Mississippi Brides

by Diane T. Ashley,Aaron McCarver

  The man shivered. “No. My uncle and I hired help over the years, but I cannot imagine purchasing another person.”

  “Where did you grow up, Mr. Ward?” Susannah Hughes asked the question.

  His gaze shifted to the floor before he spoke. Nathan wondered if he was marshaling his thoughts or coming up with a falsehood to share with the group. Then he berated himself. Why did he dislike the man so much? Was it because of Mr. Ward’s obvious interest in Abigail? Or because she seemed open to his interest?

  “To tell the truth, ma’am, we lived all over. My uncle was a bit of a wanderer.”

  “You poor thing.” Abigail leaned forward and put her hand over his. “That’s no kind of life for a child.”

  “No, no. I was lucky to have someone to care for me. Not like the poor orphans back in town who have no family to claim them.”

  Nathan wanted to roll his eyes at the man’s obviously calculated response. But all of the women in the room were nodding. Was he the only one who could see the truth? In that moment he made a decision. He would stay around a day or two and make certain Mr. Ward was not making himself a nuisance in the LeGrand home. Perhaps he would even do some checking and try to find out exactly why the man had come to Natchez.

  “Your concern is praiseworthy.” Nathan tried to make his tone admiring. At least his statement earned a kind glance from Abigail. But the words stuck in his throat like a clump of mud.

  Mrs. LeGrand offered him a lemon cookie from the serving tray. “That reminds me, Nathan, before you came in, Abigail was discussing having a picnic for the orphans. I’m sure you would like to join her.”

  Nathan started to shake his head. The very thought of having to spend an extended amount of time surrounded by children made him shiver like a fall leaf. Maybe he shouldn’t postpone his plans after all. He could always investigate the mysterious Mr. Ward when he returned.

  Before he could form the polite refusal, however, Abigail spoke up. “Mama, I’m sure Brother Pierce is much too busy to waste his time with such a frivolous activity.”

  “Yes, I doubt he would enjoy sitting on the ground with a bunch of children.” Mr. Ward tittered. “I’m sure he’d find it far beneath the dignity of a pastor.”

  “Not at all. I would love to come.” Nathan took a bite out of the lemon cookie as silence invaded the room. As its sweetness melted on his tongue, he wondered if he had completely lost his senses.

  “I love you.”

  The look on Brother Pierce’s face was priceless. It reminded Abigail of the time a snake had spooked her horse—the wild-eyed gaze, the way his head swiveled around. She almost expected to see him jump up from the blanket and take off for the woods. Should she intervene? Or let Mia continue to terrorize the man? She decided on the former. “Mia, I need some help washing our dishes in the stream.”

  The six-year-old sighed. “I wish we could talk some more, Preacher.”

  Abigail clapped her hands to get the girl’s attention. “Mia.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She got up off the blanket they had used for a table and meandered toward the baskets full of dirty dishes and leftover food where Abigail stood.

  “Take these cups to the edge of the water. See the towel I set out to dry them on? We’ll be on the strip of sand right next to it. I’ll be right behind you with the plates and saucers.”

  As they passed the blanket, Nathan sent her a thankful glance. She hid her grin. Why had the man decided to come when it was so obvious he did not know how to interact with children? All morning he had been stiff and nontalkative with all but the oldest boys. But she had to admit he’d been good with them, talking about male-oriented topics—hunting, fishing, and horses. With that group, he had been much more popular than poor Mr. Ward, who seemed to know nothing about horseflesh, shooting, or choosing bait.

  “Don’t you think he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever met?” Mia’s blue eyes, so similar in color to Nathan’s, had a dreamy quality.

  Abigail hid her smile. “I can see you think so. But you should be spending more time playing with the others instead of bothering Brother Pierce.”

  Mia rinsed out a cup and placed it on the towel Abigail had brought to the stream earlier. “I wish he would ’dopt me.”

