“I…” Should she tell the truth? Or maintain her story? It was wrong to lie. Even for the good of another.
But was this for Mr. Amos’ good? Or for her own?
Had she told Pa it was Mr. Amos?
She sought Pa’s face.
He stepped forward, into the room’s light. His brows were furrowed and his mouth a thin line.
What did he know? “I was—”
Pa held up a hand. “Don’t bother. I know.”
Claire stepped back from the intensity of his gaze and swallowed against the lump forming in her throat.
“And I don’t think I need to tell you how disappointed I am in you.” His voice remained calm, but took on a tense edge.
Tears pricked at the back of her eyes and her throat tightened. “Pa, I just—”
He waved a hand across the space between them. “I don’t want your reasons, your excuses. Somewhere along the way, you have become deceived about the way things are. No more. It’s time for you to be…enlightened.”
“What…what are you saying?” Moisture filled Claire's eyes. Everything lost focus in the blur of tears.
“You are not to teach these or any other black children, is that understood?”
Claire couldn’t form words. It was as if the breath had been torn from her body.
“It’s not kind, can’t you see that, Claire? What are you teaching them, after all? The world won’t accept them as anything but workers.”
She shook her head. What was he saying? Claire put a hand to her mouth to stem the tide.
Pa had advanced until he stood in front of her. Raising his hands, he closed his fingers around her upper arms then—gentle, but holding her still. “If you insist on continuing, if I find out you are still teaching those children, I will have them evicted from this plantation. And you can know they will not find work anywhere in this or any surrounding state as long as I can help it.”
Claire blinked several times before she could meet her father’s gaze again. His blue eyes were cold and hard. He meant what he said.
She nodded. “Yes, Pa.” The words didn’t seem to come from her but from outside of herself somehow.
He pulled her to his chest. “How can I make you understand I am doing this for your own good, daffodil?”
Claire wanted to pull away, to run. But where could she go?
****
Henry Garrett moved with measured steps. He had a destination and a purpose.
Days had passed. Many days. Still Claire Crawford did not show her face anywhere near the Amos’ property. Or his.
Perhaps she was not able to convince her father to pay for a doctor. That was one thing. But why would she desert them altogether?
It wasn’t like her.
Had something happened between she and her father? The man hadn’t hurt her, had he?
Henry's heart constricted. He shouldn’t have let her go up against the man. But he had every reason to believe her father would not raise a hand to his own child. Then again, her father had been a slave master. Perhaps beatings had become second nature to him.
As he approached the manor house, he detoured toward the far side. Would he find her in her garden? If not, his chances of seeing her would likely vanish.
Nearing the small segment of the property set aside for Claire, his heart fell. She was not there.
He stopped. Glancing around, he hoped against hope he might catch sight of her somewhere.
Nothing.
After some moments, he turned back toward his property, letting out a long breath. What was he going to do? Should he confront her father? Insist that he be allowed to see her? Would that make her father suspicious? It may mean the end of Henry's tenancy. Was it worth the risk?
He stopped.
Dare he? But he barely knew her. Still, he could no longer rest if he didn’t settle this in his mind.
Making his way around the large house, he walked to the massive door. He paused for a long moment. Was he sure? He pictured Claire in his mind’s eye. Yes, she was worth it.
Raising a fist to the door, he paused. Why was this so important? Was she so important? He’d have to figure out the answer later, but for now, seeing her well mattered.
He knocked on the door.
Several moments passed before the door opened and a thin, tall black man stood in front of him. His hair was graying and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes betrayed his years.
“What can I do for you?” the man asked.
Henry stood to his full height. “I need to speak with—”
“Henry?” a voice behind the black man echoed in the cavernous space.
He craned his neck, attempting to look around the man’s slender frame.
Claire stood on the grand staircase, a few steps from the bottom.
Henry's gaze took her in from top to bottom. She did not appear to be in any sort of distress. There was no visible mark upon her.
“Do you know this man, Miz Claire?”
“This is one of the tenant farmers.” She glided down the remaining steps and across the tiled floor. “I asked him to come help me with my tomato plants.”
Claire and the tall black man exchanged a long look. There was more communicated than Henry understood. Certainly more than what was said.
At length, the butler stepped back and let Claire step forward.
“We will be out in my garden. Can you send for Mammy and have her bring my hat?”
“Yes, Miz Claire.” The man moved farther into the house, disappearing down a hall.
“Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Garrett. I had forgotten our meeting.” Claire beamed at him.
He furrowed his brows and lowered his voice. “I came to make sure you were all right.”
She shook her head. “I have been so concerned about those tomato plants. Are you certain they can be saved?”
Henry crooked a brow in her direction. “We’ll just have to look at them. I won’t know until I see.”
The butler came from the same hallway he had disappeared down, only this time, he escorted a black woman. She was shorter, but just as slender, as the butler. And she kept looking in the air as if a flying insect hovered about.
As the pair neared Claire, she reached for the older woman’s arm.
“Thank you for bringing my hat, Mammy.”
