by Naomi Finley
She bobbed her head as silent tears streaked her cheeks.
I bit down on my lip to quell mine and studied the anguished faces in the room. Each person seemed to be holding their breath. But why move all the way across the ocean instead of sending a letter?
I sat numbed by the revelation. Had I not dreamed of finding Callie? Then why did every muscle in me tense as I looked at her? She was his. Truly his. I, on the other hand, was his niece. My rambling thoughts filled me with turmoil and insecurity. I could hardly compete for the favor of a man that was dead.
“I expected it would be a lot for you to take in,” Isabella said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll let my husband tell you how he came to purchase this place.”
Mr. Barlow patted his wife’s hand, and said to me, “As you’re probably aware, I never had the privilege of meeting your husband. All arrangements were made through our lawyers.”
“How did you find out my husband was looking for a purchaser for his estate?”
“Perhaps the history between your father and me will shed some light on how our friendship and partnership began. I first met your father at a ball in London when he was still in the business of selling and trading Negroes. I recognized an inner struggle in him. A battle between what he’d always known, and what was right.”
I recalled the same struggle within my husband, years prior.
Mr. Barlow continued. “I’d wanted to help those enslaved in Cuba and Brazil find refuge in England and other anti-slavery countries. Some years later, Charles and I crossed paths again. Something had changed in him. He enlightened me on his work in America, and soon we became allies in our joint mission to help those enslaved.”
“Ironic, isn’t it? A slave owner, but an abolitionist,” I said dryly.
“Yes, but it created the perfect disguise. He was the agent, and an important part of our group of abolitionists in Europe. The respect he’d earned in his travels because of his wisdom, his wit, and his wide pool of resources and acquaintances helped many enslaved people. You can understand the great loss to our organization with his death. Without his funding, ships, and influential appeal, our operations have stopped.
“After Charles disappeared, I inquired at the docks in London about his whereabouts and was informed of his death. But the details they provided were limited. Although his ships continued to sail into London’s harbor and his trade operations continued, all efforts for our cause had ceased. Some time later, when Captain Gillies informed me that Charles had been murdered, we worried about your well-being,” he said. “Your father had me swear that if anything ever happened to him, I’d find you.”
A tear spilled down my cheek as Mr. Barlow spoke of Father’s love for me. I glanced at Callie, and for a brief moment wondered which of us had received the best of Charles Hendricks.
“During one of my meetings with the captain, he told me of the Armstrong property and your husband’s desire to sell. He also informed me of its location near Charles’s plantation. The captain said that, like your mother and father, you were a soldier in the cause. I intended to pay you a visit and not only fulfill my promise to your father, but seek your alliance so our efforts to end slavery could continue. On impulse, I purchased your husband’s property in the hopes of moving here and offering my services. But Isabella became ill and was near death’s door, too weak to travel. We decided to remain in England until she recovered. We didn’t expect so much time to pass.”
“Why risk bringing your wife and Callie to a slave-owning state? You must know that will only bring hardship and judgment on you all,” I said. Although Callie could pass as white, there was no denying Isabella’s parentage.
“We are no strangers to judgment over our union, and we’ve grown accustomed to such prejudice,” Isabella said.
“You must know, after I found out Father had a daughter, I went to England to search for you. On his deathbed, he told my uncle to find you. I had given up hope that we would. And now that you are here, I’m unsure what to think.” My insides trembled as the shock of it all settled in.
Mary Grace covered my hand where it lay on the settee, and I looked at her and smiled through my tears. I wanted to bury my head in her shoulder, as I’d often done as a child after Father’s harshness overwhelmed me and sent me fleeing to my room. The tenderness in her eyes confirmed her love and support.
“We were unsure if he had told you about me,” Callie said. “He always talked of you, but no matter how many times I asked for him to bring you, he never did.”
He spoke of me. My heart skipped at the knowledge.
