Missing+Lunie

Missing Lunie - Remembering Lunsford Lane Sometimes the rules you must follow don’t make much sense. No one explains why you must wear a hat outdoors once you become “a young lady.” No one tells you the reasons behind the need for the many petticoats that constrict your every movement through the household. Indeed, so heavy and voluminous were the layers beneath one of my least favorite dresses, I nearly knocked over an entire tray all set for tea.

One is simply told it is “proper” for a young lady to do this or that. Last week I was informed that in an effort to continue the arduous task of making me into a suitable young woman, I was to be sent away to school. There I would learn all of the skills necessary to achieve a proper and well-made match for marriage. I never realized that being a Haywood brought with it so many restrictions on enjoying one’s life.

As I sit in the parlor, the afternoon air feels wonderfully cool. It has been an unbearably hot summer – made more so by the pretty bindings forced upon me through my newly acquired “young lady” status. Now; however, the days are crisp and clean. The trees, changing their hazy, green summer capes out for brilliant coats of gold and crimson, herald the coming of autumn. As their leaves twirl to the ground here and there, I think back to younger, carefree days. Running through the yard – hair flying, shoes scuffed and muddy, an apple clutched tightly in one hand, an oak limb in the other – I feel at once the warmth and chill of bittersweet memories.

//“Lunie! You can’t catch me!” I cry as I run through the leaves. Turning around, I don’t see my playmate, my dearest friend. “Lunie! Where are you?!” There is no sound - only the crackling of dried leaves, blown about by the frosty wind. Feeling angry at being deserted during a fine game of tag, I march toward the kitchen, where Clarie, Lunie’s mother, is preparing supper. As I pass a large pile of oak leaves, a sudden movement and a deep “Rwwwwwwrrrrr!” cause me to spin and shriek. Lunie, leaping out from under the leaves grabs for me, yelling “You’re it!” We laugh and laugh as Clarie calls us to the kitchen for a fresh, hot biscuit just out of the oven.//

As if almost on cue, “Lunsford”, as I am now directed to address him, appears with the tea tray. I dare not look at him as I murmur, “that will do.” I can’t gaze in his direction for fear my eyes will meet with his. Surely he too thinks of days past. Surely there is sadness in his heart when he recalls the freedom of childhood. We shared equal status then, my friend and I. We were both members of the same troupe: “the children.” It’s as if it was only yesterday that we children would be busy for hours, working so very hard at playing. Redcoats against Patriots, Nine Men Morris, knucklebones, marbles....our days together seemed to last forever.

Things began to change, though, as we grew. Lunie and the other slave children would be called away more and more. No longer able to run freely through the yard, they would be set to various chores as their strength would enable them to do. Lunie would be given a task, like carrying cut wood to the shed, or bringing buckets of water to the kitchen, and I would wait on the steps until he’d finished. But more and more, he’d never //get// finished. He’d work from the time we arose until after I went to bed. Often, I’d get up in the middle of the night and sneak down to the dining room where Lunie slept. At first he’d stay up and talk with me for hours. But the more work he did, the less he was apt to stay awake for any longer than a few minutes. The last time I crept down the stairs to see my friend, he never even stirred.

It was about this time that my father had requested my presence in the parlor. He explained that Lunsford was a slave – not the same as me – and that I was no longer to associate with him in a familiar manner. Despite my protests that Lunie was my best friend and the smartest person I knew, Father told me that my friendship with him was to end. He said Lunsford was a good slave, and easily realized his place in the world, and I should do likewise. Seeing that my opinion was of no consequence in the matter, I let it drop. But I knew in my heart that Lunsford Lane was as smart as anyone, and equal to any of the “proper” associates my father had begun to invite to our home.

One night last week, I couldn’t sleep. I’d had a particularly tedious day of needlework, and couldn’t seem to settle my mind. I missed my friend terribly, and knowing he slept right beneath me caused my longing to increase. I cautiously eased off the edge of my bed, careful not to step on the warped floor board that sounded alarm every time I arose. Making my way down the staircase, I slowly tiptoed along the wall of the parlor, into the dining room, and toward Lunie’s customary corner. Seeing the familiar, blanket-shrouded form, I hesitated for only a moment before nudging him. Unresponsive, Lunie remained still through my persistent prodding and poking. Frustrated and ready to scold him, I pulled at the woolen blanket only to reveal a pile of clothing. Fearful and worried, I began to imagine all sorts of things; none of which would prove to be factual. Covering “Lunie” back up, I tucked his secret in for the night with a vow to get at the truth.

