A Guardian of Slaves

by Naomi Finley

  “Like her daughter,” I said.

  “My daughter loves you, and I don’t want her growing old pining after the Texan who stole her heart. It’s about time some happiness came to this family, and you and Willow could be a new beginning. You aren’t the man you were but a few months ago. Sometimes death has that effect on people. It has a way of making you evaluate who you are and what really matters in life, doesn’t it?”

  “I reckon so. Shame it has to resort to that.” I swallowed hard before continuing. “You see, the thing is…I came here to ask your permission to marry Willow—”

  “It’s about time!”

  I grinned before becoming solemn. “I’ll love her and treasure her each day I draw breath. And protect her from her enemies and herself, with your permission, sir.”

  “Gladly.” He smiled broadly as he strode across the room and held out his hand, which I shook vigorously.

  I blew out a breath. “Much obliged, sir. Now, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to marry tomorrow.”

  His brow lifted. “So soon?”

  “Your daughter has a history of running. If she agrees when I ask her, I plan to seal the commitment then and there before she changes her mind.” I laughed.

  He slapped my back in merriment. “I concede your point.”

  Later that afternoon, my head overseer entered the house and paused in the hallway outside the study. “Sir, I’ve gathered them as you’ve requested.”

  “Thank you.” I picked up the envelope on the corner of the desk and crossed the room. “I appreciate your dedication to my grandfather and to me. I hope this will take care of your needs until you can secure employment elsewhere.”

  The overseer’s eyes grew round at the hefty sum within. “You sure you want to go to Texas? You’ve got a fine business for yourself, right here.”

  “With the plantation sold, I’ve got no choice but to find somewhere else to put down roots.”

  “Well, it’s been an honor, sir. Take care of yourself.”

  “You as well,” I said, following him to the door and stepping out on the piazza.

  The house staff and the folks from the quarters stood in the front yard. All fifty-three sets of eyes rested on me. Distress and uncertainty covered their faces.

  The overseer mounted his horse, and with a tip of his hat, he and his men rode out. After their dust had settled, I lowered my eyes to the folks in front of me.

  Friends and families huddled together, and tears liberally flowed, as the anxiety of being separated consumed their thoughts. A lump stuck in my throat at a sight that merely a year ago wouldn’t have concerned me as it did now.

  I expelled the emotions clenching my chest with a cough. “It’s no secret that I’ve sold this plantation.”

  Murmurs and wails rose, and a tremor like a hurricane wind whipped through them. A woman dropped to her knees and pleaded, “Please, Masa, don’t take me from my babies. I can’t…I won’t survive…” She sobbed into clasped hands.

  I put up a hand to calm the anxious chatter. “Hear me out.”

  A silence stretched out over the yard, and they waited for me to speak.

  “Too often people are born into a way of life and grow up believing what they’ve always been told with little consideration of the rights or wrongs of it. Sometimes these wrongs and injustices are brought to your attention, but you’re too blinded…or don’t wish to see for yourself because it’s the way it’s always been. An excuse I’m ashamed to say I hid behind for far too long. Gray…” Again, emotions swelled in me as my eyes fell on his pa.

  “He was a good man, Masa,” a woman said.

  “He was the best.” My eyes remained on his pa. “Never have I known a better man.”

  His pa’s eyes dampened and he inclined his head in appreciation.

  “Gray had but one dream…and that was to be free.” I looked out over the faces of the folks who had given years of their lives to serve my family and me. The folks who’d helped us earn my fortune. “Freedom that was taken from him and freedom that he’d earned back tenfold, but laws bound me from giving him something that was rightfully his.

  “Who am I to tell another person that he doesn’t have the right to wake in the morning when his body tells him it’s ready to? Who am I to tell a husband he can’t hold his wife in his arms at night because I’ve sold her to another master? Or that he can’t see his children grow each day. Who am I…” A great ache seemed to shatter my chest. “…I’m no one.

