by Hines, Jerri
He laughed, a coarse, hard laugh. “Ma’am, who do ya think gave me my orders?”
Her face fell; she felt nauseated. Oh, God in Heaven! That despicable man was lying. He had to be, but he would not shut up.
“The master retaliated against these niggers for the deaths they caused. Went on a rampage. Don’t think ’em burnt down ’em own homes and trampled their own gardens. Wants anyone associated with ole Willy execu…punished. They hid that one…until ’em stupid niggers figured out that Tome boy would be the death of ’em. That he was a spawn of that she-devil. Began throwing rocks at the boy to keep him away. Ain’t even wanted by his own kind.”
As she looked down at the boy, he raised his head. His frightened eyes shone back at her. Oh, good Lord, she saw Gillie reflecting in them.
She straightened her shoulders back and held out her hand for the boy, giving him no choice but to take it. She whirled around and stared at the sadistic face of the white man. “I don’t believe a word of what you said and if you think I’m leaving this child with you, you are sadly mistaken. If it is as you said, you can tell Mr. Whitney I have the boy. But I can assure you of one thing—nothing…nothing is happening to this child.”
She made her way through the men and dogs, holding tight to the boy’s hand, almost dragging him along. They did not stop until they reached the carriage and rode back to town.
* * * *
The morning after the incident, Jo had not left her suite at the Camden Inn, where she had sought refuge to think. She realized she could not leave things as they were, but Andrew had urged caution. After breakfast…after breakfast, I will go see Grace Ann and explain myself.
She had only eaten two bites of her eggs when she sensed an intrusion to her peace. When she looked up, she found Mr. Whitney in the center of the room. He barely glanced at her and appeared annoyed.
Pulling out a chair from the table, he sat and placed his hat down in front of him. She need not be told she was about to be admonished for her behavior the previous day. Suddenly, she felt like a young girl who had ripped and dirtied her good dress before church.
“Would you like for me to send for another plate?”
“No, it is not necessary. Are you finished? I would like to take a small stroll in the garden with you.”
Something in his expression told her that she had no choice. Something she had never seen before in him, something ruthless.
“I have only to inform Rosa to care for Madeline.”
Mr. Whitney waited impatiently, twisting his hat in his hand. When she returned, he accompanied her to a bench in the inn’s dormant garden. A chill wind blew, but he made no effort to see to her comfort.
“I understand that you witnessed an unfortunate occurrence.”
“I would say more of a disturbing sight, Mr. Whitney…one that I could not ignore.”
Acknowledgment of that fact registered in his face, but his expression did not soften. “It would have been for the best if you had. You had no right to take the boy.”
Her soulful eyes widened with shock. She wasn’t certain she heard him correctly. “I did what I thought right, Mr. Whitney. You were not there and did not see what occurred. I’m not certain that Mr. Syms has been truthful with you. He…was chasing…the boy with dogs! The poor thing was covered in filth. Battered and…”
“That’s enough, Josephine. I will deal with the matter. Now please turn the boy back over to me and we will forget this nasty business ever occurred.”
“He is ill,” Jo began.
“Let me remind you, he is not your concern. Don’t believe because of our connection, I will turn my back on your actions. This matter needs to be dealt with promptly.”
She looked at him and saw his severe countenance. His dark eyes narrowed. Slowly, she comprehended he did not care about her explanation, only a twisted revenge.
“Explain it to me then, Mr. Whitney, because for the life of me you have me at a loss. This is a five-year-old boy…”
“A slave…that nigger’s boy…she destroyed my family. Killed my boy…my grandchildren.”
A bilious sensation churned in her stomach. The words she had conjured to salve his anger suddenly struck her as useless. He was blinded by a merciless rage against anything and everything connected to the rebellion.
“Sir, I can’t believe my ears. Surely, you are not suggesting holding the actions of others against a young lad.” She took a deep breath in before her fragile courage wavered. “A lad who is obviously your grandson. You know this as well as I. Grace Ann told me herself on my prior visit. One look and it is obvious. Isn’t it the reason why Willy…”
Abruptly, she realized her mistake.
