by Gina Danna
Jaquita adjusted her skirts once she mounted her horse, taking care to cover her knee over the horn of the sidesaddle. It was a nervous task, because she knew it was all positioned right once she was on the stallion. The horse tossed his head and Jaquita patted him.
“I know, Maximus, I know. I’m ready now.” She pulled up the reins, getting ready to make a clicking noise to start when another horse walked up next to them, the lead in the hand of the stable boy. It was Alex, the boy who drove her to the market the other day. Startled, she sat, staring at him.
“Mornin’ Miss Jaquita. Heard you were fixin’ to ride. Thought I’d better bring ole Digby up to join ya.” He smiled as he shoved the straw hat back on his head.
She looked at the big white horse with its cropped mane. The horse stared back and that unnerved her a bit, more so because the equine had a blue eye on the right and a brown on the left. Alex chuckled as he pulled the reins over the horse’s head and then leaped onto his back.
“Don’t worry none about his two eyes. Gives him color in this view, Aunt Lila claims. Mr. Clarence thinks Digby is a devil horse.”
“And you?”
He shrugged. “Ah, he’s just a horse. We git along fine, so they all leave him to me. But he can git in your face if you let him.”
Jaquita bit her lip. “That’s not exactly what I meant. Why are you here? I didn’t ask for an escort.”
“Yessum, ma’am, but Aunt Lila tole me you needed one.” The boy shifted in the saddle. “You be in New York and it ain’t safe to ride alone, being a lady and all.”
With the Fugitive Slave Law, the cook was correct. Jaquita worked hard not to grind her teeth. “Well, I welcome your company Alex.”
He smiled broadly. She bet he was hesitant about showing up and how she’d greet him. Surprised was the first thought, but she had to give Aunt Lila credit for watching over her.
They trotted down the street as she scanned for the sign to the First Market Bank and Trust. Her father had told her in his last letter that he placed money in the account for her to use. The street was busy with the wagons and other riders but it didn’t take long to get there and she dismounted, handing Alex her reins. Inhaling deeply as she straightened her skirts, she walked in.
Unfortunately, her mood quickly changed by the time she got to the clerk at the window.
“I need to withdraw funds from my account,” she announced to the clerk who hadn’t looked at her.
Slowly the young man raised his head, adjusting his spectacles. He raised a brow when he asked, “And who sent you for this?”
Confused, Jaquita shot back, “I did. It is my account.”
“I see. And you are?”
“Miss Jaquita Fontaine.”
The clerk scanned the ledger. “I have a Fontaine by that name. But we don’t give money out of a large account to darkies.”
Her breath caught. “I beg your pardon?”
His eyes narrowed. “How do I know who you are?”
Jaquita shut her eyes. He wanted a form of identification? Since when? “I fail to see the issue. I am Miss Jaquita Fontaine. I have a letter from my father, if that will suffice.” She dug thru her reticule and retrieved it.
The clerk took the letter, the look on his face skeptical. He read it and gave her a glance. “Miss, surely you understand any amount you wish to withdraw is not the type we would allow to persons of your…”
Embarrassment fought with the anger that erupted inside her. “Of my color, I take it you mean.” She tapped her foot, getting madder than a hornet. “Well, I’s be free, massa, so I don’t need your stinkin’ money to buy it!” she snapped, mimicking their view on slaves even though her inner self cringed at it. How dare they condemn her like a child! Or, what was the other nasty reference? A chimp? Oh, how she wanted to scream!
The worst was the clerk’s demeanor, looking down his nose at her. Add to that the three other customers behind her, two of which she heard whispering while they glared at her and the other just stood, looking bored by the whole affair. It all set Jaquita to a roiling boil.
Instead, it took every ounce of energy she could muster to pull her emotions in. She stood straight yet still managed to snatch the letter back, folding it neatly to put it back in her reticule.
“I shall see what my lawyer has to say about this. Good day, sir!”
