by Ginny Dye
The bidding had begun. Most bidders had dropped out when the price went above $1500. Only two bidders had battled it out to the end. Cromwell had seemed satisfied with the price of $2000. When the gavel had dropped, he had merely nodded and turned away to talk to the man standing next to him. Moses had regarded his new owner stoically before he had been marched from the stage and out to the wagon.
There he had sat all day, imagining his mama and sisters pain and terror, and being eaten from the inside with grief and guilt.
Sarah had sat quietly beside him all this time, but she had not moved her hand. The soft touch had seemed to give him the courage to allow his thoughts to travel once more over the events of the day.
Raising his head, Moses repeated, “Thank ya, m’am.”
Sarah nodded. “You need ta git some rest, boy. Morning comes mighty early aroun’ dis here place. But at least tomorrow be Sunday. We don’t got ta do no work.”
“That’s a mighty fine looking lot of slaves, Adams.”
Adams looked over at the driver, Crutchins, and nodded with a smirk. “They’re a fine looking lot, but as far as I’m concerned they just mean trouble.”
“Whatcha mean?”
“Oh come on, man!” Adams’ craggy features flushed as his pale blue eyes gleamed balefully. “Surely you see what’s going on all around us here. Didn’t you here about the fire down at the Morgan place last week? And the barn that burned at the Simpson’s place a few days before? That’s nigger work. There’s trouble coming, Crutchins. The niggers are smelling their freedom and it ain’t going to mean nothing but trouble.” Adams despised stop the slight sound of panic in his voice but his fear had been growing daily – along with his hatred.
Crutchins regarded him thoughtfully. “Yeah, I heard about the trouble. It ain’t nothing but those trouble makers in the North. They’re down here trying to stir up trouble just like they did with John Brown up in Harper’s Ferry last year. Our niggers aren’t coming up with these ideas on their own.”
Adams shrugged. “Don’t matter much if they are. The results are the same. I don’t mind admitting it makes my blood run cold to think of all these niggers free. All this secession talk has gotten me to thinking. I’ve heard some people talk about the possibility of a war if the South was to split off from the North. I don’t think the North has the guts to come down here and fight us Southern men. It wouldn’t be much of a fight anyway. They’d tuck their tails between their legs and run back up to their soft factory jobs before we’d had time to hurt them much, but it might be fun to have a shot at them. Maybe that would teach them to leave us alone down here. Those people just don’t understand what would happen if all these niggers suddenly got free. There wouldn’t be a safe place to live in the South. We might as well change the name of this part of our country to Little Africa. It wouldn’t take long before they would turn it into the same wildness they came from. What would happen to all of us?”
Crutchins’ response was a fearful silence, his eyes darting wildly as Adam’s somber question hung in the stillness of the spring night. Hovering above the wagon, it followed the two men as they rode the last piece down the road. Both were lost in the murky depths of their own thoughts. Neither took notice of the fragrant air that reached out welcoming arms to embrace him. Their fear kept any comfort at bay.
Adams fought to control the dark thoughts crowding his mind. It would never do to give in to fear. He knew if he did that he would lose control over the seventy-five slaves Cromwell paid him to oversee. It was hard sometimes, though. Especially like today when he was forced to stand next to Moses. The young giant made him feel like a peon. His wiry body seemed diminutive next to the young buck’s strength. He knew he wouldn’t stand a chance if Moses, or one of the other powerful men hardened by hours of hard work, were to turn against him. He knew he ruled because of fear. Cromwell didn’t like him to use the whip he carried with him at all times. Most of the time he complied with his wishes. But there were times when the slaves needed to know where they stood. They needed to be reminded who was the boss. What Cromwell didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And then there was the pistol. Even his wife, Eulalia, didn’t know he carried one with him all the time now. He aimed to be ready if the Cromwell slaves decided to stir up the same trouble as some of the other niggers in the area.
“He’s too soft on them, you know.”
“Huh?” Crutchins looked confused.
