by T. K. Lukas
*****
Leighselle clutched tightly to Henry’s arm and leaned into his side as they walked to the pier, a dark sense of foreboding dimming her mood. “Why do you have to go to England, Henry? I don’t want you to go.”
“I don’t want to go either, Leighselle, but I have no choice. My father wants a Brahman bull to replace the one I shot. He wants it from the same breeder, so back across the pond I go.” Henry wrapped his arm tighter around his wife.
“Why can’t he go?” Leighselle pouted.
“He claims poor health. Besides, I’m the one who shot and killed the animal in the first place, with good reason of course. It’s my duty to see to its replacement. Father said that I shooting the bull was an act of folly. I need to save face and make it right.”
“An act of folly? Nonsense. It was an act of bravery.” She cast a sidelong glance at her husband, remembering the day she fell in love with him, and her heart filled with pride like it always did when she recalled that day. “You saved more people from getting hurt.” Leighselle closed her eyes and fought off another wave of nausea.
“Morning sickness again, darling?” Henry asked as they reached the end of the crowded pier. He pulled Leighselle close to him as they stepped away from the sidewalk, letting others pass.
“Yes, but I’m fine. I’m just afraid you won’t come back, or something bad will happen. I’m worried that—”
“Don’t worry, my love. I’ll be back before the baby arrives. I need to impress my father and show him I can accomplish this task. If I work hard and prove myself worthy, I’ll be handsomely rewarded.”
“He’s a father you haven’t seen in over fifteen years because he walked out on you and your mother. All you have are his telegraphs and bank drafts from Texas. How can you know that he’s reliable or trustworthy?” The more Leighselle thought about it, the more anxious she became. “Why hasn’t he come to New Orleans to meet you and discuss these business dealings face to face?”
“His bad health keeps him from traveling. Leighselle, we have to take this on good faith. He’s followed through on everything so far.”
“I could go to England with you. We could live there. Not come back.” She fisted his coat lapels in her hands and placed her head against his chest.
“I have nothing in England to offer a wife. There’s nothing in Ireland to go back to since Ma died. My future is here. It’s in Texas. At least working for my father I have an opportunity to own a part of something, to support a wife. And a baby.” Henry touched Leighselle’s stomach, which hinted at a small, almost imperceptible bump.
“Near three months,” whispered Leighselle, her eyes brimming with tears. “Do you wish for a girl or a boy?”
“Oh, God, please, a daughter who’s as beautiful as her mother. She should have your green eyes and auburn hair, your perfect porcelain skin. I won’t stand a chance. You’ll both have me wrapped tight around your dainty little fingers.”
“I wouldn’t mind a son with your cinnamon hair and freckles, and your silver-blue eyes. If he has your dimples and ready smile, he’ll have me wrapped around his tiny little finger.”
The horn on the ship gave three long blasts, the smoke stack belching gray steam into the ashen sky that was almost the same hue. The smoke blended into the sinking clouds as a light drizzle began to mist the air.
Leighselle clung to Henry’s coat, the brimming tears now spilling down her cheeks. “I love you. I don’t want to be without you.”
Henry’s smile stretched across his face, reaching from ear to ear. “You won’t be. You’re keeping a part of me with you.”
Henry encircled Leighselle in his arms and kissed her with a long kiss that lingered. A couple strolling head to head and arm in arm passed; they cleared their throats and raised their brows but kept walking. Sailors on the ship whistled. Leighselle didn’t care. She pressed into Henry, inviting the kiss to go on forever.
“I hate to, my darling girl, but I must go.” Henry gave her one last kiss, then pulled away and sprinted toward the ship.
Standing at the salty, wet railing that separated the pier from the dock, she watched Henry tread up the swinging rope-and-plank bridge that connected the walkway to the ship. She saw him on the top deck, hat in hand, waving at her. She saw the ship being tugged out to sea and felt like it was her heart being pulled along with it. The steamer cut a slow turn away from the dock, then made its way to the outer harbor. The rippling wake trailed behind, connecting Leighselle to Henry in a widening V, until a tugboat crossed the wake’s path, severing the tie.