Alex stood by the horses, waiting. He realized he spent most of his life ‘waiting’ to be told what he had to do. For being in a ‘free’ state, he couldn’t help but feel trapped by these pale skinned people. He looked at the horses and found a moment of peace. He knew they didn’t worry about what was next. They were tied to a hitching post, though his gave a small toss, a nod as it were, when he stared at the stallion.
Bored. He was bored. How much longer could she be? He had chores to do before he could take his horse for a ride in the fields…
The door to the bank flew open and Jaquita stormed out. Startled, Alex snapped up, grabbing the reins to both horses. She looked mad and he swore he could see fire in her eyes the closer she got.
“We are leaving,” she snapped, taking her mount’s lead from him.
“Yes, ma’am.” As he scrambled to help her mount, she pulled up almost without any aid from him. Made him virtually fall as she slipped out of his cupped hands. His hat fell from his head and he quickly snatched it up right as she turned her horse toward the way out of town. He jumped onto his horse and yanked Digby around to take off after her.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed only one person came to see what all the commotion was about. A woman from the bank. And as he rode further away, he thought he caught a glimpse of a smile on her face.
Jaquita trotted home, frustration, aggravation and anger growing. She sat, prim and proper, just as she was taught. Just like her siblings had been instructed. A dry snort came despite her trying to stop it. But she was educated like her brothers and sister. She could read and write and do mathematics, something not normally taught ladies, but her father had insisted. Her education included running a household, riding and all the other means to live. But here, on her own in New York, it was for nothing.
That thought brought her to a halt. She needed to scream, but that was not going to do it. Lifting her knee off the riding hook, she dismounted, spun and started uncinching the saddle.
“Miss Jaquita,” Alex said, trotting up behind her and jumping off his horse. “Is somethin’ wrong?”
She pulled to loosen the girth and gave a yank to off the saddle. “No, what I need is you to assist me up and then take the saddle back.”
With a frown on his face, Alex cupped his hands for her to step into. “Miss Jaquita, I can’t leave—”
“You’re not being left behind,” she replied, picking up the reins and made the horse step back. “I’m just going ahead. Ha!” She heeled her horse and took off, astride her mount, as she raced down the lane. The breeze raced past her, tipping her bonnet back but the ribbon held.The drive toward the house wasn’t long like she had in Louisiana, however the greens in the back gave her room to race back. There was a certain sense of freedom that ran through her blood as she had her mount race back and pivot around the back garden hedge, the Arabian bay cutting the corner tight. Astride his backside, her long riding skirt whipping on the left and the skirt on the right trailing upward, she bent forward, keeping a firm yet loose hold on the reins as her bonnet struggled to stay on. Around the turn, Jaquita pulled the ties and let the silk and flowered lace piece whip off her head, yanking a couple hairpins with it. She couldn’t contain the laughter, letting the moment steal her ladylike appearance.
Yet as Maximus skidded to a halt as he neared the front steps after rounding the house, Jaquita caught a glimpse of Alex waiting for her with his horse. There was also a carriage there she hadn’t seen before. There was company? Aunt Lila stood near the doorway with a frown, Clarence was at the door, stoic, and a white woman next to them gave her a questioning gaze.
As
her horse halted, Alex rushed up, taking the dropped reins. “You got company, missy,” he whispered.
Biting her lower lip as she tried to keep herself poised but ready, she slid from the horse’s back and straightened her skirts as best she could. Steeling herself, she turned. “Good afternoon.”
The white lady smiled back. “Miss Fontaine?” At Jaquita’s nod, she continued, “Mrs. William Wainwright, nice to meet you.”
Jaquita narrowed her vision, hair bristling on her neck. “How may I help you, Mrs. Wainwright?”
The woman, who was probably a head taller than herself, eyed the stallion Alex was walking away. Not only was she tall, but she reeked money, Jaquita decided, all dressed in a striped silk day dress and jewels dangling from her ears, echoed money to spend. Jaquita was willing to bet the woman probably had never ridden a fiery horse like an Arabian nor ridden bareback from the looks she was giving her now.
