by Natasha Boyd
I swallowed a hard nut of disgust at his words and quite forgot my previous train of thought. To wish hardship and war upon a people to be able to enslave them? Oh, how very different we were. Being of a similar age and sharing a laugh or two at the expense of our parents did not a lifetime companion make.
“Are you all right?” Henry asked, concerned.
“Yes.” I gave him an insipid smile, thinking of an excuse. “Yes. Only I fear the turmoil of this day has rather gotten to me.”
“And so,” John Laurens announced from his position to my mother’s left. “It is my recommendation that Cromwell act as overseer while he is here to relieve the burden on Eliza and then Colonel Lucas will appoint another.”
Cromwell sat up straighter upon Mr. Laurens’ pronouncement.
“Excuse me?” I piped up. “I missed part of that. Are—”
“It was merely a suggestion, Eliza,” my mother interrupted, putting me in my place as her daughter. “One I happen to agree with. Certainly by the looks of you today, you could use the help.”
I stood. My emotions were too frayed and thin to face the world about me a minute longer. “Actually, regarding today. I fear I am quite fatigued. I hope you will all forgive me as I bid you good night. Breakfast is usually served between six and ten. Simply ring the bell on the sideboard. I shall see you all tomorrow.”
My mother dabbed her mouth. “Very well. I have told Mr. Laurens you will give him a tour of our holding here in the morning. You may be excused.”
In my bedroom, I stripped down to my chemise. For a moment I stood at the window staring out to Wappoo Creek reflecting silver from the darkening sky. I wished I could see the dwellings from here. Was Ben settled? Perhaps he was already asleep, exhausted from his long journey. I hoped the slaves had been accommodating and shared their supper. Things such as this had never occurred to me before.
I said a quick prayer, thanking God for the miracle of this day, and for Ben’s presence, although he was part of the aforementioned miracle, and asking for patience in the face of condescension. Oh, and patience with my mother. Oh, and wits to handle both Henry and his father and avoid a marriage to either of them. Oh, and one more thing, apologies if I was asking too much.
I couldn’t get Ben out of my head. He’d grown taller. Stronger. His head was shaved close. His dark skin was burnished and smooth, though I imagined he shaved whiskers upon his jaw now that he was a man and not a boy. Not that I’d ever touched his face. The thought of it now sent ribbons of curiosity looping through my insides. My fingers tingled as if I could feel the rough texture of skin.
Sucking in a breath, I was shocked at myself.
I was marveling, that was all. Marveling at the miracle of seeing a person I’d thought never to see again. It almost felt as if he was a mirage.
I would have to set or find new boundaries for us. Or perhaps he’d set them for us already by the subtle shake of his head. It was as if he’d known what I’d been feeling in that moment. That I wanted to throw myself upon his person. To prove his reality.
Impossible.
I could never let anyone know how I felt, but I would remain his true friend even if no one ever knew. Even if he never knew.
I reached for my prayer book and grabbed the quill I set by my bed for working on my task list. By the last light of my lamp, I added to a prayer I had written while asking God for patience with Sarah, this time promising to try and love all of mankind.
Having washed earlier, before dinner, all that was left was for me to lift my knees from the hard wooden floor, crawl blissfully onto my stuffed bedding, and pull the rough cotton sheet over me. It was hard to calm my racing heart so that sleep would overtake me. My life felt on the very cusp of some great change. Some movement toward destiny.
The mockingbirds that had seen fit to build a nest near my bedroom window stirred early the next morning. I struggled to hang on to my dream as I peeled my eyes awake into the soft blue darkness. I had dreamed of the blue water again. Indigo. This time Ben was in my dream. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was there, and it left a swirling hive of warmth in my belly.
I sat straight up, my heart pounding with newly rediscovered joy.
Ben was here at Wappoo.
The memories of yesterday fell over themselves. Did my father know that the man he sent from Montserrat was the brother of the man to whom he’d sold Ben? It was either mercy on the part of my father, or divine mercy on the part of God.
