A Love Woven True

by Judith Miller

  Jasmine folded her arms around herself and rocked back and forth on the hard wooden chair. The slats jarred her spine and caused a pain as real as the ache in her heart. ‘‘I know what you say is true, Mammy, but my prayers seem like vapor. I wonder if God even hears them. I pray and pray, but I don’t feel His presence. I don’t think I can bear any more loss.’’

  ‘‘The Lord is always with you, chile, even when you don’ feel Him. Been lots a times in my life when I thought I couldn’t bear no more pain, but da hurt came and the Lord saw me through, just like He will now. You keep yo’ faith in God. Ain’t nothin’ more important in dis life. I want you to remember dat when I’m gone. Will you do dis for me?’’

  ‘‘I’ll try,’’ Jasmine whispered.

  ‘‘Good. Now, why don’t you get your ole mammy a drink of water. I gots somethin’ I needs to be askin’ you, and I’m thirstin’ mighty bad right now.’’

  Jasmine jumped up and fetched the old woman a drink from the bedside table. ‘‘I’m so sorry. I should have gotten you some water as soon as I arrived,’’ she said while cradling Mammy’s head in the crook of her arm.

  ‘‘Umm, dat sure tastes good,’’ she said, running her thick tongue along her parched lips. ‘‘Now sit back and listen to your ole mammy ’cause I’m fixin’ to ask you somethin’ important.Way back when you was jest a baby, your pappy bought me and brung me here to De Willows.’’

  ‘‘Yes, I know. Mother told me how Father looked everywhere to find a wet nurse for me because she was sick after I was born and couldn’t nurse me. She said he had a hard time finding someone.’’ Mammy nodded. ‘‘ ’Cause your pappy weren’t willing to separate families.’’

  ‘‘Mother said your baby died and your husband had been sold to another plantation, so Papa bought you to be my wet nurse.’’

  ‘‘Dat’s right, only dat was a lie I been livin’ with all these years.’’

  Jasmine bent close to hear her words.

  ‘‘My baby weren’t dead. He was a big strong boy ’bout half a year older than you. He had a smile bright as all outdoors.’’

  ‘‘But why didn’t you tell Father? He wouldn’t have bought you, Mammy.’’

  ‘‘Ole Massa tol’ me he’d kill my baby iffen I didn’t go or iffen he found out I tol’ I had a chile. He said I better never tell ’bout my Obadiah.’’

  ‘‘That’s your baby’s name, Obadiah?’’

  ‘‘Um hum. Dat name come straight outta da Bible. ’Course I don’ know if the massa let him keep dat name or not, but he promised me he’d keep da boy safe on his plantation so long as I didn’t tell. Miss Jasmine, I wants you to find my Obadiah and see if you can set him free. I don’t want to die knowin’ I never did nothin’ to help my boy outta da shackles of slavery.’’

  Questions flooded Jasmine’s mind. ‘‘How have you been able to remain silent all these years, Mammy? How could you bear knowing you had a child you’d never see again and not ask for help before now?’’

  ‘‘Dat’s what I been tryin’ to tell you, chile. You can bear da pain if you got Jesus holdin’ yo hand. And dat’s what you gotta do from now on: reach out and take hold of Jesus with all yo might.

  Weren’t hard to keep my mouth shut ’cause I knew if your pappy went back to try and buy Obadiah, ole Massa woulda killed him right in front of your pappy and all the other slaves jest to make sure they all understood what would happen to dem if they disobeyed. Couldn’t take that chance with my baby’s life. Better he be raised without me than to have him die.’’

  ‘‘Couldn’t Papa have bought you both?’’

  ‘‘No,’’ she whispered. ‘‘Ole Massa never turned loose of big, healthy boy babies. He raise dem up like prime stock. He didn’t care none ’bout losing me. I ’most bled to death birthin’ Obadiah, and he knew my days fo’ having babies was past. ’Sides, he had other young slaves to wet-nurse my boy, and your pappy was wil-lin’ to pay a high price fo’ your ole mammy.’’

  Jasmine’s stomach wrenched in pain. ‘‘It’s because of me that you were forced to leave Obadiah.’’

