The Indigo Girl

by Natasha Boyd

  He stood as I entered. “Good morning.”

  “Is it?” I asked.

  “Perhaps it will be better after we talk. We never did get to discuss my proposition.”

  I selected some warm chamomile tea and honey and a piece of corn bread. “Why would I entertain any ideas you had? I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?”

  He sat as I did. “Well, yes, I can see how you’d think that. Perhaps I should first apologize for the manner in which I went about it. It’s only … I thought that if you had no success here you’d be more amenable to my suit.”

  I gaped at him, my breakfast forgotten. Then I laughed. Because, what else was I to do? Here a man sat before me, telling me he’d deliberately ruined my dream in order to sway me for my hand. It was nonsensical! What was it with men and their ridiculous notions that I would be only too ecstatic to have someone relieve me of the burden of being alone? Besides, he couldn’t be serious. He didn’t even like me. Wasn’t I too ambitious for starters?

  Cromwell appeared nonplussed at my amused outburst, his face flushing.

  “Oh,” I sobered. Then my hysterical panic at the reality of what he’d admitted became too much, and I laughed again, but with tears in my eyes. I was mad with it. I laughed until the tears came hot and fast down my face. “You thought—” I choked. “You thought if I didn’t succeed I would marry you?”

  Cromwell’s face was enraged. I’d seen a humiliated man’s face before.

  “Why, for God’s sake?” Why would that make me marry him? What on earth did he have that I would want? What did I have that he would want? How could he ever think I’d marry a man who’d forced my best friend to drown the one thing most important to me? I swallowed, my laughter dying on a hiccup as I remembered my mother’s comment about going back to the islands.

  My conversation with her on the way back from the ball suddenly took on a new and hideous gravity. I grew light-headed and held the table for support. “Did my mother promise you a wife in exchange for a failure so we could return to the islands?”

  “You were just a bonus,” Cromwell said.

  So it was true? My mother had sold us out for the chance to wed me to this … this …

  Iciness swept across my neck as I prickled with sweat. I added my mother’s betrayal to the bag of stones that was tied around my neck and pulling me under.

  I struggled to breathe in and out.

  He shrugged. “Something to show for my time here. The daughter of the soon-to-be governor of Antigua. A bonus that, on second thought, seeing your disdain for me, I’d rather not have to endure.”

  A relief for both of us.

  The thought of this supercilious and cruel man sharing the rest of my life, touching my person and forcing me to bear his progeny and bend to his will, made the one bite of corn bread I’d eaten feel like a handful of crushed oyster shells. “So if I was the bonus, what was the real prize?”

  “For a girl doing her best to play the part of a plantation owner, you are rather naïve, aren’t you? I’d thought you smarter.” His insult and condescending manner, which I was so used to, rolled right off me. He was attempting to recover his pride. As men often did.

  “Where am I from?” he asked patiently, and I wanted to smack the smug smile from his face.

  “Montserrat,” I answered woodenly, though I knew of course what he was about to say.

  “Which, as you know, is a French colony. Why on earth would you think I’d deliberately set you up as competition against French indigo? Do you know how much my brother is paid for our indigo? Of course you do, that’s why I’m here.”

  “You are right.” I made a show of resuming my breakfast, spreading a dollop of honey on my bread, though I had no stomach for it. “I was naïve. But only because I’d considered you more mercenary than patriotic. Of course I knew you and your brother sold to the French. You are naïve if you thought otherwise. It’s a shame though. Now you have ruined relationships with the governor of Antigua and your indigo-making reputation. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Who would take the word of a petulant little girl playing above her station over the brother of one of the most preeminent indigo makers in Montserrat? There are plenty of men in town I’ve sat across from in cards who would gladly take me and my expertise in indigo rather than listen to a girl who has already made herself unwelcome. I may have a damaged reputation from gambling, but so do you. And your misdemeanors are far more egregious. I’m still a gentleman who’ll be given an ear. You will be nothing but a footnote.”

