A Guardian of Slaves

by Naomi Finley

  The constable and his men come to stand with us. I scurried back in the shadows behind Mr. Armstrong. I’m not used to being in the company of men alone, and thoughts of what happened to Mary Grace out in these woods snatched at my mind. A whole other kind of panic slithered up my back and over my shoulders and down—

  “Tillie!” Mr. Armstrong’s voice stopped my runaway mind.

  “I’m listening, sir.”

  “We’ll take care of Caesar and Collins. When we get there, you go straight inside. You got it?”

  “Yes, sir.” I bobbed my head.

  “If Anderson gets a notion something’s up, he could return sooner than expected,” Mr. Armstrong said.

  “And we’ll be ready.” Mr. Sterling’s feet shifted on the ground. “The good folks of Charleston will be happy to know they can sleep at night, once this criminal’s done away with. I hope your and Mr. Hendricks’s suspicions will prove to be right.”

  Mr. Armstrong widened his stance, and he rested all his weight on his heels. “Do you have another plan? Anderson’s responsible for all the mishaps around these parts, and folks have yet to bring the masked men in.”

  The constable rocked in his boots like he was considering what Mr. Armstrong was saying. But they tied the horses up, and we moved forward. We crept through the trees, making sure to stay low. Every branch that snapped under the men’s feet sent my eyes to scan the woods. Each snatch of my skirts by the underbrush sucked the wetness from my pores. I imagined for a moment the fear and panic the freedom seekers went through as they raced across rivers and through swamps in search of the promised land, hiding from the bloodhounds and slave traders.

  Ahead, the trees thinned, and Mr. Anderson’s homestead came into view. We paused to stake the place out. I spotted Caesar first. He walked across the work yard with a load of lumber over his shoulder. The man they called Collins had to be the other man coming out of the barn, the man I’d seen ride up to the house back when I’d been hired by Mr. Anderson.

  “You go around that way and slip in on the north side of the house.” Mr. Armstrong gave me a nudge.

  I hesitated as panic rooted my feet to the ground.

  “Girl, you can’t get cold feet now. Go!” Mr. Armstrong’s voice sounded agitated.

  I zigzagged through the trees to the river and circled around to the other side of the house. I looked across the work yard to where Mr. Armstrong and the others were, and from my position, I couldn’t see any sign of them.

  I tilted my head to the heavens. You watching me, right, Lard?

  Not waiting for a reply because sometimes the Lord takes his good old time answering, I ran to the side of the house. I pushed out a breath as I lay snug against the wall like the slaves’ clothes after Preacher John dips them in the river.

  You got to do dis. Dey’re counting on you. I tried to stoke some courage in myself. Swallowing to coat my dry tongue, I poked my head around the corner of the house. I spotted Mr. Armstrong and the other men skulking from the woods.

  I didn’t wait to see no more. I dashed around the house and up the front steps and into the house. The licking my heart was taking on my ribs grew as the smell of Mr. Anderson’s recently smoked cigar tickled my nose.

  Masa Hendricks said not to put myself in any unnecessary danger, and Miss Willow had laughed at him. She hadn’t been herself since she came back from their ride in the woods the other day. Worry had kept her feet from staying still. Under her gown, her foot had tapped repetitively on the floorboards. Plumb scared. Now I aimed to put her faith in me to good use. I started at the rear of the house and made way to the front.

  Outside, I heard the surprised voice of a man. “What in the—”

  His words were cut off, and I heard a cry of pain. The racket that followed after made me move faster.

  “Get in and get out,” Masa Ben had said.

  Finding nothing in Mr. Anderson’s chambers, I moved down the small corridor to the study. I dug around in the papers on the desk, and my trembling hands halted midair at the pounding of footsteps coming up the steps. I ran to the doorway to make sure it was the right men coming in the house.

  “You find anything?” Mr. Armstrong asked as the door crashed open.

  I let out a breath. “Not yet, sir.”

  “Does the place have a study or library?” Mr. Sterling asked.

  “That way.” I pointed to the door to my right.