“Cromwell,” Adams snapped. “He’s too soft on his slaves. Someday it’s going to spell trouble. I can feel it coming.” He wanted to sneer as Crutchins looked at him quizzically. The portly, middle-aged man owned no slaves himself. He was content to make a living for his wife and two children by being a driver for area plantation owners. Adams knew the complacent man had no desire for the burdens that went with the responsibility of plantation wealth. Adams own desire burned in his gut. Losing his farm and five slaves several years ago had lit a raging fire of bitterness in him; he knew it would only be stilled when he was once again in the position he craved. He felt nothing but contempt for men like Crutchins.
“Take that Moses fellow,” Adams continued. “He’s going to be trouble.”
“What makes you think that?”
Crutchins’ tone said he didn’t care, but Adams chose to ignore it. He just wanted to talk. “I know where he came from,” Adams continued. “The fellow up at the Smith Plantation knew how to get a good day’s work out of the slaves there. He knew being too soft wasn’t any good. Mr. Smith put him in charge and left him in charge. Smith lived in town and only came out a few times a year to check on things. That’s the way it should be done.”
“I hear tell he lost that plantation. That’s why all the slaves were up for sale.” Adams spun around, fire spitting from his hardened eyes. “It had nothing to do with how the plantation was run! My brother did a damn good job......”
“Your brother?” Crutchins’ eyes narrowed.
“That’s right! My brother.” Adams hadn’t meant to let that slip but it didn’t really matter now. “It’s the Yankees who are causing all of our problems down here. Them, and all this fool talk of secession. It’s causing our economy to suffer. The little farmer is having a hard time keeping up.” The Smith Plantation, with over eight hundred acres, could hardly be called little, but it didn’t matter. Crutchins didn’t have to know everything.
Crutchins remained silent but lifted the reins a little to hurry his team up. Adams was lost in his bitter thoughts when they rounded the curve and he spotted his house.
“Here you go, Adams. My missus is waiting for me so I’ve got to go.”
Adams wasn’t done, however. “This is just another example of what I’m talking about.”
“What’s that?” Crutchins said, sounding bored and tired.
“My house shouldn’t be a half mile down the road.” He chose to ignore the fact he would live in constant fear if his house were any closer. “How does Cromwell expect me to keep things under control when I’m this far away? Those niggers are probably hatching up some evil plans right now.”
Crutchins just nodded and pulled the team to a halt. “Good night, Adams.”
Adams climbed wearily from the wagon, and turned to continue his bitter tirade. But with a gentle cluck, Crutchins had his team rolling away from him before he could speak. Closing his mouth again, he wiped a grimy hand across bleary eyes and turned toward his cottage. He couldn’t blame the driver for wanting to get home. He had heard Missus Crutchins laid a fine meal. The thought sped his steps. His own wife wasn’t that great a cook but he knew there would be hot food waiting for him. His two boys should be in bed by now. He could sit by the fire and eat in peace. The idea was a welcome one.
FOUR
Abigail Cromwell looked over from where she was seated at her dressing table.
“Robert Borden seems like a very nice young man.”
“He does indeed,” Thomas agreed. He was tired and ready to call it a night, but he remembere
d the question he had seen appear in his wife’s eyes earlier. Something was obviously still troubling her. He turned and watched her from his position on the bed. She looked lovely in her pale yellow dressing gown. “Come here, Abigail.”
She smiled softly, and rose to join him. They sat in silence for a few minutes as the cool, spring air swirled in around them.
“What’s wrong, Abby?”
“You always know, don’t you?” Abigail managed a smile as she laid her head on his shoulder.
“Well, I do tonight.”
“Lucy Blackwell told me something else today.” Thomas waited patiently as she searched for the right words. “Several of their slaves ran away last week.”
Thomas nodded. Unfortunately, slaves running away was becoming a much more common occurrence. The Underground Railroad was becoming bolder in its efforts to free the slaves. “None of our slaves have run away, Abby. We treat them well. Why would they want to leave?” He chose his next words carefully. “I’ve heard that the Blackwell overseer can be a little rough.”