  My ears and cheeks burned. “Well, I’m glad we cleared up the fact you were mistaken in wanting to marry me.”

  I realized the other reason I hadn’t told Papa of the indigo affair was that I was sure he would demand we send Cromwell back. By sending Cromwell back, his reputation in tatters, I was sentencing Ben as well. And sending Ben away. Away from me. If only I could afford to buy him out of bondage. But we had nothing until we sold the last rice from Garden Hill. And truly what price would a man with Ben’s knowledge fetch? He was priceless. And sending him away now, when I’d never see him again, would hurt worse than the knowledge he’d been an accomplice in ruining my indigo.

  My threats to Cromwell were empty.

  Ben was Cromwell’s only asset. Even if I wanted to, I doubted I would be able to persuade Cromwell to let Ben go. So Cromwell would have to stay here. I wished I could have him take over Waccamaw from Starrat. But what would replacing one devil with another accomplish?

  Cromwell laid down his fork and narrowed his eyes. “Are you … in a relationship with Ben? My Negro?”

  I stood abruptly. “Don’t you dare—”

  “Or Quash, perhaps? After all, you have had several opportunities … alone with them.” He tutted, shaking his head side to side. “Oh, you think I don’t notice? It’s been quite fascinating to hear about your reputation in town, and then be able to see it for myself. What is it you discuss with Quash in the study every other morning?”

  I laid down my napkin. “You have been paid for your expertise and been a guest in our home, and you have just outstayed your welcome.”

  Essie came back into the dining room, Togo trailing behind her. “Miz Lucas. Togo say he need to speak wit ya.”

  Togo’s face was grave. “Ben. He done gone.”

  Ben was gone. His cabin was empty. I stood in the doorway to see for myself. There was nothing to suggest he’d even been here except for the smell of clove I often associated with him.

  Wet wool clung to my body, having run across the property in the rain again. My feet scuffed the dusty plank floors. For a moment, I wondered if it had all been a dream—Ben being here, getting to know him again. This time as an adult. Ben with his pride, his broad shoulders, his stoic expression no longer full of the mischief of youth.

  A twig snapped behind me, and I turned my head. Quash. Whatever he saw in my face had him pursing his lips. He looked past me.

  “He’s gone,” I whispered. “It’s my fault. I blamed him for everything. When it was Cromwell who manipulated the whole thing.” And my mother, I didn’t add. I backed out of the doorway, leaving Quash to go inside. The rain stopped.

  I walked to the indigo sheds Quash had constructed with open walls to allow air and stacked shelving. Stepping inside the dim interior, I saw the empty trays that were supposed to be filled with drying indigo paste. My heart squeezed anew to have been so close to success.

  I could blame whomever I wanted, but I should never have left for the ball. I’d gone for Mother’s sake and look at how she repaid me.

  My own mother had set me up to fail. Not just me, but all her children. She’d destroyed George’s legacy too. I thought maybe she was going mad. Maybe her symptoms all these years were the beginning of an irrational madness.

  There was no one whom I could trust anymore, and no one to blame but myself.<
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  I didn’t know if it had really sunk in that Ben ran away. But it was clear by the next day he wasn’t coming back.

  I hadn’t spoken one word to Mother since finding out what she’d done. She had walked into my study after the disastrous breakfast with Cromwell where he’d admitted his intent, and I had promptly walked out, leaving her openmouthed. I took breakfast in my room and lunch and dinner in the study. I had also taken to locking the door, turning the large iron key in the lock, relieved when it actually worked and wasn’t just for looks.

  Mother had tried to talk to me through the door, telling me I was being stubborn, or childish, or shortsighted. But not once had she apologized. I decided I’d need to tell Father the truth of what happened after all, before Mama made up a story to suit herself. Besides, now that Ben was gone, I needed to send Cromwell far away from here. I couldn’t tell Father about Mama’s involvement though. No good would come of causing such strife between a man and his wife, no matter how much I yearned to unburden myself fully.

