A Guardian of Slaves

by Naomi Finley

  Jimmy added the salts, and together we got the horse to cooperate. After it was cleaned, Jimmy applied some ointment, then bandaged the leg. He straightened and arched his back to stretch out the kinks.

  “I needed to ask you a favor.”

  He looked at me. “What dat be?”

  “I need you to ask around about a man named Toby.”

  “Toby?” His brow furrowed.

  “He’s a free black man that was nabbed a while back. Sources say his last known location was a ship headed for Charleston. He may have been sold to a plantation around here. That’s if he hasn’t been sold off and moved elsewhere.”

  “Ef anyone is going to git de information, et be de black folk.”

  “They’re our best hope of finding him.” People underestimated how widespread the grapevine of the slaves was, and how resourceful they were.

  I couldn’t get the freeman off my mind. Had he been born free, or was he a slave that earned his freedom? Did it really matter? As long as his skin was dark, he was never free of the threat of being sold back into slavery. My thoughts ran to Ruby and someone nabbing her. A shiver crawled down my arms.

  “What’s dat hanging face ’bout?”

  “I was thinking of my friend Ruby, the Northern girl I told you about, and how she’s at risk daily of being plucked off the streets and sold. She believes she was once a slave. Escaped on a ship to the North when she was a little girl. But she doesn’t remember her past before ending up in New York. Doesn’t even know her own age.”

  “Our chillum are taken from deir mamas and papas and sold off to new masas. Forgit where dey’re from.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and a quiet gasp of anguish escaped. “No ’mount of praying will bring dem back. Et’s lak de Lard turned off his ears to us long ago.” His shoulders slumped. “Ain’t no use crying over et anymore. Et’s de way et’s always been, and I’m guessing et ain’t ever gonna change. ’Less white folkses see de wrong in deir ways.”

  “We must believe it’ll change.” We have to. It’s the only way I can face each day. The only way I can endure the longing reflected in their eyes for their missing children, husbands, wives, mothers, fathers…grandparents. The only way I can step outside and look out over all I own and convince myself I’m not like the other slave owners. Silent tears escaped me and rolled down my cheeks. His pain carved out my heart.

  If only I could set this one thing right. If I could find Mag, maybe I’d erase some of the scars from his soul. “You ever wonder where she ended up?” I asked, my voice hushed.

  He lifted his eyes to meet mine, allowing me to fully see the pain he carried. “You mean my Mag?”

  I nodded, afraid to breathe.

  “I used to. Den I let myself believe my gal was daid. Et’s too hard to think of her suffering.” His breath became ragged.

  “But…what if, like Ruby, she’s searching for you?” I could barely hear my own voice.

  His face twisted, and an unusual hardness transformed his features. “Dat’s crazy talk! When we git sold off, we never see our loved ones again. I tole you dat’s de way et is wid us. For years I hoped and asked any new slave I came across about my gal. But de Lard, he has forsaken me. I’m an ol’ man…I’ll never see my gal again, and I’ve larnt to live wid dat.”

  I had to tell him the secret I’d been keeping. He needed to know I was searching for Mag. But what if the news angered him? What if he resented me for it?

  I gripped the fabric of my skirt, and my voice came out hoarse. “There’s something I’ve meant to tell you. Something I’ve wanted to tell you but didn’t know how.” I hesitated, tipping my head to peek at him.

  “What is et, Miss Willie?” He frowned.

  “I’ve been searching for her.”

  “Fool gal! Why you doing a thing lak dat? No need to go wasting your time when you got too much on your young shoulders as et is.” His voice cracked, and tears glistened in his eyes.

  I couldn’t hold back my tears, and they flowed freely. “Because I wanted to bring her back to you. Your heart is stuck back with your wife and Mag. You’ve never moved on to marry again or have other children.” My legs trembled, but I pushed on. “As foolish as it may sound, I want you to be happy. And I know you can never be happy staying here. I need to let you go, but I can’t…God forgive me, I can’t!”

