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Oh my, oh my! On the street below my window here in Greensborough, Alabama, I just witnessed a horse race where one of the young men was askew on his saddle. The animal surely threw him off down the street, as I heard shouts for a doctor! Goodness me, is this the sort of thing I shall experience on a daily basis? If so, I shall discontinue viewing the comings and goings on the main thoroughfare. Instead, I shall request rooms overlooking the hotel’s garden in the rear.

Yet, I cannot bring myself to look away. A blue-capped lad scurried into the doctor’s office across the street but declared the physician absent. Off he went, seeking a different one. I hope the boy will survive any wounds, and that all will learn a lesson.

I understand horse-racing is a common, though presently illegal, entertainment. This village is not without some excitement, but not the kind I desire. I can see two saloons from my window with ruffians entering and some leaving, escorted out by the ear.

I must admit, the inadvertent street theater is not boring, and I need not sleep the day away unless I am extremely weary. Still, it is nearly impossible to obtain serenity amid the chaos. These, I suppose, are the circumstances here at the western edge of civilization where uncouth creatures abound.

Goodness me, what shrieking and wailing I am hearing! It seems the lad on the horse was killed. I had little sympathy for him moments ago, but now I feel some compassion for the poor woman pouring out her lamentations. Given her stooped figure, graying hair, and the uncontrollable sobbing, I suppose her to be the mother. “I warned him,” she shouted between bursts of hysteria, “and he promised he was done with this foolishness!”

I must calm myself, for surely nothing good can come from me being caught up in such tragedy. Someone is ushering the poor woman away, her cries becoming less and less audible. This was the opportune moment to close my window. What little amusement I hoped for has exceeded my limits.

When distracted by unpleasantness, I sometimes can settle my mind by describing events or things or people. I suppose I should write about how and why we sojourned from our country place in Perry County to this town in Greene County.

My husband John and I are temporarily residing in Greensborough. This busy little town on the western reaches of Alabama civilization is across the Tombeckbee River from Choctaw lands. It reminds me of when we first arrived in Autauga County, across the Coosa River from the Creek Nation. Then, I feared for my life!

I was at that time a naïve nineteen-year-old child, shocked by stories of butchery. But though there were occasional troubles, my uncle, General John Archer Ellison, was able to quell them. I have yet to discover if the Choctaw are as friendly as the Creek. Since Uncle remains on his plantation many miles away, I again find myself on edge. I should reflect instead on more pleasant matters.

John and I are settling in nicely in our chambers on the second floor at Clement’s Hotel. Our children stayed behind in Perry County under my mother’s care at our place. It will be only a short while before our growing family reunites. Though we all eventually will permanently reside in Greensborough, there remains much to accomplish before then. For one, we must secure our property here and build our house.

More about our accommodations: Near our bed is a small desk beneath the window alluded to earlier. I can sit and write, gazing from time to time down below. From this perch, I can entertain myself yet remain above the dust kicked up from the activities below. I can see shopkeepers whiling away their time, and young boys playing the game of “fives” using the walls of two stores with a vacant lot in between. They have a wall built at the back so that they can volley amongst the three sides.

Now, to the whys and wherefores leading to my presence in this village. Early last week, we drove Mother’s carriage and our wagon from our Perry County plantation to Greensborough, the purpose being two-fold. The first is to establish my husband and me, my sister Patsy and my nephew Thomas (Daniel’s boy) in the Clement Hotel to become boarders.

I shall soon birth my fourth child. With this baby, I have had concerns from the first moment I realized I was in this condition. Unlike my first three, I do not feel nearly as ill. I also rarely feel it move within my womb. While not retching incessantly should seem a blessing, I worry that this is an indication something is amiss. I have shared my concerns so often that my husband and I determined I should stay close to where we can obtain medical intervention should the need arise. Given that John already has built his shop just a block away and Mr. Clement suggested we could stay in his new accommodations, it made sense for me be here for the last month or two of my lying-in.

I have a respite from this condition only a year or two before it besets me again, so the baby about to come should be the only one for the next year or two. The “problem” resides with how much delight the making of babies brings!

My hope is that I will be an improved mother with this new baby. It has been several years now since losing my precious William. Oh, sweet Billy, I think of you almost every day. Almost. Because when these memories become painful, I must turn from them.

I was resentful with poor little Sam. It certainly was not his fault; he was in utero when his brother passed away. Unfortunately, I was useless after his birth. And though I was better with Rufus, I remained further removed than a mother should. No, with this next child, I hope for redemption.

Our slave Black Judith and her baby, Ellen, also accompanied us here. I find comfort knowing Black Judith is nearby. As it turns out, Captain Clement owns more than one building in this little neighborhood. His residence is just around the corner, and he is turning another building into a boarding house.

We decided to leave the boys with Mother this next week so we can settle ourselves. John will bring them here on Saturday. With Old Rebecca, the teenaged slave child Mini, and John’s parents and sister Mary all within calling distance, Mother should be without want in caring for them.

The second purpose of bringing the wagon was for John to bring most of his remaining tools and implements for smithing and carpentry. His shop operates six days a week. It is in a very good location, on the road to Marion and intersecting the main street. I love seeing how organized it is, and I suspect Carpenter George is the reason why.

George is again on loan from my father-in-law. The senior Mr. LeBois recognizes that a slave well-trained in carpentry is of better use to John than using the man as a field hand. This is especially true now that all our structures for our Perry County place are established and our lands are going fallow this year. George sleeps in a room off the back so he can tend to the shop during those early morning or late evening hours should someone have a need. He is also there when John is away. Black Judith and Ellen are able to spend time with George when their respective duties allow.

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The scullery maid just departed. Usually found in the kitchen, her duties include keeping the fires going in a select few of the rooms. My rooms face northward, so I do not have the benefit of the sun alighting on my window. If it had, we would not be in constant need of the fire she tends to. But had we engaged rooms on any other side, I would be bereft of amusements gotten from activities below.

I shall inquire of the little slave girl what her name is next time she comes up. It remains my desire to learn more about those who serve us. In the past few years, I have gotten better at knowing the names of our family’s slaves, for instance. I try to discover more, but with the exception of Black Judith, I have not been in the position of chatting with them at length. I am resorting to calling her “Black” Judith to differentiate her from my mother, Mrs. Judith Wilton.

Black Judith still tends to me when she can. However, our agreement with our landlord is that her cookery skills at the nearby Clement residence and here at the inn reduces our rent. She resides in the servants’ quarters along with her baby, Ellen. Though her room is smaller than the place she has at our Perry County plantation, it could be considered a “step up,” as it is in the attic of the inn.

Oh! I can hardly believe what just occurred. I heard rapping upon the door which seemed most urgent and upon opening it, a figure cloaked in green with a hood hiding her face stepped inside without invitation. Just as I was about to object, this mysterious personage shut the door behind her and pressed her finger against her lips as a signal to be quiet. Just as I was about to instead scream, she threw off her hood.

Oh Susie! From the vapors emerged a personage I thought never again to see. I have fervently prayed that someday I could reunite with her. How long I have lamented over my treatment of Father’s most trusted and loved slave! Susie! Most likely my half-sister, one whom I cannot ignore nor forget.