  “I’ll take the study. You and the slave take the parlor.” The constable’s boots shimmied past me.

  Mr. Armstrong darted for the parlor, and I hurried after him. His strides leaped across the hallway into the room without hesitation. Outside the wide doorway, I stopped at the movement of the third board in the hall under my feet. I dropped my eyes and lifted my dress a smidgen to view the plank under my feet. The board had some give to it, but it wasn’t like the ones surrounding it.

  Dropping to my knees, I ran my fingers along the boards. One board seemed tighter than the rest and something about it didn’t seem right. I hauled myself to my feet and went in search of something to wedge in the gap. Finding a butter knife in the small warming kitchen, I returned to the board. I used the palm of my hand to hit the back of the blade to jam it in the crack before putting some pressure behind it. My heart knocked rapidly as the board gave way.

  Lifting the board, I peered down into the compartment below. Inside the narrow space, no bigger than a small bag of sugar, lay coins, papers, jewels, a wedding band, and a pocket watch, along with newspaper clippings amongst other rich folks’ belongings.

  The Charleston Mercury

  Official Account of Last Hour and Death of Mr. Hendricks,

  Charleston, South Carolina, October 15, 1851.

  Gentlemen: Last eve, at the age of 60 years, Mr. Charles Hendricks expired.

  Our town unites in great sadness over the loss of a great man.

  I flipped through the other documents and newspaper pieces.

  “Mister…” I called to Mr. Armstrong.

  No answer came. The papers rattled between my trembling fingers.

  “Mr. Armstrong,” I said louder.

  The slamming of drawers and rustling of books inside the room stopped. “What is it? You find something?”

  “Yes, sir.” I held up the papers, and he raced toward me. He ripped the clippings from my hand, and his eyes fell to the hole in the floor. “Mr. Sterling, get out here, and make it quick.”

  I scrambled to my feet and stood back as the men scooped the things from the hole. Mr. Armstrong took extra interest in the gold watch.

  “This watch is the one the robbers took from Mr. Hendricks,” he said grimly.

  “How can you be certain?” Mr. Sterling said.

  “Look at the engraving.”

  “To the keeper of my heart, Olivia,” the constable read. “Olivia, as in Charles Hendricks’s wife?”

  “I’d say so,” Mr. Armstrong said.

  “What’s the brother doing with the watch?”

  “Willow must’ve given it to him after her father passed.”

  The constable’s body relaxed. “Let’s get these things collected. I reckon we got the culprits responsible. Now we wait for Anderson’s return.”

  The men got to their feet and headed for the door. On their way out, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “You did good, girl. Let’s get you home before Anderson returns,” Mr. Armstrong said.

  “Now evvybody is safe, right?” My heart dared hope.

  “Thanks to your find. How’d you know about the trap door?”

  “Dat floor had some give in et.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Ef you excuse me for saying, sir, you and Mr. Sterling warn’t exactly taking et easy. More lak charging ’bout de place, lak de animals in de corral had bin let loose.” Something in me drew my head up and I looked him in the eye.

  A glimmer played in his pretty eyes, and heat like when I caught sight of Pete from the quarters swirled up
from my belly and over my face before I dropped my head.

  He’s a masa and Miss Willow’s gentleman, whether she lak et or not. Now, don’t you go acting lak a silly filly over his simple kindness, I scolded myself before following the nice man outside.

  Willow

  THE LUSH COUNTRYSIDE APPEARED BLEAK and unmoving as we rode along in our open black carriage. During the last tortuous hours spent in Silas’s presence, I’d struggled to keep my thoughts from wandering to what might or might not be going on at the widow’s farm. Thankfully, Ben carried most of the conversation. His ingenious sham marriage arrangement with the monster who sat across from me allowed me to sulk over my unhappiness with the situation for most of the ride.

  Our carriage turned the last bend en route to the widow’s plantation, and I repressed a shudder. The worry of something going wrong had haunted at me all afternoon.

  “We can avoid an extravagant wedding and be married quickly,” Silas said.

