by Naomi Finley
“Where’s the child’s mother?” I managed to say.
“Dead. One day she went crazy and tied a rock to her ankle and jumped off the dock.” Lucille shrugged as if it were an everyday occurrence.
“And the child? Who watches her? Surely, she can’t survive without a mother.”
“She’s simple-minded. Incapable of any task you give her. Wanders around the place, oblivious to the world around her. Pa says he’s surprised an animal hasn’t carried her off by now.”
The casualness of her words cut through me. May God forgive me, but I wanted Lucille to suffer and suffer badly.
We moved on. With each step that guided me farther away from the child, the heavier my footfalls became.
I ambled through the quarters with my mind in a muddle. Lucille’s chatter continued, but not a word she said registered with me. At the end of the quarters, she led me out and around the back side of the shacks.
“You should be thankful I brought you down here. I avoid coming here, with all the disease and germs these people carry. Mother would be enraged if she found out, so don’t mention I brought you, all right?”
I wrung my hands on my skirt.
“Willow!”
“What?”
“Did you not hear what I said?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t. Let’s leave this place.”
“After you promise this remains our secret.”
“I promise.”
On the way to the house, I heard groaning from an outbuilding. “Did you hear that?” I said, coming to a stop.
She frowned. “What?”
“That noise. It sounds like it’s coming from over there.”
“I don’t hear anything.”
The groaning grew louder. “There it is again!”
She waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, you mean the wails of that slave. He’s been going on like that since last night. Even a pillow over my head couldn’t blot out his whining.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Pa took him in hand last night. We had some gentlemen and their wives over for some refreshments after the banquet. The slave bolted into the house and frightened our guests half to death.”
I raised a hand to my chest. “What caused the slave’s lunatic state of mind?”
“He is unruly. He thought they’d listen to his pleas that he’s free. But my pa has his papers. He bought him for top dollar down at the docks. You know these lazy niggers can’t think for themselves. They’re always trying to run off and find this promised land they chant about, but they don’t know the first thing about taking care of themselves. Without us, they’d all be corpses in the fields.” She walked on toward the house, leaving me no option but to follow her.
My mind swirled as I hurried to catch up. “I thought you had more control over your slaves,” I said. “The last thing you want is for folks to start talking about how the Carters can’t manage their blacks.”
“That won’t happen. My pa handled the situation right away. Whipped the ignorant fool right out in the front yard for all to see,” she said.
“He didn’t!” I shook my head in displeasure, then glanced askance at Lucille as she sucked back a breath. Shifting my expression to mortification, I continued, “I mean, how did your guests regard such an act? After an enchanting evening such as the Abbottses put on, and then to come here to pay witness to bloodshed and be reminded of the daily drudgeries of running a plantation…to tarnish the evening in such a way is…why…it’s downright nauseating. I do hope for your family’s sake that the townsfolk don’t turn that on your pa and refuse to accept future engagements. Especially after your pa was simply taking care of business.” I stopped and turned concerned eyes on her.
“No, they won’t…they mustn’t.” She chewed on the corner of her mouth.
That’s right, Lucille Carter. Squirm in your shoes.
I touched her shoulder with fictitious amity. “If I hear any chatter of ill thoughts toward your family, I’ll be sure to set them straight. Good Christian folk like you are simply doing the Lord’s work.” Bile rose in my mouth as I spoke the words.
“Maybe I’ve judged you wrong after all. Maybe you’re someone I could consider a friend. You’re different without that Northern girl trying to be your mouthpiece.” Her lips twisted into a sulk.
Hours later, Ben and I mounted our horses and headed for home. Out of sight of disapproving eyes, I spurred my horse into a gallop. Maybe the wind would cleanse my skin of my shame at speaking those words that afternoon.
TWILIGHT HAD FADED OUT, AND a blanket of darkness engulfed the Carter plantation a few days later. Ben and I waited behind a massive oak at the tree line by the quarters, where smoke from the chimneys painted milky wisps across the sky. We studied the comings and goings on the plantation while Whitney tied the horses a short distance away. Murmured conversation came from a few slaves sitting on tree stumps by a crackling open fire.
“We must be careful,” I said. “Carter’s known to shoot without questioning.”
The crunch of footsteps on undergrowth and branches launched my heart into my throat, and I clutched Ben’s arm. We spun toward Whitney, who threw her hands up.
“It’s me,” she whispered.
“Lift your feet,” I said. “If we’d wanted to alert the whole plantation, we would’ve ridden up the front lane.” My nerves hummed.
“How can you be sure it’s him?” she asked, crouching down.
“We aren’t. But if this man is as determined as he’s said to be, Mr. Carter will kill him before he breaks him. Therefore, he needs our help.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Whitney said, jolting as a shiver ran through her.
“As we planned, straight in and straight out. No distractions,” Ben said, and stepped out into the open.
Whitney and I shared a look. Her eyes mirrored the panic I’d fought to calm all evening.
We hurried to catch up to Ben. The quilt of stars and moon above stretched our silhouettes, pouring them like fluid across the ground as we raced toward the outbuilding. Our light, stealthy footsteps rumbled like thunderbolts in my ears.