Henry did not see anything in the older woman’s hands. He thought to say something, but decided it best he remain quiet.
Keeping an arm through Mammy’s, Claire shifted her focus to Henry. “Mammy will chaperone. Shall we?”
Chaperone? The woman seemed barely aware of where she was. Had something happened to the older woman? Either way, he read from Claire's nod that they should go. Stepping back, he held out an arm indicating for the women to step out of the grand entrance. Then he led the women around to the small garden.
Claire settled Mammy on a wrought iron bench nearby, adjusting her skirts and fussing over her as if she were a child. Only then did Claire turn to Henry, moving over to where he stood amidst her plants.
Now next to him, she offered an uneasy smile and knelt in front of the tomato plants.
Henry crouched beside her, fighting his confusion. He was not here to solve all these mysteries, but to ensure Claire was well.
He gazed over her features, watching as the light played against the angles of her face when she leaned forward, tending to the vines. Even her hair shone a brilliant chestnut in the rays of the sun.
If only he could lean in and take in her perfume again. From this distance he inhaled but a hint of the fragrance. Honeysuckle?
She lifted her face and met his gaze.
He looked away, his face warming.
“Why have you come?” Her voice was soft. Almost a whisper.
“I worried.” He faced her again. Her hazel eyes warmed him all the more.
“Worried? About me?”
“Because of your father.” Henry lowered his voice, glancing around. “I feared what
your father might have done to you.”
She jerked back, pulling away from him. “My father would never hurt me!”
Henry followed her retreat with his eyes. Something didn’t seem right about her reaction. But yet she was unharmed. Had he overstepped?
“Then what happened?”
Claire moved to the next plant. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You said you would talk with him about Mr. Amos.”
She shrugged.
Shrugged.
Was that all?
“Do you no longer care?”
She paused for a moment. Then started her work again, pruning the vines. Moving on to another plant, she angled her body so her back was to him.
“In case you were wondering, Mr. Amos still lives. But he continues to fight the sickness. He may yet die.”
Silence. Or did she just sniffle?
“And it no longer matters to you?”
She shook her head.
A fire burned in him. How could he have been so blind? “I was wrong about you. I thought you were different. But you’re not.”
“Maybe I’m not.” Why did her voice sound so numb? Was she truly so nonchalant about it all?
“How could you abandon that family…those children…when they need you most?”
She shifted so she could bring her knees to her chest. “You don’t know anything.”
“Then school me,” he spit out as he stood.
Claire buried her face in her knees and her shoulders shook.
Henry was prepared to spin on the balls of his feet and walk away, but the shaking of her body gave him pause.
Nothing was as it seemed. Her care for Mammy, the gaze exchanged with the butler…there was more going on here.
He blew out a long breath and crouched behind her. “Please. Tell me what’s happened.”
She remained silent for several moments. He became convinced she would not speak at all.
Then her voice, quiet as it was, broke into the silence. “I…I don’t know what to do anymore.”
It became impossible for him not to reach out to her, so he laid a hand on her shoulder.
She leaned into his chest. “I have nowhere to go. No one to trust.”
“You can trust me,” he whispered into her hair. And he had never meant anything more in his entire life.
Chapter Three
Discovery
HENRY SLOWED HIS father’s horse as he approached the small town. Did he have enough? It would have to be.
Maneuvering the steed down the main stretch, he found his way to the clinic. Pulling the reins, he brought the horse to a halt. He then jumped down and secured the animal to a post.
He swallowed hard as he looked up at the sign. What would come of this? Henry took in a breath and pushed open the door.
The town doctor sat at his desk reading through a book that had a drawing of an eye on it. It made Henry's stomach turn a little.
“Dr. Archer,” Henry approached, trying to calm his racing heart.
“Yes, sir, what can I do for you?” The doctor continued to make notes in his journal.
“I’m a tenant farmer on the Crawford plantation. A sharecropper on the property, Mr. Amos, was bad injured by an axe. His wife cleaned and stitched him, but he’s had fever ever since. It’s bad. They don’t have much money. But I have some.”
Henry reached into his pocket, pulling out everything he had earned and saved for his move out west. He laid it on the desk. “Will that be enough?”
The doctor looked at the money and then at Henry. He seemed to be studying Henry. Did he wonder if he should help a sharecropper? Did he suspect that Mr. Amos was black? Would Henry wonder the same thing in this man’s shoes?
To Henry, Elijah Amos was another farmer. He didn’t have the luxury of placing people in different categories. But he knew that some people did.
After some moments, the doctor drew in a long breath. “Take me to the man.”
Henry nodded and watched as the doctor stood and went for his medical bag, filling it with an odd assortment of things.
Then Dr. Archer stepped toward Henry. “Let’s go.”
Henry looked at the money on the desk. Wasn’t the doctor going to secure it?
“Keep your money until I do my work. Same as anyone else.”
Henry nodded, grabbing the money and pocketing it. He led the doctor outside. They each mounted their steeds and pushed off toward the Crawford property on the edge of Waverly.
