by Cathy Gohlke
“Meet Marcella—my finest horse next to my own Apollo. It’s about time you rode the boundaries of your ancestral land, Robert! What do you say, Caroline? May I kidnap my young cousin for the morning?” His laughter and good spirits faded in the face of Ma’s storm. “What is it? What’s happened here?”
Ma was so angry she couldn’t speak.
“It’s something about babies,” I offered, shrugging.
“Not just babies,” Ma corrected me, her color rising. “One of our slaves has just given birth to twins—mulatto twins!” Cousin Albert nodded with an understanding I did not own, but did not act surprised. “She refused to give me the name of the father, Albert. Such insolence! Father and Mother were always so careful to keep the breeding among the slaves. This is disgraceful.”
Cousin Albert studied the reins in his hands. “It’s the way things are now, Caroline. If you’ll look closely you’ll see other mixed children at Ashland.”
“But how—”
“Can’t you guess?” He searched her face. “Uncle Marcus has lost interest in Ashland. Over the last several years he’s turned more and more over to Slocum until Slocum has had free rein in the fields, the quarters, and now over your father.”
“Slocum!” Ma sat down heavily on the porch step. “How could Papa let things come to this? He was such an authoritarian!”
Cousin Albert sat down beside Ma and wrapped her hand with his. “Not after you left, Caroline. Oh, he was angry— rash—at first, did things I’m sure he came to regret. Then all the spirit left him. He believed he had nothing left to live for, no one to build Ashland for anymore, no hopes of passing the plantation on to you or your future children. Slocum saw an opening and took it. He fed Uncle Marcus’s belief that his family had betrayed him. He even convinced Uncle that I had been party to your elopement.”
“You?” Ma couldn’t believe it.
Cousin Albert smiled. “I was the one that introduced you to Charles at the ball in Washington, remember? I meant for you to dance the entire evening with William Sherman. I thought you’d like me all the better for the contrast. But the ball backfired. Once I introduced you to Charles you dropped Sherman’s hand and never left Charles’s side.” Cousin Albert picked up a twig and drummed the step. I hardly knew where to look or stand. “Slocum convinced Uncle Marcus that he was the only one to be trusted, the only one he could count on.”
Ma shook her head sadly. “I had no idea he’d taken on so.”
“Now I wonder if Slocum has been supplying Uncle Marcus with laudanum right along. The more helpless your father became, the more control Slocum assumed. The laudanum would explain why Uncle Marcus never seemed able to focus long enough to be reasoned with or to make his own decisions. It would also explain the steady decline in his health.” Ma’s eyes filled but she didn’t interrupt. “I tried to step in several times. I begged Uncle to let me help him with Ashland, but Slocum convinced him that I was only trying to steal the land from him.”
“Papa believed that? Albert, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s absurd that any overseer could manipulate such control. Uncle Marcus is dependent on Jed Slocum for everything.”
“Then there’s nothing to be done.”
“It’s not too late, Caroline.”
Ma shook her head again. “Papa may die, Albert. He hasn’t even opened his eyes. Ashland is in a terrible state. Slocum has taken control of everything. I don’t see how you can say it is not too late.”
Cousin Albert put his arm around Ma’s shoulder. “You’ve got to help Uncle Marcus pull through, Caroline. If anyone can do that, it is you. He never stopped loving you. It’s just his pride that’s blocked his view. Once you make him understand that you are here and will see this through with him, I’m sure you can help him care about his life again. Uncle Marcus’s life is Ashland. When he’s well enough and has his senses about him, he’ll be proud to know he has a grandson like Robert.” Cousin Albert looked up at me and smiled. “Any man would be proud to call Robert his own.” The words warmed me through and made my heart swell. It was just the kind of thing I longed to hear Pa say to me. “You’ve got to stay strong, Caroline, for your father and for Robert.” He pushed the wisps from Ma’s forehead. “You are far stronger than you know, dear Cousin.”