  “Gray was my friend, and I loved him like a brother. Society and laws say I’m not allowed to have such feelings. And why? Because he’s a black man?” My voice rose with the passion that had awakened in me. “I love my country, but I will not be part of this madness any longer.”

  “What are you gonna do, Masa?” Concerned voices rang out.

  “If Miss Hendricks doesn’t marry me today, I’m fixing to go back to Texas and take up ranching. On my return, I’ll secure passage for us all to make the move. Starting over won’t be easy and if I could give you all your freedom, I would.”

  “All we ever know is planting.”

  “You can learn as well as another man, woman, or child.”

  Whispers ran through them yet again.

  I pointed to a man. “You—what do you do?”

  “I’m a blacksmith.”

  “And you?” I waved a finger at a man not but eighteen years.

  “Why, I’m a field hand, Masa.”

  I descended the steps. “So you’re a farmer?”

  A grin twisted the boy’s mouth and his shoulders lifted. “I guess, of sorts.”

  “What about you, Abigail?

  “I’m a cook, Masa.”

  “You make the best soupikandia around.” I cupped the back of her neck and placed my lips to her forehead. Pulling back, I rubbed away the tear cascading down her cheek with a thumb before coming to stand in front of another woman. “And you?”

  “I’m a seamstress.”

  I gently clasped her arthritic fingers. “And our store has sold some of the finest linens and clothing this side of Charleston.”

  A gleam of pride brightened her weary eyes.

  “You?” I moved on to the next person.

  “A cooper.”

  “What about you.”

  “A boatman.”

  “Carpenter.”

  “Shoemaker.”

  A thunder of cries arose.

  “See?” I jutted my hands toward the heavens. “You all have skills and are better at them than most white men. But we’ve led you to believe you’re incapable of fending for yourselves. If I can’t convince Miss Hendricks to do me the honor of being my wife, we’ll be leaving for Texas at the end of the month. If you choose to go find your families, I’ll not hunt you, but I do caution you that if you leave, you risk the chance of getting captured and sold off to God knows where. By the time the new owners arrive, we need to be gone. Please think about what I’ve said and report back to me with your thoughts.”

  After the yard emptied, I turned and lumbered up the steps.

  “Masa?” a man said.

  I turned to find Gray’s pa. “What is it?”

  “Ef things don’t go lak you be wanting…I thought maybe you’d consider selling me to de Livingston Plantation. You see, Masa, Mary Grace and de chillum are all I got left. And I figured dat I’d lak to spend de rest of de years I got left wid dem.”

  “Very well, I’ll speak to Mr. Hendricks and Miss Hendricks on the matter.”

  “Bless you, Masa.”

  I waved a hand at him and turned back to go inside.

  “Masa?”

  I paused and spun to face him.

  “You honor my boy. Gives me peace, knowing your caring for him stirred dis change in you. Makes me think…maybe he didn’t die for nothin’.”

  Tears faded the man below from my view. “I…I made God a promise that if he saved Gray, I’d change.” I heaved a sigh. “When he didn’t, I was angry at Hi
m and myself. Then one day, I woke to feel different. I sat on this piazza for most of the day and looked at all I owned, yet inside, I was empty and lost. None of it matters without the ones you love. Losing Gray removed my blinders and lit a flame in me to make my wrongs right. I don’t have it all figured out, but one day at a time is all I can do.”

  “Dat’s all we can ever do,” he said with a shrug before shuffling off.

  Willow

  THE FOOTMAN GRIPPED MY FINGERS in his, late the next morning as I stepped from the carriage at the Armstrong Plantation. Dark clouds sprawled across the rumbling sky.

  Ben had informed me on my return from Whitney’s that Bowden had stopped by to see me. I’d questioned Ben on the reasoning behind his visit, but he’d said he had an appointment in town and left me to ponder on what Bowden would’ve wanted. I took it upon myself to ride over and find out for myself.

  Knox had mentioned Bowden would be leaving for Texas soon. Though I’d numbed my heart to his going, my stomach twisted with anxiety and my heart raced at seeing him.

  “Is Mr. Armstrong home?” I asked the woman sweeping the front veranda.

