A Love Woven True

by Judith Miller

  ‘‘Once the laudanum fully wears off, you’ll have your hands full. I’ve been keeping her drugged until I could get her back down South. She fought me every step here, so be warned. She’s easy to look at but full of lies, so don’t believe a word she says and don’t trust her for a second.’’

  ‘‘This one will be worth the trouble,’’ Joseph said. ‘‘She’ll fetch a handsome price.’’

  Naomi glared at Oliver. ‘‘What you gonna do with da boy? His mama’ll have ya strung up fo’ what you done.’’ She spat at his feet. ‘‘You ain’ nothin’ but trash.’’

  Oliver raised his hand, but Enoch swiftly grabbed his wrist, halting the blow he had intended for the rebellious woman. ‘‘Don’t mark her!’’ Enoch hollered.

  Wresting his arm from Enoch’s hold, Oliver stormed to the wagon. ‘‘Get this wagon loaded and get moving. The sooner you’re out of here, the better!’’ he shouted in return.

  ‘‘What ya gonna do with da boy?’’ Naomi screamed over and over again as the wagon rolled out of the barn.

  ‘‘Gag her!’’ Oliver called out to Joseph and then relaxed when he could no longer hear Naomi’s haunting voice.

  He turned the horse back toward town, knowing the boy would sleep. He’d given him a dose of laudanum, but he must soon find a way to return young Spencer Houston. No telling what ill effects the ongoing medicine might be having on the boy.

  Oliver slapped the reins, forcing his horse into a trot while straining forward in an attempt to see the group gathered outside the livery.

  ‘‘What’s going on?’’ he inquired as he jumped down from the wagon.

  ‘‘We’re organizing another search party. Some of the men have already departed. They’ll be searching north and west of town. This group will divide and head south and east.’’

  ‘‘I’d like to assist. Which group is heading south?’’ he asked.

  The man nodded toward a group at the rear of the livery. Oliver made his way through the crowd and approached a constable standing with the group. ‘‘I’d like to help,’’ he said.

  ‘‘That group could use an extra hand,’’ the constable said, pointing toward a smaller cluster of men.

  Oliver hesitated, glancing toward the group. ‘‘I’m a shoe peddler and know more of the area to the south. I think I could be of greater assistance if I remain with this group.’’

  The constable shrugged. ‘‘Whatever you want. Prager, why don’t you go with that other group? Let’s get going. We’re wasting daylight.’’

  Oliver silently rejoiced at his good fortune. These men had solved his problem. He couldn’t have planned a more opportune solution to his dilemma. The men rode off toward the south, as Oliver followed behind with the wagon, obeying the constable’s orders when he directed them to dismount and search one area and then the next.

  When they finally neared the area where the abandoned farm was located, Oliver called out to the constable.

  ‘‘What is it?’’ the constable asked as he rode back to the wagon.

  ‘‘Long ago when I first came to Lowell, I got off the road hoping to travel cross-country and save some time. Instead, I managed to get lost. I remember coming upon an old abandoned farmhouse somewhere off in this area. I’m wondering if anyone has searched that old place.’’

  The constable removed his hat and scratched his head. ‘‘I don’t know, but it’s worth looking at. Think you can find it again?’’

  ‘‘I’m not certain, but surely one of these men may recall the place,’’ he replied evasively.

  Using his stirrups for leverage, the chief constable lifted himself up off his saddle and surveyed the group. ‘‘Anyone remember seeing an old vacant farmhouse around these parts?’’

  Oliver listened to the murmurs among the men. Surely one of these men knew of it. He didn’t want to be the one to direct the group to the farmstead.

  ‘‘I think the old Ross place is about three miles off the road and maybe another two miles west,’’ one of the men called out.

  The lawman directed the group to fan out in the direction of the old farm. Oliver aligned himself with several other men who were moving in a direct line toward the house. He hoped they would have enough sense to check the root cellar without prompting. Although he wanted to assure himself the child was found, he didn’t want to be overly involved in the rescue, lest he arouse suspicion. When the group dismounted, Oliver remained in close proximity as the search began in earnest. He followed along, encouraging his group to begin at the house rather than the barn since the other men were nearing the outbuildings.

