A Guardian of Slaves

by Naomi Finley

  We’d seen the fire at the Armstrong Plantation from Livingston, but by the time Ben and Jones got there with help, the kitchen house was gone.

  Nausea roiled in me. “What does Bowden intend to do?”

  “That’s the problem: until he recovers, there isn’t much he can do.”

  “Collins can’t get away with this. We have to tell the sheriff.”

  “And risk Bowden’s wrath? I think not.”

  I expelled a deep breath.

  “And don’t you go getting yourself involved. The last thing we need is Collins centering his vendetta on you and Whitney,” he said.

  “Mr. Tucker, you’re not employed to lollygag. Now, back to work.” The foreman smacked Knox’s shoulder on the way by.

  After leaving Knox, Tillie and I made our way back to the house in time for Ben’s arrival.

  AFTER MY RETURN TO LIVINGSTON, I sat in the study late one night, poring over my father’s journal. The chatter and pattering of feet around the house had dwindled hours ago. Even the quarters had grown still. Besides the crickets and an occasional owl hoot outside, I heard only the groaning and creaking of the house.

  The candles in the candelabra on the desk burned low and sputtered, threatening to immerse me in darkness. I shut the book and lifted a fist to stifle a yawn. The comfort of my bed called to me, but I picked up my mother’s ledger and opened it.

  Names and locations of slaves she’d helped free were recorded back to a few years before her death. I envisioned my mother hunched over this very desk. I could imagine the tautness in her shoulders and neck as she moved the quill across the pages and inscribed the freedom seekers’ details in the ledger.

  Page after page I read, trying to burn each and every name and location into my memory until the writing all became a blur of letters and numbers.

  Just one more page. I pushed on, scrolling the tip of my finger over the entries.

  My tired eyes almost passed over the name.

  My breathing stopped.

  No.

  It couldn’t be.

  It was impossible!

  I sat up straight, shook my head, and rubbed the sleepiness from my eyes before moving the candelabra closer.

  The entry read: Mag; age 3–6; last location, ship headed for New York; year 1832.

  Goosebumps peppered my body. The roots of my hair sprang awake.

  Could it be?

  No.

  But what if…could it be her?

  My heart flipped into my stomach. I looked from the book to the painting of my mother on the wall. “Is it her?”

  Is it… Tears compressed my throat. I slumped back in my chair.

  Jimmy had stated Mag was around that age when she was sold. But she’d been headed to a plantation in Virginia. How could she have ended up here?

  I had to tell him.

  I raced from the study with the ledger clasped under my arm. Through the French doors I bounded. Gathering the sides of my skirt in my hands, I raced toward his cabin.

  I beat on the door with a fist. “Jimmy! It’s Willow. I must talk to you.” I leaned against the stoop post, gasping and trying to catch my breath. My limbs trembled.

  Shuffles and murmurs came from inside. Through the cracks of the plank door, the faint yellow hue of a candle flickered. The door creaked open, and Jimmy’s sleep-laden face came alert with concern as he looked around it. “Evvything all right?”

  “I must speak to you. Please meet me in the study. It’s urgent.”

  His eyes widened, and he nodded.

  I returned to the house and met Mammy in the corridor, blinding me with the light of a lantern. Tendrils of her wooly mane peeked out from under her nightcap. “What you up to? Running ’bout in de middle of de night, making all dis racket?”

  “Mammy, could I trouble you to bring some coffee to the study, right away?”

  “At dis hour?” she grumbled, but she was already turning to head to the warming kitchen. She waddled down the corridor, her mutterings trailing behind her. “Dat gal’s going to be de end of me.”

  In the study, I paced the floor with the ledger clasped in my white-knuckled grip. Jimmy arrived, his face drenched with concern. I laid the ledger on the desk and flipped pages until I came to the entry. “Look what it says.” I traced my finger under the name.

  Silently, he read the line my finger indicated. The anguish I’d come to recognize over the loss of his daughter saturated his face. “What are you trying to say?”

  “This is the ledger containing every slave my mother helped.”

  Mammy returned with a tray of coffee and set it on the edge of the desk. She poured a cup for me, and I handed it to Jimmy.

  “Sit,” I said to him.

  He obeyed, sitting on the edge of the chair in front of the desk. “But dere ain’t no way of telling ef dat be my Mag.” His eyes fell to a stain on his trousers.

  “You’re right. But this child would be the same age as your Mag, and the date is around the same time she was sold. With Mother and Father gone, I’m afraid we don’t have much to go on. But the ledger says she was put on a ship to New York. I’ll have my contacts focus their search for the time being in New York. My friend Ruby has helped many slaves to freedom. I know it’s a bleak hope, but it’s more than we had before.”

  A shuffling of feet in the corridor followed by a cough alerted me of Ben’s approach. He appeared in the doorway dressed in his nightclothes, his eyes heavy with sleep, his blond hair tousled. “A staff meeting in the middle of the night?” he said with a yawn.

  “Come in. Maybe she mentioned something to you.”

  His eyes widened. “Who?”

  I picked up the ledger and carried it to him.

  “Gal has done gone and lost her mind.” Mammy handed Ben a coffee.

