by Natasha Boyd
He chuckled ruefully. “I’m afraid I have rather a weakness for cards, and I may have gotten us into a bit of a pickle. Your father’s offer came at an opportune time. My brother all but forced me to answer the request.” He paused. “So now you know my sins … Will you share yours?”
“My ...? Whatever do you mean?”
We’d reached the site where I’d left my gaggle of helpers. All that remained were Sarah and Togo, who were still sorting the indigo leaves.
“Well, you clearly have a fondness for fieldwork. A hardy nature. One I find quite comely in a member of the fairer sex.” I sucked in a breath at his brashness, but he seemed oblivious. “I hope you won’t find this too outspoken, but it is clear you are not a lady suited for the likes of John Laurens with his societal airs and graces.”
While marginally impressed with Cromwell’s astute observation, I was offended on so many levels. Then Mary’s observation came back to me.
“Well, I see you have me at a disadvantage,” I said, swallowing my indignation. “I had been led to believe that Mr. John Laurens sought to approve of me for his son.” Even though the thought of that too was enough to turn my stomach. Henry was nice enough, and while only a little younger than me, seemed but a child.
Mr. Cromwell nodded. “Yes, well. I believe it is their intention to have you believe such. But I happen to know the reverse is true. I know his kind. He’s bought his position as far as he can in the drawing rooms of Charles Town but cannot get much farther without becoming a planter and owning land. That’s where it seems you come in.”
Marry John Laurens? I shuddered. Would my father sell me and our land to the highest bidder? And the subversive nature of their courting had me extremely ill at ease. Why not just press his own suit? Did he think I was so dim-witted he’d be able to switch one groom with another? Surely he wouldn’t go to such ridiculous extremes. It must simply be a misunderstanding. But more importantly at the moment was the irreverent and disrespectful wretch in front of me. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Did you not wish to know? I assumed you would want a level of trust between us if we are to work so closely together.” His tone and expression rang with truth and innocence, yet I felt as if something shadowy lurked beneath his earnest demeanor. Perhaps it was his admission of a passion for gambling that had me distrustful of the intent behind his words, whether they were true or not. I’d never trusted games of chance, nor those who could so easily put their faith in them.
But without wanting to, I felt indebted to Cromwell for this confirmation of Mary’s suspicions. It was perplexing to wonder why John Laurens had gone to the trouble to use his son as proxy. And frankly with the arrival of Ben beating everything else out of my head, I couldn’t spend much time thinking on it at present.
“Thank you for advising me,” I offered, deciding to let him believe I was simply grateful for his counsel. “Now, about your apprentice.”
Cromwell smiled with satisfaction at my easy acceptance and change of subject. “Well, you needn’t worry. He’s a good sort. He’ll do as he’s told. I have a firmer hand than my brother.”
“You mentioned him buying his freedom? Is he free now? Are you paying him?”
“Patrick used to pay him a meager amount, but now with this current appointment, he is working off his remaining indenture. When he is finished here with us, however long that takes”—Cromwell winked to let me know he dictated the terms of Ben’s tenure to suit himself—“I have agreed to consider his manumission. Much as it pains me, I’m afraid I’ve given my word. He really is a remarkable Negro. A fast learner, though arrogant. Even has some skill with lettering and figures. Where he learned that, I have no idea.”
I swallowed my surprise, and happiness for Ben, and scowled instead. “I see.”
“Of course, I shall refrain from mentioning that in polite company.”
Memories flittered into my mind of me as a girl scratching my newly learned letters into the dirt, with Ben standing next to me rubbing his head while my baby brother George tugged on my skirts to get my attention. “Buh-eh-nnn,” I’d sounded out, pointing at my scrawl. “Ben. That’s you.” My name was harder. But over a few weeks he learned it, and other words too. Simple words first. Tree, bee, happy, sad. Then harder ones. House, field, flower, indigo, friend.
I pointed toward Sarah and Togo. “Let’s have a look.”
Cromwell noticed Sarah as she stood up, and I watched an appreciation for her form cross his face. Men were such simple creatures, it was rather frightening to know they held the complicated nature of civilization in their hands.
“This is Togo, one of my chief gardeners and field hands,” I said. “And this is Sarah. Sarah was brought down from our Waccamaw plantation due to her knowledge of growing indigo in South Carolina. They’ll be working closely with you. As will I.”
To Sarah and Togo, I indicated the white man at my side. “And this is Mr. Nicholas Cromwell.”
Cromwell nodded at them, and unused to being introduced or perhaps worried at having a new white master, both sets of eyes acknowledged Cromwell then immediately angled down to the ground.
“He is an indigo consultant from Montserrat,” I informed them, making clear we were not installing an overseer. “He is here with his apprentice, Ben, whom I’m sure you will meet shortly, after he has assisted Quash with unloading their belongings. You are to treat both men with respect as I know you will,” I added for Togo’s benefit, seeing his large head cock ever so slightly. “And adhere to their instructions regarding indigo production.”
And so I neatly inserted Ben in superiority over Togo. And winced internally, saying a quick prayer. I wished I could assure them that they would still be treated well. But I didn’t know how to say that in front of Cromwell. And the truth was I didn’t know. It would be something I’d need to pay close attention to.