  ‘‘Now don’t you be dwellin’ on dat. I only tol’ you bout Obadiah so’s maybe you could help set him free. Would you try and help him for your ole mammy?’’

  ‘‘You know I will. Do you remember anything about where you were or any names that will help us?’’

  ‘‘I’s hoping he’s still with Massa Harshaw. Dat’s where I was— at Harwood Plantation, but I can’t tell you how to get there. Don’t seem like it took us terrible long to get to Da Willows, but I was so sad, I don’t ’member much about da journey from one place to da other.’’

  ‘‘But you’re certain it was Harwood Plantation and the owner was Mr. Harshaw?’’

  ‘‘Dey used to call it Harshaw Plantation, but when ole Massa married, he changed de name to Harwood to make the new mistress happy,’’ she explained.

  ‘‘I’ll do everything in my power to find Obadiah, and when I do, you can be certain I’ll buy his freedom. Now I want you to get some rest. I’ll be back to see you in the morning.’’

  The old woman’s lips formed a faint smile and she closed her eyes. ‘‘I’m gonna do jes’ dat, chile. I’m gonna rest in the arms of Jesus.’’

  Jasmine brushed a soft kiss onto Mammy’s fleshy cheek before leaving the room. The hour was late and her body ached with an overpowering weariness, yet she felt a determined purpose as she ascended the rear stairway to her bedroom. She would find Obadiah and bring him to meet his mother. Seeing her son would surely cause Mammy’s health to rally. The thought made Jasmine smile, and when she finally slipped into bed a short time later, she thanked Jesus for this opportunity to help Mammy. She fell asleep with renewed optimism and enthusiasm for the task with which she’d been entrusted.

  Jasmine caught sight of Nolan talking quietly with her brothers and father in the parlor as she descended the stairway the next morning. The group stood shoulder to shoulder in a tight half circle surrounding the hearth like a decorative fire screen.

  She entered the room and met their somber gazes with a gentle spring in her step and a gleam in her eyes. ‘‘I slept well last night, although it appears the five of you could use more sleep,’’ she commented. ‘‘Shall we go in to breakfast?’’

  ‘‘Sit down, my dear,’’ her father requested while gently leading her to the divan.

  ‘‘This sounds ominous,’’ she said. The others lingered in front of the fireplace, staring at her. With their arms locked behind their backs, they reminded Jasmine of toy soldiers set in place to guard an imaginary fort. The spectacle unsettled her, and little by little, she could feel her joy slipping away.

  Her father reached out and took her hand, and she noticed his hands were shaking. ‘‘I don’t want you to become unduly upset, but I fear it is left to me to give you more sad news. Mammy died during the night.’’

  Jasmine stared at him, unable to speak. She heard the slaves talking in the kitchen, their voices muffled and distant, echoing as though they were calling to her from a deep cavern.

  ‘‘Jasmine! Open your eyes. It’s Nolan.’’

  He was dabbing her face with a cool cloth. She willed her eyes to open. Nolan was kneeling beside her, peering directly into her eyes. ‘‘What happened? Please tell me I didn’t faint. I abhor fainting women,’’ she said, pushing herself up on one elbow.

  Nolan laughed. ‘‘I fear that’s exactly what you did. Fortunately, you were on the sofa and didn’t hurt yourself.’’

  But now she remembered the reason for her disquietude. Her father’s words came rushing back and invaded her mind.

  ‘‘Mammy . . . she’s—’’ ‘‘Yes,’’ Nolan whispered. ‘‘Bessie said she went peacefully during the night.’’

  ‘‘I should have known. We talked last night, and when I bid her good-night, she said she was going to rest in the arms of Jesus. She was telling me she knew her time on earth was over, but I was too foolish to understand. I should have remain
ed with her through the night.’’

  Her father tenderly embraced her. ‘‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, Jasmine. Mammy wouldn’t have wanted you sitting in that room all night long. We both know that.’’

  ‘‘Sitting up one night is the least I could have done. Think of the many nights she remained awake caring for me when I was a child. She was always there when I needed her. She even came to Lowell when I married Bradley, even though she didn’t want to leave Mississippi. I want her to have a proper burial, Papa.’’

  Her father’s eyes widened as he pulled away from her. ‘‘When have I ever not given my slaves a proper burial? I’m not akin to those who would hearken to any less.’’

