Lizzie, is you in here?” He exclaimed.

“I’m up here.” She called. He stepped on the ladder that led to the loft and proceeded to climb in a rhythmic hop. When he reached the top, he spotted Lizzie. There in the sunbeam that was streaming from the open loft window, perched in a nest of hay was Lizzie, playing with the kittens. Thomas went over to her and hovered above her like a strong tower.

“Lizzie, Mammy Sally be lookin’ fer ya.” He smiled down at her, watching her tease the kittens with a piece of straw. Lizzie was twelve, soon to be thirteen come her birthday in September. And she was a blossoming flower. Thomas especially thought so when she sat in the loft or outside away from the fine furnishings of her home. She was like a wildflower, beauty in nature. She had sallow complexion, cat green eyes, and shiny brown hair like a newborn colt. Problem was it wasn’t likely that Thomas would ever have her hand, because he was a slave of her pa’s. He would forever be indentured in her life, but only as her slave.

“What does she want?” She asked as she continued to tease the gray and white kitten that jumped at the straw.

“She say ya need to come warsh up for da noon meal.” She and Thomas climbed down out of the haymow and into the sunshine. It was a clear, sunny day. The white clouds drifted across the blue sky like ships on the blue ocean. The aroma of honeysuckles tickled their senses. As they walked back to the main house, Thomas took a honeysuckle from the vines that were wrapped in the split rail fence, pinched off the end, and dragged the sweet nectar out by the strains. After licking the juice from the strains of the bloom, he taunted Lizzie.

“Race ya.” Before Lizzie could answer Thomas had taken off like lightening. She tried to catch up but couldn’t succeed. He reached the back steps at least two yards ahead of her.

“Why do you always want to race me when you know you’ll win?” She protested.

“I like winnin’.” He said out of breath in a wide mischievous grin.

            Just then Lizzie’s pa, James Rochard came around the house on horseback with another man behind him on another horse. Only this man was black and in shackles. Lizzie had never seen her pa have a Negro in shackles before. James hopped down from his horse and Lizzie ran into his open arms.

“How’s my girl?” James asked.