By the Wind's Will

by Nat Burns

  Tewes bowed low over Margaret’s hand and turned wide eyes to Charles. “Sir, am I to understand that all these children are to live here?”

  Charles laughed quietly and shook his head in bewilderment. “Yes, I do think so. ‘T would be best if they remained with their mother and myself.”

  Tewes grinned awkwardly and made hasty apologies. “I am terribly sorry. It is just that the servants have never had small children before, Sir. Master Finley was an elderly man whose children had grown.”

  He paused, and a mischievous light grew bright in his eyes.

  “You know, Sir, this has a bit of sport to it. I daresay the servants have gotten rather stuffy and lazy. It will do them good to have a little life about the place. I am going to enjoy the look on their faces when you and your family descend upon them.”

  Charles’ face fell. “You don’t think they shall be offended? Put off their work?”

  “Heavens no!” Tewes exclaimed, mouth falling agape. “I truly think they will enjoy having youngsters about the place. It will be a bit of a shock at first though. If you all will come with me, I shall introduce you to the staff and have you made comfortable after the journey.” He turned, beckoning them to follow, and led the way inside.

  Foxy, upon entering the house, was surprised. It was completely different from the wealthier houses she had delivered cloth to while across the sea. It was grand, certainly, but it had an easy, casual air. The windows were thrown wide to let in the bright sunlight and cool, fragrant breezes, a practice which was odd to her. She was used to the cold, damp, shuttered houses of London. All in all, this new, never ending space made her feel strangely free and unencumbered and she didn’t know quite how to deal with that.

  Tewes promptly made introductions all round. He turned to the servants first.

  “This is Charles Scott. He is to be your new master. You’re to show him the same respect and obey him just as you did the old master.”

  Turning and spreading an arm, Tewes addressed Charles. “Master Scott, May I introduce your household staff? Amos is your new butler, and this is his wife Martha, who is your cook and head of the kitchen.”

  An elderly, grizzled Negro stepped forward and gave a small bow while his plump wife smiled and bobbed her head shyly.

  Tewes went on to introduce Sal and Bo, who were the young kitchen helpers and Malia, the tiny, wizened children’s nurse who had been called back to care for Finley as he grew more infirm. Lastly, he introduced Mrs. Perry, the elderly white housekeeper who kept the estate hearth running smoothly.

  Tewes, a mischievous light in his eyes turned to the nurse. “Malia, you shall no doubt be thrilled by Master Scotts’ family. He and his wife have six children! What do you think of that? How about some young ones to look after again?”

  Malia hooted and her dark, olive eyes gleamed with happiness as she answered him. “Lor’ Master Tewes, dat suits me jist fine. Dis big ol’ house been quiet way too long!”

  Tewes laughed at her joy. “I thought you’d be pleased. Why don’t you take them upstairs and get them settled in. I’m sure they are all exhausted. Mistress Scott may want to accompany you and familiarize herself with the nursery.”

  As the women and children went upstairs with Malia, Tewes dismissed the rest of the staff and pulled the two men aside.

  “Now, gentlemen! Would you like to retire for a short time, also? We have your rooms prepared and, I hope, comfortable.

  Charles shook his head thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think so, if you would not mind, I’d like to have a drink, and have you share with me the details of my new home and position.

  “Ah, then,” Tewes said affably. “Why don’t we go into the drawing room where we can talk in comfort.”

  He led the men off to the left and through a set of heavy double doors. The drawing room was elegant but somehow comfortable. Furnished in the newly popular Queen Anne style, it was well packed with plush red velvet chairs and two settees. The drapes were of royal blue as was the patterned carpet on the floor. A large fireplace dominated one wall.

  “Well, well,” Tewes said, moving them toward the grouping of chairs before the glowing fireplace. “Y’all two sit down and get comfortable. I’ll pour us a little of this fine French brandy.”

  He crossed to a low mahogany table and filled three goblets from a crystal decanter. After passing the drinks, he settled himself in one of the plush padded armchairs.

  “Well, Master Scott, what do you think of your new home? A bit different from the mother land, wouldn’t you say?” There was a merry twinkle to his eye as he asked the seemingly innocent question.