“But that’s not all,” her voice sharpened with fear. “They were discovered gone after Giles, the stable keeper, discovered a fire in the main barn. He caught it in time, but what if he hadn’t?” Quickly, she made the switch from Blackwell Plantation. “What if it had been our barn, Thomas? What if our slaves decided to kill all our beautiful horses? Think how horrible it would be. Think what it would do to Carrie!” Her voice had risen to a hysterical pitch.
Thomas wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “It didn’t happen here, Abby,” he responded softly. “And it won’t. You’ll have to trust me. Our slaves know we’re good to them. They know that without us they couldn’t survive. Nothing is going to happen.”
Abigail took several deep breaths, seeming to be comforted by his words. He knew it was more because she wanted to believe he spoke the truth, than because she really believed him. She wouldn’t have even that small comfort if she could see into her husband’s mind. Thomas could only hope and pray that what he spoke was the truth. There were so many factions at work in their country. So many people determined to free the slaves. So much nonsensical talk about emancipation. The fools didn’t know what they were talking about, but Thomas was afraid their passion would create a situation that would mean tragedy for everyone. Determinedly, he shoved his thoughts aside. He had always protected Abigail from the hard things of life. He would continue to do so for as long as it was possible. “Tomorrow should be a wonderful time.”
The tactic worked. The idea of the tournament and the ball seemed to erase dark thoughts from his wife’s mind. “Oh, yes, Thomas! Everybody is going to be there!
“You mean everybody who is somebody ,” he responded teasingly, happy to see her focused on something pleasant.
“Well, of course. You don’t think Lucy would invite any of the wrong people do you, dear? I’m so glad to here she invited Robert Borden to join the festivities.”
“I am too, dear. I quite enjoyed the young man.”
“And he seemed to be quite taken with your daughter, sir.”
Thomas stifled a laugh. So she had noticed too. “Really?”
“Don’t pretend innocence with me. It was written all over his face!”
Thomas laughed and nodded. “I’m afraid he is rather smitten.”
Abigail had turned to look out the window. Now she spun to face him again. “Why are you afraid? It’s high time our daughter found a suitable young man. It’s time she grew up.”
Thomas controlled his sigh. He knew it was too much to hope that Abigail would understand Carrie. Thomas, too, wished for Carrie to find someone to care about her deeply, but he sensed his daughter was anxious to spread her wings. He didn’t think she was considering marriage. He wisely chose to say none of that, however. “Well, we’ll just let things take their course. When the time is right, Carrie will find that special person. Until then I am going to enjoy having her at home. I’m not anxious to see her leave us yet.”
Abigail fell silent. When he put it that way, there was really nothing she could say.
Thomas smiled and blew out the light. He had scored a victory.
Moses pulled his wool blanket closer to his chin and snuggled down against the early spring chill. At least Sarah had been right about some of the things she had said. The slaves at Cromwell were at least treated a little better. His bed back at the Smith Plantation had consisted of a few hard boards nailed to a support coming off the wall. Here there was actually a rough, horsehair mattress to soften the familiar boards.
The sweet potatoes had been another surprise - he could still taste them. He could hardly believe they still had some this time of the year, and had been amazed when one of his cabin mates told him Cromwell allowed them to store vast quantities to take them through the months in between harvests.
“You all right, Moses?”
Moses recognized the rough tones of Jupiter, one of his cabin mates. Jupiter wasn’t much older than Moses and had lived all his life on Cromwell Plantation.
“Yeah. I be all right.” He was not about to tell Jupiter of the tears choking his throat and the pain that seemed to be pulling his heart in two. Where were his mama and Sadie? How were they being treated? Would their new overseer beat them? What about June? What was going to happen to him? Stifling the groan that rose to his lips, Moses rolled to face the wall.
“It’s better here you know,” Jupiter said quietly. Silence stretched for several moments and then he continued, almost as if he was speaking to himself. “We’re still owned like animals - and treated like animals - but at least we get treated pretty good.”