At the outbuilding, we flattened against the wall. I closed my eyes and struggled to still my ragged breaths. Fear stabbed its blade into the pit of my stomach. Please, help us get out of here.
“Go!” Whitney whispered, giving me a shove.
I opened my eyes and turned to find Ben had disappeared. I moved to the corner of the building and peeked around. The door was slightly ajar, which meant Ben had to be inside. Whitney and I scurried inside after him.
Body odor mixed with the damp and moldy smell of the building, and visibility was minimal. Light from the night sky that pushed through the cracks of the walls would be our guide. I squinted, trying to get a feel for my surroundings. To my right were a carriage and some crates. Dark shadows enveloped other objects in the room.
“Over here,” Ben said. Whitney and I moved in the direction of his voice.
Light seeping into the building revealed a man sitting on the floor, naked as the day he was born. A chain secured one of his ankles to the floor. Around his neck he wore an iron collar used to torture slaves. Three prongs poked out from the collar, making it impossible to rest. Slave owners used the collars to keep their slaves from running, as the prongs had hooks on the ends that would get caught in wooded areas. An iron bit designed for a horse was wedged into the man’s mouth. The whites of his eyes were bright in the darkness as he stared at us.
“We’re going to get you out of here,” I said.
Ben dropped the knapsack he carried to the ground. He removed a file. Wasting no time, he knelt and began to file at the chain securing the ankle shackle.
“How are we going to get out of here with that contraption on his neck?” Whitney asked.
“Very carefully.” Ben’s words came out winded by the vigorous movement of filing.
Time dragged. Slow. Painful. My hands knotted with each scrape of
the file. Every noise outside ceased Ben’s movement, and our breath would catch. Then Ben would start to file again.
What had to have been an hour, maybe two, passed. Finally the chain gave way. “There,” Ben said. “We’re through.”
“Let’s—” Approaching footsteps cut off my words.
“I’m going to check and see if he’s still breathing,” a man said, his voice sounding slurred.
“I’ll wait for you at your cabin,” a woman said.
“You do that, darling. I won’t be long.”
A wave of fear pumped through me.
Footsteps moved further away before heavy footsteps advanced. A belch came from the man as he circled the building to the front door.
“What the hell…” His shadow darkened the doorway.
“Get down.” Whitney pulled me out of sight.
Rustling in the corner by the door made my heart miss a beat. Before I could see what was scurrying around there, the door pushed open. I held my breath as moonlight flooded the interior, creeping around a man’s bulk blocking the doorway. The man stepped inside.
The scurrying sound came again.
“Show yourself!” his voice boomed.
I clutched Ben’s hand. No, no, no.
“What are you doing in here?” The man’s voice hitched with surprise.
“Mama?” a tiny voice spoke.
I peeked from my hiding place behind some barrels and crates.
The orphan child from the quarters stood in front of the man. She’d been in here all along. Would she give us away?
“Get out of here before you find yourself in the river like your ma.” His massive hand capped the back of her head and he sent her sailing out the door. She landed in a heap on the ground.
The man took another step, and I pulled back and crouched low. His ponderous steps scraped across the floor until he stopped in front of the man on the floor.
Please don’t see the break in the chain.
He loomed over the man, so close I could reach out and grab the back of his coat without fully extending my arm. My lungs felt like they’d burst at any second. I slowly exhaled, then inhaled the fruity scent of liquor oozing from the man.
He grunted. An impolite noise fit only for the privy ripped through the building, followed by a foul odor that threatened to gag me. “I see you may survive this life yet. That’s if the damn fool doesn’t kill you first.” He spun and walked toward the door while grumbling to himself, “The man never learns. Out cold on the back veranda already, and the night is still young. Can’t handle his drink like some of us.”
He closed the door behind him. A scraping noise followed by a thud made me gasp. Ben cursed quietly. He too knew the significance of the sound.
A plank now sealed the door shut.
When the man’s footfalls faded, we rose to our feet.
“This is just wonderful!” Whitney said in a low snarl. “How are we getting out—”
A movement at the door stole her words.
No!
The plank on the door scraped.
My stomach dropped with dread. We dove into our hiding place, and I squeezed my eyes shut. This was it. We’d be found for sure.
As the light shuffling of footsteps moved toward us, I opened my eyes and peeked through the crack.
It was the girl from the quarters.
I rose to my feet. Whitney pulled at the hem of my skirt in an attempt to get me to stay down. “Hello, little one,” I whispered.
The child tilted her head to look at me with big, round eyes before they flitted to Whitney and Ben as they slipped out of their hiding places. The child pointed at the man on the floor, then to us. Her fingers curled toward herself, summoning us to come.
Ben didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his knapsack, scrambled to the man’s side, and lifted him to his feet, keeping his head low to avoid being pierced by the hooks of the man’s collar.
Outside, Whitney slid the plank back into place.
“Thank you,” I whispered to the child.
“Let’s go!” Whitney cast a look around.
Ben was already making his way toward the tree line.