“Rather small horse, though beautiful.”
Jaquita tried her hardest not to snort, but it was difficult. “Arabians tend to be that way.”
“Is he yours?”
Now the bristling spread as the visitor judged her. “Yes. A gift from my father.”
“Oh. Well, apologies, but I was at the bank when you were there. I heard that insidious snake deny you access to your money—” she stopped and gave her another judging look. “It is your money, correct?”
Jaquita’s neck tensed. “It is.”
“Well, perhaps we could help each other.”
“And how might that be?” she walked back toward the house and ran into Aunt Lila with her tray of tea. The old servant gave her a brief shake of her head, stopping her from going any further. The cook gave a quick glance upward, reminding Jaquita of her missing bonnet. She quickly smoothed her palm over her plaited and pulled back hair sweep, readjusting a comb that threatened to fall.
“Tea?” she offered, leading her guest into the house, following Aunt Lila’s path to the front parlor.
Mrs. Wainwright took an offered seat at the settee. Holding the cup in her hand, she gave a very pleasant smile to Jaquita and started.
“I saw you at the First Market Bank and Trust. What a terrible commotion that clerk started.”
Jaquita’s brows furrowed as she wondered where this was going.
“I take it, from your accent, you hail from the South.” She sipped her tea, never taking her gaze of Jaquita.
“Yes, arrived from Louisiana a few weeks ago.”
The woman’s brows raised. “Arrived. From the train, as it were?”
Jaquita’s cheek twitched. “The train from Chicago, yes. My trip north was not what you are insinuating.”
“I hadn’t said a word.”
“No, but I understand that, considering my color, you might think me one of the many who ran from the South.” She stirred her tea absently. “But let me assure you, I am not a runaway.”
Mrs. Wainwright nodded. “And your funds. How do you propose to get them?”
“Where, may I ask, are you going with this, Mrs. Wainwright?” The woman was leading somewhere and Jaquita frankly wanted to end this now. Being put on the spot over that rude clerk made her mad.
“Miss Fontaine, please,” Mrs. Wainwright said, putting her tea on the side table. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet. He could help you with your banking situation, as it were.”
That was a twist from what she feared she’d say. “Truly?”
“Yes, you see I am a member of the Albany Anti-Slavery Society. The abolitionist movement is growing stronger, considering all we are hearing from those taking the Underground Railway north to freedom. Speakers like Frederick Douglass and Harriet Jacobs have moved many of us to push for the freedom of your kind.” She sat back, with a hint of a smile on her lips. “Several influential New Yorkers are part of the abolitionist movement and one in particular I know, is in a position that could help you with your financial situation.”
Jaquita’s heart thudded wildly. Writing to her father had been her next alternative, but with the rising concerns of the North versus the South, she wasn’t sure how soon he’d be able to help. If she could find another way, she’d jump at it. “I am interested. Please continue.”
“Well, the Society meets this evening. I do believe he’ll be in attendance. Would you like to join us?”
Settling herself into the chair more comfortably, Jaquita smiled. “That would be delightful.”
Chapter 4
“Always mystify, mislead and surprise the enemy…when you strike and overcome him, never let up in pursuit…A small army can…destroy a large one…and repeated victory will make it invincible.”
—General Thomas ‘Stonewall’ Jackson
Thursday night
Thomas entered Jennings Hall on First Capital Drive in Albany, just minutes before the meeting was to start. He had found himself smothered in cases that had eaten his day. This was his only outlet to relax yet be motivated. The Albany Anti-Slavery Society, he noticed by the throng filling the auditorium, was growing by leaps and bounds. No doubt motivated by the Fugitive Slave Law. It was irritating and he estimated half his work was dealing with this law.