Time passed quickly as they rode, yet it seemed to take hours to reach the shack that the Amos family called home.
Henry glanced over to gauge the doctor’s reaction as they dismounted.
Dr. Archer didn’t so much as flinch.
“This way,” Henry waved the doctor in as he moved to the door. He knocked lightly.
Isaac answered the door. He stared up at the two intruders.
Henry offered him a smile. “I’ve brought the doctor to see your Pa.”
Still not speaking, Isaac moved out of the way and let the men pass.
Moving farther into the small house, Henry urged the doctor ahead, toward the designated bedroom area. It had simply been screened off.
Mrs. Amos sat on the mattress next to her husband’s still form. She held his hand to her chest and wept.
The doctor rushed forward. Any hint he’d had any qualms about skin color forgotten. His hands moved over Mr. Amos’ head, lifted his eyelid, and looked into his eyes. Then he grabbed Elijah’s wrist.
Mrs. Amos did not move, save a gentle rocking motion. She did not make any indication she was even aware of the doctor’s presence. But she continued humming an old hymn.
The doctor hung his head.
Henry stepped forward. “What?”
“Keep your money, son. There’s nothing I can do here.” Dr. Archer stepped toward the door, pausing next to Henry and placing a hand on his shoulder. “There was probably nothing I could have done no matter when you came for me. His leg wound is severe.”
Numb, Henry nodded. Was the doctor speaking truthfully? Or just being kind? Had Elijah Amos been doomed from the moment the axe connected with his leg?
What would become of this small family?
****
Claire took her seat at the family dinner table. Things had been relatively calm in the house for the last week. She made a concerted effort not to stir trouble. And Pa seemed to believe she had become compliant. Perhaps she had.
Stealing a glance at the head of the table, she studied Pa. He had engaged their guest, a visiting plantation master, in talk of the latest government regulations.
Pa continued to converse as if he did not sense her gaze on him. Indeed, maybe he did not.
But she felt eyes boring into her. Shifting her focus to the left, her gaze collided with Ma’s. Was it possible for her to please that woman?
Claire lowered her focus to her plate and prayed Ma would become distracted. Moments later, the hairs on the back of her neck no longer prickled and she relaxed.
Only then could she give any attention to her dinner. Paying heed to the dishing out of food was all she could muster. But eating was beyond her with thoughts so entangled with Henry.
She had not seen him since that afternoon earlier in the week when he had comforted her. While she had sought solace for the moment, his words offered more. Could she trust in them? In him? Could a tenant farmer be her salvation?
“Seems I’ll have another parcel of land to let out soon enough.” Pa’s voice boomed. Louder than it needed to.
Claire glanced across the table.
His gaze was on her.
“Is that so?” His guest scooped potatoes into his mouth.
Had something happened with Henry? Had Pa discovered their budding relationship and decided to get rid of Henry? Is that what was going on between she and Henry?
“Yes,” Pa continued, letting his eyes rest on Claire's face. “Seems one of my sharecroppers died yesterday.�
�
Claire's breath caught. Died? Her heart sank. Mr. Amos had died? What would become of Mrs. Amos? Isaac and Millie? They would become lost in the world. No way to live, to sustain themselves. The warmth drained from her face.
“It is no matter.” Pa sighed and looked down at his plate.
“Good riddance is what I say,” the other plantation master said.
Claire's stomach turned.
“Indeed. I choose not to suffer these sad cases. I had a runaway slave situation a while back. Had to handle it decisively. Couldn’t let the other slaves thinking they could just up and leave.” Though Pa still spoke with his friend, his gaze rested on Claire.
“That’s what must be done.” The man’s eyes moved between Pa and Claire, brows furrowed. Did he wonder at the curious state of Pa’s glare?
But Claire barely noticed. Did Pa have a tale of a runaway slave she did not know? How could he? Unless…
Claire's mind peeled back the years until she found herself standing in a field with Mammy’s daughter Grace—Claire’s best friend in the whole world. Grace had never asked Claire for anything until that one night not so long ago. And Claire could not refuse her. Grace wanted to escape into the darkness, having arranged to join the Underground Railroad.
Though Claire was loathed to part with her friend, she could not deny Grace the opportunity to be free. While they had been girls together, Grace had been sheltered by their friendship. But as they grew, things changed. Everyone started treating Grace differently. It became hard for her.
And then Grace fell in love. It was young love. Too young. But she and her beau wanted to be married. Only Pa sold Grace’s love off before the two could do so.
Still, Grace refused to be separated from him.
Claire shivered at the memory. That night, Grace would meet her beloved on the Underground Railroad. All Claire had to do was help Grace get to her beau’s plantation. How could she not?
Pa’s voice pulled her from the memory.
“It was a young slave girl,” he started, talking first to his guest, and then very much to her. “Found her at a nearby plantation. Tried to run away with another slave I had sold off. Thought they could be free and get married. How ridiculous.”
Leaving Waverly: Novella Page 3
