by Naomi Finley
“You are proof of that,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
She smiled, but the sadness that had overtaken her remained. “Now that the twins are capable of caring for themselves, I long to set out on an adventure.”
I stiffened, my fingers tightening on the basket. “Adventure? What rubbish do you speak?”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I want to see what is out there, and Aunt Em has suggested I come to stay with her for a while. To clear my mind and find myself.”
Find herself? I bristled. Did she forget she was a woman? A man may make such a statement, but not a woman, and indeed not a married one with responsibilities. The selfishness she displayed made my chest tighten. “What is brewing in that head of yours? You aren’t thinking of leaving, are you?”
When she leveled her gaze at me, I saw it in her eyes. “B-but what of Knox and the twins? You can’t do that to them.” Or to me. Panic thumped in my chest.
“Knox and I have talked about it, and he’s resigned to the matter.”
“But you can’t leave!” My temples pulsed and fear guided the words I spewed next. “How can you be so selfish? What will people think? Not to mention what they will say about Knox. People will laugh behind his back.”
Hurt flickered across her face before she shuffled it away, and with an intense gaze registered on me, she said, “I’ll admit I’m rather disappointed in your reaction. You of all people.”
“I don’t care!” I waved a hand of dismissal at her and marched back and forth. “I usually sit quietly through most of your antics, but not this time. You have a duty to your husband.”
Whitney untied the pinafore I’d given her and thrust it at me. “I have a duty to myself first. I think it’s best I take my leave before you say too much more.”
“Leave then!” I gestured down the row of apple trees to the lane.
“Very well.” She whirled and stomped away, apples spilling from her basket as she went.
Go, I care not! I fumed. How dare she just pick up and leave? To abandon us all. My core shook, and tears rimmed my eyes as I stared after her.
Later, I stood in the orchard with tears of frustration streaming down my cheeks as she rode out of Livingston. When her buggy disappeared, I crumpled to the ground and sobbed.
“Missus Willow?” a soft voice said, and I twisted to find Sailor standing next to me.
“Yes?” My voice trembled, and I quickly brushed away the tears.
He searched my face. “You all right?”
I gathered him into my arms, clinging to the comfort he brought me. Please, don’t ever leave me. “I’m fine. You needn’t worry,” I pulled back and held him at arm’s length. “See? Nothing to worry about.”
He frowned as if he wasn’t so sure.
“Let’s head back.” I took his hand. “Come, Evie, gather your things.”
GUILT OVER HOW WHITNEY AND I had parted continued to eat at me in the weeks to come, and when Bowden returned home and mentioned he’d seen Knox and Whitney on the road heading to town, I’d frowned.
“At this time of the day?” I gripped the hat and coat he’d handed me upon entering the house.
Weariness dragged at his face. “She’s to catch the evening train,” he said over his shoulder as he strode down the corridor to the study.
I’d chosen not to inform Bowden of the argument we’d had because more pressing concerns controlled his days. Besides, he’d probably have considered our disagreement a trivial matter.
At his mention of Whitney leaving, I froze, panic surging. Leaving? Without as much as a goodbye? Had our years of friendship meant nothing to her? But all the while I chastised her, I felt a pang of regret. Hadn’t I been just as stubborn? I should have ridden over to her place and made things right between us.
I couldn’t leave things the way they were. “Take me to the station.” I chased after Bowden.
He paused on the threshold of the study and swung back to face me. “What for? Surely you two have said your goodbyes. It will be night before we reach town, and I’ve just returned.”
“Please,” I begged, thrusting his hat and coat at him. “I’ve been horrible. Shamefully so. I must make right the dreadful things I said to her.”
He closed his eyes and pressed his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. “What are you talking about?”
“Some weeks back, she and I had an argument.”
“And you wait until she leaves town to make it right?”
“I know.” I stepped forward and gripped his arms, the ache of my regret heavy in my voice. “I beg you. If you do not, I will find someone to accompany me.” Determination swelled in my chest.