  I drew out a fresh piece of parchment and filled the small inkwell from a stoppered bottle. Charles would be waiting for the good news regarding the indigo. I had to disappoint him too.

  Polly ran past the open study door. I’d been neglecting her studies altogether recently, and even today I had no heart for them.

  “Polly,” I called. “Where are you off to?”

  She came to a stop, out of breath. “Lil’ Gulla’s teaching me about horses.”

  She and Gulla were the same age, and I immediately thought of Ben and I. My eyes stung. I blinked. What was the point of her building a friendship only to have it bastardized by societal mores as she grew up?

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I frowned and rubbed my temples.

  “But you’ve been wanting me to be better at riding. I don’t understand.” Her sweet face took on a frown of its own. “Anyway, now that the big scary horse is gone, it’s not so bad. Gulla says the other horses are calmer.”

  “What do you mean the big horse is gone?” A thought occurred to me. “A horse is missing and Indian Peter hasn’t come to tell me?”

  Polly’s cheeks bloomed crimson, and I knew right away she’d been supposed to keep a secret.

  “Sister, I—”

  My heart hammered and my stomach fell. As much at the idea that Ben might have stolen a horse and my own slaves had hidden it from me, as at yet another financial blow. “It’s all right, Polly. You did the right thing now.” I motioned her inside the room. “You should have told me right away. I’ll send for Quash.”

  “Please don’t let them know I told you,” she pleaded. “Please?”

  “Polly, I—”

  Her lip trembled. Her blue eyes were wide.

  “I’m sorry. But you understand that you can’t keep secrets about stolen horses or anything that could affect the plantation. Or keep secrets at all. Secrets can get you into trouble.” I came around the desk and walked to her, my arms out. “Come here.”

  Enveloping her in my arms, I soothed the crown of her soft hair, and she shuddered into tears.

  “I got everyone in trouble.” Polly was taller than I ever was at her age. Her voice was muffled into my shoulder.

  “Polly, love. Ben is a runaway slave on a stolen horse. It’s better that I know, so that if he gets caught, I can rescue him from being whipped.”

  “Or murdered and beheaded,” Polly wailed. “Just like those runaways from the Stono Rebellion.”

  My blood turned to ice. What had I been thinking? I needed to send someone after him before he got caught.

  “Are you going to whip Lil’ Gulla?” Polly sniffed, turning her tear-streaked face up to mine. “You can’t. Please say you won’t. Gulla said if I told you, you would whip him ’til he bled.”

  I swallowed and held her out at arm’s length. “Polly, you know that’s not how we do things here. He came from another plantation.”

  “But it was our plantation. He said so.”

  “Well, it won’t happen to Gulla, all right? How about you go find Quash for me, and I’ll have him inquire about the horse to Indian Peter. That way you won’t be in trouble with your friend.”

  Polly wiped her nose and eyes with the back of her hand. “You’d do that? You are the best sister. The very, very best.”

  “Good and trustworthy friends are worth keeping, I say.” I pulled out my muslin cloth to wipe her tears. “Maybe one day, he’ll do you a good turn. But, Polly, I want you to go and find Quash right away, you hear?”

  “Yes, Sister.” She pulled away and headed outside to find Quash.

  I returned to my desk and finished off the letters to both my father and to Charles. I’d send Togo to town with them as soon as possible.

  A knock sounded on the doorframe, and Quash entered as I looked up, pulling his field cap from his head.

  Quash’s eyes were troubled. He’d lost a friend too.

  “There be a horse gone too,” Quash said before I could open my mouth.

  “Did Peter know?”

  “Indian Peter, he knows. He told Ben about St. Augustine.”

  “About the rumor the Spanish will give freedom to those who can get there?”

  “Yes’m.”

  “Do you think it’s true? They are allowing slaves to live free?”

  “No, Miz Lucas. Not to them with no skill. The others, they be good soldiers. Men who know the land.”

  “Ben has a skill.”