  ‘‘You two go upstairs and check things out,’’ the constable directed. ‘‘You two look around down here, and I’ll go with Martin and see if there’s a cellar anywhere nearby.’’ The man pointed at Oliver. ‘‘If you get done down here before we do, check for a well or a springhouse. No telling how many places there might be to hide a child around here.’’

  They’d barely begun their cursory search of the downstairs rooms when they heard a loud whoop. ‘‘We found him! We found him!’’ a male voice hollered before firing a shot into the air.

  Oliver remained in the distance, permitting the others to gather around the child. ‘‘He looks dead. You sure he’s still breathing?’’ one of the men asked.

  ‘‘He’s breathing, but it’s shallow,’’ Martin Simmons replied. ‘‘Best we get him to the doctor right away. Don’t appear to be no broken bones. I ain’t never seen the boy afore, so I don’t know if he looks okay or not, but to my mind, I’d say he’s mighty pale.’’

  ‘‘Take him to his home. Someone with a fast horse ride for the doctor and have him meet us at the Houston place,’’ the constable ordered. ‘‘The boy will do better with his mother close at hand.’’

  Jasmine heard the commotion outside and jumped from the bed. Her heart raced as she went to the sill and threw open the window. ‘‘What’s happened?’’ she called down.

  The collection of men, which her husband was now joining, stopped in midsentence and looked up at her. She watched with wide eyes as one of the man placed a child in Nolan’s arms. What she couldn’t see was whether the child was still alive.

  Without waiting for their reply, she pulled on her shawl and ran for the stairs. She reached the bottom step just as Nolan entered the room. ‘‘He’s alive, but . . .’’

  ‘‘But what?’’ Jasmine cried, coming to the limp form of her child. ‘‘What’s wrong with him?’’

  ‘‘He’s been drugged. I can’t rouse him.’’

  ‘‘Oh, dear Lord, help us,’’ she moaned, pushing back Spencer’s hair. The child was filthy, but his shallow breathing reassured her.

  ‘‘Has someone sent for the doctor?’’

  Nolan nodded, meeting her eyes. ‘‘He should be here any time now.’’

  ‘‘Let’s get him cleaned up. The doctor might have a better time of caring for him.’’

  ‘‘I’ll take him to the kitchen,’’ Nolan suggested. ‘‘We’ll have plenty of hot water and such.’’ He paused and leaned down to Jasmine. ‘‘It might be wise to see to yourself first. I can begin to clean Spencer, but I’d much rather my wife be gowned properly before all of Lowell ends up in our house.’’

  Jasmine looked down at the nightgown and shawl she’d worn for several days. She was reluctant to leave Spencer’s side. ‘‘But what if something—’’

  ‘‘He’s home now, sweetheart. He’s home.’’

  Jasmine drank in Nolan’s loving gaze. ‘‘Yes,’’ she murmured. ‘‘He is home.’’

  Hours later, Jasmine rocked a less lethargic Spencer in her arms, still unable to believe her son had been delivered safely to her care. Dr. Hartzfeld had quickly determined the boy had been drugged with laudanum or some other similar tonic in order to keep him asleep. He prescribed rest, nourishment, and fresh air, but with the steady stream of visitors during the first hours after his return, rest had been impossible. Realizing the celebration was taking too
great a toll on the boy, Jasmine had taken him upstairs and remained secluded, permitting only Moses in the room. Their delightful reunion had brought tears to her eyes. She took pleasure in seeing their joy, yet the pain of knowing Naomi remained missing made their happiness a bittersweet sight.

  Once most of the visitors had departed, Jasmine returned downstairs, with Moses on one side and Spencer on the other. She could hear Nolan’s and Obadiah’s voices and walked down the hallway toward the kitchen.

  ‘‘Papa, Papa,’’ Moses chanted. ‘‘See Spencie,’’ he said, pointing toward his friend. ‘‘Spencie come home.’’

  Jasmine could see the tears forming in Obadiah’s eyes. ‘‘I’m so sorry, Obadiah,’’ she said. ‘‘I was certain they would be found together.’’

  He nodded. ‘‘Yessum. You know I’s happy as can be dey found Spencer. Jes’ hard,’’ he said, his voice fading.

  ‘‘You go rest. Moses is fine here with us. The boys don’t want to be separated right now, anyway,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Thank you, ma’am. You be a good boy, Moses. I’ll be back ta fetch ya after a bit,’’ he said while walking out the back door.

