A Guardian of Slaves

by Naomi Finley

  Behind Lucille, Mary Grace stood against the wall in the far corner. Her keen eyes focused on the back of Lucille’s head, and I could only guess what she was thinking.

  My attention turned to Josephine. Something was different about her. Her face appeared fuller, and the usual restraint in her thin face was gone.

  “These tea cakes are divine. You must let your cook know,” Josephine said, lifting her napkin to remove the crumbs from her lips.

  “I’d say so. You’ve eaten almost the entire tray. You must stop overeating. You’re nearly the size of a whale. Your father will have to charter one of Willow’s ships to take you out to sea,” Lucille said haughtily.

  The tightness returned to Josephine’s face, and her shoulders curled forward.

  I wanted to chastise Lucille and put her in her place once and for all. Darting a glance at Whitney’s hands gripping the sides of her gown and the pain etched on her face, I knew she was about at her breaking point. “Mammy will be delighted to hear how much you enjoyed the cakes. No matter what Lucille’s opinion may be, I’ve never seen you lovelier than you are today,” I said.

  Josephine’s eyes softened.

  Lucille’s hackles rose. “Delighted? Do those creatures even have feelings? My father says they’re black demons without souls. At least when we reach heaven, we’ll be rid of them once and for all!”

  Dumbfounded and appalled by Lucille’s comments, Julia had gasped several times over the course of the afternoon. But she’d remained quiet, hiding behind a lace hand fan. Her discomfort was evident in the tornado winds the fan now threw off.

  The poison of Lucille’s company was becoming too much for us all.

  Heat surged through me, and before I could catch myself, I blurted, “Do you suppose the good Lord will let the likes of you through the pearly gates? Heaven is said to be a place of love and peace. I can’t imagine having to endure your hateful and condescending attitude for an eternity.”

  Silence. Neither whisper nor movement followed. No one breathed.

  I set my cup on my saucer, and the porcelain clang echoed in the deadly quiet room. My eyes sizzled through Lucille. Under my gown, my crossed ankles vibrated as I willed myself to stay seated.

  Lucille’s mouth gaped open, and tears glistened in her eyes.

  “Cry all you want. You’re an evil, hateful woman!”

  Whitney’s breath caught. Mary Grace’s eyes widened in horror.

  Lucille leaped to her feet. “I’ve never been treated so poorly in all my life. You, Willow Hendricks, are the rudest person I’ve ever met.”

  “Hardly!” Droplets of my spit flickered in the air. “First you invite yourself to my home. Then you openly disrespect the memory of my father. Then you go on to insult my guest. How dare you! You selfish, impudent child!”

  I glanced to Mary Grace, who shook her head in warning. I closed my eyes and exhaled deeply. God help me! I wanted to squeeze the life from Lucille.

  The shocked whisperings of the slaves in the corridor reminded me of the reason why I’d allowed the ladies to visit. I’d failed miserably, and I had to set things right for the sake of everything I held dear.

  “I would have expected this from Whitney, but not from you.” Lucille’s tears had turned into a full-out pout.

  “I’m…I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me. I was a shameful hostess. Please accept my humble apology.” Trying to quell the shaking of my hands, I clasped them tightly in my lap.

  Lucille turned her body away with the intent of shunning me. A sour taste filled my mouth. I’d have to work her harder, no matter how much it sickened me to do so. “You’re right, Lucille.” I paused to let the emphasis sink in.

  She gave me a sideways glance and a slight nod, as though she was giving me permission to continue.

  “I do find it hard to run this plantation alone. Maybe it’s time to find a gentleman to take care of me. With us being the weaker of humankind, it may be best. What would you suggest I do?”

  Her sourness disappeared. “I’m glad to see you still have some common sense in that head of yours.” She settled back in her chair, looking smug.

  The walls, lurking slaves, and guests breathed in relief as tensions melted.

  “While we’re speaking on the subject of marriage, I wanted to inform you ladies that I expect to be married by the end of the summer,” Lucille said over the top of her teacup.