  ‘‘I know, Papa. I’m sorry if my words hurt you.’’

  ‘‘I’ll take care of the funeral arrangements, and everything will be very special, if you’ll promise to come in and eat some breakfast. You can go upstairs and rest as soon as you have something to eat.’’

  Jasmine sat in the carriage beside Nolan. The funeral had been the finest ever held for any slave at The Willows—likely for any slave in all the South. But a fine funeral wouldn’t fill the void of Mammy leaving this world.

  ‘‘Time will heal the loss of your mother and of Mammy. I hope you find comfort in the fact that you were able to spend some time with each of them.’’

  She nodded and gave him a faint smile. ‘‘I need to discuss something with you, Nolan. Something Mammy asked of me, a deathbed request that I promised to fulfill. I’m hoping you’ll agree to help me.’’

  ‘‘Of course. Anything. Surely you’re aware you need only ask. What is it she requested?’’

  Nolan listened intently as Jasmine explained Mammy’s heartrending tale of being separated from her son when he was a mere babe. ‘‘And she asked you to find this son and purchase his freedom?’’

  ‘‘Exactly! But I’ve never heard of Harwood Plantation. Of course, I’m certain there are many plantations in Louisiana and Mississippi that I’ve never heard of, but I’m not certain how to locate the place without arousing interest. I don’t want to answer a multitude of questions, especially from my father. Mammy didn’t want him to ever find out about what had occurred. She said it would serve no purpose at this late date. I suppose she’s correct. Papa would be either angry that Mr. Harshaw had lied to him or distressed that he’d separated a family.’’

  ‘‘Or both,’’ Nolan remarked.

  ‘‘True,’’ she agreed. ‘‘Can you think of any way we might easily be able to secure the information? I don’t want to alert anyone in the family of our plan.’’

  He rubbed his jaw. ‘‘Let me take care of it. I’ll think of something,’’ he said as he drew back on the reins and the carriage came to a halt in front of the house. ‘‘Now let’s go inside. I believe your father expects all of us to have dinner together.’’

  ‘‘I want to check on Spencer; then I’ll join you in the parlor,’’ Jasmine said as she passed through the foyer.

  After assuring herself the boy had eaten and was taking his nap, Jasmine once again entrusted him to Bessie’s care and hurried back downstairs. ‘‘I hope I didn’t delay dinner,’’ she said, glancing toward the dining room, where the servants were busy placing food on the oversized serving buffet.

  ‘‘No, we were just preparing to go in. I trust you found everything satisfactory at the service?’’ her father inquired.

  ‘‘Yes. In fact, I wanted to tell you that several of the slaves expressed their gratitude for your kindness in seeing that they always receive proper burials.’’

  The comment appeared to please her father. Jasmine’s preference was to have all of the slaves freed, but she knew it would do no good to speak of that matter.

  ‘‘I trust you’re still enjoying your work for the Associates, Samuel?’’ Nolan inquired.

  ‘‘Absolutely. I regret the fact that it keeps me away from The Willows so much, but it seems I’m traveling most of the time.’’

  ‘‘You certainly haven’t had much time to spend visiting with me or Grandmother in Lowell,’’ Jasmine said.

  Samuel grimaced at his sister’s remark. ‘‘I apologize. However, most of my business is in Boston. I venture into Lowell only on rare occasions upon the specific request of the Associates, and I’ve attempted to see you on each of those visits.’’

  ‘‘Lowell is not so very far from Boston, Samuel, and Grandmother isn’t getting any younger,’’ Jasmine said. ‘‘I’m certain she would have appreciated a visit during her recent bout with pneumonia. Stopping for a cup of tea from time to time wouldn’t take long.’’

  ‘‘Duly noted, sister. I shall consider myself thoroughly educated on proper etiquette,’’ he said with a grin.

  Jasmine set her glass down with a force that caused the contents to slosh over the rim and onto the linen tablecloth. ‘‘I’m not speaking of etiquette, Samuel. She’s your grandmother and soon she’s going to die too. You should spend more time with her while you have the opportunity,’’ she said, her voice laced with emotion.

