A Guardian of Slaves

by Naomi Finley

  Bowden

  “I’LL HAVE THE REST OF your supplies delivered by the end of the week,” Miss Smith said as we exited the general store and stepped out into the loading yard.

  “Much appreciated.” I tipped my hat while juggling the bags of goods I held in my arms.

  “I hope you catch the persons responsible.”

  “With the tightening of security at the plantation, I’ll nab the culprits sooner or later.” My jaw clenched at the memory of the flames engulfing the kitchen house.

  The cowards had waited until the plantation had settled for the night before setting the fire. The blast of a gunshot had awakened me. Whoever had started the fire had wanted me to bear witness to the calamity. They’d made their presence known and their warning clear.

  Slaves and overseers had come together with me to save the kitchen house, but it’d been no use. Today the outbuilding lay in shambles. Nothing but cinders, smoke, and the chimney of the stone fireplace remained.

  “Mr. Williams says de rest of de lumber be delivered tomorrow sometime,” Gray said, running into the yard. I’d sent him to order lumber for the rebuild.

  “The wagon loaded with what’s available?” I asked.

  He mopped the sweat from his brow with the cuff of his shirt. “Yes, Masa.”

  “Bring the wagon around and we’ll be on our way.”

  Gray spun and ran back the way he’d come.

  Under the seat of the wagon, I placed the bags of flour, sugar, and other goods I held in my arms. Miss Smith added the products she carried alongside mine.

  Her eyes dropped to the holster on my waist. “You’d think it was Indian territory, with all you men carrying weapons lately.” She smoothed back a wisp of her hair. “Sets me on edge with the jumpiness of folks. Someone is bound to get hurt. Or end up dead.”

  “Let’s hope not.” I climbed up to the wagon seat and untied the reins. I sat down and gave the reins a crack.

  I guided the horses between the general store and the neighboring building to the main street. As I broke the shadows of the buildings, I spied a familiar face. Across the street, directly in my line of vision, he stood, watching me. When he was sure he’d captured my attention, he flipped back his coat to reveal his gun. A cocky grin broke across his face.

  Collins!

  I turned the wagon onto the street. My eyes chiseled through him. He moved his hand and let his coat fall. With a finger to the brim of his hat, he dipped his head in greeting. His eyes looked past me. The smugness vanished, replaced with loathing.

  My ears tuned to the squeaking of wagon wheels behind me. I checked over my shoulder as Gray pulled his wagon onto the street. I swung back to look at Collins.

  “It’s a fine day for a little adventure, isn’t it, Mr. Armstrong.” His eyes turned to slits before he spun on his heels and stalked off.

  I heeded his threat. When Gray and I were safely beyond the town line, I pulled my team of horses to a stop and jumped down.

  I walked up to Gray as he hauled back on his reins. “Whoa, boys.” He turned worried eyes on me. “What’s de trouble, Masa.”

  “You see Collins?”

  “I saw him all right.” Gray’s mouth tightened.

  “I don’t trust the man. Keep a lookout.”

  “You suppose he’s de one who set fire to de kitchen house?”

  “It’s a good possibility.” I removed a revolver from my holster. “Keep this close in case we receive visitors.”

  “But, Masa, a slave ain’t supposed to have no gun. Ef folks—”

  “Take it!” I said, shoving the gun at him.

  He took it without further questioning and placed it on the seat beside him, his eyes surveying the woods.

  I walked back to the wagon and climbed up. My jaw ached from the clenching of my teeth. As I whipped the reins and the convoy lurched forward, Miss Smith’s words from earlier played in my head: “Do you have enemies, Mr. Armstrong?”

  One.

  I was confident of that now.

  I gave the reins another crack, and the horses sped up.

  It all happened so fast. I didn’t know what was happening until I was flying through the air and hit the ground with bone-crushing force. The reins snarled in my arms as the team tore down the road, dragging me behind them.

  The weaving of the horses threw me back and forth like the waves slamming the sea wall during a hurricane. Rocks and debris chewed at my face and body, mangling my flesh, sending fire surging through every nerve. Never had I felt such pain.