  “Yes,” Quash agreed. “If he’s taken a horse, then he will go by land. He know about Garden Hill. I think he go there for shelter and food before going on.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  Quash was quiet.

  I knew what he was telling me, he could go after him. Was willing to.

  I was torn. If Ben wanted to be free, who was I to stop him? I was also worried. Worried for his safety. Who would listen to him if he were to be stopped on the way to St. Augustine? He would simply be reenslaved and sold or arrested for being a runaway. There just weren’t any Negro men riding around on horses on their own without a letter or something proving they were on an errand for their owner.

  Oh, Ben! What are you doing?

  “Thank you, Quash. Come and see me before first light tomorrow. I need to think.”

  He backed out the door. Quash was willing to go after Ben, and I was the one stalling. What would Cromwell do to Ben if we fetched him back? And would Ben ever forgive me for thwarting his attempt at freedom?

  I thought about nothing else all afternoon and evening. Every minute I agonized over the decision Ben was getting closer to freedom or danger.

  My dreams that night were vivid and frightening.

  Dreams of marrying John Laurens and his sweaty, large body upon mine on our wedding night. Dreams of his son, Henry, laughing somewhere nearby. I glanced around for Mr. Pinckney. Charles. He would understand. Surely he would stop the farce. Then I was dancing at a ball, the ceiling miles above me. Candlelight and glittering crystals. It’s all thanks to you, whispered Charles in my ear. Everyone wears blue silk. All the indigo is thanks to you.

  But look, I said, they are wearing nothing but rags. I failed!

  I turned back and saw only Ben standing before me in the middle of a road. The glittering ballroom was no more. The earth was dusty and red. Ben wore sackcloth pants and no shirt. Gone were his fancy breeches and buckled shoes. There was no charm around his neck.

  His body streamed with water. Rivulets and droplets glistened on his dark skin and sparkled upon his coarse, nubby, close-cropped hair. His eyes stared, but there was no life in them. They were dark, pitch lagoons with monsters lurking beneath. The earth around him turned to mud as the water flowed down his body.

  I had to get to him. I stepped forward but my feet were unable to move. My heart kept goin
g and lurched toward him, wrenching against whatever part of my body held it tied in my chest.

  I woke on a gasp, my chest tight and painful.

  I held a man’s life in my hands. I couldn’t waste another moment.

  I stood at the study window, the night still dark outside, the land washed clean from the nonstop rain. The cold draft slipping in through the seams of the house made me pull my shawl tighter around me. I could light a fire, I thought, and quickly dismissed the effort. Instead I waited.

  “Miz Lucas?” I startled as I heard Quash.

  I wasted no time. “Are you sure you know where Ben went? Are you sure you can catch up to him?”

  Quash nodded.

  “All right then.” I handed him a letter with the Lucas seal. “In case you get stopped. You are on plantation business. You are to go toward Garden Hill on horseback. I’m assuming he is only traveling at night to avoid being stopped, so perhaps you will be able to catch up to him.”

  I stepped up to Quash and squeezed his arm. “Be safe, Quashy. You know how much we depend on you.” The sudden thought of losing Quash too seemed to go off like a gong in my skull. “Please—” I swallowed.

  Knowing Ben was gone and in danger because of the callous words I’d shouted in anger was sitting on me like a millstone. Did he know how much he meant to me? Had I let him know how very much he was … valued?

  That I could lose Quash too made my fingers shake.

  I was sending him toward freedom with a letter clearing his passage.

  He could run away.

  He could choose to leave here too.

  How much had I been able to do because I had Quash always by my side?

  Quash’s burnt bronze skin offset his piercing eyes as he waited for me to finish my thought.

  “Please come back,” I finally said.

  Quash nodded.

  Turning around, I went back to the window and heard Quash’s footfall as he made his way out. “Quashy?” I called softly on impulse, an earlier conversation that had taken place in this very room suddenly carouseling around my head. A thought niggled at me, an outlandish and shocking one. But one I knew would not let me go. “Did—did he love her back? Your father, the white man? Did he return your mother’s love?”