Of course, this morning I would have to give Mr. Laurens a tour of the property he thought might end up being his dowry. Also it was Tuesday, the day we visited Mary and her mother. I’d have no time to see Ben.
Remembering the indigo that Sarah and Togo worked on yesterday, I hurriedly got up and dressed, not bothering to ring for Essie. I could do my rounds of the fields and check on the indigo before breakfast was served and still manage to avoid having to share another meal with our guests. They were bound to be abed until it was true daylight.
Of course, no sooner was I around the fields that I found myself gravitating toward the far end of the slave dwellings.
I paused and turned away, forcing myself toward the sheds where the vat of soaking indigo had been left.
It was covered with a piece of sackcloth held down by broken bricks and large stones. I removed a few and looked inside. The water was dark and full of stems being held submerged by yet more heavy stones. The sour stench of the fermenting process I could remember so well from my childhood had yet to happen.
Carefully replacing the cover as I’d found it, I stood.
There was not yet a soul about. The dwellings were still, though they wouldn’t be for much longer. Stars were blinking out one by one as the sky on the horizon turned silver to match the water.
I couldn’t visit Ben, but I could walk the long way back to check the fields one last time. I found myself stopping yet again near the woods and looking at the newly built cabin.
Straining for the sound of movement inside, or the flicker of movement in the dark window, I stood in the still silence. It was then I noticed how very quiet it was. Not a bird, nor rustle of a small animal, nor even a breeze could be heard through the leaves.
“Whach you waitin’ fo?”
I leapt, a stifled scream strangling in my tight throat, and whipped around. Luckily the fright had quite robbed my breath, and the scream had died on its way out or the whole plantation would now be awake. My pulse beat hard in my neck.
Ben was sitting on a tree stump to my right on the edge of the woods. His bare dark chest had blended in with the surrounding shadows. He held a small knife in one hand and a piece of wood in the other. He’d obviously been whittling, though must have stopped as I approached or I would have heard him.
My hand was at my throat, and I slowly removed it, my heart still furious. I let out a nervous laugh, light-headed with relief. “Well … you.”
“And here I be.”
Finally, I could say hello.
I smiled, starting toward him.
He raised the hand holding the knife, four fingers opening to put his palm out and halt me. When I complied, he let out a long breath and looked away.
I began to fiddle nervously with my dress strings, but when his eyes returned to me and followed the movement, I let them fall and wiped my palms on my dress.
My mind was ridiculously blank. I could muster nothing to say, so I let my gaze feast on the happy miracle of my friend sitting in front of me.
“I missed you,” I said finally, whispering the words so they would never be overheard. “Are you comfortable in your cabin? Is there anything you need? I’m so happy to—”
Ben’s eyes narrowed on me. Then he stood, his lithe and hard-worked body unfolding.
Curving his hands around the hilt of his knife, he turned abruptly and punched the blade down into the stump
. It slammed home with such vehemence, it was a wonder the small blade didn’t snap.
I gasped in surprise and stepped back.
Then he stalked to the cabin and entered without a backward glance, leaving me staring after him in stunned silence, my heart ballooning painfully against my ribs.
I am resolved to be a sincere and faithful friend
Wherever I professed it,
And as much as in me lies
An agreeable and innocent companion,
A universal lover of all mankind.
All these resolutions by God’s assistance
I will keep to my life’s end.
So help me, oh, My God! Amen.
—Excerpt from prayer
written by Eliza Lucas
John Laurens, his son Henry, myself, and Polly made a slow procession around the property. Polly was sitting sidesaddle on her small, fat mount being led by Pompey, one of our younger slaves, who had recently started shadowing Quash whenever he could.
Pompey had shown an aptitude for carpentry and it seemed Quash was quite enjoying having someone to teach. Quash drove our wagon while Mr. Laurens, Henry, and I sat enjoying the breeze of the sunny morning.