  Jasmine glanced at her husband. ‘‘I feel terrible. I wish there were something more we could do. The search party promised to go back again tomorrow and search for further clues, but the constable indicated there was nothing more to be found.’’

  ‘‘All we can do is offer our encouragement. The marshal said no one is entitled to the reward we offered since the authorities were involved in finding Spencer. But I’ve told Obadiah I’m going to continue the offer in the hope that someone will come forward with information regarding Naomi.’’ He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. ‘‘I believe Violet and McKinley are waiting to see you in the parlor, if you feel up to more visitors.’’

  ‘‘I’m always happy to see my brother and Violet. Come along, boys. Uncle McKinley is here.’’

  The boys walked down the hallway, their small feet clattering on the hardwood floors. ‘‘Unca Mac!’’ Spencer hollered, flinging himself into McKinley’s arms. Moses followed, and the two boys soon were clamoring for McKinley’s undivided attention.

  Violet grinned and shook her head. ‘‘McKinley, why don’t you and the boys go to the other room so Jasmine, Nolan, and I can visit for a few minutes.’’

  ‘‘Better yet, why don’t we go upstairs to your playroom? Uncle McKinley wants to find a special toy to play with,’’ McKinley said, hoisting Moses under one arm and Spencer under the other.

  Jasmine watched as the giggling boys ascended the steps, tucked under her brother’s arms like two sacks of flour. ‘‘McKinley is so good with children,’’ she said, returning her attention to Violet. ‘‘He does have a way with them,’’ Violet agreed. ‘‘I know how relieved you must be to have Spencer home with you again. You’ve been forced to bear a terrible burden. I’d wager you’re ready to celebrate.’’

  ‘‘No,’’ she said with a faint smile, ‘‘I’d hardly say I want to celebrate. Don’t misunderstand—I’m forever grateful for Spencer’s return. Yet my heart breaks that we’ve not yet found Naomi. I never suspected that when we found Spencer we’d not find Naomi too. Poor Obadiah is grief-stricken. And Naomi was much like the sister I never had. We’d become very close since they came to live here. And with the boys being so near the same age, we had much in common.’’

  Violet gasped, her eyes wide. ‘‘Jasmine Houston! How can you even think such things, much less say them aloud? Referring to Naomi as a sister—Naomi is a Negro. You best not talk like this around anyone else. People won’t accept or understand such remarks. Working to free the slaves is one thing, but you must remember that even here, Negroes have their place.’’

  ‘‘And what place is that, Violet? Naomi, Obadiah, and Moses are like family to me. I see them more often than I see most members of my family. Naomi has been a faithful friend to me and to Spencer. I owe her family more than anyone can imagine. Oba-diah’s mother cared for me all of my life—our roots are deep. I’ll not compromise my love and concern for their family merely because it may offend someone else.’’

  Violet stiffened slightly and cleared her throat. ‘‘Well, of course. I understand you are upset. You’ve been through trying circumstances,’’ she said. ‘‘I’ll go upstairs and see if McKinley is ready to return to Lowell. We’re expected at my parents’ home for supper.’’

  ‘‘It was good to see my sister so happy,’’ McKinley said as he climbed into the buggy and joined Violet.

  ‘‘Beware she has some peculiar ideas.’’

  McKinley put the horse in motion. ‘‘Such as?’’

  ‘‘She told me Naomi was like a sister to her. That the entire family had become quite important to her—that their roots ran deep.’’

  McKinley frowned. ‘‘I’m not sure I understand.’’

  ‘‘It seems odd that she would attach herself so completely to a Negro family. As I told her, it’s one thing to free the slaves but an entirely different matter to embrace them into our society. They certainly won’t be accepted there.’’

  ‘‘No, I suppose not. I’m sure you misunderstood her intent, however. Jasmine’s nurse was Obadiah’s mother. I’m sure it causes Jasmine to hold special feelings for his family. That’s probably all it is.’’

  ‘‘But why?’’

  ‘‘Well, you must understand the role Mammy played in her life. In mine. We were raised by her—she provided for our every need. We seldom saw our parents during the day, except for meals when we were old enough to join the adults in the dining room.’’

  ‘‘Truly?’’ Violet seemed completely amazed.