“As a young girl, I dreamed of the games we’d play if you were to come to England.” She laughed. “Every time he came to London he’d come to visit and bring me presents. Often he’d come with Dad.” She motioned to Mr. Barlow. “It is through him that Mum and Dad met. They married when I was twelve, and I inherited a brother.”
“Magnus,” I said, glancing at him. The blond hair and blue eyes finally made sense.
“My mum passed when I was small, and she’s the only mother I remember.” Magnus directed a loving gaze at Isabella.
Callie went on to explain, “Mum and Charles decided that, for the safety of his work, they’d keep his identity from me until I was older. I was fifteen when the three of them sat me down and informed me that I was a Hendricks, and the girl I’d longed to be my friend was, in fact, my sister. Charles promised that, when the time was right, he’d bring you with him and tell you the truth. But life robbed him of the opportunity.” She lowered her head.
“Do you resent them for keeping the secret?” I asked.
“No. I understood why they’d done it. And although I knew my father as a friend of the family and Dad’s colleague, he spent as much time with me as he could, often taking me to the docks and on rides in the countryside. He loved me, and I him.”
I envied her for the time she’d had with him, the bond they’d formed that I had so desperately craved.
“I understand we’re strangers but I do hope we can become friends, if not share the bond of sisters.” The genuineness in her smile softened my tendency to put up my guard. I returned her smile, but it soon faded as my thoughts turned to the risk of having Callie living in Charleston. If she had been a child he’d conceived with a slave from the quarters, folks would turn a blind eye. However, if people were to find out Father had sired a daughter with a freed slave from London, it would cast unnecessary suspicion and put Livingston in danger.
“I hope so too, but you must know my concerns have to be about the people of Livingston and what it would mean for our operation. If word got out that you were Father’s daughter, it would threaten everything,” I said.
“Coming here, we were aware of this,” Callie said. “I proudly bear the Barlow name, and the Hendricks blood I carry will remain our secret.”
“We will protect and stand by you as we did him.” Magnus rose to his feet.
“I appreciate that.” I stood, and the rest followed. Lightheadedness caught me, and I gripped the arm of the davenport to steady myself.
“Are you all right?” Isabella’s touch was gentle, her eyes filled with motherly concern.
I embraced her kindness. “It’s been a lot to take in. I will be fine once I get some fresh air.”
“You’re in luck. The storm seems to have passed, and the sun has come out.” Mr. Barlow strode to the window, where the sun poured over the oak floors. I’d been so engrossed in the Barlows’ revelation of Father’s affairs in London that I hadn’t noticed the clouds had parted, and the sky had ceased its rumbling.
“Thank you for your hospitality. We must return home.”
“I will send someone to bring your wagon around,” Magnus said. “Would you like me to accompany you home?” He looked from me to Mary Grace.
“That’s fine; we can manage,” I said.
Later, as we left the plantation behind, I glanced at Mary Grace. “I caught the young Mr. Barlow admiring you.”
/> She huffed. “Most likely never had a Negress before.”
“He doesn’t strike me as such. He conducts himself as every bit the gentleman.”
She twisted away and stared into the swamps, becoming silent. My thoughts returned to the Barlows, and the possibilities their arrival could bring.
THE BARLOWS VISITED LIVINGSTON SEVERAL times over the months to come. One evening, after the men had retired to the cigar room to discuss men’s affairs and Callie, Isabella, and I sat engrossed in a game of cards in the parlor, the front door opened and footsteps echoed in the foyer.
“Evenin’, Masa Ben, et sho’ good to see ya.” Mammy’s voice hummed with delight.
He chuckled. “And you as well.”
“Missus Willow be in de parlor wid de ladies.”
Weighted footsteps drew closer, and we stood as Mammy and Ben strolled through the doorway.
“Missus Willow, luky here, et Masa Ben in de flesh.” Her dark eyes gleamed and she lifted a hand to smooth back stray hairs.