Ma sniffed wearily and leaned her head on Cousin Albert’s shoulder. I knew she needed him, but their closeness made me uncomfortable and I wished Pa had been there. He should be the one to hold and comfort Ma, the one to tell me he was proud of me. Why couldn’t Pa have come? Why did he have to be so stubborn about helping other people when his own family needed him?
“Now, if you can manage, Caroline, I’d like to show Robert all of Ashland, and then take him over to Mitchell House and show him how a solid plantation is run. You need Robert. He’s old enough to be a real help to you and Uncle Marcus. But he needs to see how things can be done with integrity in the South—not Slocum’s way.”
Ma wiped her eyes. She sat up, drew in a deep breath, and pasted her smile. “I think that is a fine idea, Albert.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ll expect you gentlemen for the noon meal.”
Cousin Albert helped Ma to her feet. “We won’t be late.”
It was as easy as that! By the time I swung up into the saddle, Cousin Albert and Apollo were already rounding the house at a trot. I dug my heels into Marcella’s sides and followed, thrilled to feel the solid power of a horse beneath me. I laughed out loud as soon as we gained some distance from the house, glad to be away from Ma’s inner war, gladder still to be away from Grandfather’s sick room and Rebecca’s sad and foul-smelling cabin.
We rode long to cover the whole of Ashland. “Nearly two thousand acres,” Cousin Albert said. “Twelve hundred farmed in bright leaf tobacco—the most marketable and desirable strain there is!” Corn, wheat, and oats took nearly two hundred more, but I was surprised how grass had grown between the rows, and how dry and brittle some of the fields looked. The rest ran wild in woods and stream, apart from the big house, its gardens, the many outbuildings. At the far end of Ashland we found cool shade beside a slow running stream, passing deep for late July.
“This stream boasts some of the best catfish this side of the Mississippi, Robert, and flows directly into the Yadkin River. My land joins Uncle’s here. Slaves from both plantations fish it with seines. I’ll have one of my boys bring you up some for breakfast tomorrow.”
“I’d like better to fish it myself!” I could picture William Henry and me filling a bucket, and Aunt Sassy rolling freshly cleaned catfish in cornmeal, frying it crisp and golden brown. But William Henry wasn’t here, and he was half the fun of fishing. “Do you think Alex would want to fish with me?” It was out of my mouth before my head caught on to what I’d said.
Cousin Albert laughed. “I’d like to see it!” Then he sobered. “I’m afraid your cousin is not much of an outdoorsman, Robert. But I’d appreciate it if you’d offer to teach him. He’s an excellent one with figures, and his Latin is fine. But he’s not much of a practical hand in the world. A man needs to know his land and all that it holds, as well as how to balance the accounts.”
I couldn’t imagine choosing ledgers over fishing.
“Your mother has asked me to tutor you in Latin and mathematics along with Alex and Emily, just as soon as Uncle Marcus is on his feet again.” I groaned inside. Cousin Albert smiled. “Suppose we try that three mornings a week and on the other two you and Alex spend time together—riding, fishing, hunting—whatever you like, as long as it is outdoors. It will do him good, and unless I miss my guess, you are ready to burst from sitting in that dismal house so long.”
“Yes, sir! That surely takes the sting out of sitting in lessons three days a week.” I shifted in my saddle. “I’d best tell you, Cousin Albert, that I’m not much hand at hunting with a gun.”
“Ah, the Quaker influence.” Cousin Albert nodded. “Are you opposed to learning?”
“No, sir!”
“Then I
’ll teach you and Alex together. Perhaps your presence will inspire him with a little healthy competition. A man needs to know how to defend his family and property, Robert. I’m sure your father would agree with that. Charles and I attended West Point together. He was quite a marksman then.”
“Yes, sir. Ma told me.” But I didn’t think Pa would defend us with a gun, not anymore. Pa only used his shotgun for hunting when he couldn’t trap. I was sorry to go against Pa, but I wanted to learn to shoot as much as I loved to fish, and that’s telling. It made me wonder afresh where Miz Laura got her pearl-handled pistol, and if Mr. Heath knew about it.
“Now I’ll race you to Mitchell House, Robert!”