  ‘‘We were raised in the nursery until we were old enough for school. Even then, it was Mammy who continued our care. Jasmine was even more sheltered and nurtured. Father sent us boys away to school for a time. Jasmine remained home and was tutored. Mammy couldn’t read or write, but she would spend hours telling Jasmine stories from the Bible and talking about the life Jasmine would have when she grew up.’’

  ‘‘How is it you know so much about what Jasmine discussed?’’

  McKinley smiled. ‘‘She told me. I guess I was one of the only ones who was still around to listen. We’re only two years apart. David is five years older than Jasmine, and Samuel is eight. That’s a long span of time when you’re children. Jasmine and I have always listened to one another.’’

  ‘‘Then perhaps you should arrange to have a talk with her about her attachment to the former slaves. The Northern states are sympathetic to the Negro plight, but the people of Lowell and Boston will hardly allow for them to intersperse themselves in our social circles.’’

  ‘‘Unless, of course, they’re holding a tray of refreshments,’’ McKinley said under his breath.

  ‘‘What was that?’’ Violet questioned.

  He shook his head. It wasn’t an easy topic no matter how they looked at it. ‘‘Nothing. Nothing of import.’’ Abolitionists would press to see the slaves freed, but he wondered seriously how faithful they would be to concern themselves with housing, jobs, churches, and social interaction. Freeing them seemed a wondrous first step, McKinley thought, but it hardly constituted a resolution to the problems they would face afterward.

  Nolan and Jasmine had just finished supper when Obadiah returned to the house, his eyes swollen and his gaze filled with a painful sadness.

  ‘‘Come sit down,’’ Nolan offered. ‘‘Have you eaten?’’

  Obadiah nodded. ‘‘I fixed me some supper a while ago.’’

  The boys came into the dining room, hand in hand, and Moses climbed into his father’s lap and planted a kiss on his cheek. Oba-diah squeezed his son and then put Moses on the floor when he started twisting and squirming.

  ‘‘Why don’t you boys go play in the playroom while we adults talk in here,’’ Jasmine suggested. They watched until the boys disappeared from sight.

  ‘‘I spent all afternoon thinkin’ ’bout Nao
mi and what I gotta do.’’

  Nolan leaned over and patted Obadiah on the back. ‘‘Nothing has changed, Obadiah. We’re going to continue searching for Naomi. She’s bound to be found soon.’’

  ‘‘Nossuh, I don’ think so. I think Naomi’s in da hands of slave traders who done took her back down South to sell her at auction or to any plantation owner who’d pay a good price. I gots to go after her. I don’ know how or why any o’ dis happened, but my insides are tellin’ me she’s gone. Spencer ain’ said nothin’, has he?’’

  ‘‘We haven’t attempted to question him at all, and he’s offered nothing,’’ Nolan replied. ‘‘The doctor thought he was drugged to some extent the entire time they were gone. So even if he was awake, I doubt his thoughts would be clear.’’

  ‘‘He’s barely three years old, Obadiah. I don’t think we could rely on anything he said,’’ Jasmine added.

  ‘‘Yo’re right ’bout dat. ’Sides, I don’ wanna upset him none, and that’s fer sure, but I gotta go and find Naomi.’’

  Nolan sat down opposite Obadiah and leaned forward, resting his forearms across his thighs. ‘‘Surely you realize that if you go south, you put yourself in extreme danger. Even if you have your papers with you, there are those who would disregard them—even take them from you and declare you a runaway.’’

  ‘‘I understand all ’bout what could happen ta me. But I know I can’ live with myself if I don’ go lookin’ for Naomi. Tell ya da truth, I don’ know if I can live without her. I come here ta ask if you would look after Moses fer me. I can’t take him wib me, and I don’ know if I’ll ever make it back. I’d like to leave knowin’ Moses ain’ never gonna end up like me and Naomi.’’

  ‘‘Won’t you wait at least another week?’’ Jasmine asked. ‘‘Give the constables additional time to search the area and then make your decision. If they don’t find her in a week, then you go and we’ll keep Moses for you.’’

  Obadiah shook his head. ‘‘Dem constables ain’ gonna spend any time lookin’ for Naomi. Only reason they kept lookin dis long is ’cause of Spencer. Don’ nobody care ’bout findin’ no colored woman. I done made up my mind, Miz Jasmine. I got to leave now. Will ya see after Moses fer me?’’