“It’s remarkable how much cooler it is out here than in town,” Henry commented.
I adjusted my bonnet to keep the low-riding sun from my face. “I imagine all the buildings in town buffet the breeze from the Cooper River.”
“With more going up all the time,” Henry agreed. “It shall be nice to have space in the countryside to get away to in the height of the summer.” He cleared his throat. “One day.”
Not Lucas land, I chided in my head, though my mind still couldn’t leave Ben alone. Had I upset him? Surely he knew I’d had no idea he was coming.
“It is rather more stifling at some of the up-country plantations, however,” Henry bungled on. “You have a fortuitous spot here on the bluff.”
“I was interested to discover last evening at dinner that you had planter ambitions.” I glanced at John Laurens who studied the surrounding landscape, but whose ear I knew missed nothing, certainly not my seizing upon his son’s misstep. His son had played their hand.
“I seem to remember you like your books, Miss Lucas,” John Laurens interrupted us. “Ever read any Aristotle?”
On alert for a trap, I hesitated in my answer. It was unseemly for a lady to read like I did, as much as I did, as well as the texts I chose to read. Yet, he knew my propensity, having met me while staying at the Pinckneys’ in town and he’d witnessed me fairly raiding Charles’ library.
“I confess I have borrowed a volume from Mr. Pinckney.”
“So you’ll have pieced together how Carolina sits on a veritable climatic Golden Mean. In the most temperate part of the globe. It would be a sin not to partake of God’s bounty, would it not? God helps those who help themselves.”
I nodded. “I had the same thoughts about Carolina myself after reading Aristotle’s cosmography. It is little wonder Charles Town was settled.”
“Indeed.” John Laurens’ shrewd eyes assessed me, then roamed briefly upon my person, making my skin burn. It was over before it began, and I barely controlled a small shudder.
I glanced to see if Henry had noticed.
He was frowning up ahead to see Pompey turning Polly’s horse. “Are we at the boundary already?”
“I’m afraid so.” I quite enjoyed his disappointment. “The Wappoo land is only six hundred acres.” Therefore not worth your time, I wanted to add. And hoped it also meant I was not worth their time.
My eyes stayed firmly ahead as we passed the woods and Ben’s cabin. His strange behavior this morning had been relegated behind an iron dungeon door in my mind, lest I drove myself mad.
By the time we got back to the house, after enduring many more comments from John Laurens on how we could best use this plantation and questions about the other Lucas holdings, I was barely keeping my composure together. I felt like I’d spent a morning at the market, only this time the prime auction items were me and the land upon which I was paraded about.
“Thank you for the delightful turn about the property, gentlemen,” I managed stiffly. “I fear I must ready Polly and Mama for our weekly outing to the Woodwards. I shall ask Mary Ann to prepare you a meal to take on the drive back to Charles Town.”
“Oh, your dear mama kindly invited us to stay a few days.” John Laurens smiled. Henry looked uncomfortable. My legs wanted to give out. I didn’t know how much longer I could continue the farce of politeness. “But, please,” he continued, “we shall not impede your plans. You go on ahead. Henry and I will enjoy your mild country air and catch up on correspondence. Your mother said I could use the study, would that be all right?”
“Of course,” I responded enthusiastically, giving him a smile. I bet Charles Pinckney would be impressed at how much I’d learned to school my expressions in the last day. “Well, I must hurry. Come along, Polly. Oh, gentlemen, do look at our wonderful walled kitchen garden. I quite forgot to add that to our tour.” I pointed in the general direction, hoping they would go now and give me the time I needed to hide Father’s ledgers from prying eyes. Correspondence, indeed. I was almost offended that he’d underestimated me so.
“John Laurens is absolutely despicable, Mary,” I confided in my friend the moment Mama went upstairs to tête-à-tête with Mrs. Woodward in her private sitting area.