He sighed and gripped my shoulders. “Very well, I will request a carriage readied. But pack an overnight bag; we will have to stay at the townhouse for the night.”
I squealed and planted kiss after kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”
“I wonder about this thing called love,” he grumbled. “It makes you do things when you least want to.”
“Isn’t it grand?” I said, racing from the room.
At the staircase, I gathered the sides of my frock and darted up, the hoop of my crinoline swaying to and fro.
“You owe me,” he called after me.
I smiled—my heart had steered me right when it had fallen for the mischievous Texan boy of my youth.
By the time we entered Charleston, darkness had fallen. I sat on the edge of the seat, clutching my handbag and tapping my feet repetitively on the carriage floor. “I hope we aren’t too late.” I sent a nervous glance at Bowden.
He turned the carriage down the last street to the station. “Wearing out the floor won’t help us arrive any faster.”
I scowled into the darkness, biting back the sass on the tip of my tongue. Too often, I was driven to prove my point, but I was learning silence was sometimes the most suitable option, and a gentler approach more effective than my passion of past days. After all, the anxiousness consuming me was hardly his fault, and he’d been kind enough to bring me.
We reached the station, and he had barely stopped the buggy before I stood and disembarked.
“Willow, be careful. We don’t need you breaking a limb,” he called after me, but I was already advancing down the boardwalk.
I pushed my way along the congested platform, taking a few knocks from passengers’ satchels and suitcases. Searching faces for Whitney, my gaze paused on a woman clad in a black silk gown with auburn curls peeking out from beneath a matching hat and veil. Whitney. My heart leaped. I dodged trunks piled on the platform and wove through the crowd to get to her. Bowden called out to me, but I ignored him and pressed on as she started to move away.
No, wait!
“Excuse me. Sorry,” I said to passengers as I elbowed my way through. When I was within reaching distance of Whitney, I grabbed her arm.
“Whitney, wait.”
She turned to me, her face concealed by the veil, and tilted her head to look at my hand gripping her arm.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I was wrong. I wanted to come and apologize sooner, but I was stubborn.”
She stood silent, withholding her forgiveness.
“Please, say something,” I said in desperation. Tears welled, prompted by the fear that she’d leave without saying she forgave me.
She cocked her head as if to regard me with interest, and said, “I’m sorry, miss, but I’m not the one you seek.”
I released her and placed a hand at my throat. “Pardon me.” Heat flushed my cheeks.
“It’s quite all right,” she said, her voice soft and sympathetic. “I hope this Whitney is smart enough to accept such a sincere apology.”
“Me too,” I said, my words barely a whisper.
The woman continued down the platform, and I removed a handkerchief from my handbag and blew my nose. Heavy of heart, I spun to look behind me and smacked into someone. “Excuse me. Please accept my apologies,” I said, tears of pan
ic overtaking me.
Firm but gentle hands gripped my shoulders. “You mustn’t get yourself in such a panic,” my husband’s husky voice soothed.
“Oh, Bowden,” I sobbed, burying my face in his chest. “It’s hopeless. I can’t find her.”
“It’s only as hopeless as you make it.” Pulling back and holding me at arm’s length, he used a thumb to dry my tears. “When did all the common sense I admire about you take wings?” Merriment shone in his eyes.
I glowered at him. “Why would you seek to tease me at such a moment?”
“Because”—he turned me to face away from him—“See there?” His warm breath tickled my neck and I followed his finger to behold Whitney sitting on a bench outside the ticket office. “I spotted her right away, but you were in such a panic that when I called out to you, you didn’t hear me.”
The conductor called “All aboard” and passengers started forming lines.
“We’ll lose her,” Bowden said. “Come.” He laced his fingers in mine, and used his body as a shield to plow through the crowd.
Through gaps in the crowd, I saw Whitney rise and step into line. “Whitney!” I shouted, but she didn’t seem to hear me. “Whitney,” I called again as Bowden guided me closer.