  ‘‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of your request. I’ll make an effort to visit more often,’’ Samuel replied with his gaze focused upon his dinner plate.

  ‘‘Have you been able to expand any of your markets here in Mississippi?’’ Nolan inquired, giving Jasmine a sidelong glance. He was obviously intent upon defusing the attack upon her brother.

  Samuel sighed and directed a visibly appreciative smile toward Nolan. ‘‘As a matter of fact, I was telling Father only yesterday that I signed on two new growers three months ago: one in Mississippi and one in Louisiana. Both of them have large plantations that yield as much cotton as The Willows. I plan to leave The Willows tomorrow morning and call at a number of plantations before I leave. I’ve been negotiating with the owners and hope to have at least one of them sign a contract before I board ship for Boston next month. My discussions with all of them appear promising.’’

  ‘‘Sounds as though you’ve been very successful. Have you heard mention of Harwood Plantation? I seem to remember someone saying they were known for huge cotton crops years ago.’’

  Samuel nodded enthusiastically. ‘‘Not only years ago. Jacob Harshaw currently operates one of the most prosperous plantations in Louisiana. In fact, I successfully negotiated a contract with him only this year. Although we weren’t able to agree upon a price for this year’s crop, we will be purchasing his entire crop next year.’’

  ‘‘Well, that is quite an accomplishment. I’m certain the Associates were elated over your ability to win over Mr.—did you say Harshaw?’’

  ‘‘Yes, Harshaw. His plantation is located across the river in Louisiana and about thirty miles south, not too far from the river—good fertile land. He’s well known among the southern Louisiana growers. You’ve met him, haven’t you, Father?’’ Samuel asked.

  Jasmine glanced toward her father, who had placed a finger alongside his cheek as though attempting to recall the name before he answered.

  ‘‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. I’ve talked with him on several occasions at the docks in New Orleans. Not a man I’m particularly fond to know on a social level—rather crass and uncouth, although I’ll give the devil his due. His crops are exceptional.’’

  ‘‘Have you ever seen his plantation?’’ Jasmine ventured.

  Deep ridges creased her father’s brow. ‘‘Yes, I have.’’ He hesitated a moment and rubbed his forehead. ‘‘Seems strange discussing Jacob Harshaw today, of all days. You see, Harwood Plantation is where I purchased Mammy.’’

  ‘‘Really? Peculiar how a topic will arise at the most unexpected moment,’’ Samuel said. ‘‘From what I observed at Harwood, I’d say Mammy was very fortunate you purchased her. Unlike The Willows, the whip is used freely by Jacob Harshaw on all of his slaves.’’

  Jasmine gave an involuntary shudder. She wondered how many lashes Obadiah may have taken from Master Harshaw’s whip.

  CHAPTER•
6

  December

  THE TIME FOR DEPARTURE had arrived. Jasmine could no longer delay leaving her father and brothers. The trunks sat in readiness beside the front door, and the family was waiting downstairs. Picking up her reticule, she checked her appearance in the mirror and glanced about the room one last time, as though she must commit each item to memory. She detested good-byes, especially now. Farewells seemed much too final. What if her father took ill before she saw him again—or one of her brothers? Suddenly life seemed very fragile.

  Spencer was tugging at McKinley’s pant leg and begging for a horsey ride when Jasmine entered the parlor. She smiled and shook her head. ‘‘You’ve spoiled him with those rides around the house, McKinley. I’ll never be able to handle him once I get home,’’ she said, giving her brother a wide smile.

  ‘‘Then I suppose I’ll have to come to Lowell and entertain him for you.’’

  ‘‘Oh, would you? Come for a visit, I mean? I would truly love that, and it would give us something to plan and look forward to,’’ she said, feeling a renewed enthusiasm. ‘‘You’ll come too, won’t you, Father? And you, David! All of you.’’

  Her father laughed and wagged his head back and forth. ‘‘And who will tend to this place if we all go traipsing off to Lowell?’’

  ‘‘Uncle Franklin and the slaves,’’ she replied. ‘‘Please say you’ll come.’’

  ‘‘I won’t promise we’ll all come at the same time, but we’ll all come for a visit. How’s that? Besides, if we spread out our visits, it will continually give you something to anticipate.’’