Rigid in his seat, he said, “Watch your mouth, young lady. After all I have done for you, show me the respect I deserve.”
“Mr. Whitney, I have always admired and respected you...why, I love you for all you have done for me...but this...this I can’t accept. I won’t.”
“It is not for you to decide. Despite those damn Yankees’ proclamation, my slaves aren’t free. Don’t make me go to the authorities.”
“Would you? Is that why you are here? I know it couldn’t possibly be the boy. He is only a means to expel the anger and frustration you are feeling at the moment.” Confidence in her voice contrasted her trembling hands. She gripped them tightly, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “You are lashing out your frustration…when your family needs you the most…”
Mr. Whitney seethed. “You have no right to assume you know me. Moreover, you have no right to talk of my family.”
“Why, because I am only your bastard granddaughter?”
“My mistake was to have informed you of that fact,” he said coolly, rising to his feet. “I will be back this evening. I will expect you to hand over the boy then.”
A chill swept through Jo as she watched him walk away. Burning with indignation, she waited only until he was out of sight. Racing back up the stairs, she burst back into her suite.
“Rosa, send for Dr. Andrew.”
* * * *
Josephine found her cousin in the nursery, rocking Peggy’s youngest. No more than a few weeks old, the baby slept soundly in the afternoon’s repose. Grace Ann glanced over at Jo, and then returned her gaze to the sleeping child.
“Dearest, whatever have you gone and done to cause Mr. Whitney’s terrible mood?”
“I fear I have unintentionally offended him,” Jo said, overcome with an overwhelming sadness. A silent tear streamed down her cheek.
“You will apologize, won’t you? I know he has been a brute as of late, but it is quite understandable. Such a tragedy. I worry so about him.”
“And I worry about you.”
“There is no need,” Grace Ann assured her in a soft voice, as if not to wake the baby.
Staring at Grace Ann, memories assaulted Jo, old ones…good and bad. Pushing back the emotions that threatened to overpower her, she leaned down and kissed her cousin’s cheek. Grace Ann reached up and squeezed her hand.
Jo eased out of the room, descended the stairs and out of the house. Hurrying down the steps into the waiting carriage, she reached over and took her daughter from Rosa. Across from her, Andrew sat with the little boy lying across his lap.
“You said your good-byes?” Andrew asked.
Nodding, Jo could find no words. She wanted only to get back to Magnolia Bluff as quickly as possible. She would not be returning.
Chapter Four
Josephine walked onto the porch of the old cabin and paused before she entered. The sun waned, giving way to a still darkness. Lantern light shone under the crack of the door and smoke climbed the chimney. Miss Hazel had kept her word. She had come.
Not bothering to knock, she eased open the door. A slight smile formed on her lips at the sight before her—the small scared boy snuggled into the crouch of the old black woman’s arms in the creaky rocking chair. Her dry, wrinkled hand caressed the small face.
His faint smile w
hisked her back to the day she had first seen Tome on the Whitneys’ lawn, an innocent young boy loyally waiting by his friend until her mother came for her. She wondered whether his innocence was lost forever.
“Come in, child. Don’t dawdle.”
“You are quite right. We don’t have much time.” Jo shut the door behind her. “Andrew is giving Mr. Syms a tour of the grounds as we speak. We tried to hold him back until morning, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”
The Montgomerys’ offer to pay for the boy had been refused. Instead, Mr. Whitney had sent his overseer to Magnolia Bluff to ensure the boy’s return.
“Now, now, donca worry none. Ain’t gonna let anything happen to this youngin’.”
“We won’t have a say if Syms finds him.” Jo sighed. “Amos drove me over in the buckboard with Rosa. I don’t know the exact details, but Andrew says he has made the necessary arrangements to get Tome down to Beaufort.”
“When?”
“Immediately.” Jo fumbled in her cloak pocket and felt to make sure the small envelope she brought was secure. She hadn’t thought it would be this hard. Though unrelated by blood or color, the realization how much she relied on this woman swept through her. She swallowed hard. “Miss Hazel, I fear I have a request of you.”