  Charles shifted in his chair and hesitated a long moment before speaking. “I must admit, I’m rather overwhelmed by it all. I’m afraid I expected it to be a bit more like Mother England. Everything is spaced so far apart... What exactly am I supposed to do with all this land and especially those fields of crop? I know nothing in the least about it.”

  Tewes grinned broadly. “Not that much, I’m afraid. You’ll soon be fat and lazy like so many other Southern planters. You see, you are now the proud owner of close to two hundred and fifty negroes. They’ll do all the work for you, all you need to do is give them a bit of direction.”

  He paused briefly. “Master Finley trained them well, so you shouldn’t have any problems.” He paused again and stared thoughtfully into his glass. “One thing though, I do need to caution you about this. Don’t ever let a darkie get the upper hand. Keep them in their place and they are the best workers a man could ask for.”

  Charles felt his face grow tight with conviction. “I understand,” he ground out finally. “I do understand the need in this new country for such an enterprise, but I must say, my sentiments lie alongside a one-time colleague of mine, an Irishman. Though he was with us for such a short time, elderly when I met him, he was a wise man. Slavery is an oppression on the mind, he said often. I must agree.”

  Tewes grunted. “I do hope that you will not share those ideas with the good people of Savannah. It could make your life here much more difficult.”

  He shifted in his chair then placed his empty glass on a nearby table. He leaned forward and peered at Charles. “Don’t misunderstand me. You are free to run your property as you see fit. Follow your beliefs in the best way for you and your family. But, I recommend you do it quietly. Savannah is a prospering town, in large part due to the productive attributes of slavery. To swim against that tide would be...well, let’s say foolhardy.”

  He sat back and silence cloaked the room for a long minute. “I think you’ll soon catch on to plantation life. Finley is a world unto itself. There’s a lot to running it but if you have any questions as you go along, you can ask Teddy, the boss overseer or myself. We’ll both help in any way we can. Now, let me go over the whole cotton cycle, from seed to sale, with you.”

  The next two hours were spent in detailed discussion of plantation whys and wherefores until finally, with head whirling, Giles and Charles followed Amos into a huge dining room where they rejoined their wives for a lavish meal of new country fare, featuring thick brown gravy ladled over fresh biscuits and wild duck.

  After another brandy and a fine cigar found in a humidor in Charles’s study, a yawning Giles followed Amos up the huge, curving staircase. He was escorted to a thick, wooden bedchamber door on the top level. There he found Mary brushing her long hair in front of the vanity mirror set against the outside wall. Crossing the room, he laid his hands softly on her shoulders and immediately sensed her back stiffening under them.

  He turned away angrily and sat on the edge of the large canopied bed. His voice when he spoke to her was tinged with the pain and defeat he was feeling. “Mary, love, tew me ‘at I can do to cure ‘at’s troublin’ ye. We must carry on our life togevah, we are man an’ wife. Let me try to make right ‘e problem between us.”

  The only answer was a stony silence. He searched her thin, pinched face in the mirror, hoping for some small sign of warmth.
Seeing none, his pride won out and he slowly undressed and crawled into the crisp, freshly laundered sheets. The last thing he did before drifting off to sleep was to slide as close to his edge of the bed as possible, physically manifesting the gulf that had come to divide them.

  Chapter Seven

  May 1752

  THE TWO CHILDREN, hidden behind a hedge, stared in awed silence as the man was drawn up the front drive on a wooden and leather travois. The woolen blanket folded thickly beneath his head was dark with shed blood. As the horse drew closer to the front of the house they could see the back of his head where white skull gleamed instead of the lock of long, dark russet hair that should have been there.

  “Goddamn,” Foxy said in a fervent whisper. “A sneakin’ Creek got him!”

  “Foxy!” Maggie whispered back. “There’s no reason to be takin’ the Lord’s name in vain! Oh! Isn’t it awful?” Her eyes were glued to the gruesome spectacle and shining with excitement as she leaned closer to her friend. “Do you think any more of them are around here? They might attack us.”