  An image of her choking on the hot liquid rushed into my mind. Shame at how it would bring me pleasure curdled in my stomach, and I rebuked myself and shook the horrendous thought away. Who was I becoming? The pressure of everything was getting to me. Lucille had a way of bringing out the worst in everyone around her. Why God created horrible, ill-mannered people like her, I’d never understood. “Who’s the lucky gentleman?” I said in a sickly sweet voice, nauseating myself. But I’d redeem myself with Lucille, even if I had to eat a picnic table full of humble pie.

  Courting? Lucille? I couldn’t imagine the poor soul who would find her personality compatible. Beautiful or not, her negativity erased all appeal.

  The ladies appeared to be as shocked as me at her news. “Yes, do tell us. We’re dying to know,” Julia said.

  Lucille sat straighter, and she tossed a ringlet over her shoulder. “Silas Anderson.”

  “Our neighbor?” Whitney squeaked in bewilderment.

  No! Absolutely not. This was the worst possible news ever. Silas hadn’t mentioned Lucille before. How could this be? “That’s delightful news! Your parents must be thrilled. When is the wedding?” I said. My stomach churned at the sugary sweetness in my voice. It was becoming too rich for my liking.

  Lucille delighted in the attention. “Oh,” she threw back her shoulders and lifted her nose elevated, “we haven’t set a date yet. We aren’t even courting. But we will be.”

  “Oh…” several voices said.

  When Lucille set her mind to something, she usually achieved it. I found myself feeling sorry for the unsuspecting Mr. Anderson.

  “With you being neighbors, I wanted you both to know that I lay claim to the newcomer.” She leveled a stern you’d better not forget look on Whitney and me.

  Whitney inhaled the crumbs off her tea biscuit, and it sent her into a coughing spell. Tears ran down her cheeks as I poured her a glass of water and held it out to her. Then I held my hands up to Lucille. “You’ve no cause for concern on my part.”

  “And hardly on my part,” Whitney scoffed. One glance at Whitney told me she had a sermon of things to say, but she held her tongue.

  Lucille directed her next statement at me. “Well, it’s a known fact you’ve been courting Bowden and stringing him along. People assumed by now you’d be a proper Southern belle and settle down. If you’ve no intention of marrying Bowden, the ladies of Charleston would be more than grateful for you to release him from the spell you’ve placed on him. Plenty of ladies would line up to win favor in his eyes.”

  “Lucille!” Julia gasped.

  Finally, she speaks! Heat surged through me. But…I would not fall a second time into the trap of the Charleston Trumpeter. I remained as cool as the iced water in the glass I lifted to my lips. I took a long, thoughtful sip.

  “Mr. Armstrong is free to do as he chooses. I do not hold claim to him, nor do I hold him prisoner,” I said.

  Lucille fluffed the layers of her gown. “That’s what you claim, but we all know he has only had eyes for you.”

  “How’s that her fault?” Whitney piped in.

  Lucille’s eyes regarded me with contempt. “You play with his heart.”

  I swallowed hard. Her words scored on my conscience. But I set him free, I wanted to shout. “I’m unsure how to reply to your—”

  “Nor do you need to,” Josephine said, rising to her feet. “I grow weary of your relentless muttering, Lucille.”

  “But, Josephine?” Lucille’s hand fluttered to her chest. “You—”

  “If you croak out another word, I will slap
you myself,” Josephine said, shutting Lucille’s whines down with a flick of her hand.

  Speechless, Lucille sat gawking at her. No “But—but—” spilled from Lucille’s lips. Only sweet silence draped the room. Glory be praised! I wanted to jump from my chair, throw my hands in the air, and parade around the room shouting Josephine’s praises. Josephine finally had stepped from the shadows of Lucille’s hoops.

  “I’m feeling tired. I want to thank you for your wonderful hospitality,” Josephine said, clasping Whitney’s and then my hand in hers.

  Lucille grumbled under her breath as she stood.

  “Let me show you to your carriage,” I said, more than happy that the painfully draining afternoon had come to an end.

