Wilma Morgan turned her attention back to Jasmine. ‘‘And what do you and yours think of the growing antislavery movement?’’ The women stared in her direction, obviously awaiting a response. The room was silent—like a cold winter night after a fresh snow. ‘‘I attended an antislavery meeting at the Pawtucket church before my marriage to Bradley. Two former slaves spoke at that meeting. I was as shocked at their revelations as anyone else in attendance. But you must remember that not all slave owners are cruel and treacherous. My father is certainly not that kind of man.’’
‘‘Surely you realize that we who live in the North abhor the very idea of slavery,’’ Wilma submitted.
‘‘Yes, I’ve been told. But those of you who live in the North need the cotton the South supplies. Who will raise your cotton if there are no slaves?’’
‘‘You could free them and pay a fair wage for their labor,’’ Rose argued.
‘‘And if the price of cotton rises and you must finally pay the mill workers higher wages in order to keep them from striking, your profits decrease. Will you remain staunchly against slavery when that occurs?’’
‘‘Of course we will,’’ Rose insisted. ‘‘It’s only because you’ve been indoctrinated with these beliefs that you can rationalize these matters in your own mind. One human owning another is wrong.’’
‘‘Perhaps you are correct, Mrs. Montrose. I’m no more an authority on slavery than on the issues between the Irish and Yankees. There appears to be injustice at every turn, doesn’t there?’’
Jasmine replied. ‘‘May I pour you some more tea?’’
Rose covered the cup with her hand. ‘‘No, not right now.’’
Lilly Cheever picked up her teacup. ‘‘I would like some more tea, please. You know, given our differing opinions, I think we should each pray and see how God directs us. I’m sure there are more than enough injustices in this world that need correction, and there are too few willing to be used in God’s service. If we each seek where we can best serve, I believe we’ll find our perfect place to do God’s will without causing divisiveness among our little group. We want to remain friends and still serve our fellow man. If there is conflict among us, we’ll be of no use to God or others.’’
‘‘You’re right,’’ Rose agreed. ‘‘I apologize, Jasmine. I spoke out of turn. And while we’re praying, let’s pray that there’s not another strike and the conflicts in the mills are settled in an amicable manner.’’ ‘‘I do wish the girls hadn’t formed that labor group. I think it has only made matters worse,’’ Wilma said.
‘‘If someone would have taken their complaints seriously when they were seeking a ten-hour workday, I doubt whether they would have thought a union necessary,’’ Lilly observed. ‘‘Establishing the Labor Reform Association seemed the only answer at the time. That’s why I believe all of these issues should be a matter of prayer.’’
The ladies nodded in agreement as Rose picked up her reticule and dug deep inside. ‘‘I almost forgot—I have a recipe I want to share with the rest of you.’’
A smile tugged at Jasmine’s lips. If Rose discussed recipes and sewing designs for the remainder of the afternoon, Jasmine would be fine. Surely she had garnered enough information to satisfy Bradley. He should be in excellent humor after hearing the details of today’s discussion.
Bradley gazed out the carriage window and spied Jasmine standing by the open front door. He had been gone a full week, and she was obviously anxious to see him. At least, he surmised, she was anxious to hear his decision. She had been completely deflated when he announced he would wait until his return from Boston to answer her request.
Granted, she had gathered a good deal of information regarding the mills and had done exactly as he’d instructed. However, he hadn’t been prepared for her question. He had thought she wanted merely to purchase some fancy bauble or new dress fabric; he hadn’t anticipated she would request permission for her mother to make a lengthy visit in their home. Having Madelaine Wainwright in the house would not be comfortable. He would need to be on guard with everything he said and did in his own house, which he found foreign and distasteful. Jasmine’s suggestion that her mother spend a portion of her time with Grandmother Wainwright made the idea somewhat palatable but not enough so that he wanted to render an immediate decision.
After his meetings in Boston, he was glad he had waited. He silently congratulated himself on his choice as he walked up the front steps of the house and greeted his wife. ‘‘How pleasant to have you dutifully waiting to greet your husband.’’
She smiled and turned her cheek to receive his kiss. ‘‘Let me take your bag.’’