  When I spoke the treachery in my heart, it was as though the floor parted beneath me, and I fell to my knees, sobbing. “I love you. I need you. Without you, I’d just die!” The last year of heartache and anguish tore through me, and I didn’t care who heard. I squeezed my eyes shut and folded my arms tightly over my chest as grief rocked my body.

  I heard him kneel before me, and gentle hands pressed against my shoulders. His voice strummed softly, like the fingers of a harpist. “You be de light in my life, Miss Willie. I’ve watched you grow, and wid each year, I saw my Mag in you. When you ran and played, I’d stand back and imagine you were her. When you stormed down here, all full of fire and opinions ’cause your pappy didn’t let you have your way, I gave you de same advice I’d give her. You see, Miss Willie, to me, my gal lives in you. Widout you, I’da done away wid myself a long time ago.”

  I threw my arms around his neck. He stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms circled me. I allowed the warmth of his arms to soothe me. Tucked away in the stables, hidden from wandering eyes, a broken woman found comfort in the embrace of a broken man. Color did not define us, and for a few precious moments, the world stood still, and we were equal.

  All too soon, we stood and placed the appropriate distance between us. I brushed off my skirt and wiped my tears with the back of my hand. After saying goodnight, I left him to return to the house, my heart weighted with desperation to find Mag. To restore her to her rightful place alongside her father. But how?

  I lifted my skirts and ascended the back steps to the veranda. Pausing, I pressed my hands against the wrought-iron railing while I glanced over the grounds.

  Smoke wafted from the chimneys in the quarters to vanish beneath the Big Dipper as it blinked in the sky. In the distance, a lone wolf howled. A breeze ruffled my skirt and swept tendrils of hair across my face. I thought about the slaves that might be chasing their freedom this very night.

  “I will find you,” I whispered.

  From the quarters, the nightly hum of the black spirituals rose.

  Go down Moses

  Way down in Egypt land

  Tell all pharaohs to

  Let my people go!

  When Israel was in Egypt land

  Let my people go!

  Oppressed so hard they could not stand

  Let my people go!

  Each word echoed with their desire to be free. And with each word, my chest tightened.

  I turned to go inside, but a movement to my right caught my attention. Jones had opened the side door of the stables. I watched him cast a look around before exiting.

  I hadn’t noticed him in the stables. I’d become so distressed that maybe I’d missed him. What had he been doing in the stables? And why hadn’t he made himself known?

  A FEW WEEKS LATER, WHITNEY and I made a trip to town in search of new gowns for the upcoming Christmas ball at the Abbotts Plantation. A day away from the plantation would be good for the soul, Whitney had said.

  Late morning, our carriage rolled down the cobblestoned streets of Charleston, with Whitney and I bouncing and swaying on the red velvet cushioned seats. I leaned forward and pulled back the dark curtain to look out into the bustling streets.

  Ladies strolled down the boardwalk, carrying silk parasols, with their gloved hands tucked in the crook of their gentlemen’s arms. Jewish peddlers hustled to sell their goods to passersby. I held a handkerchief over my nose; the stench of horse dung was stronger in town than I was used to, out on Livingston.

  Across the street from Market Hall, our carriage came to a stop. The coachman opened the door and offered a white-gloved hand. Alighting from the carriage, we
opened our parasols and strolled along the boardwalk, stopping to peer through the windows of various shops on our way to the dressmaker. A bulletin board clustered with notices, everything from runaway slave and Wanted posters for bank robbers to scheduled meetings hung on the wall of one building.

  One poster in the top right corner of the board caught my attention. “Look at this,” I said, halting. It read:

  WANTED

  The Guardian

  Believed to be male. Race still undetermined. Any information on his whereabouts is to be given to the sheriff. Any person or persons aiding fugitives will be subject to Section Seven of the Fugitive Slave Act.

  “Everyone’s talking of him,” a voice said behind us.

  I braced myself and swung around to face Bowden. The mere sight of him sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach. “And what are your thoughts?” I said.

