The Abolitionist’s Secret

by Becky Lower

  “Let’s get to him, post-haste, then. I’ll help you load the luggage on the carriage, and we’ll be off.”

  The carriage quickly drove through the busy streets of town and soon was outside the city proper. Heather was a bit disappointed that they hadn’t been able to make a scenic tour, but she understood David’s need to get to his father’s side. She watched out the window of the carriage as it made a turn onto a driveway. She could not yet see the house at the end of the drive. Just as David had described to her that night sitting in her parlor, huge magnolia trees graced both sides of the driveway. Soon the blazing white Greek Revival house with the wide front porch came into view and her breath caught in her throat. Its eight enormous columns spanned the front of the home and Heather thought she had never seen a more beautiful house.

  David’s mother, Susan Whitman, met the carriage as it rolled into the circular drive in front of the house. Heather barely had time to catch her breath after taking in the appearance of the house before she was face to face with the woman who would become her mother-in-law.

  Susan kissed David on the cheek, and then looked over at Heather. Her gaze skimmed over the young woman, then moved back to David. “This is the woman you met in New York?”

  “Yes, Mother,” David replied as he took Heather’s hand in his. “May I introduce you to my fiancée, Miss Heather Fitzpatrick.”

  Susan glanced again at Heather. “Well, of course, it’s nice to meet you, dear, but since David is already engaged, you can’t be his fiancée.”

  Heather looked at David, but he didn’t catch her gaze, since he was scowling at his mother. “Heather is indeed my fiancée, and we plan to marry before summer ends.”

  Susan patted her son on his cheek. “We don’t need to discuss this now, dear. Your father is anxious to see you. Let me take you to him.”

  David looked his mother in the eyes, and gave her an order of his own. “There’s no need for you to lead me to Father. I know where his room is. I’d like you to direct Colleen to the rooms Heather and she will have in the house. Colleen can begin unpacking for them while Heather and I visit with Father. I want to introduce my fiancée to him.”

  Susan glanced over her shoulder at the pair as they moved beyond her and climbed the steps to the porch. “I really don’t think it’s wise of you to bring someone other than family into a sickroom.”

  “But Heather will be family before summer is out, so I’d like her to meet Father.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Susan mumbled under her breath as she scurried up the steps behind the couple. “She’ll never be part of this family.”

  • • •

  David led Heather into his father’s room. He had last seen his father a year ago at his brother’s funeral. Now, he barely recognized the man lying in the large bed. Once a strong, solid man who used to carry his boys around the plantation on his shoulders, his father now could barely lift his head.

  “Son, it’s good to see you, and who is this lovely young lady with you?” Henry Whitman whispered a greeting to his son, as he wanly lifted his hand toward David. David took his father’s hand in his own, and ran his fingers over the parched, dry skin. A lump formed in his throat as he gazed at the man he had always admired and loved. The man who now appeared much older than his years.

  “It’s good to be home at last, Father,” he replied with a sigh. “I brought my fiancée to meet you. May I introduce Miss Heather Fitzpatrick?” He brought Heather to his side.

  “Forgive me for not standing, my dear. Aren’t you a pretty little thing, though.”

  “Thank you, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, if not under the best of circumstances. I’m so sorry to find you ill.”

  Henry turned his fevered gaze from Heather to David. “What did your mother have to say about you bringing a woman home with you? You know, she and Blanche Beaufort have your future mapped out.” Henry got a ghost of a smile on his face.

  “But it’s not up to them, is it? Heather and I are going to map our own future together, be it here or in the west.” David put his arm around Heather.

  Heather basked in the glow of David’s words. She gazed down again at the ailing man before her. “Mr. Whitman, I’m going to take my leave of you now so you and David can talk privately. It was very nice to meet you, and I’ll check in on you again soon. If you’d like, I can read to you later.” Heather extricated herself from David’s reassuring embrace and left the room. The two men watched her as she walked away, her skirts swishing softly with the movement of her hips.

  “She’s very pretty, David, and I like her spunk. I can see why you chose her.”

  David grinned at his father. “You always were able to judge things appropriately at a glance, be it people or livestock. Thank you for your support of my decision. I think she’ll be a good life companion, wherever we settle.”

  “I hope it won’t be here. I don’t want you burdened by my lifetime of bad decisions. I fear I have not been a good steward of the land, son.”

  “I’m sure you have done your best,” David replied, although he had taken note of the disrepair he had seen in the house and grounds upon his arrival.