  Foxy gave her a playful shove. “Maggie, you know better than that. The Indians have been moved way inside. This was probably a hunter that got in Roarke’s way and we all know how he feels about the bloody redskins. Roarke no doubt goaded him into doing the scalpin.’”

  Maggie glanced about her fearfully as if afraid the Indians were peering at her that very minute. “I hope you’re right, Foxy. I don’t fancy losing my hair.”

  Foxy gave a snort of derisive laughter and grabbed the girl’s hand. “I know I’m right. Let’s go see if the crayfish are awake.”

  Hand in hand the two children crept away from the crowd that had gathered around the dead man and made their way across the back lawn and down to the wide creek that bordered the back of Finley house. At the beginning of summer, while frolicking in the cool, clear water, they had come across a family of crayfish and ever since had made them pets of a sort. Now as they approached the rock where the family lived. Foxy dug into her pocket and pulled out a flour biscuit, broke it and gave Maggie half. They flopped down on the sweet-smelling grass and began to feed bits of biscuit to the crayfish.

  After her part of the bread was gone, Foxy turned over onto her back and stared up into the trees. She loved this area of Finley, far removed from the ongoing bustle of the big house, it was the place she often came to think and to dream. Maggie, too, felt the peacefulness and always kept silent so as not to intrude on Foxy’s private thoughts. She glanced shyly at her now, wondering what her thoughts were. She looked so serious and solemn that Maggie had to stifle the giggle that threatened to escape her. She also turned over on her back and lost herself in the pale blue sky.

  AN HOUR LATER when both were just about asleep, a hot wind blew across them, stirring the film of sweat that covered their skin. Foxy sat up, yawned sleepily and slapped Maggie’s belly.

  “Time to swim!” she shouted as she jumped up and raced along the creek bank. Maggie sat up and frowned, rubbing her abdomen where Foxy had slapped it. Within moments, she too was up and running toward the deep pool where they often swam. Coming to the spot where Foxy had dropped her clothes, Maggie stripped as well and dove into the water. A few seconds later she surfaced and cried out. “Oh, Foxy! It’s cold, too cold!”

  Not hearing a response, she treaded water to keep herself afloat and looked around. Foxy was not in the swimming hole with her. She called her name a few times and panic started setting in. Suppose she’d drowned? Frantically, Maggie screamed Foxy’s name and swam toward the high bank on the opposite side of the creek, hoping that by climbing the steep bank she could get up high enough to get a better view into the depths of the water.

  As she approached the bank, a grouping of rocks rolled down and tumbled into the pool. She shook the moisture from her eyes, angry at Foxy for splashing her and squinted up the grassy slope. There silhouetted against the sun was a frightening figure and it took her only a second or so to realize that it wasn’t her friend. This person had long straggly hair, a reddish glow about him and a short weapon in one hand.

  Eyes wide with terror, Maggie let go of the grass she’d been clinging to and swam as fast as she could to the other side. As she pulled herself out of the water she heard the Indian, with a loud war cry, splash through the creek after her. Giving no thought to her nakedness, she darted away into the trees screaming for Foxy to come save her.

  After running until her sides ached and her breath was coming in labored gasps, she realized that she was fleeing through forested area away from the big plantation house. She paused momentarily and considered going back but heard the Indian thrashing through the underbrush toward her. Quickly, she turned to run again but a vine had entangled itself around her ankle and instead of going forward she found herself falling flat on her face into the soft forest dirt. In seconds the Indian was upon her. Frightened into silent prayer, the girl closed her eyes tight and waited to feel the prick of the knife on her scalp. After a while she grew tired of waiting, opened her eyes and stared into the grinning face of Foxy. She was smeared all over with red mud and bits of Spanish moss still clung to her long, unbound hair. Smiling stupidly, she held up the short stick she carried. “Were you waiting for me to scalp you with this?”

  Maggie, not appreciating her prank in the least, burst into tears and threw herself face down on the ground. Foxy, hearing her sob as if her heart were broken, immediately regretted her trick and tried to make amends. Putting her arm across Maggie, she consoled her. “Maggie, here, I truly am sorry. I thought you’d laugh. It was just a joke, honest, I didn’t mean to frighten you so. What can I do to make it right again?”