  “Willow, would you mind if I stayed for a while?” Julia said, a serious expression on her face. “Jeffery is visiting nearby and will come for me later.”

  My hopes of putting the afternoon behind me dimmed. The façade I’d struggled to uphold for their visit had already fractured, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep it up. “That will be fine,” I said, touching her elbow. I turned to the others. “Ladies, let me show you out.”

  JULIA AND I STROLLED ALONG the riverbank, ducking under the low-hanging limb of an oak tree that stretched out over the river, casting a mural on the brownish-green ripples. Redfish and speckled trout scurried upstream. A blue heron stood tall and proud on a slick black boulder rising out of the water.

  Julia’s face was tightly drawn. We walked in silence, until finally she said, “I wanted—” Her hands twisted in front of her. “Willow…”

  I slowed and turned to take her hands in mine. “Speak freely.”

  Her gaze flitted around, as if the woods held listening ears. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “For the sake of all that’s sacred and pure, out with it!” I said.

  “All right.” She took a deep breath. “I know you’re a woman of integrity, but I’m concerned that what I have to say may not be viewed favorably by you. You could very well have me thrown off your property.”

  “It would have to be something awful,” I said with a laugh. But the worry in her blue eyes stifled my laughter. “What is it that troubles you so?”

  “Things have changed for me since moving to Canada…I’ve changed.”

  “How so?”

  We began to walk again.

  “My husband has changed me.”

  I arched a brow. The dull husband she was dismayed to be marrying not two years ago? One cannot change another.

  “I don’t view things as I once did. Sometimes, I feel like a traitor in my own skin, and to the South. I love this place. It’s my home. But I can’t deny what’s burning in my soul.”

  Silence came yet again. Dread accompanied the prolonged silence as I waited. The call of the chickadee in a nearby tree resounded over and over.

  “Are you waiting for me to perish?” I laughed nervously, coming to a stop. What was troubling her so? I turned to her and waited.

  Her lips parted, but she hesitated a moment longer before she said, “I am part of a network.”

  Network? As in the Underground Railroad? My heart lurched. “What kind of network?” Go on…please, go on, every part of me begged. Could it be possible she spoke of the same network?

  “Jeffery and I are abolitionists.”

  Never would I have dreamed that dear, sweet Julia would be an abolitionist. I’d never viewed her as one to take chances. She was more of a person who settled for whatever life handed her. Like an arranged marriage. “I see…” I said.

  “And your thoughts?”

  “I don’t…I’m not. You have to follow what your heart tells you, and if befriending the Negroes is where it’s leading you, then you must follow it.” I wanted to scream, Me too. Yet something held me back.

  “I know I’ve never been one to speak on politics and have been quite content being a decent Southern girl most of my life. But that isn’t the case anymore.” A determination filled her eyes. “I, for one, can’t sit quietly by any longer. Where does the South get off thinking we’re superior to another race? After all, didn’t God create us all in his own image?”

  My heart hammered against my breastbone. Her words sang to the yearning in my soul to right the injustice in a world that was devouring every piece of me. “Why do you tell me all of this?” I said carefully.

  “I want to enlist your help.”

  “My help? How could I possibly—”

  “I don’t know you to be an unreasonable person. You may be an owner of slaves, but I believe you’re made of a finer quality than girls like Lucille and Josephine. You have an empire at your fingertips. With businesses and homes all around the world, you could aid in helping free thousands of slaves.”

  “The Fugitive Law forbids such thoughts. Besides, why would I want to do that? The South needs the Negroes. They’re our source of income,” I said, testing her.

  She threw her hands up in the air. “Your income! Taking another human being and claiming him as property is wrong. Can you people even hear the absurdity in your words? People can’t be owned. People claim to be Christian folk, but they turn a blind eye to what the good book clearly states.” Her pale skin reddened with the passion running through her. The passion she carried for all to view.

  In her…I saw me. A vision of my former self, a girl that voiced her thoughts without caring who might be watching or the danger that came with it—bold opinions that needed to be harnessed. “Shh! You must calm down,” I whispered, scanning our surroundings.