  “Well,” he studied the poster, “folks say he’s a colored, as no reputable, intellectual Southern gentleman would go risking his life and all he owns for a slave.”

  I stood pretending to be intrigued by the poster. “Is that so? You think the same?”

  “I think it may be a woman,” he said in a low voice for our ears only.

  Puzzled, I lifted a brow. “What makes you think that?”

  He leaned close in a manner not appropriate for a gentleman, and certainly not in public. The warmth of his breath chased goose bumps up and down my skin, but it was the words he whispered that snatched my breath. “Because you required my friend’s help, if you recall.”

  He stepped back, his face drawn with concern. “Folks say they’re going to search every inch of the swamps until they burn out any hiding coloreds and the one they deem the Guardian.”

  My grip tightened on my parasol, and I tried to quell the trembling of my hand. The thought of another massacre made me feel queasy. Suddenly, I felt faint.

  Whitney clasped my elbow to steady me as I began to sway. “Are you all right?”

  “A bit parched is all. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll find something to quench my thirst.” I’ve got to get out of here. I squeezed between Bowden and Whitney and fled down the boardwalk.

  People whispered their disapproval as I wove between them, mumbling my apologies. A woman’s words to her husband didn’t fall on deaf ears as I passed: “With her father gone, I’m afraid the girl has lost all sense of proper etiquette. Running through the streets like common trash. Such a shame.” The woman followed that with a tsk-tsk.

  Tears blurred my vision, and I ducked between two buildings to get out of sight. Leaning against the brownstone wall, I closed my eyes to blink off my tears. Please don’t let it happen again. Don’t let them slaughter the innocent. Protect the one they’re calling the Guardian.

  Taking a moment to gather myself, I wiped my cheeks and blew out an angry breath before slipping out onto the boardwalk. I collided with Whitney and grabbed her arm to keep her from landing on her backside.

  She steadied herself. “Do you intend to bring reproach on yourself by running down a public street?” she said in a low voice before sending a leery gaze over her shoulder. Her smile looked more like a grimace as she nodded at people pausing to send us questioning stares. She cupped my elbow and turned me in the direction of the dressmaker’s shop. “What did he say to get under your skin?”

  “He made reference to me being the Guardian,” I whispered through the side of my mouth.

  “What?”

  “He mentioned the time we asked Knox to help us.”

  “Out in the open like that? The nerve of him.”

  “I’m afraid his pride has been wounded and he may be angry with me.”

  “What in heaven’s name for?”

  “I told him I can’t marry him. That our views about political matters are too different.”

  “Oh, Willow…” Whitney stopped and pulled me to the side. “But you love him. I know you do.”

  “No amount of love can change the differences between us.” I lowered my eyes and tried to still my trembling lip.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Is this the reason for the emptiness in your eyes?”

  “It’s that obvious?”

  “I thought it was your grief over your father, along with everything else, taking a toll on you. I should’ve known. I’ve been so preoccupied with the twins and trying to figure out what to do with Jack that I’ve been a horrible friend. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. No one can fix what is broken between Bowden and me. Sometimes I fear fate has my life planned out to be one of loneliness and misery like my mother’s.”

  “Nonsense! We have a hand in our own fate. Bowden will come around. The man loves you. His eyes tell it all.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Ladies.” A male voice interrupted our whisperings.

  I glanced in the direction of the voice, and Whitney and I immediately pulled our heads apart.

  “Mr. Anderson. A pleasure,” I said.

  “Miss Barry, Miss Hendricks.”

  I offered him a hand, and he bent low and lightly clasped it in his, touching his lips to the top of my hand. Over his head, I saw Bowden strolling toward us. When he caught sight of Silas he stopped, and his expression became hooded.

  For a second, the thought of stroking Silas’s attention to make Bowden jealous entered my mind before I shoved it away. I felt my neck and face heat.

  Whitney noticed Bowden and began to wave wildly. “Bowden, please join us.”

  No! I wanted to throttle her.

  Silas pivoted on his heels to look at Bowden as he moved toward us with his eyes pinned on me.