“Law, child, just ask. I ain’t gonna refuse to help this young man.”
“It’s more than help, Miss Hazel.” Jo drew up a chair from the dining table and sat. “I want you to take Tome north. Raise him yourself.”
“Leave?” Miss Hazel’s eyebrows rose in question. “This is my home.”
“Oh, Miss Hazel, just do as I ask,” Jo said in a much harsher tone than she intended. The last days had worn on her frayed nerves.
Tired. Exhausted. Her mind fought against her heart. Her Southern upbringing had taught her not to question what tradition had handed down. For years, she had accepted the peculiar institution, that in time the South itself would do away with it. Until then, she had believed that the blacks were in much better hands under their guidance. Now, everything had become confused.
“Now, Miss Jo, I’ll take the boy to Beaufort for ya, but I’m sixty-two. I can’t raise the boy and I ain’t leavin’ my farm.” Miss Hazel looked sharply at Jo. “Already got runaways in the marshes waiting for me to abandon my cabin. Whatca think will happen? Won’t have a home to come back to…”
Jo stood and slammed her fist on the table. “You don’t have a choice!” Her voice trailed off and she stood in silence. Miss Hazel’s eagle eyes met hers, which Jo had no doubt conveyed her fear.
With her emotions toiling, Jo walked over to the fire in silence. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to her mammy. “You have to go. I saw the devastation of a festered hatred. In turn, the revenge inflicted. Those men are here at Magnolia Bluff.”
Jo gestured her frustration and waved her hands in front of her. Finally, she fell back into the chair and took her head in her hands. Endless moments passed, and then she looked up imploringly at the confused Miss Hazel.
“The loyalty and love for my home has not diminished, but it riles my temper not to be able to question an atrocity…as if doing so implies I’m betraying God, country, and family. But none of their threats will make me turn the boy back over to Mr. Whitney.”
“Oh, Miss Jo, I knows your heart, but ya will make it worse for yourself. Ya and I know what Mr. Whitney is to ya. What if he…?”
“I have no control over his actions,” Jo interrupted. “Only my own. He will do as he must, as I will do what I must.” For a moment, time stood still. “That day when they were chasing Tome in the woods…when I took his hand, I looked in his eyes, I saw Gillie. I knew then what I had to do…what I couldn’t do for her.”
In all the years she had known Miss Hazel, Jo had never seen her cry. Her mammy had always been a pillar of strength. Today, tears welled in the old woman’s eyes.
Sighing heavily, Jo regained a semblance of her composure. “There’s more. Buck is back. Andrew assures me that Buck would not be foolish enough to retaliate at me directly. I myself doubt that Buck would have the backbone to try it by himself, but not to lash out to hurt me in any manner he had at his disposal—you.”
For a moment, Miss Hazel paused before she answered. “I will go.”
Relief mingled with sadness gripped Jo’s heart, but she couldn’t afford the luxury of being overcome with emotions. She took the envelope out of her pocket and moved over to her mammy.
“Amos is waiting to drive you down to Beaufort. He will stay to make sure that you make the necessary contacts for you to gain passage to Philadelphia.” She squeezed the envelope into Miss Hazel’s hand. “This will help. May God go with you.”
Miss Hazel lowered her gaze at the young boy. “Now, Tome, tell Miss Jo thank ya for her kindness.”
“Thank ya, ma’am,” Tome said, trying to be all proper.
Jo stepped back and allowed the two to leave the cabin. She heard Amos greet Tome. Shortly after, the buckboard creaked and Amos snapped the reins to their old mule, Gus. She sat in the stillness until Rosa informed her that Andrew had come to escort them back to Magnolia Bluff.
* * * *
A slight sea breeze whisked through, rustling the budding trees of the low-country forest. Birds sang; wildflowers bloomed. Ignorant of the widespread conflict of the region, nature awoke from the dormant sleep of winter.
A festoon of Spanish moss swung in a slow rhythm, hanging from the water oaks. Heyward walked along the overgrown path down along the shoreline. Beaufort had become a safe haven for runaway slaves since the Union occupation.