I want a private sitting area, I mused, as Mary and I made ourselves comfortable. I debated pulling out my volume of Plutarch but instead fished out another needlework sampler. If my indigo plan ever did grow to success, I vowed I’d have my own sitting area filled with books ladies weren’t supposed to read. Oh, and I’d build a greenhouse like Mr. Deveaux’s. And a wonderful planned garden like the Middletons’. Now I am getting greedy, I admonished myself. I’d settle for a sitting area.
“He can’t be that bad, surely.”
“Oh, he is. He and Henry quite think they have me outwitted.”
I filled Mary in on the arrival of Cromwell, the discovery that she’d been right in her harebrained thought after all. Of course, I left out any mention of Ben beyond the fact Cromwell had brought a Negro with him.
At that, Mary frowned. “You’d best consult with Charles Pinckney, but I do believe part of the Negro Act prohibits importing slaves for one’s personal use.”
I glanced up, surprised. “Truly? Goodness, I clear forgot that Negro Act. Perhaps because it didn’t apply to me at the time. Anyway, this Negro is Cromwell’s apprentice, not owned by me, so perhaps that’s a special case. It’s a curious law though.” I jabbed my needle through the fabric. “I suppose newer slaves are more apt to rise to rebellion than those born here into the system. Can’t say I blame them. Poor things.”
Mary gasped. “Eliza.”
“Sorry, but it’s true. You can’t say you think it’s right that we enslave human beings.”
Mary sucked the end of a red thread and held a needle up to see the eye. “Yet, you own slaves and so do I.”
“Actually, you don’t and I don’t. Our fathers do. What I can do is be fair and just while they are in my care.”
“Well, Father says some folk in town have counseled that it’s not the same as enslaving normal human beings. They are of inferior intellect and without our structure pressed upon them, they would still be savages in Africa, no better than animals killing each other. So in my view we are doing them a favor.”
I felt as if my eyes bulged, they opened so wide. “Truly, Mary, how dense do you think we’d seem if no one had ever taught us lettering, or basic numbers, or French, for that matter? That doesn’t make us less than human.”
I thought of Essie with her keen intelligent eyes that saw so much. A mother to me more than my own. Quash and his skills with carpentry that could grow into who knew what if he was educated. Ben. B
en who was smart and knowledgeable and would one day be free. The thought was still exhilarating to me. If it were ever in my own power to free him, I wouldn’t hesitate.
“Oh, I suppose you are correct in your way.” Mary sighed, busy with her embroidering and oblivious to how feverish my thoughts were. “But it is a moot point, for we are not to teach them to write either, else they may be able to send messages and organize another rebellion.”
I sat nonplussed at our exchange, feeling at once confused, small, and powerless. And I was equally surprised yet unsurprised by my friend’s words.
She was only a planter’s daughter, what other opinions could she have?
Then again, so was I. And I had so many.
I had, obviously, read the Negro Act. Had even had Charles explain the finer points of law. But it never fully hit home to me in a personal way until just that moment.
On the way to Wappoo, we prolonged our day and stopped in at Mrs. Hill’s. An aging widow, she had married off two daughters and the last was almost out the door. She had a small home, without much land, and was our closest neighbor. We dropped off apples and salted pork from the Woodwards, and I politely stood by while she expounded on the dangers that my reading too much would make me old before my time. To which my mother nodded all too enthusiastically. I was becoming infamous in the area, it seemed.
Then we were on our way back home. “Mother, I do wish you hadn’t offered Mr. Laurens and his son to stay on. It is such a burden on Essie and Mary Ann. Especially now that we have the permanence of Mr. Cromwell to deal with.”
“Mr. Laurens quite put me in a difficult spot where I couldn’t say no, I’m afraid. It was hardly my idea. I find the man quite tedious. Polly, do not repeat that,” she added to my sister.
My sister grinned.
“I am relieved you think so,” I replied. “I find him insufferable.”
Before Mama, Polly, and I could enter the house, a commotion at the sheds drew my attention.