I just hoped Ben was welcomed and easy to like. I couldn’t remember if he was well liked among our Negroes in Antigua. I just knew that at one time he was my best friend. And if the truth mattered, I’d never had another friend, male or female, I considered such. I couldn’t believe Ben was here, my insides felt as if they would spin out of my body.
Cromwell crouched next to the bushels of cut stems. Fingering the leaves and casting through the piles, he made clicking noises of disappointment in the back of his throat.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Well, apart from the poor condition of the leaves left over from your pest and the small quantity, it was also left too long upon the bush I’m afraid.” He tutted again. “Very poor quality, indeed. This will only make a few pounds of very bad quality dye. There’s almost no point in wasting the effort.”
I bristled. “Well, we harvested what we could. We can still attempt the process, can’t we?”
“Who was in charge of deciding when it was ready to harvest? This one here?” He indicated to Sarah.
Her gaze was defiant.
“Actually, no one was put in charge until yesterday. So it’s quite my fault, you see,” I said quickly, pulling his attention away from her. And it was. Though I felt smarting irritation that she ignored my plea for help so long, it was my fault that I had decided not to coerce her. Could a woman like Sarah even be coerced?
Cromwell looked over his shoulder at me. “I see.” He stood, clapping the dust off his hands. For a moment he glanced around us as if looking for something. Presumably not finding it, he then reached into the tub of water, dipping a hand to the wrist. He withdrew and flicked off the water, before dunking his hand again, and frowning thoughtfully.
“Not the right temperature either.” He shook his head. “You cannot wait on these things. There’s barely a point to these proceedings. I can see why you needed me. One must know the exact hour the leaves are at the height of potency. Then they must be stripped and submerged within the day, in perfectly temperate
water. It takes years of practice to foresee the peak of the leaf coming so that the water may be ready. Then, well … then the real test of a dye maker begins.”
He removed a yellowed handkerchief from his pocket and dried his hand before using it to dab sweat from his neck. His head continued to shake from side to side. “And that’s not even the half of it.” His tone continued to increase in exasperation as my spirit continued to sink. “Where are the production facilities?”
“We—we have none yet. That’s why—”
“Your father had me believe you were running an operation here that needed my expertise, not that you were starting from nothing. Simply a hopeful young girl without the slightest idea of what you are doing? And you say you are in charge of three plantations? I hope to dear God, and for the sake of your father, you have overseers installed on the other two. I see the scope of my work shall have to extend to far more than just overseeing the indigo production.”
My throat was tight with offense, and I was reeling with his abrupt change in demeanor. How he’d transformed from someone trying to get into my good graces to this horrible, superior prig in mere moments put me at a loss for words. To avoid a tremor in my voice that would reveal my dismay should I find any words, I turned away for a moment to regain my composure.
Ben was at the stables with Quashy and Peter. They were within earshot, and while Ben was not looking at me, I felt his attention.
There was a small overseer’s cottage that sat away from the dwellings in the trees on the other side of the well. It had stood unused for goodness knew how long. I’d often thought about letting Quash stay there, but I was nervous about creating envy amongst the slaves, and he had such a calming presence, I felt he was almost the glue that kept us all in harmony. Cromwell could stay there, though. And Quash, in building the new dwelling for Sarah, had built in the style of our others. Two cabins with a shared chimney. So there was an empty cabin for Ben. It would be private too, being at the far end of the dwellings by the woods. I could probably visit with him a little without worrying my mother.
The thought of covertly visiting Ben slipped into me with sharp, uncomfortable edges. It created an unbalanced feeling within my person, and I knew it was something I should avoid. But I also knew immediately I would do it anyway, and it would be beyond my control.
I took a deep breath, tamping down my dangerous thoughts and dealing with the things within my control. “I’m sorry you are so disappointed in any perceived misrepresentation of your job here,” I said firmly to Mr. Cromwell and was gratified when his expression morphed to surprise at my subtle rebuke that placed the blame squarely upon his shoulders. “But it remains true that you are here to help us produce good quality dye. So we’ll just have to begin where it’s necessary to begin. And if that is at the very, very beginning, then so be it. I’m sure a man with such considerable intelligence and experience as you can handle it.” I smiled sweetly. “I have extremely talented helpers and a carpenter of superior skill.” I nodded toward Quash. “You’ll just have to let us know what to build, and we’ll do it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to see your apprentice settled in one of our newly built cabins and you in the overseer’s cottage. And prepare for supper, of course. I’m sure you are hungry after your long journey.”
I looked toward Sarah and Togo, not waiting for an answer from Cromwell. “Sarah, you can continue to work on this batch of indigo with Togo and teach him what you know.”
I wanted to know too, but today had dealt me an emotional as well as physical blow, and no doubt I’d learn much from Ben and Cromwell in the coming months that would eclipse Sarah’s knowledge anyway.
And I wondered how long I had before Mother put two and two together and got Ben.
Knowing Ben, my Ben, was here fairly caused my spirit to vibrate. It was impossible to keep myself together, and so I channeled it into the most efficient organizing and doling out of instructions I had ever undertaken as our newly arrived guests took tea with Mama in the drawing room.