FIVE
Carrie glanced up at Robert Borden shyly as he looked out over the early morning mist hovering over the fields. Normally, she would have been focused on the beauty of fresh green trees glimmering in the mist but not today… Robert looked incredibly handsome astride Granite. The Thoroughbred’s gleaming iron coat was the perfect background for his dark, good looks. She let her eyes drink in the sight before she cast her eyes back down to the carriage where she sat, waiting with her mother, for her father to join them. She was uncomfortably aware of her mother’s speculative gaze and could only hope her cheeks weren’t as red as she feared they were.
The early morning air was crisp but the lap rugs Miles had carefully placed over them kept them warm. Miles had then given his assistant, Charles, a stern lecture about being careful with the carriage and horses. Carrie was glad they were getting an early start. She didn’t want to miss a minute of the festivities and it would also give Granite a rest before the Tournament began.
“You look quite handsome this morning, Mr. Borden.”
Robert turned to smile down at his hostess. “Thank you, Mrs. Cromwell. You are looking quite lovely yourself. The blue of your gown brings out the beauty of your eyes, ma’am.”
Abigail smiled graciously. “Thank you. I hope you do well in the Tournament today, Mr. Borden. There is quite stiff competition I understand.”
Robert inclined his head modestly. “I will do my best. The wonder of it is that I have such a fine animal to ride. Your daughter has been quite generous. I’m afraid, though, that she may have been too generous. The offer of one’s horse is no small matter. I’m afraid I may have been remiss in accepting such an offer.”
Carrie raised her head quickly. “Oh no, Mr. Borden. I truly wish you to ride Granite.” She met his eyes briefly, then looked back down quickly, but not before she caught his warm smile. Carrie felt her cheeks flush even hotter but kept her eyes resolutely fixed on her white gloved hands. She knew she was behaving in a silly manner but she simply didn’t understand the confusion she was feeling. Last night had been fine. Robert Borden had been just another house guest. Somewhere in the night her feelings had changed. She had planned on meeting him in the barn this morning but couldn’t bring herself to do it. All her casual confidence had vanished. Her fists clenched of their own accord. It was that silly dream! Never before
had she had such a dream...
She was in her secret place – dressed in a flowing, simple white gown, and seated on her boulder with Granite munching grass behind her. Suddenly Robert was there - appearing out of a fine mist bordering the opening. She rose to meet him. Neither spoke, but held each other in a warm embrace. They stood there for what seemed like forever, locked in each other’s arms. Slowly, Robert held her away and gazed down into her face. Then he slowly lowered his head, his lips drawn near to hers...
A stirring in the room had startled her awake. Carrie had kept her eyes squeezed shut until the servant had ignited a blazing fire in her fireplace and then slipped from the room. Spring was here, but the mornings were still chilly. The blaze would feel good as Rose got her ready for the day. Carrie only opened her eyes when her room was once more empty, but then fixed her stare on the filmy canopy over her bed and didn’t move. What could such a dream mean? She had never dreamed such a thing about a man before. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever dreaming about a man. Confused by the sudden tangle of her emotions, Carrie lay still as her face flooded with color and her heart beat a faster rhythm. She talked sternly to herself until her feelings and thoughts were once more under control. Rose had not suspected a thing as she hurried to get her mistress ready. There was no time for their usual small talk. There was just enough time to get Carrie ready for the Tournament and double check to make sure she had everything she needed for the Ball and for an evening away from home.
Carrie had felt composed when Sam arrived at her door to collect her trunk. She had even managed to act natural through breakfast. It was seeing Robert astride Granite that had thrown her into such a state of confusion. Every detail of the dream had come flooding back. How on earth could she act natural with someone that she had dreamed about kissing just the night before? “Almost kissing , ” she told herself sternly. “He didn’t actually do it......” Carrie knew she was behaving badly but the only thing she knew to do was keep her eyes hidden. Rose always told her that her eyes spoke everything going on inside of her. It would not do for Robert to suspect what she was thinking.