  “No, I have not,” his father replied, restlessly moving his legs under the bed sheets. “When your brother died, something inside of me died too. I tried to care about the crops and the house, but I just couldn’t muster up the ambition any more. I sold off one slave after another to be able to afford seed for the crops, and to satisfy your mother’s craving for fine things, but nothing got me out from under. I fear I am leaving you with a mountain of debt, in addition to the responsibility of the land and all the slaves that are left.”

  “It will be all right, once the cotton crop comes in this fall.”

  His father’s smile returned. “You may have left home, but you’re still a farmer at heart. It’s always the next crop that will make things right. But, I fear the debt is so massive that the next crop will only make a dent in the mess I’ve created.”

  “Well then, we’ll figure it out together. Your job for right now is to get better and not to worry about the plantation. I’m here now, and will take charge of things. Then, once you’re well, I will help you put this plantation back on the right track again.”

  Henry glanced at David, his eyes as weak as the rest of his body. “There’s no need to mince words here, son. You and I both know I’ll only be leaving this bed to go to the family plot on the hill.”

  David’s stomach turned. “Nonsense, Father. You’re only saying that because you took ill so quickly. But you’ll heal just as fast.”

  Henry reached out for his son’s hand. “I beg of you to listen to me, and to not make the same mistakes I have. I will not rest easy until you do so.”

  With tears in his eyes, David asked, “What do you suggest, then?”

  His father struggled to rise, and David assisted him to a sitting position, placing him gently up against the headboard. Henry then locked eyes with his strong and capable son. “Your mother has said for years that she wishes to live with her sister in Charleston. She’s weary of the smell of manure, the bother of taking care of hundreds of slaves, and wants nothing more than to live in the city and enjoy the culture and luxury that comes with city life. Take her there, and sell this place for what you can get for it. Don’t be like me and feel duty bound to chain yourself to this plantation. It may have been in the family for generations, but it needn’t continue.”

  A flicker of hope ignited inside David. “Are you saying that I have your approval to give up Bellewood?”

  Henry Whitman sighed heavily. “I tried my best to live up to the expectations placed on me by my father, and, as a result, I married the wrong woman and spent my life as a gentleman farmer, despising every minute of it.” He stopped for a breath.

  “I did the best job I could. Your mother gave me two fine sons, for which I will be forever grateful. And I thought, once I saw how Jacob loved it here, that I had done the right thing by pr
eserving the place for the next generation. But he’s gone and you are more like me. You have no real love for this place, either.”

  “Nonsense, Father. I got a lump in my throat this morning, coming up the driveway to Bellewood. It’s home for me, and always will be.”

  “You may have fond memories of growing up here, but you don’t love it like Jacob did. Ever since you were a young boy, you longed to leave home and ride off to see what was over the next hill. You have my permission to do that now. And to marry this pretty young lady you’ve brought from New York to meet me. Do not suffer the same fate as me, for the sake of Bellewood. You need to find your passion and go live it.”

  His father fell back on the bed, his breathing shallow. David swallowed hard. Surely his father was delusional about how much debt they had? Surely all was not lost? David raised his eyes to the strong sunlight coming in the window, looking for answers, but finding none.

  • • •

  Heather headed for the parlor after leaving Mr. Whitman’s side. Although very ill, he was still a delightful man. It was a shame he was so sick. She hoped for his speedy recovery so she could get to know him even better in the years to come. She hummed a tune to herself as she walked through the mansion with its lofty center entrance hall. She thought of her own home and her father. A twinge of homesickness fluttered through her, since this was her first time away from her family and far from Jasmine’s side.

  From the hallway, Heather glimpsed Susan Whitman in the parlor, stitching on a piece of embroidery. She reminded Heather of an animal lying in wait for its prey. And she feared she was that meal, especially after what Mr. Whitman said about his wife and Blanche Beaufort. Heather cautiously entered the room and sat down on a chair opposite David’s mother. Susan’s eyes flickered up from her task. Yes, Heather thought, she is a lioness assessing her foe and hoping for a short contest of wills. Well, she’ll be mistaken.

  “So, Miss Fitzpatrick, you’re quite the surprise.”

  Heather flicked an imaginary piece of dust from her skirt before raising her gaze to Mrs. Whitman. “Did David’s telegram explaining that he was bringing me and my chaperone to meet you and his father not reach you then?”