“We can’t just leave her. She has no one.”
Whitney grasped my arm in a firm grip. “Do you want to endanger everyone?”
“Come.” I held out a hand to the child.
She craned her head as if trying to figure out our intention, then scurried toward the cypress forest.
Don’t go!
Whitney snatched my wrist and pulled me. “Come on!”
Ben was waiting for us when we arrived at the tree.
“One of you is going to have to help me. He’s passed out.”
Draping the man’s other arm over my shoulder, I planted my heels in the ground for support.
“Got him?” Ben asked.
“Not for long.” I felt the hook of a prong snag a loop of my hair.
With each step we made toward the horses, the hook ripped at my hair. Tears sprang to my eyes from the pain, and I stumbled under the weight of the man.
“You all right?” Ben said, breathing heavily.
Without answering, I steadied myself and adjusted the man’s arm. Our steps now aligned, Ben’s and my pace picked up.
At the horses, we managed to get the man on a horse. His naked body slumped forward, and Ben grabbed for him before his collar hooked the horse and sent the animal rearing. In one swift movement, Ben swung up behind him. Whitney and I mounted our horses. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a movement. The tall grass parted, and the child stepped out.
“Look!” I pointed in her direction, then slid to the ground.
“Willow, get back on your horse this instant!” Whitney said through gritted teeth.
“Here.” I shoved my reins at her hands.
Slowly, I edged toward the child. As I drew nearer, I held out a hand and dropped to my knees. She crept back a step or two, eyeing her surroundings.
“I won’t hurt you.”
Her eyes shifted from me to the others. She didn’t move.
“We must hurry before the bad men get us,” I said. “They hurt that man really bad.”
Her body trembled.
A thought came to me, and I reached up and removed my pearl earrings. “Pretty.” I held them in the palm of my hand for her to see.
Her brow wrinkled.
“We must go!” Ben said.
The child looked from him to me. I thrust my hand at her. “For you.”
She crept forward, and my heart hammered with anticipation. Come on…
Her fingers touched the palm of my hand, and in a flash, she scooped up the earrings. I didn’t move, afraid a slight movement or breath would frighten the child.
Her eyes touched mine, and she said, “You good?”
I nodded.
“Help Toby?” She pointed at the unconscious man on the horse.
Toby? It was Toby! “Yes.”
She inched closer and rested her small, warm hand in mine. Carefully, I pushed myself upright. “I’ll take you to a safe place.”
“Heaven?”
I smiled down at her upturned face. “No.”
She appeared content with my answer.
As we approached the horses, I leaned down and picked up the child. Her body felt fragile and weightless as I sat her on my horse. She gripped at its mane while I hauled myself up behind her.
We rode hard toward Livingston without looking back.
AS INSTRUCTED, MAMMY AND JIMMY had waited for our return. Ben and Jimmy took the man to the stables where they removed the iron collar and bit. During the process, Ben said the man had groaned and cried while slipping in and out of consciousness.
In Mammy and Tillie’s room, Ben tended to the man’s wounds. Tillie had taken the child to the warming kitchen to feed her before they’d wandered upstairs to bathe the girl. I stood in the doorway of the room and watched Ben at work. On a trunk between the two beds, the lantern flickered and cast
shadows around the room. Ben glided the needle through the skin on the back of the man the child had called Toby.
“Do you think he’ll be all right?” I asked.
“Some of these lacerations are infected, but with proper care and rest, he should be fine.”
The skin on the man’s neck was raw and darkened from the chafing of the collar. His mouth arched back at the corners where the iron bit had once been.
“I’ll sleep in here tonight to watch over him,” Ben said. “Tomorrow we must move them before Carter and his men show up.”
“Will he be stable enough to be moved?” I recalled the slave from a few months ago.
“It won’t be easy for him, but if he has the will he’s said to have, then he’ll find the strength.”
I sat in the warming kitchen, sipping at the tea Mammy had set out. Between sips, I gazed blankly at the brown liquid in the bottom of the blue-flowered china cup.
“Worries will steal your youth.” Ben placed a gentle hand on my wrist as he slipped into the other chair at the small table.
“Worry and fear seem to be the only emotions I’m capable of lately.” I studied the low-burning candle sitting in the middle of the table, then moved my hand to pick at the drips of wax rolling down the sides.
“It troubles me to see you like this.”
“I find myself wondering if Father may have felt the same. Is that why he was distant and disconnected? I know I can’t live in the past and keep questioning it, but there are so many unanswered questions I still long to put to rest.”
Ben cleared his throat, and I shifted my gaze to observe his face. “What is it?”
“Charles was a complicated man.”
“I’m aware.”
“There are things you must know about your father. Things I’ve been waiting to tell you for some time but never felt the timing was right. I don’t want to keep anything from you.”
“Then don’t.”
“When we were in London, Sam found a ledger Olivia kept of slaves she’d given aid to, along with a journal. Charles’s journal. The journal may help shed light on your father’s deepest thoughts. It may help you find some peace. But it also may reveal things you don’t want to know, or bring you more questions.”