  She pulled a handkerchief from inside her sleeve and dabbed the tears streaking her cheeks.

  “You must control your emotions. You’ll do no one any good behind prison bars,” I said in a low voice for her ears only.

  A line appeared between her eyes, and she whispered, “I’ve come to Charleston seeking your help. I sent you a letter after your father passed, but you never responded. I figured you were too stricken with grief.”

  I’d received the letter some months after the funeral and intended to respond, but I was too caught up in trying to sort out the truth that had been dumped in my lap. Which proved to be overwhelming, to say the least.

  “I know your father ruled this plantation with an iron fist, but only a fool would fail to realize what a good and decent man he was.”

  Like me… The familiar heaviness settled in my stomach. “More decent than his own daughter could see.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. We often don’t see what is right in front of us. Look at my husband, for instance. I thought I’d live a loveless life filled with boredom. But that isn’t the case at all. He’s a man of honor, filled with passions beyond my wildest imagination. He’s exciting and treats me as if I’m the most precious thing to him.”

  The love and admiration in her expression filled me with longing. “It pleases me to hear that.”

  “Thank you. Back to the reason I wanted to speak to you. A man has gone missing. A free black man who has gone to great lengths to help free slaves. We’ve reason to believe he’s been sold into slavery, and our sources tell us he was placed on a ship headed for Charleston. I know you must have access to information and people that can help you find out where he may be.”

  “What? Why would—”

  “Because you have ears everywhere. Like your father, you’re an important and powerful person with contacts around the country.”

  “But I’ve barely scratched the surface of my father’s affairs. With my uncle away, I have all I can handle with managing this place.”

  “Please, Willow, will you at least try?”

  I paused a moment. “I can try.”

  She leaned forward and crushed me in her arms. “I knew I could count on you.”

  I gasped, trying to catch my breath. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.”

  She pulled back and said firmly with a tug on my arm, “You must do more than try. His name is Toby, and h
e’s around thirty years of age and on the fair side in skin tone. He bears no marks that set him apart, which will only make it that much harder to find him.”

  “And you figured I’d be the one who could achieve such an impossible mission?”

  “Jeffery and I have been searching ourselves, but so far, nothing has surfaced. Maybe your crew at the docks has heard something.”

  Later, Whitney and I stood in the yard until the noise from Julia and Jeffery’s carriage dwindled.

  “Why did you decide to keep quiet about your involvement in the cause?” Whitney asked.

  “Worry, I suppose.” My shoulders rose and fell.

  “Of what?”

  “Her making a slip-up and turning the focus of folks’ simmering paranoia on us. She’s only recently broken away from the only mindset she has ever known and lacks the composure to keep our secrets. I couldn’t chance it. I’ll see if I can find this Toby she speaks of, but I fear it may be like searching for a coin at the bottom of the ocean.”

  Whitney draped an arm over my shoulders as we turned toward the house. “I fear you may grow old before your time, my friend, and me right along with you.”

  BEFORE THE EVENING MEAL, I wandered down to the forge to find Jimmy. Not seeing him there, I moved on to the stables. I found him alone and grumbling to the horse whose hoof he held between his knees. His head was planted in the horse’s side.

  “Stay still, you ornery creature. I’ll fix you up ef you mind me for a minute or two.”

  My skirts brushed a path through the straw-covered floor. “What’s the matter with ol’ Betsy?”

  Jimmy craned his head to look at me, all the while keeping it positioned against the horse’s side. “Appears to have an abscess. Must have stepped on somepin’. Trying to git de dang critter to soak ets hoof in dis bucket of salts and warm water to draw out de infection.”

  The horse took advantage of Jimmy’s distraction and jerked its leg free, knocking over the wooden pail of salt solution. “You blasted creature!” Jimmy stepped back and wiped his brow.

  “Let me fetch a new pail of water, and I’ll give you a hand.” I hurried off, not waiting for his protest that followed after me. Soon I returned, hauling a slopping pail of warm water.