  Blocking out the pain, I twisted and tore at the reins, trying to slow the horses and gain control. “Whoa,” I cried between mouthfuls of dirt, blinded by the cloud of dust kicked up by thundering hooves threatening to grind my brains into the ground.

  This is it! This is how I’ll die.

  Her face entered my mind seconds before my face slammed into the rock that catapulted me into a tunnel of black.

  Willow.

  Willow

  BEN HAD ARRANGED A MEETING with Sam at his office to review my father’s will for the second time.

  Reading the will with my own eyes, I slumped back in my chair.

  Her name was Callie. She was the daughter of a dressmaker in London. She was my father’s heir. Yet he left her the town home in London and nothing more.

  “Why would he not leave her part of his businesses and estates here in America?”

  “That remains a mystery to us all.”

  “So far his journal says nothing of her existence.”

  “It was a secret he wanted to keep hidden,” Ben said.

  “Did my mother know?”

  Ben stared down at his hands. “Another mystery.”

  I looked at Sam. “Did she?”

  “He never said. She’d passed by the time he had his will redone. Your father and I’d been friends since we were boys. He never mentioned the girl until the day he came to redo the will.”

  “When was that?” I said.

  “About a year before his death,” Sam said. He grimaced as his mind drifted.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I was thinking back to our conversation that day.”

  “And?”

  The eerie stillness that fell on the room chilled my blood.

  “He said he’d thought someone was watching him,” Sam said.

  Ben and I sat up straighter.

  “What exactly did my father say?”

  “He said he’d noticed a man observing Livingston on horseback. I’d questioned him, thinking maybe it was you he’d spotted,” Sam said to Ben. “But then he went on to say on a few occasions he’d seen a man around town that hung back, watching him.”

  I leaned forward. “Did he ever confront the man?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Do you believe my brother was concerned for his life?”

  Elbows on his desk, Sam rested his hands under his chin in thought. “There’s no way of knowing that now.” Regret pulled at his face. “I dismissed his concerns at the time. Chalked up his paranoia to working too hard and the amount of stress he was under.”

  “Did Father say what this man looked like?”

  “No.” Sam fumbled with some papers at the edge of his desk.

  “Did he ever mention to you that he thought he was being watched?” I said to Ben.

  “Never. But he did seek me out one day after the Barry fire. His mood was none too pleasant. Told me if I let you out of my sight for a second, it’d be the last time I’d lay eyes on you. I’d thought it was a precaution due to the madness of the townsfolk and he didn’t want you getting in the way.”

  “And now?” I said.

  “I’m not sure.” He stood and went to the window. “Let’s say Charles was being watched. What was the man’s motive? Where is he now?”

  “I’ve seen no one,” I said. “Have you?”

  “No,” Ben said. He straightened, shoulders back, feet rooted to the floor.

  Wa
s someone out there watching us? Why hadn’t they revealed themselves? What did Ben intend to do?

  A commotion outside beckoned us all to the window.

  A man on a horse galloped at full speed down the road. “Clear out of the way,” he yelled. People dove in every direction to avoid being trampled. The rider flashed by the window.

  Silas?

  Behind him, a colored man drove a wagon loaded with lumber as if the rightful owner were hot on his trail. Slouched on the front seat beside him was a man. His clothes were torn and covered in blood and filth.

  Gray?

  What in heaven’s name was going on?

  “It’s Gray.” I dashed for the door. “Someone’s been injured.”

  Footsteps pounded behind me.

  On the boardwalk, I peered down the street in the direction they’d gone. The wagon had stopped outside of the doctor’s office. I gathered my skirt and ran.

  “Willow!” Ben called behind me. I didn’t stop.

  Gray pushed by me into the doctor’s office. People flocked around the wagon. They murmured and gasped in horror at the slouched figure on the front seat.

  I pushed through the observers to get a better view.

  “Get out of the way. Move,” the doctor’s voice bellowed. He pushed by me and climbed up on the wagon.