  “Have you forgotten who I am?” My grip tightened on my parasol. “Folks will expect nothing but the best from the Hendrickses. A wedding will take months of planning.”

  “She may be right in this one.” Ben encircled my shoulders with an arm.

  I cringed from his touch and pressed my body against the side of the carriage. Convincing Silas of the animosity my uncle and I bore toward each other was essential to the success of Ben’s and my ruse.

  Silas lapped up the apparent dislike between us. “Upon our marriage, you will avoid all contact with the Barry woman,” he said.

  “I think not,” I retorted before I could catch myself.

  The look I’d witnessed on the boardwalk sheathed his face, and a mystifying flicker blazed in his eyes before his expression became vacant. “You have much to learn, Olivia.”

  A chill wave coursed over me and I heard Ben suck in a sharp breath. Evidently, Silas had fallen prey to the endless rumors of my wayward mother.

  “Pardon me?” I said after a few moments had passed.

  No reply came.

  “Mr. Anderson!” Ben snapped his fingers to pull Silas from his daze.

  Silas shook his head and his brow knitted in puzzlement. “Did you say something?”

  “You called me Olivia. That was my mother’s name.” My voice sounded foreign and strained.

  Silas fixed his gaze on me. “No, my dear. You must have misheard.”

  “I assure you I did not,” I said as the carriage veered up the drive. “It’s illogical to think you would’ve known my mother. You wouldn’t have been but a boy when she was alive. Besides, you mentioned you were from Kentucky.”

  “That’s absurd. Of course I didn’t know your mother, though I would’ve loved to meet the woman who’d created the divine perfection that sits before me.” He bestowed upon me a dazzling smile that ended at the curves of his mouth. “You’re stressed and hearing things. Isn’t that correct, Mr. Hendricks?”

  “Yes. I heard no mention of the name.” Ben smiled convincingly.

  Silas relaxed against the brown velvet seat and extended his arms across the back of it. The instantaneous change to his demeanor was chilling to observe.

  The carriage came to a stop and Silas, not waiting for the driver to jump down, opened the door and stepped out. I resisted the urge to glance around for the men who lay in wait. Closing the door behind him, Silas eyed Ben before he cloaked me in the powerful warning of his gaze. “We’ll move forward with preparations for our marriage first thing tomorrow, and you will cooperate. Understood?”

  I glared at him before turning to stare at the woods.

  “Don’t mind my niece’s rudeness,” Ben said. “She’ll learn when she should and shouldn’t speak soon enough.”

  “And that she will,” Silas said.

  “Good day, Mr. Anderson.” I needed to put as much distance between me and the evil standing before me as possible, or I’d come unhitched on him and these past days would be for naught. “Driver, please take us home.” I moved to sit in the seat Silas had vacated.

  The driver had circled the carriage back around and down the drive when Silas’s bellow sounded. “Collins! Caesar! Where are you?”

  Rage flashed in Ben’s eyes and his fist balled on the seat as he stared off into the trees. We reached the road and the view of the homestead disappeared. Ben instructed the driver to stop and we climbed out.

  “Promptly, now, back to Livingston,” Ben said to the driver.

  The driver slapped the reins and the horses continued on. Ben and I dashed for the cover of the trees. Gathering my gown in my hands, I threaded through the trees behind Ben as we doubled back to the homestead. We reached Mr. Sterling and his men as Silas’s voice rung out again.

  Silas stormed out onto the porch. “Caesar, you imbecile, where are you?”

  As he marched toward the outbuildings, Bowden stepped from behind the barn and into plain sight. Taken by surprise, Silas came to a halt. “W-what are you doing here?”

  “Came to take you in and even a score.”

  All eyes turned to the men who stood a hundred paces in front of us. No one dared breathe.

  Silas’s laugh sounded taut and unsure. “And what score is that?

  “Willow.”

  “What about her?”

  “You think you can marry my lady?”

  “Oh, so this is what this is about? Your ego is bruised,” Silas said. “How could you possibly know about me marrying the girl?”