Recognition shone on her face, and she turned her head to scan the passengers. Bowden removed his hat and waved it in the air to get her attention. Her eyes locked on him and then me. “Bowden, Willow, what are you doing here?”
Bowden released me, and I rushed forward. Caring not how she responded, I crushed her in my arms. “I’m sorry, so sorry.”
She stood like the emotionless ice queen so characteristic of her, but I didn’t let go. I couldn’t. As stubborn as Whitney Tucker was, I too could be stubborn. I’d cling to her like a child does a parent’s leg if need be, until she accepted my apology. And I resolved to do just that before I’d let her leave with the distance that had grown between us intact.
Hope buoyed as her arms encircled me, and she patted my back with the customary stiff awkwardness she demonstrated when uncomfortable. “Now release me before you make more of a spectacle,” she said.
I stepped back and found her eyes misty. “I should have come sooner, but I let my stubbornness get the better of me. I behaved poorly because I didn’t want you to leave. I was selfish…and scared of losing you.”
I’d been so busy being upset, I’d not processed the inner struggle pulling at my soul. Did I regard people in my life as possessions to be placed neatly on a shelf? To provide me with comfort and security until the thoughts of losing them left me feeling vulnerable, scared, and alone. I did not know.
“I forgive you. Now stop blabbering,” she said firmly, but a twinkle danced in her eyes.
“All right.” I blew my nose and dabbed the corners of my eyes before looking up at her. “And it’s all your fault.”
Her mouth unhinged.
“I refer to me chasing you down and making a complete fool out of myself. Can you believe I offered a complete stranger an apology?”
Satisfaction settled on her face. “If only I could have witnessed it. What a delight that would have been.”
I smiled sheepishly. “I suppose I deserved it.”
“Yes, you did,” she said smugly, her chin jutting.
I giggled.
“All aboard,” the conductor bellowed.
“I must be going,” she said.
“I shall miss you.”
“And I, you.”
I leaned in to embrace her, and to my utmost joy, she returned the embrace with tenderness. “No adventures without me,” she whispered.
“Promise.” I gave her an extra squeeze before we parted.
She hurried to slip into line with the last passengers boarding. When she stepped onto the train, she swung back and placed fingers to her lips, then held them out to me. From my position, it appeared that she was on the verge of tears, but I wondered if it was my heart longing for her to miss me as much as I’d miss her, or if she’d genuinely been welling up.
An arm encircled my waist, and without looking, I melded into Bowden’s side. The scent and warmth of him consoled my melancholy heart.
My gaze followed Whitney as she walked down the aisle to find her seat. Once seated, she searched for me as the train started moving down the tracks. When our gazes met, she pressed a palm to the window, and I lifted a gloved hand and waved as tears spilled over my cheeks.
I would miss her terribly.
Captured in the loving embrace of my husband, I stood there until the chugging of the train and its billows of smoke faded on the horizon.
“Let’s get you home,” Bowden said. “Maybe we’ll find someone still up, as the staff wasn’t expecting us.”
I glanced one last time at the horizon before allowing him to lead me across the vacant platform to the carriage.
Mary Grace
MAY YOU SOAR WITH NEWFOUND wings.
I read the script Masa Bowden had engraved into Gray’s tombstone, and my eyes misted. Dropping to my knees, I paused a moment before leaning forward to brush away the soil and debris littering the stone. I placed the wildflowers I’d picked on the way up to the family plot. Today I’d accompanied Willow to the old Armstrong Plantation, and Mrs. Barlow had granted me permission to visit the cemetery.
For years, “if only” had plagued my thoughts. If only I’d sought Willow’s help in liberating Gray, or suggested he and I run away together, maybe he’d be alive, and we’d have a new life in a land of promise. If only I had considered leaving Mama behind—a thought that sickened me. Maybe if I’d approached the subject of her coming with us… But as I’d reflected on such a notion, I’d understood Mama would never have left the daughter born of Olivia Hendricks’s womb.