At least here, he could feel the drive to put up with the madness and celebrate those here who had escaped bondage. It was one place he didn’t have to deal with his father, who never ventured into this part of town at night, nor Allison, who believed ladies had no right to be so overwhelmed by this. Inwardly, he laughed. Women were just as deep in the cause of freeing the slaves as men.
It was a festive affair in ways. Wine and bourbon always offered and everyone dressed so fine. He went to find one of those drinks as the main thought of Allison drove him to escape her claws. He found a servant carrying a tray from which he could grab a glass. He prayed thanks and took a sip.
When he opened his eyes, he found across the walkway the enchanting angel he’d seen before. The beautiful mulatto he had helped at the market. What was her name?
“Mr. McHenry!”
He shook his head and found the caller near his side. Larissa Wainwright. She was a powerful force in the movement, her husband Duane along with her. He smiled.
“Good evening, Mrs. Wainwright.”
She returned his grin. “Always a pleasure to see you. Your help against this dreadful law has been a Godsend.”
He snorted. “I do the best I can, considering.” He leaned back. “Though I haven’t won them all.”
“Pish-posh. I have the best of words not all are lost.” She winked and it made him raise a brow. “I’m so glad you are here. I have a lovely lady to introduce to you,” she continued.
Instantly, the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. “Mrs. Wainwright, I am already—” A dreaded thread of despair raced through him at the thought of Allison.
“She is in need of your attorney skills, Thomas.” She laughed. “Let me introduce her.”
The doorman banged the metal triangle to get everyone’s attention. “Please adjourn to the auditorium. The meeting is to start.”
Thomas looked to his right but Larissa was gone. He waited for a moment but as the crowd pushed toward the meeting, he found himself swept up in them. He’d have to meet the girl later. He swore, though, if this was over a trivial legal issue, he’d not be happy. As if he had any spare time to give to Mrs. Wainwright because she asked.
Settling into his seat, he was set to refuse her.
Jaquita fussed with her dress, working hard not to pull on the ribbon that dangled off her hair, mixed in with the looping twist of hair sculpted to give her a polished look. She’d never dressed this fine in her whole life, except for a portrait her father had made of her—one without Missus Fontaine knowing. When he sent her north, he had given her a new wardrobe, full of gowns she’d never wear, because how often did freedwomen go out all gussied up? Or to formal balls? She grinded her teeth. Until tonight. Now she had an opportunity, at an evening gathering of intellectual people and money, all to stop s
lavery. She couldn’t help but be worried, fretful something was out of place or just plain wrong.
The speaker came to the podium, a Black man who ranted on about the sins of slavery and the slavers. She squinted at the tale of the owners for their abuse with the whip or rape. The last made her squirm slightly. Another part of her wanted to scream. To lump all Southerners as violent towards the slaves made her father look bad. And that was a situation she had to wrangle with. Though now they gave her another reason to reassess her home and she didn’t like it.
“What do you think of our group?”
She spun at the whisper in her ear and found Mrs. Wainwright at her side. When had she sat down?
Collecting her thoughts, Jaquita inhaled. “It is definitely a voracious assembly. I had no idea.”
The woman laughed. “Yes, for a first time, hearing Mr. Johnson speak is rather motivating and intimating.” She leaned closer. “He lived in the South in his youth. The scene revolted him and he moved North, the cause to free the slaves a life calling.”
She looked at the woman, surprised anyone would care that much and opened her mouth to say that when the room broke into applause for the speech. It shocked her, just like the basket that was given to her, filled with coins.
“Donations for the cause,” Mrs. Wainwright murmured. “Here. Considering all, let me take that from you.”
As the basket was gently taken, Jaquita cheeks heated with a blush of embarrassment. She hadn’t given it a thought they’d ask for donations. Between the talk and this, she wanted to leave. Clutching her reticule tighter, she turned to thank her hostess and scram from the room except she found herself in a circle of mixed races, all pressing forward.
“Good evening, I’m so glad you…”
“Hello!’