  “The overseer at the Livingston Plantation reports back to me, for a sum, on the happenings at the place. Cut a deal with him after the scoundrel uncle of hers showed up.”

  “Why do you still concern yourself with her? She’s proven to be a superficial being with her dismissal of you after your misfortune. Furthermore, you’ve sold out. And Miss Hendricks would never leave her precious Livingston behind to follow you into Indian territory. She’s too refined for the frontier life.”

  “With the relocation of the Indians to the reservations, things are settling. Or do you not keep up with the news?” Bowden said. “But that’s neither here nor there, now. You won’t be marrying Willow or any other woman after folks find out who you really are.”

  “What do you think you know?”

  “You killed my slave and took a swing at me in which you failed. Which is the least of your worries, considering I now know you and your men are indeed responsible for the robberies of the good folks of Charleston and surrounding areas. I need only to spread the word, and a lynch mob will come for you.”

  “You have no proof.”

  “No?” Bowden laughed and held out a hand, and a bright object unrolled in his fingers and dangled in midair. “This here pocket watch belonged to Mr. Benjamin Hendricks and was taken from him when he and his family were attacked by the masked men. The first time I came searching your place, you rode in, and I had to abandon my mission. But this time a little carriage ride—in which you and the slimy Mr. Hendricks planned to force Willow into marrying you, no doubt—kept you occupied so I could search the place. And to my surprise, I located a hidden compartment in the floor in the hallway. You can only imagine my satisfaction when I found all the evidence I needed within.”

  Silas glanced around.

  “Don’t bother looking for them; they aren’t coming to back you up this time. A blow to the back of the head took care of Collins and, had I not been in a hurry, I’d have tied him up to keep him from running off. And the slave Caesar…I ended his life without a second thought. His life for my slave’s life.” Bowden shrugged nonchalantly.

  Anger underlined Silas’s tone. “What makes you think I had anything to do with that?”

  “You know of his death?”

  Silas’s voice caught and he quickly said, “People talk.”

  “Yet no one was told of his death.”

  “Why do you care about that nigger so much, anyhow?” Silas inched toward Bowden, who circled him, giving himself enough distance to avoid his reach.

&
nbsp; “What does it matter to you what I do or don’t do with my property?”

  Silas circled. “It doesn’t.”

  “The better question is, why did you kill him?” Bowden lunged at him, throwing a baited punch and purposely missing.

  Silas chuckled and his shoulders hunched. “I gathered you were weak, but that was a deplorable attempt.”

  “I won’t miss next time,” Bowden said.

  In a flash, Silas’s fist connected with Bowden’s face, and he stumbled back. He staggered with a hand to his face, but quickly regained his footing. My heart catapulted into the back of my throat with the second connection of Silas’s fist. Bowden delivered two swift punches to Silas’s middle, and he yelped but never lost his balance. The men circled each other while Ben, the other men, and I hid in the trees, watching the scene unfold.

  No one breathed a word but tension stiffened the bodies of all who lay in wait, hoping Silas would deliver all accounts of his guilt into our hands.

  A crack as bone met bone, and Bowden went down on his knee. He scrambled to get up as Silas landed another hook to his chin and Bowden snapped backward, his back nearly touching his heels for a moment. Silas took advantage of the human knot before him and planted his boot hard into Bowden’s chest. He sprawled on the ground.

  Silas centered his boot in the middle of Bowden’s chest and held him down. “You see, Armstrong, if you expect to make a threat, you must be certain you cut them off at the knees. Your nigger overheard something he shouldn’t have, and I gutted him so he wouldn’t come running to you. A waste of a good slave, seeing as you’ve come looking anyhow. You’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

  “You’ll never see the light of day again. You worthless—” Bowden sputtered in rage “—murdering son-of-a—”

  “Silence!” Silas craned his neck and lifted the heel of his palm to his temple and struck himself.

  I frowned at the gesture and cast a look at Ben, whose brow was furrowed. He shifted in place. I turned my focus back to the yard.