The mare and I pounded dirt and rode the mile hard. But I never caught him. We slowed to a trot when we crossed the property line. Cousin Albert boasted over his buildings and fields, with good cause. The outbuildings were tight and painted, not a sagging roof or cluttered yard anywhere. Every lane was flanked by cut grass. Mitchell House grew the same bright leaf tobacco as Ashland, but Cousin Albert’s fields were longer, all the rows unbroken by weeds or grass. I couldn’t imagine working that much land, then remembered that the sweat-shined black bodies, bent in their labor, made it possible. I looked at Cousin Albert’s smooth, white hands, and knew that he put in no time among the sticky tobacco plants. I could picture Pa’s work-rough, tobacco-stained hands, and even Mr. Heath’s, and knew that these were two separate worlds.
“And now I’ll show you the slave quarters. I want you to see another view of the South and our peculiar institution. I believe you’ll agree that it makes sense to keep up the quarters. I respect Uncle Marcus, but I don’t believe he treats his slaves properly.”
I shielded my eyes against the noonday sun and followed Cousin Albert down the rows of whitewashed cabins. Bigger than the shacks at Ashland, each building was two single-pen cabins joined under one roof. They shared a common center chimney. Each cabin had one window, shuttered, but no glass. “Notice that the floors are raised, Robert. That keeps the cold out in winter and helps circulate air in summer. You have to watch slave cabins. They can be breeding grounds for disease.”
A larger cabin stood at the head of the lane, nearest the big house. At the opposite end, near the fields, was a large garden, maybe three acres, worked by old slaves and children too small for the fields. “This garden produces all the food for Mitchell House. When a man gets too old for the fields he works here. The work is not so strenuous, but he can still be productive. A portion is taken to the house kitchen, and a larger portion kept here for the slaves.”
“That’s a lot of food.”
“Mitchell House has a lot of slaves.” Cousin Albert smiled. “Come slaughter time I’ll set aside hogs for the quarters. Once they’re salted and smoked they’re stored in a cold cellar off the driver’s house—that large cabin at the end of this lane. My driver is in charge of all provisions—food, clothing, shoes, and so forth—and allots what is needed. Negroes take better to having one of their own in charge. It makes certain that every slave has equal portion with every other slave—no stealing, no hoarding, no selling on the side, no setting aside money for things their neighbors can’t have. It takes care once and for all the question of slaves saving up money to barter their freedom. There’s no reason to create discontent when all those things can be settled so easily. Remember that.”
“But don’t they want to buy their freedom or at least earn money to buy things for their families?”
“There’s no need.” Cousin Albert’s jaw set. “My slaves are contented, and so am I, as long as they work hard and bring in a good harvest.”
“So, you believe slavery is a good thing?” I saw the folly of my question in the sudden flash of Cousin Albert’s eyes.
“Yes, Robert. I believe fully in the good and beneficial institution of slavery—both for master and slave. It is a necessity in the South. It is our moral obligation to take care of these people. They would not, could not manage on their own. We provide them with homes, food, clothing, health care, and moral and spiritual training within their limited understanding. They, in turn, provide us with manual labor for our fields. We could not farm the tobacco and cotton, let alone the rice and sugarcane farther south, without them. The climate and work suits them. The Souths agriculture benefits all the states, and slavery benefits all concerned. But just as you would not abuse your horse or neglect your herds, you must not abuse or neglect your Negroes. Neither will perform satisfactorily if poorly treated. That is the lesson I wish Uncle would take to heart.”
What could I say? I could not imagine Joseph or Aunt Sassy needing anyone to tend their needs.
Cousin Albert stopped in to see us every day after that, always checking on Grandfather. He whispered with Ma in the corner by the window. I caught the names “Slocum” and “Robert” and “Charles” from time to time. He didn’t have much use for Jed Slocum. That, I figured, was in his favor. But I still didn’t like how close he stood to Ma or how she smiled up at him so. And I wondered about the sick man in the bed, and how he could let his own land go like it didn’t matter. I wondered how a man could take a whip to other men, and even women, as Granny Struthers had claimed he had, and what kind of man would do that.