Leighselle wept. She stood transfixed with her eyes on the horizon. Her hands gripped the rail that kept her from toppling into the dark and murky water, and she watched until his ship was a small dot disappearing into the gray, choppy sea.
“Almost three months along?” asked a familiar voice from behind her shoulder. “I guess I should congratulate my daughter-in-law.”
Leighselle drew in a sharp breath and spun around, a chill gripping her heart. “You. What? What do you mean, congratulate your daughter-in-law?” All the heat, all the blood, all the air in her body drained in a sudden rush to her feet, leaving her lightheaded and swooning. A reckoning washed over her—a dawning of something dreadful—something her subconscious had suspected, yet pretended was nothing.
*****
San Antonio, Texas, September 27, 1860
Hughes shook his head in disbelief. “So Seamus sent Henry out of the country on a mission to purchase a bull. To what end, though?”
“If Seamus couldn’t have me, then no one else could, either.” The horror of those days never lessened. The memory, the pain, the terror was vivid and raw each new day. “And he would take away any chance of me ever being happy or having a part of Henry with me.”
“How did he do it?” Hughes asked as he refilled their champagne flutes.
“He drugged me with laudanum. But his evilness didn’t stop with me and Henry. He loaded me along with Addy-Frank and Birdie into a wagon, and before leaving New Orleans, he made a few stops first. I learned these terrible details later from Addy-Frank.”
*****
Seamus guided the wagon to the corner of St. Louis and Chartres Streets and reined the team of horses to a stop next to one of the many slave pens that lined the busy lane. Inside the squalid pen, which normally held up to one hundred slaves, a dozen Negros remained. The group consisted of adult men of varying ages, all wearing new but cheap suits, two women with calico frocks with matching scarves tied about their heads, and a young boy of twelve or thirteen who wore new shoes too big to stay on his feet. They all pressed against the far side of the pen trying to claim the meager shade offered by the side of the hotel’s walls.
“If she stirs or starts to wake up,” he instructed, “give her a sip of tea from this canteen. Don’t let me catch you drinking from it. Do you understand me, girl?”
Birdie nodded her head. “Yes’suh.”
“Get your good-byes over with here, but do it quietly. I don’t want prospective buyers put off by a bunch of wailing and carrying on.”
“Please, Massah Flanders, please let me go with my Birdie. She all I have. My other two babies I done buried. I can help take care of Miss Leighselle. I been doing it ever since the day she was born. Birdie too young to help much with a baby. She ain’t but ten herself.” Addy-Frank’s eyes were red and bloodshot from crying, her shoulders sinking under the heavy weight of what might become of her.
“She’s old enough to learn. Remember, no agitating prospective buyers.” Seamus turned and strolled inside the opulent building. He soon returned, a small man in a white suit in tow.
“I have one to be sold,” said Seamus to the auctioneer’s assistant. “She’s chained to the back of my wagon. I don’t have time to wait until she sells. I’m on my way out of town. Can you handle this and deposit the proceeds into my bank account?”
“Indeed, sir. That’s how most prefer to handle it. Just sign this document detaili
ng name, age, and abilities of your property, then your bank and the name on the account.” The man gave a cheerful smile, offering Seamus the document to sign.
“Hell, I don’t know her age or abilities. I’d prefer if I just sign the document and you fill in the blanks however you wish. My name’s Seamus Henry Flanders. First Federal of New Orleans is my bank in town.”
“Yes, Mr. Flanders. Sign here.” The assistant pointed to the signature line. “She’ll fetch a better price if she’s clean and wearing a fresh dress. It doesn’t have to be expensive. The men need to be shaved of facial hair and the women their hair covered with a scarf. If you want to get the best price, you need to demonstrate—”
“Just get what you can.” Seamus signed the document and took his receipt.
He released the bindings and led Addy-Frank into the holding pen. Just before the door closed, she bolted, running to the wagon, clutching Birdie in a tight embrace. “Be good. Watch out for Miss Leighselle. Don’t give Mistah Flanders reason to be angry with you. You understand, child? That’s the most important thing of all.” Her tears fell on Birdie’s face.
“I understand, Mama. But I want to come with you,” sobbed Birdie. “Why can’t I come with you?”
