A Love Woven True

by Judith Miller

  ‘‘Either way, I won’t argue. Just so you come,’’ she said while accepting his embrace.

  Her father took hold of her arm. ‘‘I’d like to have a few words alone with you before you depart, Jasmine. I’m certain your brothers and Nolan can look after Spencer.’’

  ‘‘What is it, Papa?’’ she asked as they walked into her father’s library.

  ‘‘I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye on things, and I still regret forcing you into a marriage with Bradley, but . . .’’

  ‘‘That’s all in the past, Papa. You apologized long ago, and I forgave you. Besides, had I not married Bradley, I wouldn’t have Spencer now, and he’s the joy of my life. You know that. Please don’t worry yourself with regrets over my marriage any longer.’’

  ‘‘It’s not just the marriage. I feel as though I failed you—both you and your mother. Perhaps if I had left this place long ago, things would have been different. I fear I was so busy becoming prosperous, I didn’t give your mother the attention she deserved.’’

  ‘‘Papa, that’s all behind us. There’s no way to change the past. If you regret where you’ve placed your values in the past, you have the rest of your life to make changes. I know your life is going to be very different without Mama. However, you’ll have ample opportunity to evaluate how best to live your remaining years— and you can begin by coming to visit Grandmother, as well as Spencer and me.’’

  ‘‘You’re right,’’ he said. ‘‘Perhaps I’ll even journey to the capital and stop for a visit with Zachary and Peggy. What do you think of that?’’

  ‘‘I think a visit to Washington would be a splendid beginning.’’

  He pulled her into an embrace and placed a kiss upon her forehead. ‘‘Always remember I love you, Jasmine. While I don’t have high expectations, please remember that I would look favorably upon having you and Spencer move back to The Willows.’’

  Jasmine stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ‘‘I think it’s wise of you to keep expectations of me returning to The Willows very low.’’

  ‘‘I know, I know, but you can’t fault me for trying,’’ he said. ‘‘I suppose we had best get your trunks onto the carriage if you’re going to get on the road before nightfall.’’

  After all the good-byes were finally said and the carriage pulled away from the plantation, Jasmine leaned back against the leather-upholstered seat and sighed. Spencer wriggled onto her lap and, wrapping his chubby arms tightly around her neck, placed a wet kiss upon her cheek. ‘‘Thank you, sweetheart,’’ she said, ruffling his curls. ‘‘A kiss is exactly what I needed.’’

  ‘‘Had I known, I would have come to your rescue long ago,’’ Nolan said with a roguish grin.

  A blush colored Jasmine’s cheeks. ‘‘Nolan Houston!’’ she said with a giggle. Her heart began a rapid beat that suggested more than girlish amusement.

  Spencer quickly moved to take his place between them on the cushioned seat, and Nolan momentarily gazed out the window before turning back to face Jasmine. ‘‘About Obadiah,’’ he began.

  ‘‘I think we should attempt to find him before our voyage home. Do you think we have sufficient time?’’

  ‘‘It’s not far out of our way; I was planning exactly the same thing. We can go down river the thirty miles and then hire a conveyance to the Harwood Plantation. If we’re fortunate, we’ll easily locate someone who knows Jacob Harshaw. If his reputation is what Samuel has indicated, we should have no difficulty.’’

  ‘‘Let’s pray all goes well. From the little Mammy told me, I doubt we’ll have an easy time convincing Mr. Harshaw to sell Obadiah.’’

  ‘‘If Obadiah is still there. However, there’s no need to worry yet,’’ he said. ‘‘As you said a moment ago, perhaps a word of prayer is what we need.’’

  The smell of dead fish and wet moss filled Jasmine’s nostrils as the carriage neared the river at Rodney. When the horses came to a stop near the dock, Nolan jumped down and quickly assisted Jasmine and Spencer while the driver unloaded their trunks.

  ‘‘Thank you for your help, Louis,’’ Nolan said. ‘‘You can return to The Willows and tell Master Wainwright you saw us safely to the docks at Rodney.’’

  ‘‘Yessuh,’’ the black man replied. ‘‘Been good seein’ you, Miz Jasmine. You have you a safe trip back home, ya hear?’’

  ‘‘I will, Louis, and you take care of yourself—and Bessie,’’ she added.

  ‘‘I be doin’ dat fo’ sure,’’ he said with a toothy grin. He clucked at the horses and turned the carriage. Jasmine watched as he waved and headed back down the road.