  Settling next to the girl on the sandy bank, Abigail wondered how best to handle the situation. Her heart ached at the poignancy in Mia’s voice. Sometimes it was hard not to bring all of them home to live with her and her parents. “You have to remember Brother Pierce is not married. He would not be able to take care of a little girl, especially since he has to travel to other churches so often.”

  The sounds of the nearby woods enveloped them as the two rinsed the dirty dishes, but it didn’t seem to matter to Mia. Her shoulders drooped, and she ran her sleeve across her face. Then Mia’s head popped up and her wide eyes searched Abigail’s face. “I know what to do. You can marry him! And then the two of you could ’dopt me, and we could make a happy family. I would work really hard every day, and you wouldn’t have to do anything ’cept eat cookies and pies.”

  Abigail’s mouth dropped open. She glanced back over her shoulder to see if anyone had heard Mia’s outrageous suggestion. She had no doubt she would die of embarrassment if Nathan was listening. But he seemed to be engrossed in the core of an apple he held in his hand. She breathed a prayer of thankfulness and turned to the precocious young girl. “That is out of the question, I’m afraid. I am determined to remain unmarried so I can control my future. When you get a little older, you will begin to understand.”

  Mia’s shoulders sagged once more. She looked down into the clear water. “I guess then”—her voice caught—“I’ll have to find another lady to marry him.”

  The way Abigail’s stomach churned at Mia’s words, one would think she cared whether or not Nathan married someone else. And she certainly did not care. Not at all.

  “You must play blindman’s bluff with us, Miss LeGrand.” The plea on Silas’s face was impossible to resist. They had put away all the food and would soon have to load everyone into the wagon to head back to the orphanage. But she supposed they could play one more game.

  The children added their voices to his request. Abigail removed her bonnet and stood, glancing at the blanket where Nathan lounged. “Come along, Brother Pierce. We cannot disappoint the children.”

  He shook his head. “I am content to watch, and I think you might want to reconsider it yourself now that the day has grown so warm. You are bound to get hot and dirty.”

  Unaccommodating, overbearing man. How dare he try to dictate what she should do? He could stay in the shade if he wanted to. She would not sit here while the rest of them enjoyed the game. She put her nose up to show her disdain and turned to Silas. “I’ll play as long as I don’t have to wear the blindfold first.”

  “Agreed.” Silas picked up an unused napkin and rolled it into a serviceable blindfold. “I’ll be first.” He tied the napkin around his head and held out his hands. “Now where can I find someone to take my place?”

  The children scattered about the open area, giggling and whispering to each other as he wandered about with his hands in front of him. His questing fingers finally found one of the older girls, and he pulled off the napkin. “Now it’s your turn.”

  She was in turn teased and taunted by the other players until she grabbed hold of another child’s collar. Abigail moved about quickly to avoid capture when she realized that Nathan was no longer sitting on the blanket. Where had he gone? She could not see him at the wagon. Had he wandered off into the woods and gotten lost? Swampy areas in the woods were filled with snakes, poisonous spiders, and even an alligator or two. Distracted by her concern, she failed to notice the blindfolded player near her. When his sticky fingers grabbed her sleeve, she groaned.

  The little boy, Evan Jumper, pulled off the blindfold and handed it to her. She started to tie it around her hair when someone’s hands came from behind her and took away the piece of linen cloth. She glan
ced over her shoulder. “Silas.”

  “Please let me.”

  Abigail smiled, wishing the preacher was here so he could hear her next comment. “You’re such a gentleman, Mr. Ward.”

  “It’s the least I can do since I’m the one who got you involved in the first place.”

  Abigail raised her eyebrows. “That’s right, you did.”

  “Please allow me to make it up to you.” His voice deepened as he slipped the cloth around her head and tied it.

  “You could do that by taking my turn,” she suggested.

  He leaned toward her, his mouth so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you let me take you to dinner instead?”

