The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree

Roseanne whimpered.

“This is all nonsense, you know,” Bessie said firmly. “There are no such things as ghosts.”

“That is not necessarily true,” Miss Rogers put in, in her dry, precise tone. “Ghosts are a phenomenon of the imagination. To the person who believes that there is such a thing, it is a fact, not a fancy. However, in this case, it was the Cartwright family silver that was buried, not a baby.”

“It wa’n’t no silver, it was a baby!” Roseanne cried. Despite Maxine’s steadying arm, she was trembling. “Her baby! The one Miz Cornelia birthed while Miz Dahlia was down there in Mobile.”

“Oh, really?” Bessie asked, interested. “I’ve never heard that. What Mrs. Blackstone told me was that she was sent to Mobile because her mother had consumption.”

“It’s a tale ain’t often told,” Roseanne retorted, “an’ maybe the white folks don’ know it. But it’s true. My grandma tol’ me, an’ she was there. Miz Cartwright birthed that baby while her husband was off to the War. Miz Dahlia was sent away so she wouldn’t know nothin’ ’bout it.” She shook her head. “She knew all the same, though. She knew.”

“Ah,” Bessie said, remembering that Dahlia had never liked to talk about what happened during the war years. She always said it was too painful. Bessie had assumed that it was the pain of the armed conflict the old lady was referring to, but of course pain came in all shapes and sizes.

Maxine released Roseanne and regarded her curiously. “If Colonel Cartwright was off killing Yankees with General Lee, who was the father of the baby?” She paused. “Or shouldn’t I ask?”

Roseanne pressed her lips together.

“Come on, Roseanne,” Leticia coaxed. “You brought it up. You have to tell the rest of it. Who was he?”

“Please, Roseanne,” Bessie said. “This could be important. It’s a bit of local history that people don’t know.” Everyone always said that the colored help knew more about their white folks’ families than the white folks’ friends and relations. And if this story about Cornelia Cartwright were true, she could understand why Dahlia didn’t like to talk about the ghost.

“Yes, Roseanne,” Mrs. Sedalius said. “You have to tell us.”

There was a long silence. “Well, I reckon they’s all dead now, even Miz Dahlia, so they ain’t no point in keepin’ it hid,” Roseanne said finally. “Baby’s daddy was the colonel’s plantation manager.” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “Name of Adam. He had a white daddy, colored mama. Was a slave, ’til Mr. Lincoln set him free. Handsomest man ever was in this world, they say. Won Miz Cornelia’s heart.”

“Oh, my goodness gracious!” Miss Rogers recoiled in horror. “How could she?”

Maxine looked at Miss Rogers and shook her head. “I guess you don’t know about love,” she said quietly.

“Forbidden love,” said Leticia with a longing sigh. “What a sad, sad story.”

“Which is why we’ve never heard it, I reckon,” Bessie said drily. “Because it was forbidden.”

“Meaning ... ?” Maxine asked.

“Meaning that the Cartwright friends and family—if they knew it—would never permit it to be talked about,” Bessie said. And of course, the fact that the relationship (if it had existed) was secret made it likely that all sorts of fictional embellishments would be added to the story. As an amateur historian, she had encountered many such tales and knew that they were usually 20 percent fact, 80 percent fancy. There was a ghost, so there had to be a sad story. There was a sad story, so it had to be forbidden love.

“How did the baby die?” Leticia asked.

Roseanne shrugged. “Babies jes’ die. Happens ever’day.”

“And then she died?” Leticia persisted. “Cornelia Cartwright, I mean.”

Roseanne nodded wordlessly.

“How?” Maxine demanded.

“Consumption,” Bessie said. That was what Dahlia had told her.

Roseanne didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then: “Kilt herself, whut my mama tol’ me. She dead an’ buried by the time Miz Dahlia come back from Mobile. Everybody was tol’ it was consumption, but it wa’n’t.”

“What happened to Adam?” Leticia asked. “Mrs. Cartwright’s lover?”

Roseanne’s face became stern. “Whut y’all think?”

“He went north with the Union soldiers,” Miss Rogers said.

“He died of grief,” Leticia hazarded.

“He was ... he was strung up,” Maxine guessed, in a low voice.

“In the cucumber tree,” Roseanne said starkly. “The one at the back of Miz Dahlia’s garden. The col‘nel, he come home after the war an’ done it hisself, one dark night.”