  ‘‘I’ll go to purchase tickets and see if anyone knows where we should go ashore if we’re planning to visit the Harwood Plantation.’’ ‘‘I believe I’ll take Spencer for a short walk near the river. He’ll be intrigued with the water, and I’m hoping the walk will tire him. Hopefully he’ll take a nap once we depart,’’ she said, giving way to the two-year-old’s insistent tugging at her hand. ‘‘We’ll meet you on the dock or in front of the general store if it doesn’t take long to purchase the tickets.’’

  ‘‘Is that quite safe? I mean . . . to go unescorted.’’

  Jasmine smiled. ‘‘I’ll be fine. This is the land of my birth—I know it well. Besides, a lady needn’t worry about being accosted—at least not in the same manner that she might in the North. Southern manners and etiquette generally keep the rogues at bay. Still, you won’t be that far away should the need arise to rescue me.’’

  Nolan nodded his agreement and strode away while Jasmine turned Spencer by the shoulders in the direction of the dock. ‘‘Come along, Spencer. Let’s go see the water.’’

  The child needed no further encouragement, and Jasmine was immediately thankful she had placed a tight grasp around the boy’s tiny hand before making the suggestion. Spencer was delighted to splatter his hands in the murky river water and watch as the twigs he dropped made a tiny splash and floated off.

  Jasmine thought of the long trip home. She longed for Lowell and the farm, yet she knew a certain sadness in leaving the South. It was a bittersweet hurt. Her mother would say she was waxing nostalgic, but Jasmine couldn’t help it. So much had happened on her visit. Her mother and Mammy had both departed, leaving her regretful for all the time and distance that had separated them. What if she returned to Lowell to find her grandmother gone as well? What if her father were to die before he could journey north to visit her again?

  Spencer laughed with glee as he dropped a rock into the water. His revelry forced Jasmine to leave off with her sorrowful ponderings. Life was fragile. It was but vapor—a mist, as the Bible suggested. Here and then gone. Smiling at her son, Jasmine knew that the past could not hold her captive. Not when Spencer was her future.

  Jasmine turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. ‘‘You certainly weren’t long,’’ she said, gracing Nolan with a pleasant smile.

  ‘‘I paid for our passage and was able to gain information without any difficulty. It didn’t take long to locate someone who was familiar with Jacob Harshaw and his plantation. But I must admit the comments weren’t particularly flattering. Seems Mr. Harshaw is a bit abrasive, and when he’s in his cups, I’m told he’s an odious man.’’

  ‘‘Then we’d best pray he’s sober when we arrive. I’m going to remain optimistic.’’

  Nolan lifted Spencer into his arms and pointed toward the water. The boy watched and then giggled as Nolan skipped a pebble across the water. ‘‘If Obadiah is at Harwood, we’ll find him. And there’s little doubt in my mind you’ll somehow convince Mr. Harshaw he should sell Obadiah to you.’’

  ‘‘Are you saying I’m somewhat overbearing?’’ she asked with a grin.

  Nolan chuckled. ‘‘Oh, not at all. However, I would say you have strong powers of persuasion.’’ He glanced toward a group assembling on the dock. ‘‘It appears as though the captain has begun gathering the passengers to board.’’

  ‘‘Then we best n
ot keep him waiting. Were you able to gain specifics on how far we’ll be required to travel after disembarking?’’ ‘‘Indeed. It won’t be long at all compared to our journey upriver, and then we’ll travel another hour or two by carriage— perhaps longer if the roads are muddy and difficult to traverse.’’

  ‘‘Let’s hope it’s less. I wouldn’t want to spend the night as Mr.

  Harshaw’s guest. Do you know if there will be another boat coming to the landing before nightfall?’’

  ‘‘Only one, and I have my doubts we’ll be able to return by then. We’ll see how things progress at Harwood Plantation. If we’re required to find accommodations elsewhere, we’ll do so.

  However, it was my understanding you were intent upon finding Obadiah. . . .’’

  ‘‘You’re right. I shouldn’t be creating a problem before one exists. Forgive me. I can certainly push aside any ill feelings I might have toward Mr. Harshaw if it means we’ll be able to find Obadiah and secure his freedom.’’

  The instructions Nolan received were accurate. The boat reached Pappan’s Landing early in the afternoon. By the time they arranged for a carriage and entered the driveway to Harwood Plantation, it was approaching three o’clock. Two large dogs loped alongside the carriage and remained on either side until their coach stopped in front of the main house. A large man carrying a coiled whip called the dogs to heel. A deep, jagged scar lined the man’s cheek, and his clothing bore evidence of more than several days’ dirt and grime.