“Here’s a secret to take with you, Birdie.” Addy-Frank hugged her daughter one last time, whispering in her ear. “. . . and never forget that, baby. Always remember that.”
“I won’t forget, Mama,” Birdie said, dodging Seamus’s swatted slaps.
Grabbing Addy-Frank by the arm, Seamus tried to drag her back to the pen but first had to pry Birdie’s hands free. “Be quiet, girl, I said no commotion.” He pulled them apart, forcing Addy-Frank back to the holding pen, shoving her inside.
“Best to remove the child from the mother’s sight so the woman can calm down before going up on the auction block. A hysterical mother never brings much money. Is there anything else I can assist you with, Mr. Flanders?” asked the assistant auctioneer as he finished bolting the lock on the pen.
Without answering, with no backward glance, Seamus climbed up onto the driver’s seat and took the reins in hand, snapping them against the horses’ backs. “Move it on out,” he commanded as he headed the wagon up Royal Street, then north toward Alexandria.
As Seamus’s wagon disappeared from sight, a shiny black buggy passed by the slave holding pen, stopping just beyond the hotel. Doctor Flemings emerged, medical bag in hand. With quick strides, he made his way to the entrance of the rotunda. As he passed the holding pen, he paused, recognizing the frightened woman on her knees, wailing, her hands folded in prayer.
“Addy-Frank? What are you doing at the slave auction? Where’s Miss Leighselle?” He sat his bag on the sidewalk and stepped next to the fence, lacing his fingers through the wire enclosure. “Come here. Tell me what’s happened.”
She rushed to the fence, grasping the doctor’s coat sleeve. In a gush of words and tears, she explained the nightmare that had transpired in the past twenty-four hours. “Please, suh, I beg you. Please buy me. I can work for you, be your nurse an seamstress. Please, suh.” Her thin face was haunted, her eyes pleading.
The doctor looked stricken. “I’m not a slave owner. I didn’t come here for the purpose of buying slaves. I came to treat a sick guest at the hotel. Are you sure that Leighselle has been taken away by her father-in-law?”
“Yessuh. An he took Birdie, too. He stop at Judge’s house afore bringing me here. I heard him say Judge made it legal for him to do what he do, for him to sign for Leighselle.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Leighselle doesn’t need a guardian or an executor.”
“Leighselle ain’t herself. She acting like she out of her mind, or something. I be worried sick ’bout her.”
The auctioneer’s assistant, with sharpened cane in hand, strode out to the pen. “All right, you there, come along. Look lively and smart.” He pointed the stick at Addy-Frank. “Dry your face. No crying on the auction block.”
“Please, Doctor. Please take me with you,” she implored.
“I’m sorry, Addy-Frank. I’m not in a position to buy a slave. I’m a poor country doctor. I don’t know how I’d manage.”
Addy-Frank backed away from the fence, her expression fervent. “Please, I beg you, suh. Please.” Her words trailed off as the assistant prodded her with his stick toward the rotunda.
“Once you are up for sale, tell the buyers what all you know how to do. Sound smart, look sharp. You’ll go to a better owner the more you can demonstrate all the ways in which you can perform,” instructed the assistant.
The room was bright and smelled of tobacco from the cigars of well-dressed men who paced the room, assessing the goods to be sold. A faint smell of bacon lingered on the air, the grease used as a body gloss. A fine sheen on the black skin was preferred; grayish, dull skin meant tuberculosis, which could kill a sale. The auctioneer’s assistant applied a variety of tricks to get the bids climbing until he heard “Sold!”
The crowd was lively, the buyers anxious to snag a bargain at the end of the selling day. Addy-Frank walked to the block, head high, her face glistening with tears.
“She may look frightened, but there’s wisdom in those eyes, I can see that right off,” claimed the auctioneer. “Tell these buyers what kind of work you’ll do for your new master. Speak up.”
“I a nurse, an a nanny, an a seamstress. I can cook some, too. But mostly household duties.” And I can sew curses into men’s pockets that come back and land on my head. She ran her hands into the pockets of her thin dress, feeling for the threads of a curse someone might have secretly sewn.