Where Mammy and my father had a relationship that was strictly business, Ben and she had a friendship that had expanded over the decades. But Mary Grace and I couldn’t miss the opportunity, when it arose, to tease Mammy about the way she brightened up whenever Ben came into view. She’d scowl and say, “He a fine man. Ain’t nothing more dan dat.”
Ben smiled down at Mammy with a keen look of respect. “Thank you, Miss Rita.”
“Let me take your coat.” She gave his sleeve a tug. “You sit awhile and enjoy yourself. Ain’t nobody gwine need ya tonight.”
I watched with fondness and amusement, not putting it past her to swiftly turn someone away if they came seeking his help. Nurturing others defined Mammy; it gave her a sense of purpose. I saw how her eyes held onto the stray blond lock that fell over his forehead, and I grasped her inner struggle to refrain from flicking it back into place.
He handed her the coat, and after she left, he turned and charmed the ladies with a pleasant smile. With the influenza outbreak behind us, the weariness that had hooded his visage for months had retreated.
I strode to him and kissed his cheek. “I’m delighted to see you. Won’t you join us? You’ve yet to meet the Barlows.” I looped my arm with his and guided him toward the ladies. “Isabella, Callie, I’d like you to meet my father’s brother, Benjamin Hendricks.”
The conversation had yet to indicate whether or not the Barlows knew the truth about my parentage, and I’d found it unnecessary to inform them.
“Willow has told me much about you.” He greeted the ladies with an outstretched hand.
Isabella placed a small dark hand in his, her face pale, as though Ben’s appearance had summoned up the past. In return, he stood observing the mulatto woman who’d found her way into Charles Hendricks’s heart with open intrigue.
He blinked a few times as if to block out his pondering before shifting his gaze to Callie, who eyed him warily. She was every bit her mother in appearance, but many of her mannerisms were much like Father’s. Amusement touched her eyes, but rarely her mouth. She sat back and listened, and only offered her opinion or advice when necessary. But where Father had been reserved in warmth and emotion, she had inherited those traits from her mother, and for that, I was thankful.
Ben peered down at her, and a mixture of emotions played on his face. “So you’re his daughter?”
“Yes, sir.” Callie curtsied.
He cleared his throat. “W-we’ve been most eager to meet you.”
Callie released a breath, as though she’d been worried about his reaction to her.
“As I’m sure Willow has told you, we’d given up hope of finding you. I couldn’t believe it when she told me ya’ll had purchased the Armstrong homestead. This all makes one believe in miracles, doesn’t it?” he said lightly.
The tension that had been in the room moments prior vanished.
Isabella stood with her hands clasped before her, observing the conversation between niece and uncle. “Indeed,” she said. “It’s nice to finely meet you, Mr. Hendricks. I’ve heard so much about you.”
He stepped back and encircled my shoulders with his arm, pulling me close. “I’m sure. Willow has a tendency to exaggerate my efforts.”
“I refer to him.” Isabella said.
Ben’s smile slipped. “Yes, well, it is no secret that my brother and I never saw eye to eye.”
Callie and I shared a nervous look but kept out of their exchange.
“I do not mean to conjure up old wounds,” Isabella said. “But I always thought, if I could meet you one day, I’d tell you how much your brother regretted his actions.”
“What’s done is done. Let us leave the past where it lies, shall we?” His tone exuded composure, but his fingers gripped my upper arm.
“No,” Isabella said firmly.
All eyes turned to her.
“Please, let’s have a seat.” Her expression was solemn.
Once we were seated, Isabella continued with what weighed on her mind. “I want you to know that I speak from a place of reverence.” Ben nodded but remained silent. “We all are aware that Charles was stubborn and set in his ways. He shared with me, countless times in the last years, how he yearned to make things right between you. He spoke of his remorse and his deep love for you. Sometimes he’d reminisce how things used to be when you were younger. But as we often do with time, he took it for granted, and never got to say the things that were in his heart.”
“I appreciate and accept your need to tell me my brother’s desire.”
“You are a remarkable man, Mr. Hendricks,” Isabella said.