  ‘‘Do you think that’s Mr. Harshaw?’’ Jasmine whispered.

  ‘‘I have no idea. Let us hope not.’’ Nolan quietly replied before leaning forward and waving to the man. ‘‘Is it safe to alight from the carriage, or will your dogs consider me their supper should I step down?’’

  The man emitted a deep belly laugh before spitting a stream of tobacco juice from between his brown-stained teeth. ‘‘You’re safe so long as I’m nearby. Get on down,’’ he commanded, his smile widening as he met Jasmine’s wary gaze.

  ‘‘Got ya a good-lookin’ woman. Too bad I didn’t see her afore ya, or I’d have fought ya for her hand,’’ he said, his gaze going up and down the full length of Jasmine’s form.

  ‘‘Don’t tell him I’m a widow,’’ Jasmine whispered when Nolan came alongside her. ‘‘I don’t want him making unseemly advances toward me.’’

  ‘‘I was jest getting ready to ride off when you got here. What can I do fer ya?’’

  ‘‘Quite the host,’’ Jasmine murmured.

  Nolan grinned at her disdainful rejoinder. ‘‘Be careful,’’ he whispered while bending down and scooping Spencer into the crook of his arm. ‘‘He may hear you, and we need to remain on good terms if we’re to find Obadiah.’’

  The man wiped one hand on his dirty pant leg before reaching to shake Nolan’s hand. ‘‘Jacob Harshaw. I’m the owner of Harwood,’’ he said, waving his arm in an expansive motion.

  ‘‘Nolan Houston,’’ he said. ‘‘And this young man is Spencer Houston, along with his mother, Mrs. Houston.’’

  ‘‘Pleased ta make yer acquaintance.’’ His leering gaze came to rest upon Jasmine’s bodice. ‘‘What brings ya to Harwood?’’

  ‘‘Slaves,’’ Nolan said.

  ‘‘Well, I got me plenty of them, but ain’t particularly set on sellin’ any,’’ he said while massaging his ample belly. The front door opened and a dour-looking woman with a tightly wound knot atop her head strode forward to take her place beside Mr. Harshaw.

  ‘‘Appears we got company. How come ya didn’t let me know?’’ the woman asked with a modicum of irritation lacing the question. Before her husband could reply, the woman turned her attention toward Jasmine and Nolan. ‘‘I’m Rosemary Harshaw, mistress of Harwood.’’ Her seeming annoyance turned to obvious pride as she made the announcement.

  ‘‘Pleased to make your acquaintance,’’ Jasmine and Nolan replied in unison and then grinned at each other.

  ‘‘You want to bring the boy inside?’’

  Jasmine glanced toward Nolan, hoping he would give her an indication of what he considered most helpful.

  ‘‘We were telling your husband we’re wanting to purchase some slaves and heard that Harwood had some fine specimens. I’m particularly interested in a good buck or two. We’d like to look at any you think might meet our needs.’’

  Harshaw narrowed his eyes and ejected another stream of spittle. ‘‘Don’t know as I’d be willing to turn loose any of my best breedin’ stock, but I can have my overseer bring them for you to inspect. Never know—we might be able to come to some sort of agreement.’’

  Mrs. Harshaw hissed an inaudible remark to her husband and then turned toward Jasmine and Nolan. ‘‘I can offer ya a cup of tea while we wait. It’ll take the mister some time to get the slaves up here. You can best review ’em from the upstairs portico. That’s where we go to watch when he whips the runaways.’’

  ‘‘You watch when they’re punished?’’ Jasmine gave the other woman an incredulous look.

  ‘‘ ’Course! Outside of going to town once in a while, it’s the only entertainment around this place,’’ she stated harshly. ‘‘Besides, we gotta keep our darkies under control. We’re not like you folks that buy only a few slaves to help operate your small farms. We own nearly a hundred, and they gotta know who’s in charge. Otherwise, they’ll run at the first opportunity. Can’t let that happen. We got too much money tied up in our slaves.’’

  ‘‘Perhaps kindness would cause them to stay of their own volition,’’ Jasmine commented.

  Mrs. Harshaw cast a disdainful look in Jasmine’s direction. ‘‘It’s obvious you haven’t had many dealings with slaves. Come along.