‘‘No. I’ll take it upstairs. Why don’t you join me and we can talk.’’
Her excitement was evident as she hurried up the stairs while chattering about events that had transpired throughout the past week. She watched as he placed his baggage in his room, obviously fearful to ask if he’d arrived at a decision yet. They were playing a game of cat and mouse, and he enjoyed watching her attempt to bait him. However, if he was going to complete his accounting work before supper, he must cut short this diversion.
‘‘I’ve decided your mother’s visit is acceptable. However . . .’’
Before he could say anything further, she flung herself into his arms. ‘‘Oh, thank you, Bradley. Thank you, thank you, thank you.’’ She turned her face to kiss him.
He met her lips with a passionate kiss before taking her by the arms and holding her a short distance away from him. ‘‘You didn’t permit me to complete my statement. Your mother may come to visit. You and your grandmother will go to fetch her, and she will spend half her time in our home and half her time in your grandmother’s home. Is that acceptable?’’
‘‘Oh yes! Completely acceptable.’’ Her face was alight with pleasure.
‘‘There is one other condition. One that will likely displease you.’’
Her smile began to fade. ‘‘And what is that?’’
‘‘You must take Mammy with you.’’
Her smile once again brightened. ‘‘Is that all? Why would I be unhappy to have Mammy join me?’’
‘‘You misunderstand what I’m telling you, Jasmine. Mammy will not return to Lowell with you. She must remain at The Willows.’’ The happiness evaporated from her face like a morning fog rising off the lake. ‘‘Why? What have I done that you’re punishing me?’’
‘‘This has nothing to do with punishing you. I’ve been berated all week because we have a slave in our household. Slavery is a topic frowned upon by the Associates—at least as it pertains to the Northern states.’’
‘‘What does that mean? The prestigious Boston Associates find slavery acceptable so long as it remains in the South?’’
‘‘Exactly. It’s the general consensus that slavery may continue in states where it is already in effect; however, they do not believe it should spread to other states. Nor do they believe anyone living in the North should own slaves, especially one of their members.’’
‘‘You don’t own Mammy. She belongs to my father.’’
‘‘It doesn’t matter, Jasmine. Another person owns her. She’s a slave. I’ll find you another maid to take her place—someone to help with your hair and other personal needs.’’
He stepped toward her, but she quickly turned and pulled away from his embrace. ‘‘What the Boston Associates want is more important than your wife’s comfort? You tell me you want a child.
Well, I can’t imagine having a baby without Mammy here in Lowell to help me.’’
He clenched his jaw and fought to keep his anger in check. ‘‘Is that a threat? Are you telling me you’ll refuse me my marital rights over the loss of that old slave?’’
She obviously knew she’d overstepped her bounds. He could see her resistance had now been replaced by fear.
‘‘I’m saying I don’t want her to leave me.’’
‘‘There is no choice. She must go.’’ He walked toward
the bedroom door. ‘‘I must get to my bookwork or I’ll not complete it before supper.’’ He stopped and turned as he reached the doorway.
‘‘I saw Nolan while I was in Boston. He will escort you and your grandmother.’’
‘‘Why? We don’t need an escort to make our journey to Mississippi.’’ ‘‘Nolan was particularly fond of The Willows. He thought this trip an excellent opportunity for another visit. Besides, my dear, it will give me comfort knowing there is a man along to look after you should any difficult circumstances arise—and it assures me of your return to Lowell,’’ he added. ‘‘You sail at week’s end. I’ll send word to your grandmother so that she may prepare for the voyage.’’
CHAPTER • 14
The Willows, Lorman, Mississippi
‘‘NOLAN, WAIT!’’ Her voice was a raspy whisper in the night air, and she prayed he would hear. He slowed but then picked up his pace. ‘‘Nolan!’’ He stopped. ‘‘Nolan! It’s Jasmine. Wait for me.’’
The tall shadow of a figure remained still, waiting, poised—as if ready to take flight and hide under cover of darkness. She ran hard, with her chest heaving, lungs begging for air as she forced herself onward. A piece of dead wood rose up to greet her. Without warning, she sprawled pell-mell into Nolan’s arms. They fell to the ground, his arms cradling her while she gasped for breath.