  Her heart skidded to a stop. Go out in public with him? Yet why not? Her mind raced. He was a much better companion than Nathan Pierce had turned out to be. He understood her and never tried to dictate to her. She took a step away from Silas and put her hands out. “Perhaps I will.” Then she threw herself into the game to shut out the voice of caution that somehow mimicked the irritating tones of a certain bossy pastor.

  Chapter 15

  What was he going to do about his feelings for Abigail? Nathan could barely stand the idea of her going to dinner with Silas. Yet he had absolutely no right to so much as warn her about being too trusting.

  Yesterday afternoon he’d returned from getting a drink in the stream when he saw the man tying a blindfold around her head. And leaning forward to whisper in her ear. He wished he’d not been close enough to hear the man’s question, but he had. And the words had chased him all through the night and even today as he began to make his round of the area churches. If only he could—

  A scream interrupted his thoughts and made Nathan pull up on his horse’s reins. Animals in the forest chittered and rustled around him, but that was the only thing he heard. He ran a calming hand on his horse’s neck as he waited.

  Nothing. Not even raised voices.

  Nathan was about to continue on his way when it happened again. Another noise, but this time it sounded more like a moan. Then as he strained his ears, he thought he caught the whistle of a whip. Instinct took over. He tightened his knees and sent his mount into a gallop. Somewhere along this road, someone was in trouble.

  As he rounded a bend, a woman came running toward him. He dragged back hard on the reins to keep from running her down. The horse reared and almost unseated him, but after a second or two, Nathan managed to get the frightened animal back under control.

  “Please, sir.” The woman ran up to him and he saw the tracks of her tears on her dark cheeks. She was dressed in a shapeless black wool shift, a typical dress of slaves in the South. Her eyes were wide with fear and desperation as her hands grabbed hold of his horse’s reins. “Please, oh please, sir. You have to help me. He’s going to kill my Abram.”

  “Where?” She pointed a shaking finger back the way she’d come. “Hurry.”

  Nathan could not see anything yet, but he set his horse moving once again. The next bend in the road, however, revealed a scene that burned its way deeply into his heart. A large black man had been tied to an oak tree, his back showing wicked stripes from the bite of a whip.

  A tall white man with thick shoulders stood behind him, his arm poised to make yet another stripe on the black man’s back. He looked back as Nathan galloped up but turned back to face the black man almost immediately.

  “Stop!” Nathan brought his horse up short and dismounted. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Nothing that concerns you.” The man brought the whip up.

  Nathan strode up to him and grabbed his hand. “Yes, it does concern me. You are killing that man.”

  “He’s not a man. He’s my property. I can treat him any way I want to.” He sneered at Nathan and jerked his hand free. “Now get on your way before I take exception to your interference.”

  Shaking his head, Nathan pointed at the bound man, who was moaning and trying desperately to free himself. His shirt hung in tatters from his waist. Blood oozed from several of the stripes across his broad back. “I cannot.”

  The slave owner dropped his whip and reached for his waist. At first Nathan thought he was going to pull a gun, but then he saw the wicked edge and sharp point of a blade. Immediately he was taken back in time. The forest faded away, becoming the main room at Poe’s in Chattanooga.

  Nathan froze. His heart stuttered. He could not—must not—kill again. He took a step back and raised his hands. “Let’s be reasonable.”

  “The only reasonable thing to do is move on.”

  “Please, Master, please.” The black woman who had first alerted him to the situation ran up to them. She fell to her knees at the white man’s feet. “My Abram didn’t mean no harm. He wanted to bring me some flowers. He wasn’t trying to run away. I swear it.” She threw both arms around the man’s legs.

  As Nathan watched, the maddened look faded from the slave owner’s face. He looked at the whip on the ground, back to the male slave’s bleeding back, and finally down to the woman kneeling before him. “I suppose he’s learned his lesson.”

  “Oh yes, Master.” The woman looked up, her plea for lenience evident in every line of her body. “Abram done learned it good. I promise he won’t do it no more.” She let go of his legs but didn’t make any move to regain her feet.