Gray had been a dreamer, and I’d laid in his arms, becoming lost in his fantasies. We had sought a life of our own, free of our masters’ control. I imagined owning a piece of property with a small homestead, some cows and chickens, and a garden of my very own. I would wash the evening dishes while watching from the window as our children played in the front yard with no overseer in sight. For hours we’d indulged in hopes for a future beyond the plantation grounds, but as the sun came up and the reality of our duties to our masters returned, all thoughts of leaving Livingston faded.
I traced the words etched into the headstone with fondness for our aspirations for a brighter future. “Oh, how we dreamed.”
I’d once thought happiness and a life of our own as foolish as Mama had, but I missed living inside Gray’s head, and the blink of hope his notions had provided.
Lately, I’d come to consider how deeply ingrained Mama and I had become. I loved her and admired her strength and spirit, but I didn’t want to become her. I wouldn’t be controlled by fear as Mama was. After the rape and Gray’s death, I’d spent years governed by the same fear and numbness. But something had changed in me…an awakening of sorts. Some days I became a prisoner to my love for Mama and Willow, and other days by the fear of the unknown in a foreign world. I wasn’t the property of Livingston, but I may as well have been a slave. I acted and performed my daily tasks as a slave would. My daughter had been born free, but she knew the life of a slave child. All were considerations that weighed on me. Was I doing right by my children? Or did I rob them of a life and their future? Did life hold purpose for me in a world where equality didn’t exist for the blacks? I was a mulatto, but the white blood I bore meant nothing. In people’s eyes, I may as well have been full-blooded Negro.
As the questions and considerations had mounted, the desire for more in life pulled at my soul. In recent months, the possibility of a new existence beyond the gates of Livingston occupied my mind—a life without dreams of old. However, to venture out on my own, a free black woman alone with two children, was insanity.
“I miss you.” Resting back on my heels, I breathed into the peacefulness of the afternoon. “Noah speaks of you often, but no longer asks when you’re to visit—unde
rstanding has stolen the words from his lips. Evie is growing so fast.” I smiled, envisioning my daughter as love expanded in my chest. “She becomes more like Mama each day. But in her eyes I see you, and the spirit of a dreamer.”
I reflected on the reason I’d needed to visit his grave. “There is something I must tell you, and I hope you can forgive me.” I paused, trying to conjure the words and voice them aloud. “My heart awakens with an awareness that leaves me confused.” Tears welled. “I’ve strived to fight off such thoughts, but I’m weakening to the matters of the heart. Am I wrong to care for him as I do?” I waited, as though expecting to hear Gray’s words of wisdom rise in the afternoon breeze. And when only the knocking of a red-cockaded woodpecker perched on the ancient live oak—the graveyard’s warden—answered back, I stood and placed my fingers to my lips, and touched the tombstone. “Goodbye, my love.”
Strolling the path leading back to the big house, I thought of the one who captured my days. His persistence has worn me down, I lied to myself, to displace the guilt of caring for another besides my husband. Magnus Barlow had shown more refinement and consideration than I considered plausible for a white man toward a woman of color. Self-assured and bold in his intentions, yet respectful and attentive.
The day he’d come to see Masa Bowden there’d been a fluttering in my chest as his skin brushed mine when he passed me in the foyer. In the days since, I found myself sweeping the balcony and pausing to glance down the lane in hopes of seeing him riding up. The way he looked at me told me that he regarded me as a man does a woman; not as a white does a Negress he seeks to bed, but like a proper gentleman with the desire to court a lady. But I was no lady. He didn’t know of the shame I bore.
The past summer, while the masters spent the hotter months in Charleston, I’d been working in the front garden when he’d ridden up to Livingston. Grinning, he’d leaned over his mount and held out a succulent peach, picked from the Barlows’ orchard. His blue eyes had sparkled like the sun glistens upon the water, and the fondness of the memory made my heart race.