The following morning, all appeared normal. Lunsford was preparing the carriage for a trip to one of father’s plantations, busily hooking up the horses. As I moved toward him, he remained focused on his duties. “What are you about, Lunsford Lane?” I asked in a conspiringly quiet tone. “Miss?” he asked, still not looking at me. “I know you were away last night,” I hissed, “and I want to know what you’re up to.” “I’m not up to anything, Miss Haywood.” I knew he was lying, but presently my father appeared, inquiring of any problems. “There’s nothing wrong at all, Father. I simply wanted to remind Lunsford that I would need some items from town before he returns from the plantation property,” I lied. “Very well, then, off you go Lunsford.” I watched as he departed, but not for too long, as I sensed my father’s suspicions regarding our previous discourse. “You’d do well to go inside and prepare for your music lesson,” Father commented. I quickly walked back to the house, grateful for the lack of further questioning.

Later, as the house began to settle for the night, I remained alert: a night watchman, with tuned ears and darting eyes. Wearing my day clothes - sans the wretched petticoats and boned waist whittler, I awaited my opportunity. As soon as I determined the others were held in sleep’s restful embrace, I made my way down the same path I’d followed the previous evening. As I reached the entrance to the dining room; however, it was clear the form in the corner was not made of wool and cotton. Slowly rising, Lunie carefully removed the clothing he had secreted away behind the low boy, and made his somnolent likeness beneath the wool blanket. I stood back in the shadows, carefully holding my breath as he quietly went outside.

Following him, I stepped over twigs and rocks in silence as we made our way out into the woods. Watching from behind a tree, I wondered what he was on about when he turned in my direction and said, “You shouldn’t be out at night, Miss Haywood, and you surely shouldn’t be out here with me.” At first I was tempted to argue the fact that I was even there, but realizing the folly of such a ridiculous position, I merely stepped out from my hiding place. “Well, you shouldn’t be out here either, and…and as your master it is my right to know what you’re up to.” I regretted it as soon as the words escaped my mouth. Darkness of night or no, I could still see the sadness in his eyes as his gaze fell upon my face. He turned, and getting a canvas sheet from its hiding place beneath the old oak trees, spread it out on the ground. Strangely, the thought of young couples sharing light-hearted picnics after Sunday morning services crossed my mind, but I quickly erased it and stepped toward him. “Lunie,” I started, “I didn’t mean it…I just hate you keeping a secret from me. I hate…I hate how things have changed.”

Without looking at me, he said, “there’s no secret, Miss Haywood. I’m a slave. No one ever kept it a secret from me, I just didn’t see it.” “When I was ushered into the world, I did not see the rising of its dark clouds, nor fancy how they might be broken and dispersed - until now. I’m going to buy my freedom, even if I must work all night, then return to the business of being a slave at daybreak.” “To know that I am never to consult my own will, but am, while I live, to be entirely under the control of another…It’s too much to bear. So I’ll make the money to buy my freedom…and I’ll quiet this deep, painful feeling of enslavement that preys on my heart like a never-dying worm.”

As he walked me back to the house, I grasped his hand in mine. “I know you’ll be free one day, Lunie,” I said earnestly. But as I went into the house that night, fearful and hopeful at the same time, I knew the quest of my friend was fraught with danger and even death. I only prayed that he would be safe, no matter the outcome of his venture.

**__8th grade Classroom Applications:__**
NCSCOS 3.04 Describe the development of the institution of slavery in the State and nation, and assess its impact on the economic, social, and political conditions.

__ What I want to students to know: __ Using slave narratives, texts, and fiction, students will explore slavery in North Carolina. Students will be able to differentiate between primary, secondary, and tertiary source documents. They will develop an understanding of slave life in North Carolina, and compare and contrast the roles of slaves throughout the various regions of the state. Students will explore the development of slavery across the state of North Carolina, focusing on the influence of regional economic, political, and geographic factors. A prior knowledge of antebellum south and slavery is required before beginning this unit. __ How will I facilitate student learning __ : Using the SCIMC inquiry strategy, students will examine various source documents and answer questions related to those documents. A field trip to Haywood Hall and Stagville Plantation will provide students the opportunity to better visualize and understand the differences between rural and urban life for slaves. __ I will determine what students have learned by: __ Aside from work completed with source documents, a final project will be required. Students can choose from the following - Writing: Create a diary entry, poem, narrative, or play based on slavery. Drawing: Craft a map of NC featuring regions and types of labor during slavery; make an illustration of a key event or scene depicted in one of the readings, design a tour pamphlet for one of the sites visited during the field trip. Speaking: Perform a dramatic reading of a poem or story with a slavery theme. Research and compile three songs from the slavery era. Play excerpts and give your overview on the meaning and importance of the songs. A general rubric will be provided which students will tailor to their specific project choice.