  She gently tried to turn Maggie’s dirty face towards hers, so she could witness her regret, but the other girl jerked away angrily.

  Still sobbing and her voice muffled, she chastised Foxy. “I don’t care! I think you are beastly and I’m gonna tell Mama and your Mama as soon as I get home. You shan’t get away with this and I hope you get the thrashing of your life.”

  Foxy sat and pondered this, knowing that she could very well get into serious trouble for her prank, especially due to the very real danger possibly surrounding them. She thought over all her options and decided that she had to make things right between them before the other girl tattled. Quickly, she renewed her efforts to placate Maggie.

  “Listen, Maggie, I swear never to do it again. I swear by all that’s holy. Can you, will you, forgive me?”

  Bored with crying, Maggie sat up and swiped at her face with one grimy arm. “I don’t see as I can ever forgive you, Fidelia Nelson. You make my life a misery and I hate you!”

  Foxy was crushed by the angry words and could only stare numbly at Maggie. It was a terrible blow to discover that the person with whom you’d shared secrets, had swum with, explored a plantation with and even traveled an ocean with, thought that you made her life a misery. Finally, she found her voice. “Say it isn’t true! I thought you were my dearest friend!”

  Maggie softened a bit. “Well, we are friends, but you didn’t have to scare me half out of my wits, did you?”

  Foxy smiled but shrugged arrogantly. “’Twas only a lark. I truly thought you’d laugh. Now, tell me, what can I do to make it right?”

  Maggie stood and brushed bits of leaf and dirt from her skin as if she hadn’t heard the question. Waiting patiently, Foxy couldn’t help but notice how nicely her body was filling out and how gently her golden hair curled upon her naked shoulders.

  Surprising Foxy with her sudden movement she turned and bestowed her with a teasing, radiant smile. “I know! You shall kiss me! That will make all right between us and I’ll promise not to tell on you.”

  Foxy scowled ferociously. She should have known Maggie would come up with some girlish nonsense such as a kiss. Maggie, seeing her expression, stuck out her lower lip and began to walk stiffly away. “Be that way then, young Mistress Nelson. It’s not such a loathsome thing I ask!”

  Sudd
en visions of painful past punishments flickered across Foxy’s mind and quickly, without hesitation, she called her back. “All right,” she said, rising slowly to her feet. “I don’t suppose one kiss will ruin me.”

  She stood waiting, scowling just a little as Maggie advanced. When she reached her side, Maggie closed her eyes and pushed her face forward.

  With another small frown, Foxy leaned over and pressed her lips upon Maggie’s.

  The world exploded into sensation then in Foxy’s mind. She heard the birds chittering gaily above them, felt the warm breath from Maggie’s nostrils and the soft, silkiness of her lips. She tasted mud. And tears. And the essence that was Maggie.

  Then slowly, oh, so slowly, instinctively, her arms went around Maggie’s waist, pulling their slender naked bodies close. There was a stirring deep within Foxy, and a sudden aching from the beauty of the moment.

  Then, suddenly it was over, and Maggie stepped back. Foxy sat down heavily on the ground, dazed and embarrassed, spent by these new emotions. After a moment, she was able to look up at Maggie who was standing, her weight on one foot, a faraway, dewy look in her green eyes. She was twirling a strand of her yellow hair around a forefinger. Foxy thought her the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

  Later that afternoon, Foxy walked alone to the cabin that Charles had let them live in until Giles decided what to do with his life. Foxy’s thoughts were a million miles away and she opened the wooden door with a preoccupied air. Mary, crouched over the fireplace, looked up. Quickly, as if afraid of showing motherly concern, she went back to stirring her pots and ignored the girl. Foxy wordlessly crossed the room and lay down on her moss stuffed mattress with a sigh. She spent the next hour in deep thought while Mary prepared the evening meal.

  Just as darkness fell, the door flew open and Giles rushed in, bringing with him the habitual smell of whiskey and cigar smoke. His face was flushed with excitement and Foxy wondered when she’d last seen her father this animated.