I was thinking on these things during my shift on the seventh day, beginning to believe I might not like the man Marcus Ashton, when Grandfather opened his eyes and found me staring at him.
“Who are you, Boy?”
“Robert,” I whispered, my throat dry. “Robert Leslie Glover, sir. Your grandson.”
Grandfather’s eyebrow lifted. His blue eyes, the same rich shade as Ma’s and Cousin Albert’s, grew wide, then filmed over before closing again. And so I met my Grandfather Ashton.
GRANDFATHER GAINED GROUND each day once he realized his own daughter, flesh and blood, had come home to him. But the laudanum didn’t leave him of a sudden, and there were times he grew agitated and angry. Old George and I had to bind him once. I hoped he wouldn’t remember. It seemed to help Ma get her bearings when she stood against Grandfather, telling him he couldn’t have the laudanum, telling him that he would have to trust her and that she was taking over for his own good. Grandfather swore in words I’d never even heard, but Ma didn’t back down. I was proud of her. I think she amazed herself.
“I’ve always been so fearful, so in awe of him,” Ma confessed. “I feel like I’m growing up all over again.”
I felt like that, too. Only for me it was the first time. As Grandfather gained strength, Ma needed me less. By the fourth week I started mathematics and Latin lessons with Alex and Emily. It was still too hot to sit indoors, but Emily and Alex didn’t take notice. Cousin Albert was a fair tutor and worked with me until I caught on. But I couldn’t pull anything over on him like I’d done Miz Laura and Ma. Alex snickered at how far behind I was in the simplest studies, but groused when Cousin Albert praised me. In the afternoons I walked out with Emily. She called it “taking our constitutional.” She set store by the things I said. Nobody had ever done that. It wasn’t like larking with William Henry, but it felt right. I was glad my voice was lowering. Alex was just beginning to squeak.
Every other day Alex and I fished, but he was no good at it. He could sit plenty still, but he always toted a book along and kept at it so that he missed the few times he really got a bite. Those were the days I missed William Henry the most. Still, for the first time in my life I wasn’t walking in William Henry’s shadow.
“How is your fishing, Robert?” Grandfather wanted to know. Every question he asked sounded more like a challenge, as though I should know better.
“Tolerable, sir. We’ll have a mess of catfish for dinner today.”
“Have you made a fisherman out of that cousin of yours?”
“He’s a mite better at his books.”
Grandfather snorted. “Your father taught you a few worthwhile things. I’ll speak to Albert about getting you started on some target practice. Hunting should be go
od in a few weeks. I may even be able to join you by then.”
It was the first forward-looking thing Grandfather had said, and I was glad for him and for Ma. But whenever he mentioned Pa I didn’t know whether he was trying to bridge a gap or widen it. I wondered how Pa was doing without us. We got a letter from him our third week and I think he missed us, but the letter was about the dry weather and crops, Miz Laura’s health, which wasn’t so good, and last Sunday’s sermon. Ma seemed disappointed. And Cousin Albert was always there, escorting Ma to church, checking to see if she needed anything, helping with Ashland. He even pestered Grandfather to take an interest once he was well enough to reason things through. Ma took Grandfather to task, too.
“Papa, something must be done about the quarters. You know you and Mama would never have let things go like this. The slaves are a disgrace to Ashland. Their cabins are filthy and in need of repair. Scarcely a roof is sound. Their clothes are ragged and they aren’t rationed enough food to do an honest day’s work if they tried. Most have no shoes, and cold weather is coming. You and Mama always prided yourself on how you cared for our people.”
But Grandfather shook his head. “That’s Slocum’s arena, my dear. I’ve given him free rein in the fields and quarters, and he’s the one kept Ashland going. He’ll be back soon and I won’t take things out of his hands. I owe him that much. If Jed hadn’t been here, Ashland would have gone down into the dust after you left. We all owe him for that.”
“Owe him? Papa, he nearly killed you with that laudanum!”
“We don’t know that, Caroline. I’ve needed my medicine for a long time. The dosage was just a misunderstanding. You can’t expect darkies to—”
“Old George didn’t make a mistake! He was doing as he was told!”