  Gray moved closer. “Gray!” I grabbed his arm. “What happened? Who’s injured?”

  Gray turned stunned, worried eyes on me. “Masa Bowden. De horses gave way and dey dragged him clear down de road. Ef et warn’t for Mr. Anderson, Masa be dead for sho’.” Tears thickened Gray’s voice.

  What? No! It can’t be. My eyes flew back to the man behind the people crowding the space around the wagon. My hand slipped to my forehead. The voices around me muffled and blurred.

  Strong arms reached for me and closed around me.

  “Gray…” My sobs were absorbed by his chest. “I can’t lose him.” His hand stroked my hair. I sobbed harder. My fingers clenched the fiber of his shirt. The sweet scent of his—

  I pulled back. “Mr. Anderson. I thought…” The blood drained from my face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

  His face filled with concern. “No need to explain, Miss Hendricks. Let me find you a place to sit down.” He reached for my arm.

  I yanked it away. “No. I need to see Bowden.” My eyes searched the smothering bodies until I located Sam in the crowd.

  “Sam!” I plowed my way toward him.

  “Come on now, people, move out of the way,” Silas’s voice boomed.

  The sea of bodies parted and I hurried to Sam. “Where’s my uncle?”

  “Inside with the doctor.” Sam’s face was taut with concern.

  “I need to see Bowden.”

  Sam swallowed hard and took my elbow to turn me away. “I don’t…I don’t think that’s best right now.”

  “I don’t care what you think!” I spun and pushed my way to the front door of the office. I needed to see him. I had to.

  “Miss Hendricks, you mustn’t go in there,” a woman said.

  Paying her no mind, I opened the door and stepped inside and closed the door behind me.

  “Those horses messed him up pretty bad,” the doctor was saying. “If he lives, he’ll be scarred for life.”

  I walked down the hallway to the room their voices were coming from. Gray stood just inside. At the doorway, I shut my eyes and inhaled a deep breath before opening them.

  Scissors in hand, the doctor cut open what remained of Bowden’s shirt. A gasp escaped me at what I saw. I lifted a fist to my mouth. My teeth bit into my knuckles.

  The doctor and Ben turned to me. Ben’s face paled, and he closed the distance between us. “You shouldn’t be in here.” He shielded my view with his body.

  “I must see him.” I peered up at him through bleary eyes. “Please don’t stop me,” I said softly.

  Ben’s mouth set in a grim line. He rested an arm around my shoulders and guided me toward the table where Bowden lay. Each step grew heavier as I took in the extent of Bowden’s battered body. His shirt now lay open. Layers of his chest had been peeled back, the flesh mangled like pulverized meat. I lifted a hand to stifle a sob. Creeping closer, I shifted my gaze to his face. Bruises and gashes with the accompanying swelling made him almost unrecognizable.

  “From what the slave says, he should be dead,” the doctor said. “If it hadn’t been for Mr. Anderson, he would be.”

  “What does Anderson have to do with this?” I said.

  “Gray says Anderson was headed to town when he saw the team charging down the road. Anderson managed to stop them,” Ben said.

  Bowden stirred on the table. A low groan came from him before horrifying, agonizing cries deafened the room. His back arched and his body thrashed wildly.

  “Hold him down. He’s coming to,” the doctor ordered, gesturing to Ben and Gray. The doctor reached for a cloth and a bottle labeled Chloroform.

  I leaned down and whispered in Bowden’s ear, “Fight. You mustn’t give up.”

  “Will…” a hoarse rasp came from him. “W-Wi—”

  “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere until you’re back on your feet.”

  His body convulsed and a scream of pain parted his lips.

  The doctor placed the cloth over his mouth. Bowden’s legs kicked and then grew still. His head dropped to the side.

  “Now, young lady, I need you to leave. You take her.” He motioned to Gray. “Mr. Hendricks, I could use your help.”

  Ben removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves. “Take her home, Gray,” he said.

  “I won’t go home.”

  “Willow, not now,” Ben said as he washed his hands in a basin.

  I followed Gray from the room.