  “Yes, Miss Hendricks. He’s ’round somewhere.” A gleam shone in her eyes. “You might want to check down by de cemetery. He goes dere often.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Overhead the sky cracked, and sprinkles of rain spotted my gown. Gathering the sides of my skirt, I hurried my steps to the cemetery that sat isolated on a hill guarded by an ancient oak tree.

  Reaching the top, I saw Bowden standing inside the black wrought-iron fence enclosing the small family plot. He didn’t turn when I opened the gate and entered. Or when I came to stand beside him. He gave me a sideways glance but remained quiet, studying the grave he stood in front of.

  The gravestones were engraved with the names of the family who owned the plantation before him. One bore the Armstrong name and it was that of Bowden’s grandfather. The stone Bowden stood in front of had an image of a weeping willow carved into it along with the words:

  In Memory of Gray

  Husband of Mary Grace

  Died Nov. 5, 1853

  at 32

  May you soar with newfound wings

  My throat thickened and my lashes cut through sudden tears flowing down my cheeks. Not long ago we’d gathered here and said our final goodbyes to Gray, and my heart had been too broken at the time to grasp the significance of what Bowden had done.

  “Bowden…”

  “Hmm,” he said, never turning.

  My heart thudded against my breast. “You honor him in ways that’d never be accepted if others were to find out.”

  “If only I’d done so in life.” He choked back the emotions pulling at his face.

  “It’s what you do now that matters. By honoring him with your life,” I said.

  He turned, and his eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “For too long I’ve claimed human lives as if they were possessions to be owned. Too stubborn to listen to what was in my own heart. I’ve been a fool. In my blindness I was ready to set out for Texas without you, rather than open my eyes to what was right in front of me. I love you, Willow Hendricks, and as I told you before, there’ll never be another woman for me. And with that, I have a proposal…”

  “Proposal?” I held my breath.

  “As you may know, the new owners of this place will be arriving in the spring. And I now have no plantation, but have fifty-three lives on my hands. A responsibility I no longer want, yet laws forbid me from setting them free. That leaves me with only a few choices. Allow the ones who want to chance their freedom on their own to leave and take the others with me, or…”

  I waited. The heavens released.

  He cupped my trembling shoulders in his hands. “Or you do the honor of being my wife, and we join forces to make a difference in the lives of the ones who want to stay.”

  The burdens and pain of the past years rolled into a jumbled mess of emotions and burst in me. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed. Bowden gathered me in his arms and pulled me close. My hands slipped around him, and my fingers dug into the fabric of his rain-soaked shirt. His heart drummed against my ear, and the strength of his arms swathed me in a blanket of safety and love.

  Moments later, regaining my composure, I pushed back, my hands resting on his chest. “The man who stands before me is all I’ve ever wanted. There’s a fire in you to fight for what’s right, and this is the man I want to spend my life with. I love you, Bowden Armstrong, more than I’ve ever loved anything in life. If you leave, I will become a spinster and die a million times over.”

  “Is that so?” He threw back his head and laughed.

  “I will die. I promise you!” I said, growing angry.

  His expression grew serious, and his thumbs stroked the curves of my shoulders. “Are you sure about this?”

  “More than I’ve ever been. But you must know I can never leave Livingston.”

  “I’ve always known that.”

  “You must think about what this means to you. Will you stay and help me run Livingston as my husband?”

  “What about Ben? Livingston already has a man of the house. I’m not sure there’s room for two of us.”

  “Ben’s heart is in medicine. He doesn’t wish to run Livingston, but does want to remain there. If you’re willing to accept my secrets, then yes, I’ll be your wife.”

  “I accept you for all you are and all that’s yours. I’ll spend my life proving to you my love.” He dipped his head, and I lifted my face to meet his kiss.

  Lost in a kiss and entangled in each other’s arms, the world faded around us. The passion of years of longing molded our bodies together until I broke away, breathless. I blushed at the desire rushing through me.

  Bowden grinned at my embarrassment. “No backing out?”