“Let’s start the bidding off at one thousand dollars. A nurse, nanny, seamstress, and cook, all rolled into one. Do I hear a thousand? One thousand dollars. All right, how about seven hundred. Seven hundred dollars for a lifetime of wisdom.”
“The price for a skinny bag of bones should start at two hundred,” said a whiny female voice in the crowd. “She looks frail enough to blow away, and then what? Lose your investment, that’s what.”
“I’ll give two hundred,” shouted Doctor Flemings, his hands in a white-knuckle grip on his medical bag. He swallowed hard, clearing his throat. He kept his eyes on the auctioneer and away from looking at Addy-Frank.
“I have two hundred here with the good doctor. Two twenty-five anyone? Two hundred twenty-five?”
Someone across the room raised the bid.
“Two hundred fifty is now to you, Doctor. Yes? No? Will you go?”
Doctor Flemings nodded.
Back and forth the bidding went, climbing in increments of twenty-five dollars. Bidders dropped off until two remained. The echo of the gavel banging hard on the hickory dais concluded the sale.
“Sold, to Doctor Flemings, for three hundred and seventy-five dollars. Congratulations, Doc, you now own a fine piece of property there.”
Doctor Flemings assisted Addy-Frank into the front seat of his buggy, his voice a thin attempt at cheerfulness. “We have patients coming into the clinic all afternoon. I used to tell Miss Leighselle that I could use a good nurse. I expect she would be pleased to know that you’ll be working with me.”
“Yessuh. Thank you, suh.” Addie-Frank looked straight ahead, pressing the back of her fist against her mouth, holding in the scream that begged to be released.
“And if you don’t like nursing, I can put you to work sewing gowns and blankets for the Women and Children’s Hospital. How would you like that?” The doctor took up the driving lines, turning the cart horse away from the slave pens.
“I like that fine, suh,” she said, tears streaming down her face. The back of her fist pressed harder against her mouth, the silent scream piercing and shattering her heart.
*****
Birdie shook Leighselle by her shoulders. “Wake up, Miss Leighselle. That man be here again.”
She referred to Seamus Flanders as “that man,” and every Tuesday he paid a visit to the nunnery in Alexandria where he had Leighsel
le ensconced for the purported reason that he needed a private place to allow his daughter-in-law, who suffered from severe psychosis, to have her baby in safety and seclusion. Seamus made a generous donation to their orphanage, ensuring their cooperation.
Leighselle, sitting in her rocking chair, blinked open her eyes. “I’m awake.” Indeed, she was wide awake. Clear-headed. No longer in a drug-induced fog, thanks to Birdie.
When they had arrived at the nunnery, Birdie was allowed to sleep on a floor rug at the foot of Leighselle’s bed. Every morning and evening, Sister Francis would knock on the door. Birdie, answering the knock, would receive a tea tray, the instructions never changing.
“Put the sugar cube in the tea cup before you pour the tea. Make sure Madame drinks it all before you bring the tray down to the kitchen.”
But on Tuesday mornings, there were two sugar cubes. And, on Tuesday mornings, Birdie noticed that Miss Leighselle would behave strangely. She would stumble her steps, mumble her words. She would fall asleep while she was eating, while she was bathing, even while she was sitting on the chamber pot. She’d say things and use words that Birdie didn’t understand. She’d stare out the window, crying, clawing and scratching at her skin.
Other sisters would pray over her—invocations lasting all day long—strange litanies combining oils and incense and chanted readings, raised voices calling on God’s healing power, calling on God to enter the body and guard the soul of the unborn child.
The scene frightened Birdie, who would look on in terrified silence.
One day when Birdie was scrubbing the pantry, she overheard Sister Francis speaking to Massah Seamus about something called laudanum treatments for Miss Leighselle. The conversation she heard between the two—how the drug affected Leighselle, how to wean a baby from the drug’s addiction—frightened her more than the sisters’ chanted prayers to an all-powerful God who could cast people into burning pits of fire.
Birdie began crumbling the sugar cubes into the chamber pot, then emptied it with the waste. As Leighselle started to show signs of clarity, Birdie confided in her, telling her what she had seen and heard and how she had been taking care of Miss Leighselle by not putting the strange, brown sugar cubes in her tea anymore.