  On the boardwalk, I avoided eye contact and turned to walk down the street.

  “How is he?” Silas’s voice stopped my departure.

  I turned to face him. “I don’t know.”

  “Can I do anything for you? I could take you home.”

  “I’m not leaving here until I know how he’s doing. But thank you, Mr. Anderson.” I turned to walk away but stopped. “I want to personally thank you for stopping those horses.”

  “I only did what any decent fellow would do,” he said. “I hope he pulls through. I have business to attend to, but if you need me for any reason, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll be back to check on Mr. Armstrong.” He gently touched my elbow.

  “Good day.” I reeled and continued down the boardwalk.

  OVER A WEEK HAD PASSED since Bowden’s accident. Ben had returned to Livingston to help Whitney while I remained in Charleston at our townhouse. Ben had sent Tillie to attend to my needs.

  Our Charleston home was managed by a freed black family in our absence. Though their faces were familiar from their years of service, they were practically strangers, as time spent at our home in town was limited to the odd summer and during social season. I missed the comfort of Livingston and all the ones I held dear.

  Bowden was recovering at Knox’s until the doctor thought it was safe for him to be transported home. Ben and the doctor had spent hours repairing the damage to Bowden’s body. It wasn’t the broken ribs or leg that concerned me, but how Bowden’s mental well-being would be affected by his physical appearance. The doctor had said in time Bowden would heal, but the damage from being dragged by the horses would leave permanent scars. The first few days the doctor had administered laudanum to manage the pain. I’d sat by Bowden’s bedside while he’d drifted in and out of reality.

  After the doctor gave his approval for Bowden to be moved to Knox’s, Ben and I’d gone to pay him a visit. The woman Bowden hired to aid him in his recovery while Knox was at the docks turned us away at the door, telling us Bowden had requested no visitors. Each day I tried to see him, but to no avail.

  Ben would be returning today to take Tillie and me home. My time was needed at Livingston. Before my departure, I wanted to speak with Knox about
Bowden’s condition. Tillie and I made our way down the dock in search of him.

  We spotted him as he left a merchant ship and crossed the gangplank to the pier. I called to him. Once he located the sound of my voice, he waved and strode over to us.

  “What brings you down to the docks?” he asked. The usual good cheer that enveloped Knox was absent.

  “I’ve been filling my time at the warehouses with Captain Gillies. He’s been teaching Parker, a boy from the quarters, all the ins and outs of being a sailor in the Hendrickses’ employ. I needed something to keep my mind off of Bowden.”

  “I see.”

  “How is he today?” I asked, over the squawking of the seagulls above.

  “Out of bed, finally. That busted leg has him foaming at the mouth.”

  “Only the leg?”

  “The leg keeps him from riding on out of here. Wants nothing more than to hide from the world. Lucky for him his chest and legs got the worst of it.”

  “You consider that lucky?”

  “Guess not. But clothing will hide most of the scars once he heals.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “You can forget that idea. Above the rest, you’re the one he wants to avoid.”

  “Why?”

  “Says you won’t want half a man,” he said.

  I gaped at him a moment before I said, “I care not a whit for what anyone’s appearance may be.”

  “I know that. But tell that to Bowden.” He shook his head. “He’s as stubborn as they come and he’s got it in his head that you won’t ever look at him the same again. He’s in a real dark place. Maybe that’ll change in time. Don’t tear yourself up over it. Only Bowden can change what’s going on in his head. Besides, until he figures out who did this—”

  “Who did what?”

  “I suppose you wouldn’t have heard. The accident was no accident.”

  My heart missed a beat. “What?”

  “The harnesses were cut. Someone intended to take Bowden out or leave him near death.”

  “But who…why?”

  “Gray came to tell me right after it happened. Said that a man by the name of Collins, who was employed by Bowden, may be responsible. After Bowden caught him mistreating Gray, he let him go. Gray said Collins was spitting mad. On the day of the accident, Collins was in town. Doesn’t prove much, but after speaking to Bowden, he’s almost certain he’s the one responsible for the accident and the kitchen house.”