Several minutes passed before her ragged breathing returned to a steady cadence.
‘‘What are you doing out here?’’
He was still holding her close; she could hear the beat of his heart, and the sound was reassuring, comforting. She remained very still, not wanting to move away from the warmth of his chest.
‘‘I heard you ask one of the kitchen servants if you could deliver food to the quarters for her tonight,’’ she said. ‘‘I also heard her agree.’’
He shifted and pulled himself to his feet, then gazed down at her. ‘‘Your plan was to follow me to the slave quarters?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ she said as she stood and brushed debris from her skirt.
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘For many reasons. Some of them date back to conversations with you and with Mrs. Longfellow at Cambridge, as well as that first antislavery meeting I attended before my marriage to Bradley,’’ she explained. ‘‘Since then, there have been discussions that made me realize I didn’t truly know anything about the slaves here.
I’ve never been to their quarters, never talked to any of them except the ones who work in the big house. In fact, I’ve seen the other slaves only from a distance. Father never permitted me to go near the field slaves or anyplace where they work. So I decided it was time I found out for myself what it is like to be a slave at The Willows.’’
‘‘If Bradley or your father finds out, there will be a terrible row. I fear there’s already too much dissension between you and Bradley. You need to work toward smoothing the troubles in your relationship. Going to the slave quarters will only make matters worse.’’
‘‘Bradley will never find out unless you tell him when we return to Massachusetts. Father is going over his accounts and will soon go to bed, and I’ve sworn Mammy to secrecy. I’ve already kissed both my mother and grandmother good-night. By the time we return, everyone in the house will be asleep, save Mammy. She promised she would be waiting to let us in the door.’’
‘‘You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?’’
‘‘I hope so,’’ she whispered.
He didn’t argue further. Instead, he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her along. With only the sliver of a moon and a smattering of stars to provide light, they neared the quarters. Nolan yanked her to a halt. ‘‘We’ll need to circle around or we’ll pass the overseer’s house. He has dogs that will catch our scent. If that happens, we’ll be spotted. There will be no escaping those hounds.
Stay close and don’t talk.’’
For the first time since deciding to follow Nolan to the quarters, a fleeting tremble shuddered through her body. As a child she’d watched from the gallery when the overseer brought the baying hounds to the big house for her papa’s review. She’d seen those hounds straining at their leashes with foam dripping from their jowls and hunger in their eyes. They were a fearsome sight and one she didn’t want to personally encounter.
She did as she was told, following Nolan in a wide circle and then inward, where her gaze settled upon four long rows of dilapidated wooden cabins that lined either side of two narrow dirt roads. ‘‘This is it? This is where the slaves live?’’ she whispered in hushed wonder. The sight held her spellbound. ‘‘But we have over a hundred slaves. Surely there are other quarters.’’
Nolan was already on his feet, carefully moving forward when he turned and waved her onward. ‘‘Come on,’’ he hissed into the balmy darkness.
She crouched low and followed him in a zigzagging pattern toward one of the cabins. ‘‘How do you know where you’re going?’’ she asked.
‘‘I was in the quarters more than one time on my first visit to The Willows with Bradley. Once your father granted me permission to explore the property, I came out here at least once a day, at varying times. I also came back to visit with the slaves when I was here for your wedding in December.’’
‘‘If the overseer knows you, then why are we hiding?’’
He stopped and looked down at her, the whites of his eyes barely visible in the thin sickle of moonlight. ‘‘Because I’m smuggling in food from the main house. And even if I could slip these provisions past the overseer, it would be difficult to hide you.
There’s little doubt in my mind that Mr. Sloan’s first priority would be your safe return home. I don’t think you want him waking the household to announce he’s rescued you from the slave quarters.’’
‘‘No, of course not. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Please lead the way.’’
They inched forward until they were in front of a sagging door hanging on worn leather hinges. The plank swayed on its hinges as Nolan tapped. ‘‘Carter! It’s Nolan Houston from Massachusetts.’’ The door opened a crack, and Carter peeked out at them. His eyes grew wide and shone like ebony marbles set in bolls of snowy cotton. ‘‘Yes, suh?’’