  We’ll go up and have us a look from upstairs while your husband examines ’em close up. I’ll educate you on how to deal with slaves, and you’ll have little trouble after that . . . if you follow my ways.’’

  Jasmine followed along behind the woman, hoping she wouldn’t be quizzed any further about why they were in the area. She certainly didn’t want to divulge the fact that Malcolm Wain- wright was her father. Jacob Harshaw might not remember selling Mammy some twenty-one years ago, but there was always the possibility he would recollect past events if he realized she was aWain-wright.

  A stoop-shouldered black woman appeared in the hallway as they entered the front door. ‘‘You can serve us tea on the upstairs portico, Hessie. And be quick about it.’’ Mrs. Harshaw turned to Jasmine. ‘‘You want the boy to come with us or you want Hessie to look after him?’’

  Jasmine tightened her hold on Spencer’s hand. ‘‘He had best stay with me. I’m certain Hessie already has more than enough chores to keep her busy, and Spencer is quite a handful.’’

  ‘‘Got him spoilt, have ya? Slaves and children—they both need to be treated with a strong hand.’’ Her stern glare caused Spencer to immediately tuck himself behind Jasmine’s skirts.

  Had circumstances been different, Jasmine would have told Rosemary Harshaw exactly what she thought of her malevolent advice. Instead, she remained silent and lifted Spencer up into her arms and followed the older woman. Mrs. Harshaw escorted Jasmine upstairs and then to the outer gallery, where she took a seat in one of the willow chairs along the east end of the gallery. Spencer sat near her side until the old slave emerged a short time later, bearing a sizeable silver tea tray. Obviously the sight of flaky pastries, fruit-topped cakes, and berry tarts was enough to fortify her son’s bravery. Spencer rushed forward the moment Hessie placed the tray on a small table near Mrs. Harshaw, with his chubby fingers aimed toward one of the tasty-appearing delicacies.

  ‘‘Don’t touch!’’ Mrs. Harshaw barked. Her eyes had suddenly narrowed to mere slits, and she leveled a formidable gaze that sent the child scurrying back to his mother.

  Jasmine pulled her son into a protective embrace before she removed a lace-edged handkerchief from her dress pocket and wiped away his tears. ‘‘He is but a young child unaccustomed to
such harsh words, Mrs. Harshaw.’’

  ‘‘Youth is no excuse for ill manners.’’

  Jasmine bit her lower lip for several seconds before responding. ‘‘I believe we likely disagree about what constitutes proper behavior. However, if my child has offended your sensibilities, please accept my apology.’’

  Mrs. Harshaw’s shoulders squared as she drew herself up straighter in the chair and looked down her bulbous nose at Spencer. ‘‘Apology accepted,’’ she said and then placed one of the tarts on a napkin and offered it to the boy.

  Instead of accepting the treat, Spencer buried his face in Jasmine’s bodice. ‘‘Perhaps later,’’ Jasmine said on the boy’s behalf.

  ‘‘Here they come,’’ Mrs. Harshaw announced, pointing a finger toward the dirt road leading up to the mansion. ‘‘Finest-looking bucks you’ll find this side of the Mississippi.’’

  Jasmine watched as the overseer herded fifteen sturdy male slaves into two lines at the east end of the house. The overseer cracked his whip, and the first slave stepped forward as Mr. Har-shaw called out a name and methodically recited the man’s pedigree to Nolan. The procedure followed for each of the men in the front line before continuing to the second row.

  ‘‘Obadiah,’’ Mr. Harshaw called out as the first man in the second group stepped forward. ‘‘This here boy is a strong one, and I can vouch for his bloodline. A good, strong buck from over at the Elmhouse Plantation sired him. I paid a hefty fee to have this one sired, and I’d be willing to let him go at a fair price.’’

  They went through the entire line like this. Harshaw calling out names, suggesting each man’s strong points, even commenting on the scars, pointing out that each man had been given very few beatings and hence was well behaved.

  Jasmine watched as Nolan pretended to take each man under great scrutiny. The minutes seemed to tick by like hours until he and Mr. Harshaw were once again standing in front of the man called Obadiah. Nolan appeared to be saying something, although Jasmine couldn’t hear the words.

  Mr. Harshaw poked and prodded at Obadiah as though he were pointing out the attributes of a prized bull. Jasmine leaned forward and peered over the railing a little more closely. Mr. Har-shaw said something indistinguishable, and Nolan appeared to nod in agreement. ‘‘Go fetch the woman and boy,’’ Mr. Harshaw called out to the overseer.