  “Mr. Armstrong; we meet again.” Silas held out a hand.

  Bowden shook it. “Anderson; how’s the homestead?” He sized up the man before him.

  “Everything’s moving along smoothly. A special thanks to the lovely Miss Hendricks for allowing me to hire one of her slaves.” Silas smiled.

  Bowden’s eyebrow rose as he peered at me.

  “However, I may need to hire her again,” Silas said.

  “You’re in town, Mr. Anderson. What stops you from seeking the hired help you so clearly indicated you intended to hire?” Whitney asked, her lips twitching.

  I elbowed her in the ribs, making her gasp.

  Neither looking in her direction nor hesitating at all, Silas said, “I assure you, Miss Barry, it’s my intent. I’ve inquired around town but have come up empty-handed so far. I’m sure, in time, someone will answer my ad.”

  “I’m sure they will,” I said.

  “I’ve meant to ask you, Miss Hendricks, if you’d consider teaching a fellow who’s new to the planter way of life a thing or two about how you manage your plantation. A man could learn from a woman such as you. After all, an empire such as Hendricks Enterprises and Livingston would need a woman with a remarkable eye for business and exceptional skills to function.”

  Bowden’s stance widened, and he sent an inquisitive look at Silas. His jaw set, but he remained silent.

  Silas’s flattery wasn’t lost on Whitney. She sputtered with brash, contemptuous laughter, at which Silas’s jaw clenched. I sent her a disapproving look, and she collected herself and stood quietly.

  To Silas, I said, “I must ask, how do you know—”

  “Of your family’s business ventures?” he finished for me. His broad smile lit up his dark eyes. “Everyone knows of the Hendrickses. Why, your father’s savviness as a businessman is known for states around.”

  “I see. You’ll forgive me if I decline for the time being. Social season is upon us, and as is the case with most ladies, I do find my time occupied.”

  “Perhaps when your time is in less demand, you’ll allow me to call on you?”

  A grunt came from Bowden, and I flashed him a look. The cords stood out in his neck, and his glare burrowed into Silas.

  “Perhaps,” I said, inclining my head.

  “Very well. You ladies enjoy the rest of your day.” He b
oldly eyed Whitney as if he were letting her know she didn’t intimidate him. Then he touched the brim of his hat.

  I watched him leave, and for the first time, I noticed a shuffle in his walk. Bowden cleared his throat, and I snapped my head away from Silas’s retreating back.

  “I’ve come back to apologize. I was wrong earlier, and I’m sorry,” he said, regret shadowing his face.

  “Are you trying to cause me harm?”

  “Never.” He dropped his eyes, swiping back his hair with a hand. “I behaved less than decorously. I was angry, and I know that’s no cause to behave so poorly.”

  “I wish things could be different between you and me. I really do.”

  “And Kipling?” His jaw tensed as he leveled his eyes on me. “What about him? Are you in love with him?”

  Whitney cleared her throat and shuffled in discomfort, an unwilling bystander to Bowden’s and my troubles.

  “Of course not! How can you think…do you think that’s what this is all about? I’m in love with Kip?”

  “Are you?”

  “No! I love you, you daft man! I’ve never loved another.”

  His shoulders dropped, and he expelled a deep breath. “All right.”

  That’s it? All right? I wanted to reach out and beat at his chest with my fist. I wanted him to be what I needed him to be. To forsake all his ways and rescue me from the misery that confined me. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am,” I whispered. I swerved past him.

  “She loves you, you toad.” Whitney said behind me.

  Catching up, she tucked a hand in the crook of my elbow and gave my arm a gentle squeeze. No words needed to be said. Whitney knew my most profound thoughts, and I hers. Her friendship had been my foundation over the last year. I placed a hand over hers as we continued down the street.

  “HE’S BACK! MASA HENDRICKS JUST rode in.” A breathless Mary Grace blurted as she entered the library.

  I dropped the book I’d been reading and leaped to my feet. “Truly?”

  She bobbed her head, her eyes alight with happiness.