‘‘I brought you some food from Tempie. She’s worried you and the children aren’t getting enough to eat.’’
‘‘We’s doin’ fine.’’ His voice was unconvincing, his gaze veering off toward Jasmine as he spoke. ‘‘You tell Tempie we’s doin’ good and we hopin’ to see her come Sunday. We don’ need no extra food. Massa feed us jes’ fine.’’
Jasmine was certain her presence was contributing to the slave’s standoffish behavior. She touched his hand and he jumped back as though he’d been scalded. ‘‘I’m not going to tell anyone that Tempie sent food. Please take it. You can trust me.’’
Carter’s gaze swerved toward Nolan and then he nodded toward Jasmine.
‘‘She won’t tell,’’ Nolan said.
‘‘ ’Den I guess we’ll be takin’ dat food you brung.’’ He reached out and took the cloth-wrapped bundle and was soon surrounded by a throng of smaller black faces and a rush of grabbing hands.
Only meager slices of moonlight sifted through the chinked log walls, but Jasmine’s eyes had now adapted to the darkness, and she viewed the unsightly conditions within. There was a small fireplace at the end of the room, and a few cots had been fashioned from saplings. A shabby hand-hewn table sat near the fireplace along with two worn stools. And, although she couldn’t be certain, she determined there were likely twelve or thirteen people living in this cramped cabin.
Her gaze settled on Carter and she pointed toward the end of the room. ‘‘You cook in that fireplace?’’
His white teeth gleamed in the darkness. ‘‘No, ma’am. Dis ole slave don’ know how ta cook,’’ he said and then gave a hearty laugh. ‘‘I leaves da cookin’ fer da womenfolk. But dey do mos’ da cookin’ outdoors ’cause dat chimney gets too hot. When dat happen, it catches on fire and we haf
ta push dat chimney away from da house. And dat ain’ no good time.’’
Jasmine frowned, not understanding how a chimney would catch on fire. ‘‘How do you keep warm in the winter if you can’t use the fireplace?’’
‘‘Oh, we lights da wood in der, but sometimes we haftta get up in da middle o’ da night and push da chimney away from da house. Dat chimney can catch fire purty easy ’cause it be made o’ sticks and clay and moss—ain’ like dem brick chimneys in da big house,’’ he explained.
Even though the room was warm, Jasmine shivered. ‘‘So you must wear warmer clothes and pile under heavy blankets at night when the weather turns cold?’’
Carter slowly wagged his head back and forth. ‘‘You don’ understan’ much ’bout life here in the quartah, ma’am, and best it stay dat way,’’ he said before turning toward Nolan. ‘‘You need ta get her outta here afore the massa finds out. But I do thank ya fer bringin’ da food.’’
‘‘They don’t receive ample food or clothing, do they? Does my father know this?’’
Carter turned, his eyes alight with fear. ‘‘Don’ say nothin’ to your pappy, girl. Iffen you do dat, the overseer gonna think us’n been complainin’ and he whup us fer sho’.’’
‘‘Whip you? Surely not,’’ Jasmine replied in disbelief.
It took only a fleeting glance around the room to observe young and old alike in tattered clothes and bare feet. The truth slowly sank in. She realized something substantial needed to be done. ‘‘I want to try and help if you’re not getting enough food— or clothing.’’
‘‘Can’t nobody help us ’less you got some way o’ convincin’ your pappy to set us free.’’
Jasmine met Nolan’s gaze. He didn’t smirk. His eyes weren’t filled with recrimination. He didn’t say a word. His body appeared weighed down by the overwhelming helplessness that surrounded them.
‘‘Surely there must be something we can do,’’ she whispered to Nolan.
‘‘If you want to help Carter and these others, do what he’s asked. Say nothing. If you want to see an end to all of this suffering, work against slavery now that you’re married and living away from this place. Time will tell if the sights you’ve seen tonight will fade from your memory or if they will burn more vividly each day and spur you onward to greater good.’’
Tracie Peterson & Judith Miller - [Lights of Lowell 01] Page 16