  Nathan felt sick to the core of his being. He had never realized the true horror of slavery. Had never thought about the control slave owners had over the lives of their property. Property! As if one human had the right to own another.

  This was the reason slavery should be outlawed. It was wrong, and he knew it, knew it as surely as he knew that he was a coward. No wonder he had earned Abigail’s scorn. He wanted to go to her and apologize.

  He watched as the white man cut the bonds on his slave and walked away, never looking back. He jumped on the horse that Nathan had not even realized was tethered nearby. Before he galloped away, however, he did turn back to where the woman was supporting Abram. “Leah, I’ll expect to see him in the fields at first light.”

  “Yes, sir.” Leah nodded as she wrapped Abram’s arm around her shoulders. “Come along. We’ve got to get back quick.”

  Nathan’s throat choked as he watched their struggle. The beaten man must outweigh her by at least fifty pounds. He had no idea how far away their home was, but it was evident they would never make it without his intervention.

  “Let me help.” He grabbed the large man by the waist, trying to avoid the ugly slashes on his back. “We’ll get him up on my horse and get the two of you out of here.”

  Leah’s large eyes filled with tears again. “Thank you so much, sir. I don’t know what we’d’ve done if the good Lord hadn’t sent you.”

  “You’re the one who saved him.”

  She shook her head and put a hand on his arm. “I had already begged for him to take pity on my husband, but he didn’t pay me no mind. Not till you came by.”

  Feeling unworthy of the admiration in her gaze, Nathan said nothing. But he knew better. If he’d been any kind of man, he would have wrested the knife away from their master and overcome him. He should have stopped the vicious beating. But he had not been able to do it. He had been silent in the face of his fear. He didn’t deserve anyone’s admiration.

  Nathan’s heart broke as he listened to Leah crooning to Abram while dabbing the angry red stripes across his back. These people were being treated like animals—no rights, no hopes, no future. He had never considered what it must be like to live this way.

  It had grown quiet in the small cabin. He looked up to see Leah, her shoulders bowed, moving to a shelf on one side of the room. “How is he doing?”

  She picked up a jar and carefully poured a small amount of green powder into her palm. “My Abram is strong. He’s suffered a lot in his life. He’s gonna git through this hurt, too.”

  “Is there something I can do to help?”

  Leah pursed her lips. �
�You can take this bowl outside and empty it. There’s a spring right at the edge of the woods where we get our fresh water.”

  Nathan emptied and refilled the bowl as directed. As he walked back toward the little circle of slave cabins, he realized he was the center of attention. Dark faces peered at him from the doorways while children who had been playing outside stopped to watch him. These people obviously had little experience with white men who cared about their needs. Someone had started a cook fire in the open space at the center of the slave quarters. A rough framework of tree limbs next to the dancing flames probably served as a spit for roasting their meat.

  Leah and Abram’s home was made of weathered gray wood. It had one door, one window, and a dirt floor. It was smaller than some of the other cabins, and he wondered if that was because the couple seemed to have no children.

  As he reentered the single room, Leah looked up with a warm smile. She was kneeling next to Abram and had a hand on his forehead. “He has no fever. Your prayers are strong.”

  Nathan was humbled by the faith shining in her face. It made him feel grasping and greedy to bemoan his trials when he witnessed this woman’s gratitude even though she had so few blessings in her life. “I’m glad.”

  He handed her the bowl and watched as she poured a little of the water into a wooden cup, added the green powder, and stirred briskly before lathering the paste she’d made onto Abram’s back. “This will ease his pain and help him to sleep the night so he will be strong enough to work in the fields tomorrow.”

  As the afternoon sun dipped below the horizon, the adult workers began returning to the slave quarters. A few of the women came by and spoke in low tones to Leah, bringing food for her and her husband to share. Apparently word had spread to them about the events of the day. They looked in Nathan’s direction and bobbed their heads. He nodded in return, feeling very small in the face of their thanks.

  “Are you hungry?” Leah held out a bowl of stew.