  He took a sip and squinted at the ledger I held up.

  “This child—do you know anything about her? Did Mother ever mention her?”

  “I remember her, all right. Your mother almost got herself and the child killed, along with you.”

  My heart pounded harder. “Me?”

  Jimmy rose to his feet and crept to my side.

  “Olivia found the child hiding on the plantation. Somehow, she’d escaped the slave traders. By the time Olivia found the child, the dogs had picked up the child’s scent. Your mother panicked and headed straight for the swamps. She knew it was their best bet at shaking them off their trail.

  “Your mother was due with you any week. But as she often did, she acted with her heart and didn’t stop to think what it could mean for the three of you. I wanted to take her over my knee and spank her myself for her carelessness. However, she used her wit and escaped the traders. The next morning, I ran into her as she and the child were doubling back.” His forehead creased as he tried to recall the day.

  “What else do you know of the child? Did she tell you anything?” I pulled on his arm and sloshed the coffee in his cup.

  “I never got to speak to her much. We disguised her as a boy. I rode into town and put her on a ship headed for New York.”

  “On our ships?”

  “Yes, but it was back when Charles wasn’t involved in Olivia’s efforts, and before their ships employed the crew we do now. Unfortunately, the child was hidden on board the vessel by a dockworker Olivia knew, and we were forced to send the girl on her own. I held out hope that she’d outsmarted the traders, and just maybe she’d be able to sneak around for food and keep hidden for the most part.”

  “Is there anything else? Did the child say anything to Mother? Like where she came from? Her parents? Anything?”

  “Slow down.” Ben put up a hand. “Why do you want to know so much about this child?”

  “I’ve reason to believe she may be Jimmy’s daughter.”

  Ben glanced at Jimmy with round eyes. “Father…wait a minute. Olivia did say the child said her papa had been sold. Didn’t say anything about her mother. Let me think.” He circled the room, still carrying his cof
fee. “Virginia. Her father was sold to a plantation in Virginia. No, it was her. She was to be sold to a plantation in Virginia.” He whirled around.

  “Mag…” A groan escaped from Jimmy. He stumbled forward.

  I grabbed for him. Ben set his coffee down and hurried to help. “Help me get him to the chair,” I said, looking over Jimmy’s head into Ben’s eyes.

  Jimmy’s body trembled, and a whimper came from deep within him as we lowered him into the chair. Kneeling in front of him, I clasped his hands in mine. A tear shed from his eye splattered on my hands and trickled between my fingers.

  “She escaped.” I tried to soothe him. “Ben got her on a ship. There’s a chance Mag is alive and living in New York or somewhere in the North.”

  He shook his head. “Stop.”

  “But it has to be her. You said she was a clever girl. If she managed to outsmart the traders and make it to Livingston, then I know she got to New York safely.”

  “No!” His voice rose before falling to an empty, pain-filled moan. “Please…don’t. My gal’s gone. I know your heart is good…but I can’t take dis.” He pushed to his feet and wove by me to the door.

  His footsteps were light and almost soundless as he walked down the hall. The click of the door closing behind him shattered me.

  I’d hurt him. Placed a branding iron on his soul. Never would he look at me the same way again.

  Never.

  SLEEP NEVER CAME TO ME that night. Ben had tried to console me, but it only made my tears come harder. He’d left my room, and soon the floorboards in the hallway groaned with Mammy’s weighted steps. She’d sat on my bed with her head resting against the headboard until I’d fallen asleep, as she’d often done when I was a child.

  The next morning I woke later than usual, and after dressing for the day, I sat at the stationary desk in my room and scripted a letter to William Still, updating him on the new information before I began writing a second letter to Ruby.

  Charleston, January 1853

  My dearest friend,

  I’m writing to ask your and Kipling’s assistance in locating a slave child that I have reason to believe may have passed through New York. She was placed on the vessel Olivia I in Charleston in the year of ’32, heading to New York.

  She would have been four to five years old when she escaped. Her given name was Mag. I know I’m grasping with so few facts, but if you could aid me in any way, I’d be forever in your debt.

  I look forward to your upcoming visit.

  Your friend,

  Willow

  I slipped the letter into an envelope and sealed it with our family crest. I’d see to it the letter was on the afternoon train. It was urgent that the message reach Ruby. Jimmy would never forgive me, but I couldn’t let the discovery of Mag’s passing through Livingston rest, and I’d keep my continued search a secret.

  “Tillie, please go to the stables and have a carriage readied. I’m going to town.”

  “Yessum.” She curtsied and left the room.

  She’d no sooner left before Whitney sailed into the room and plopped down on the edge of my bed. “I’ve been thinking…”

  “Why does that scare me.” I rose to my feet.

  She scrunched up her face. “You said that Silas came to Bowden’s aid, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he was offering his comfort to you in your distress?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Silas just happens to be on the road to rescue Bowden. Then he’s there for you to fall into his arms. It’s all so convenient, don’t you think?”

  “Are you suggesting that Silas is responsible for the accident?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. He planned it all out. So that you would be in town and he could be the hero in all of this when he’s the reason for it.”