Ben inclined his head. “You’re too kind.”
“Your sacrifice was more than most could handle.” Her gaze shifted to me. “Charles struggled with the secrets he kept from you. The truth of your parentage.”
I sucked back a breath, my heart hammering. “You know?” I looked from her to Ben.
“Yes, from the beginning.”
I gulped, uncertain if I should be relieved or concerned.
“Although I’ve come to see this is a truth you’ve chosen to keep quiet, and for the best, I’m sure. I wanted you to know it isn’t something you need to hide from us,” Isabella said.
I smiled in an attempt to break the awkwardness that had fallen over the room. “It created a lifetime of secrets, mysteries, and heartache,” I said. “My hope is that we can reform our family and leave our children a legacy they can be proud of.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Callie said.
“If only he could see us now, here under one roof.” Ben regarded the painting of him and Father as young men hanging on the wall. The artist had painted it after they’d returned from a morning hunt. Ben had informed me that it was done in the early days, before the struggle for the affections of my mother had divided them.
A short time later, Ben left us to join the men and our conversation turned to the Barlows’ lives in England.
“It must be hard to leave your friends and family behind,” I said.
“Yes, I miss my dearest friend terribly.” Isabella peered at me over her hand of cards. “She’s been like a sister to me, and helped raise Callie. A woman of many qualities. She’d make some gentleman very happy.”
“Oh?” I raised a brow.
A sparkle lit in her eyes. “She’d be a delightful match for Benjamin.”
“Is that so?”
She nodded.
“Mum!” Callie exclaimed. “I’m sure Aunt Pippa wouldn’t be keen on you playing matchmaker.”
Isabella clucked her tongue. “Nonsense. It’s payback, I tell you.”
“For what?” Callie and I said in unison.
She held out her fingers and folded each one as she spoke. “For trying to set me up with the post rider, Pastor Thomas, the Gypsy circus conductor, and above all, that dreadful Mr. Samson.”
“The widowed farmer from down the way?” Callie stared in dismay.
“That’s corr
ect. His wife most likely died from depression.” Isabella’s nose wrinkled with distaste.
“But he was twice your age,” Callie gasped. “What was she thinking?”
“You concede my point?” her mother said.
“Well, I do consider Ben to be far more delightful than this Pippa’s choice in men,” I said indignantly, but curiosity tugged at me. “Is there a reason she’s unwed?”
“Please don’t get the wrong impression of her. She’s the purest soul you will ever meet.”
“I reiterate my question; is there a reason—”
“It is as Mum says. Aunt Pippa is unwed because she loved but once in her life.” Callie’s expression grew dreamy, and I found myself leaning in as she continued. “It was young love. Aunt Pippa is the daughter of Lord Buxton, and she had fallen in love with a stable boy. Her dad refused such a lowly union. So, they defied him and ran off together. After the young man died in the cholera outbreak of ’32, she refused to return to Lord Buxton’s home. Mum found her on the streets, begging. She gave her a home and they’ve been the greatest of friends since. After Mum married Dad, she remained at the cottage where I’d grown up.”
I sat mesmerized by the story.
“It is quite romantic, really.” Callie’s eyes gleamed with enchantment. I regarded her with some surprise. Could it be that she was a romantic at heart? I’d never thought her the type.
“She does seem like a woman of substance,” I said, my mind running with images of a Lady willing to give up all for love. Romantic indeed. I wanted more than anything for Ben to find love again. Whitney and I’d often played matchmaker with women in town. We had listed the pros and cons of each single woman, and so far, I’d deemed none worthy of him.
Later that evening, as the Barlows’ carriage drove down the lane, Bowden, Ben, and I stood on the veranda watching.
“Isabella says her friend Pippa may come for a visit soon,” I said. “She sounds amazing. After what they told me about her tonight, I can’t wait to meet her.”
Bowden’s brow furrowed. “What is the interest?”
“She is unmarried.” I smiled.
Bowden and Ben exchanged a glance of disbelief.
