Yellow Crocus: A Novel by Laila Ibrahim Page A

She had done it—she had driven off her brother and his friends.
    With Jack gone, Lisbeth dared to look at Samuel. She studied him as he glared after Jack. Rage burned on his face. His tormentors played with one another, not giving him another thought.
    When they were entirely alone, Lisbeth quietly, shamefully spoke, “I am sorry, Samuel. I will tell Mattie what Jack said. It will be all right.”
    Samuel stared at Lisbeth, fury beaming from his eyes. Her eyes welled up; her chest tightened.
    “It will be all right,” she insisted, trying to convince herself as much as Samuel.
    A cold, hard look sat on Samuel’s face. Without a word, he shook his head, turned away, and made his way back to his cabin.
    Counting her steps as she walked, 1…2…3…, Lisbeth returned to the willow. She sat down, picked up her book in her shaking hands, and pretended to read. She willed her heart to slow down, taking deep breaths. After she calmed herself, she ran to Mattie.
    Mattie was in their rooms, waiting to dress Lisbeth for supper. A breathless Lisbeth blurted out, “Mattie, Jack says Samuel is to be sold! He might only be teasing, but it may be true.”
    Mattie sank into the rocking chair. Lisbeth stared intently at her nurse waiting for a response.
    Lisbeth broke the long silence. “Mattie, he will be fine. They will sell him to someone nice.”
    “Hush!” Mattie snapped as she stared blankly. “Let me think.”

     
    That night Lisbeth and Mother sat in the drawing room with embroidery hoops in their hands. Mother occupied one side of the divan while Lisbeth sat at an angle to her in an upholstered chair.
    “Let me see your stitches,” Mother commanded.
    Lisbeth passed her work into judging hands. Mother studied the needlework carefully.
    “Much improved, Elizabeth. Although you still tend toward carelessness in your transitions. Right here, the transition from sky to cloud is too tight, see how the material puckers? And here it is too loose. Tear out these areas. But the rest is quite acceptable.”
    A timid knock interrupted them.
    “Enter,” Mother called.
    “Oh, Mattie, it is you,” smiled Mother. “Time for bed, Elizabeth.”
    Lisbeth finished snipping out a stitch and left the unfinished pillow case bound in the hoop in the basket next to her chair. “Good night, Mother,” said Lisbeth as she stood.
    “Kisses, dear,” reminded Mother.
    Lisbeth returned and kissed her Mother’s smooth, pale cheek before joining Mattie.
    Before the pair departed, Mattie spoke out, her voice shaking with emotion. “Mrs. Ann, I…uh…got somethin’ to ask you, ma’am. I need a favor real bad. I cared for your daughter all these years and now I, uh, need your help.”
    “My goodness, Mattie,” declared Mother, “come out with it.”
    “My son, Samuel, is to be sold, ma’am,” Mattie begged. “Please, ma’am, please see to it he gets sold to where his Daddy live—over at Berkeley. They need some men there. Please, ma’am.”
    Uncomfortable witnessing her nurse’s despair, Lisbeth looked away. Standing by the door, she longed to leave yet wanted to hear her mother’s response. She pretended not to listen as her eyes followed the trail of gold flowers.
    “Mattie, as you well know, I have nothing to do with the field hands. They are Mr. Wainwright’s affair.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “But I will pass on your request. He is not an unreasonable man. If he can get a fair price…” Mother hastily added, “I am making you no promise, you understand?”
    “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”Mattie nodded as she left the room.

     
    A week later, Mrs. Ann gave Mattie an answer when she came for Lisbeth in the drawing room. “Mattie, I am sorry, but Mr. Wainwright was unable to fulfill your request. He has arranged for Samuel to be sold to the Andersons. Their estate is only three miles away. He will be able to visit with you on Sundays. You can be consoled by that.”
    Lisbeth stared at the stony face of her nurse