  “Honestly, Whitney, listen to yourself. There’s no possible way Silas could know I was in town. Besides, Knox said Bowden believes Collins is responsible. I told you this.”

  Whitney hit the bed with the palm of her hand. “I know what you told me. You all are missing what’s right in front of your faces. I know you’re overwhelmed with everything that’s been going on, but wake up before it’s too late.”

  The earnestness in her eyes caused me to consider the possibility. “But why? What would be Silas’s motive in harming Bowden?”

  “Because there’s one person that stands between Silas winning you for himself and that’s Bowden.”

  “I can’t do this.” I rubbed a hand over my face. The pain behind my eyes increased with every word she spoke.

  “You’re smarter than most but you are blinded to who Silas Anderson really is. I hope you realize it before it’s too late.” She stood, ran her hands over the bodice of her blouse, and left without another word.

  I sighed, disheartened. Was I blind? Had I missed something? Whitney had openly expressed her dislike for Anderson on multiple occasions, and Bowden hadn’t been overly fond of him either. I’d believed it was because he might be jealous. Had I not felt the same threat over Miss O’Brien at the Christmas ball? Whitney didn’t like many people, and her instant dislike of Anderson was evident from our first encounter months ago.

  “Pete’s bringing de carriage ’round straightaway.” Tillie stood in the doorway grasping her side as if she had a stitch, trying to catch her breath.

  “Ready yourself for town and meet me downstairs.”

  Outside, Ben mounted the steps as I was descending. He looked from me to the holster belted on my waist. “And where do you think you are going?”

  “Town. If you think you’re going to stop me, I’ll save you the trouble. I’d suggest you come with us if that is your intent.”

  “I see why Charles’s temples pulsated with the very mention of your name. You, my darling, are your mother’s daughter for sure.”

  “Meaning we won’t be pushed around?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Does it offend you?” I arched a brow in defiance.

  “On the contrary. It was the one thing I admired about your mother. And it was what got her killed,” he said. “I can’t stop you any more then I could her. But if you think I’ll allow you to run around the countryside, unprotected and equipped as if you’re a hardened criminal, you’re mistaken.”

  My mouth twisted and I bit the corner of my mouth to hold back the words I wanted to unleash on him. “Understood,” I pushed out.

  “Good morning, Miss Hendricks.” The driver bowed with a hand placed on his waistline.

  I grumbled a reply and climbed into the carriage.

  Kipling

  “PAPERS FOR THE SLAVE.” THE Charleston harbormaster held out his hand.

  I removed the documents from my pocketbook.

  Taking the papers, the harbormaster eyed Ruby suspiciously over his spectacles. Ruby hung back, holding our satchels with her head bowed.

  “Looks like the rain is coming,” I said to the man.

  He grunted as he scanned the documents. Not the friendly sort. I held my breath.

  “How long will you and your manservant be in town?” the man asked.

  “Until the end of the month.”

  “What brings you to Charleston?”

  “Here to help my sister’s husband. He’s taken a fall from his horse and needs help managing his plantation.”

  “Got no overseer?” He laid questioning gray eyes on me.

  I rolled back my shoulders. “He does. You see, they aren’t rich folk and can only offer the man employment a few days a week. Surely you can understand the hardship of putting meat on the table,” I said.

  “What makes you think I’d know?”

  “A harbormaster can’t make that good of coin, can he?”

  His gaze hardened. My pulse geared up a notch.

  “Times are hard.” He folded the papers and handed them back to me. “Next,” he said and waved for me to move on.

  I could feel Ruby’s breath on my
neck as we hurried along the dock.

  “I’ll hire a carriage, and we’ll be on our way to Livingston,” I said. A raindrop hit the brim of my top hat.

  As we’d drawn closer to Charleston, Ruby’s jitters grew. It wasn’t the first time she’d been disguised to suit a purpose. Her quietness had puzzled me. When questioned on it, she’d said it was the worry of being found out that troubled her. Traveling unaccompanied with a woman was one thing, but with a colored woman would bring unwanted scrutiny. A master flaunting his bedmate around respectable, civilized folks was unacceptable. Sexual acts done behind closed doors were between the master and his property. Beautiful mulatto and colored women went for top dollar at the market. More than a skilled slave.

  The immoral ways of these men turned my stomach. They hid behind the spoken word and sinned without shame or remorse. All because they didn’t see the Negroes as human. People didn’t treat their livestock as poorly as they did the blacks. In the North, it was no different. Chains might not hang around the coloreds’ necks and ankles, but they were disregarded and treated as less than the whites. The Irish and blacks congested the Five Points. Ruby’s and my work in the slums gave us a perspective most chose to turn a blind eye to.

  The oppression and discrimination placed upon one for being different drove my passion, and I’d aligned my voice with many across the country.

  By the time we left Charleston behind and the countryside came into view, the skies had let go.

  I regarded Ruby where she sat across from me. “The threat of discovery has passed. Yet your smile has not returned. Are you not happy to be seeing Willow and Whitney again?”

  “Yes. Quite.” She stopped picking at the edge of the windowpane with the tip of her gloved finger.

  “Then why the solemn demeanor?”

  She smiled brightly, for my sake; the smile never left her mouth.