North of the town, a refugee camp had been established for the contraband slaves. The area was overcrowded with crudely built shanties and tents that had been quickly erected for the influx of needy. He searched for his mother in the chaos.
The tall black man trudged into the newfound community. Each step taken added to his frustration. These camps had become notorious for their lack of decent housing and food. Paying work was scarce and most of the inhabitants had no education.
“The information I obtained said she was down by the church.” Lieutenant McFadden pointed to a small whitewashed building. “From what I understand, she has begun teaching reading at the missionary school.”
As he turned the corner at the dirt road, his anxiety eased and affection warmed his heart. He caught sight of his mother, sitting outside of one of the hastily built shelters. A flock of children surrounded her as she held a book in her hand.
His anger had been vexed by the information Lieutenant McFadden had relayed only hours before—his mother had been a refugee for well over a month—information Captain Claiborne had seen fit to withhold from him.
Hell, if not for McFadden, he still wouldn’t have known. He had enough of that damn arrogant captain and found him no better than any plantation owner he had ever known: barking orders at him, calling him nigger… Where was the respect that was supposed to come with freedom?
Over the last few weeks, he had come in and out of Beaufort at least three times. Claiborne made no mention of his mother, though Heyward knew well Claiborne had the information.
Heyward’s days had been hectic. The network was floundering for the same reason this camp was overcrowded. The Underground Railway, in turn the foundation of their network, had been founded with brave souls willing to place their lives in peril to help others in need.
The fact that had been overlooked until lately: most of those souls in the Deep South were slaves themselves…slaves who now were able to escape. With President Lincoln’s proclamation freeing slaves, hope was instilled into their lives for those who yearned for that freedom.
All through South Carolina, paranoia ruled the land. Men looked suspiciously over their shoulders at any stranger. Moreover, bandits, deserters, and runaway slaves littered the woods, waiting to take advantage of any lone traveler.
Heyward feared the network had worn out its usefulness and had become too dangerous to maintai
n. Mitchell had yet convinced Captain Claiborne of that fact.
His last trip into Beaufort, Heyward had been fired at by an unknown assailant in the woods. The bullet whizzed by his head. Walking barefoot with nothing but the clothes on his back, Heyward assumed that the thieves quickly surmised he was a worthless target and allowed him to move on without another attack.
“Heyward! My boy!”
His pace quickened and he walked briskly to his mother’s side. Despite her height and frame, he picked her up and whirled her around. Her welcome laughter echoed in his ears as her arms wrapped around his neck.
As they slowly came to a stop, she clapped Heyward’s cheeks. Her plump face lit up, smiling into his eyes. She repeated, “My boy! My boy!”
“Ma,” Heyward began. “I would have come sooner, but I knew nothin’ ’bout ya being here. No one told me. What happened? The last we talked, ya swore ya would never leave Magnolia Bluff.”
“So much…so much,” she began, but was abruptly cut off by a pull on her skirt.
Heyward looked down at the small boy vying for Miss Hazel’s attention. Thin with the largest brown eyes, he was light-skinned, even for a mulatto. If not for his thick, tight curled hair, he could have passed for a white child. He wore ragged clothes and no shoes, but a large smile was plastered on his face.
Something about the eyes mesmerized him for a split second. Lord Almighty! For a moment, he swore it was as if Gillie looked back at him. Then it passed. Heyward shook his head in quick dismissal. Then the child spoke.
“Grammy Hazel…Grammy Hazel, is this my new pa?”
Heyward shot a shocked look over at his mother, who broke out into a long laughter. He watched his mother take the boy by the shoulders and face him.
“Yes, Tome, this is who we have been waiting for…my son, Heyward.”
At a loss as to what to say, Heyward pointed his finger at the boy and then halted. As he stood in the middle of the hastily built shelter, angry confusion washed over him.
There was only one room. On either side of the single fireplace, an area served as makeshift sleeping spaces. Furnishings were meager, with only a crudely built table with hand-crafted benches as seats. A lantern sat in the middle of the table and served as its only means of light during the night.