  I smiled. “Promise.”

  “Good, because Ben should be at the house by now. We’re heading to the registry office before you change your mind.”

  Without warning, he swooped in and flipped me over his shoulder, and he hurried to the gate, which he kicked open with his boot.

  “Bowden Armstrong, you put me down.” I laughed, striking his back with my fist.

  “You got a thing for running, and I need to make sure I get you in the carriage.” His voice echoed from behind the flouncing fabric of my skirts as we made our descent from the hill. “You’ll be mine before this day is over.”

  “Not if you have to hog-tie me to get there,” I said as he set my feet back on solid ground.

  “Let’s not waste time.”

  He clasped my hand in his and broke into a run. I laughed as he pulled me forward, slipping on the wet grass as we hurried toward our future.

  Silas

  “WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING!” I yelled at the numbskull German scum driving the wagon like it was his first day.

  Baltimore, Maryland, reeked of the haze of chemicals pumping from the factories and the immigrant scum lining the harbor and streets. I threaded through the wagons and carriages to the tavern house.

  I’d escaped South Carolina with barely the clothes on my back. I’d made my way north by hiding in wagons and on cargo trains and sleeping in barns and under bridges to avoid the bounty hunters that waited to ambush me from every corner in the towns I passed through.

  That witch will pay! There was only one way to kill a witch. And I’d take great pleasure in seeing her fry on a post. I’d bathe in the ecstasy of her screams and the stench of her flesh as it melted from her bones. My heart fluttered, and a smile eased the taut muscles in my face.

  Entering the establishment, my nose twitched at the repulsive scent of cheap cigars and unwashed bodies. I removed a handkerchief from my pocket and shielded my nose. Scanning the room, I spotted him seated at a table in a darkened corner by the far wall.

  A buxom tavern wench with flaming red hair and wearing a pink ruffled dress welded her body against mine. The bodice of her dress cut into her hefty mound
s. She’d doused herself in a whiskey keg of rouge and the essence of rose. The scent, mixed with the stale tobacco on her breath, made me gasp.

  She batted her lashes at me. “Hello, handsome. Do you care to have a go at Miss Mary? Men say I fulfill their greatest fantasies.” She stroked my arm with her breast, and the heat radiating from her body convulsed my stomach.

  I leaned down and for her ears only said, “Move away from me, or you’ll end up in the bottom of the ocean with the rest of my victims.”

  Her pale blue eyes grew wide, and she pivoted and charged off.

  I smirked and continued toward the man I’d come to find.

  He sat hunched over the table, his badly burned hands gripping a pint of ale. The bottom of the mug seemed to compel his thoughts, and he never glanced up as I towered over him. I pulled out a chair in front of him and dropped into it. Removing my hat, I tossed it on the table and leaned back in the chair, studying my brother.

  “What secrets does that pint hold?” I asked dryly as he lifted his head.

  “I see you made it.” His eyes narrowed. “Run out of Charleston with your tail between your legs. Still in one piece, but a failure, nonetheless.” He pushed back his hat and scratched at the bandana partially masking his forehead—a habit for him that he remained unaware of. The cloth moved slightly and revealed the edges of the gnarly pink letters engraved in his forehead.

  My brother leaned in, his eyes checking for listening ears before he said in a low voice, “We’ve no choice but to lie low, now that you’ve got a bounty on your head that even I’d consider turning you in for.”

  I gritted my teeth and leaned forward, slamming my fist on the table. The thunder of my fist ricocheted throughout the tavern and turned heads our way. “I swear to you, we’ll have our revenge, Rufus.”

  Dear Readers,

  When I decided to write a series set in the antebellum era, I began with a simple plot for A Slave of the Shadows. Surprisingly, what started out as a trilogy quickly became a five book series. My goal in writing historical fiction was not to convey all the data I’ve collected researching, but instead scatter historical facts throughout the story to enlighten you by offering new insights into the period. By purposefully placing you within the pages of my novel I hope to inspire, entertain, and create a reading experience offering you an escape from the burdens of everyday life.