Chickens were slaughtered and defeathered for dinner, courtesy of Sawney. Mary Ann made quick work of readying our two guest rooms, and I joined her to help tighten the ropes on the bed frames. Then she returned to the kitchens to work on supper.
Essie was the only one I could ask to help me take special care of getting the extra dwelling ready without causing fuss and whispers.
When we stood in the doorway, I turned to her and said, “It’s Ben, Essie. My Ben.”
She set her deep brown eyes upon mine, the corners crinkled with years of smiles and wisdom. Then she pressed her thumb to a spot between my eyebrows and muttered something before shaking her head.
I didn’t ask her what she was thinking. I never did. And she’d never tell me. But she insisted on putting some kind of mark on Ben’s door to ward off haints and spirits. She and Quash were so funny about their chicken blood, bones, and feathers.
The overseer’s cottage was swept of mice droppings and spiders and polished with lemon oil. Rosemary was to be hung from the rafters, and I dispatched Mary Ann’s two daughters to fetch some. I had them get extra for Ben’s dwelling too.
I had a field hand come and make sure the chimney was clear by climbing up on the roof and sticking a large straight branch inside and swirling it around. By some miracle only one old nest that had been abandoned a long time ago fell down to the cooking hearth.
New wood was laid, and I fetched one of our medium-sized cast-iron pots from the kitchen, smiling apologetically at Mary Ann, as well as a pitcher of rainwater and a basin. I made a mental note we needed more pots, pitchers, and basins the next time I was in town. Perhaps I’d send Quash to the market next week. Ben would need provisions too.
I returned to the house, passing my mother on the stairs as I finally went to my room to get cleaned up. If Mama knew something was afoot, she made no mention.
I’d not seen Ben again and guessed he’d been helping where needed with horses and trunks and being shown about by Quash. Quash would also show him to his cabin. I didn’t know what he’d been used to in Montserrat, but I hoped he was comfortable here. Certainly it was roomier than the cabins I knew of in Antigua.
All through what felt like the most boring long-winded dinner I’d ever endured, as John Laurens and Nicholas Cromwell tried to outdo each other with overblown trading stories from various parts of the world, all I could think about was whether Ben was comfortable in his room. Did he need anything? Did he wonder why I hadn’t sought him out to greet him despite his initial warning? Was he as surprised to see me as I was to see him?
Even more, I couldn’t help thinking how different Ben looked. He was always self-assured, and that had emanated strongly as long as I’d known him. But he’d gone from boy to man in the few years since I’d seen him. I’d no doubt gone from girl to woman, but to be fair, I saw no change in my appearance. Womanhood had bloomed and peaked early on me. I certainly wasn’t growing out or up anymore.
Ben, on the other hand, had.
Mama was clearly having one of her “good days” and hung on every word of our guests as they put on their show.
“You seem distracted this evening,” Henry murmured at my right-hand side. “I know my father’s bluster is boring, despite half of it being made up, but is something troubling you?”
“The things on my mind are also rather boring, I’m afraid.” I smiled politely at him. “I do apologize for my lack of manners. Did you have a good journey here today? I trust it was incident-free?”
“Valiant effort, Eliza.” He grinned and took another small bite of sage-roasted chicken. I did the same, smirking. It was quite nice to have someone my own age with whom I could commiserate about the tedious generation above us.
“So half of it is made up, is it?” I asked, teasing.
“Probably three quarters.”
“Truly?” I asked, surprised.
; “No, not really. I think the majority of the basic facts are true, but handsomely embellished. For example, I do know he was once held captive by an Indian chief while trading for deerskin.”
I couldn’t help my small gasp of surprise.
“But the man did not threaten to scalp him,” Henry continued. “Nor hang him over a cauldron with the threat of being boiled alive. He simply made my father stay for dinner and partake in a smoking ceremony before he let him be on his way in the morning with his procured skins.”
We laughed softly at his father’s attempt at aggrandizing the ordeal.
Henry continued. “The Indians are quite resourceful with nature. Corn comes from them, you know? One day, when I have land, I shall have Indians work upon it.”
I took a small sip of wine. “Indeed? You think you will be so successful you’ll be able to have paid workers? I admire your ambition. And I’m sure we have much to learn from the people who’ve worked this land centuries before us.”
What a thing to aspire to. I should also like it if Lucas land were profitable without the need for enslaved labor. Imagine being able to reward Quash or Togo or Essie … My mind drifted toward the radical thoughts in the way one might indulge an unrealistic dream of basking in the success of indigo. A dream that seemed so very far off after seeing another failed crop today.
“Thank you. I admire yours also.”
“My what?”
“Your ambitions.”
Heat burst into my cheeks, and I glanced at Mama to see if she’d overheard.
“It is a compliment, Eliza.”
“It is not seen that way by most.”
“Are not the mothers of the young girls paraded about at tedious balls ambitious in their own way? Anyway, I plan to have enslaved Indians. Though I’m rather waiting for them to continue warring amongst themselves and make their numbers more manageable.”
