CHAPTER 25—CHANGES

 

29 DECEMBER 1859

I am overwhelmed by all that has transpired since my last entry. I have been busy, but I am getting old and forgetful. And truthfully, I also had long bouts of melancholy where I just sat in my favorite chair and stared blankly out the window.

The pen feels foreign in my hand, like greeting an old friend with whom I parted on uncertain terms. Where do I even begin?

I should pay attention to writing down details at scheduled times, but something inside of me rails against so doing. Instead, I turn to other activities, none of which I do well, except perhaps, gardening. Now I shall have to tax my brain to fill in the more important details. The camellias are lovely, but they do not speak to me as these pages once did.

This past year saw many changes. John continues to expand his business, raising capital in several ways. We sold Ellen and her children (she had three more since last I mentioned them) to Gaston Duke, where she joins Allen. Finally, husband and wife are together! With her many children she could not perform the household tasks we require. Dr. Duke appreciates increasing his youthful assets.

The day we made the decision, we sat in the parlor to weigh advantages and disadvantages. The thought of sending her away was bittersweet, but we took solace from the family being happier together.

We sold Black Judith to Mrs. Brandt, who treats her more as a companion than servant. When Mrs. Brandt approached with her offer, we realized it was the right thing to do. Judith’s eyes sparkled with gratitude when we told her the news.

John’s business expansions have required significant funding, and I sometimes wonder how we would manage without these sales. Is he still borrowing from John Weldon?

My husband is constantly innovating, working on new patents and improving the old ones. The latest gin is a marvel, and the demand is higher than we ever expected. Yet, with success comes complexity. John spends more time traveling and less time at home, requiring an adjustment.

I miss the simplicity of our earlier days. When we all sat around the dinner table, our lives seemed more straightforward. Now, with the older ones pursuing their own paths, and Johnnie away at school most of the year, the house feels emptier.

I fear I am rambling, but perhaps that is the nature of reflection. One thought leads to another, a winding path through the forest of memory. I must focus if I am to capture the essence of this past year.

Of course, I need to give the pertinent details. The trip to Louisiana for Samuel’s wedding was a lifetime ago, yet certain moments remain vivid in my mind.

Sam beamed when we arrived in Mansfield. The reunion with my brothers was bittersweet, but our bonds remain strong. The wedding itself was a grand affair, befitting the Greenleaf family’s status. Virginia looked radiant, and I could see the love between her and Sam.

The journey home was uneventful, but I recall unease about the future. The conversations we overheard on the steamboat hinted at growing tensions between the North and the South. Over a year later, those feelings of anxiety have only intensified. The news from Harper’s Ferry this October has sent shockwaves through our community. John Brown’s raid, though unsuccessful, has stoked fears of slave uprisings and further inflamed sectional tensions. 

Worry is etched on my husband’s face as he pores over the newspapers. The cotton gin business remains steady, but nervousness is in the air. Everything could change in an instant.

Rufus and Mattie appear blissfully unaware of the larger troubles, focused as they are on their growing family. A new baby arrived, named William Wightman LeBois, after the first college president of Southern University. Rufus has known Dr. Wightman for many years.

I sometimes envy their ability to stay so centered on their immediate concerns. While I lie awake at night, wondering what the future holds for our way of life, they sleep soundly, confident in their present. Maybe the wisdom of age makes me more anxious, or perhaps they are just more optimistic.

In May, we learned from the visiting Greenleafs that we have a new grandson, another John. I was too embarrassed to admit that we did not already know. We thought they named him after my husband, but Mr. Greenleaf is also named John, and the baby’s middle name is Greenleaf! I suppose it is common to name the first boy after the wife’s father.

As I contemplate the future of our family, I cannot help but think of the past. The weddings, the births, the countless Sunday dinners. Each moment a thread in the tapestry of our lives, woven together to create something larger than ourselves. It is this sense of continuity that sustains me, even as the world grows more uncertain.

In July, we were blessed with another wedding, this time being our daughter Martha Louisa to Dr. James King Armstrong. The nuptials were held at our church, uniting us with an impressive family, well known in Methodist circles. Our daughter is grateful her father keeps involved in the church’s hierarchy.

Perhaps the biggest change was because of John’s cotton gin business. We took in boarders. My dearly beloved hired several men over the past three years and housing them was a problem. Greensboro is booming! Builders are in high demand, and housing cannot keep up. It is a testament to the town’s growth and prosperity, much of which is tied to the success of the cotton industry and, indirectly, to John’s innovations.

Most of our children have left the family home. Three are married, two are away at school, one is employed elsewhere. That just leaves Joe. Therefore, we had two very large bedrooms unoccupied (Joe taking the smallest third bedroom upstairs), so John told these young men to come live with us. He believes he is fostering a sense of loyalty and community that will help the business in the long run.

My dearest was so excited that I agreed. The quiet to which I was accustomed has been replaced by sounds of the lads coming and going, or talking, or snoring. Oh, the noise of youthful ambition!

At first, the adjustment was difficult. I yearned for the tranquil evenings where I could sit and read in peace, or the solitary mornings where I tended to the garden without interruption. The boarders are respectful, yet their presence is a constant reminder of the bustling world outside our doors.

Several months into this new arrangement, it surprises me I appreciate their presence. The house feels alive in a way it hasn’t since our own children left the nest. I look forward to the lively discussions at dinner, where they share their hopes and dreams for the future. Their enthusiasm is infectious, and I often catch John smiling more than he has in years.

One of the lads has taken a particular interest in my garden. He often joins me in the mornings, eager to learn about the different plants and their care. His genuine curiosity reminds me of my passion for gardening when I was younger, and I find great joy in sharing my knowledge with him.

Another boy has a marvelous singing voice. In the evenings, when the work is done, he sometimes sits at our old piano and fills the house with melodies that stir my soul. It takes me back to the days when our Annie would play the piano and Rufus, his flute, with all of us singing in four-part harmony.

I get to hear Rufus every Sunday. He formed the first choir for our church! Mattie was used to having a choir in her home church in Prattville and it made so much sense to have one at ours. 

As I sit in the pew, listening to their lush harmonies intertwine, varying emotions stir within me. Nostalgia envelops me as I remember singing with my sweetheart at that Methodist gathering many years ago. But then came a pang of sadness for what once was but shall never be again.

I miss those days. How I wish he could take more time from his business to just be with me. Maybe if we only gathered in the evening for one song, we could rekindle what we once had.