  “Well, yes, the telegram arrived, but your presence is still a surprise since he is already engaged, to Blanche Beaufort. Forgive me if I appear somewhat confused. My son is well aware of his obligations.”

  “Ah, yes, Miss Beaufort. David told me all about her. She lives on the neighboring plantation, doesn’t she?”

  “So you are aware of her? And you still went through with this sham of an engagement? Whatever did you tell your parents to get them to allow you to travel alone with my son?”

  “It is not a sham of an engagement, Mrs. Whitman, and I am not traveling alone with him. Don’t try to make this into something illicit when it most certainly is not.” Heather’s spine straightened even while her cheeks reddened as she sat in front of this judgmental woman. “We may have had a whirlwind romance, and I may not yet have a ring on my finger, but the engagement is real. David told me he was never officially engaged to Miss Beaufort. Rather, he was her second choice, after Jacob died, and it was something both sets of parents expected, with no thought given to what the children wanted.”

  Susan huffed and stood. She strode over to Heather’s chair, where she hovered over her. Heather stood as well, leveling out the playing field. She unsheathed her own imaginary sword.

  “My son is an impetuous fool. You should never have been allowed to set foot in this house, especially now while my husband is on his deathbed. It is most disrespectful of you, and I know this was your idea, not David’s. He knows better than to cross me, especially at a time like this. David has better things to do than to pretend to be interested in getting married to a northerner, of all things.”

  “I’m certain David would not appreciate you calling him a fool, ma’am. He’s an intelligent, capable gentleman. And if your husband is truly on his deathbed, David will soon be responsible for this plantation and everyone in it, including yourself. If I was in your position, I’d be doing everything I could to put myself into his good graces, not be calling him a fool.” Heather’s knees were shaking, but she stood her ground.

  Susan gave Heather an assessing stare. “Hmmph, we’ll see about that. You truly don’t know what a southern woman is capable of, do you?” A crafty smile flickered over Susan’s face. “I’ve managed to get what I want out of David’s father for thirty-two years. Do you think one little wisp of a woman is going to get in the way of what I have planned for my son?” Her gaze lit on Heather in disgust before she turned away. “David might think he has an independent streak, but he is a southern gentleman, after all. He’ll bow to his mother’s desires, although it’s obvious by him bringing you here that he’s trying to mount a challenge. It’s just a shame that Jacob died last year. He was so much more pliable.”

  Heather took a deep breath and spoke to the woman’s back. Somehow, that was easier than facing her head on. “He won’t bow to your desires, Mrs. Whitman. David and I are in love. Have you forgotten what it is to be in love? You are no longer the first woman whose needs he must take into consideration, I am. David and I love each other very much, and that counts for a lot more than being a southern gentleman eager to please his mother.”

  Susan’s skirts rustled as she quickly turned back around. “In love, are you? We’ll see about that. Love is a foolish notion, Miss Fitzpatrick, and has no place in this discussion. David will obey his father and mother, and you’ll be sent home alone. The sooner, the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Susan then pivoted on her heel, and, head held high, left the room. Heather sank back into her chair as her knees gave out finally. She placed her hand on her stomach. Never in her life had she stood up for herself like that, and her heart was racing. But she knew that her first confrontation with Susan Whitman was the most important meeting of her life, and she was proud of herself for not letting the woman ride roughshod over her. Jasmine would be so pleased that Heather used some of her tricks to stand up to David’s evil mother.

  Taking a deep breath, she stood up finally, and deciding she wanted to show Susan Whitman that their conversation did not upset her, picked up the strains of the tune she was humming before their encounter. Heather walked to the room where Colleen was unpacking their clothes. She needed to change into more comfortable attire, since she wanted to walk the grounds of David’s estate and see exactly what was in store for her.

  Chapter 17

  Heather and Colleen strode with purpose across the lawn surrounding the house. They both needed to stretch their legs after the long railroad ride, then the carriage ride. They took deep breaths of the air, which was filled with the heavy scent of azaleas, magnolias, and spring roses.

  Colleen raised her face to the sun as she sniffed a particularly pretty rose. “These roses smell divine,” she murmured. “But, Jaysus,” she declared softly in her brogue as she looked around. “Is all this land the lieutenant’s property?”

  Heather smiled. “Yes, I believe it is. At least, it’s his father’s. David’s still trying to decide if he wants to continue the family business.”

  Heather stopped her conversation when they came to a field behind the house, which had neat rows of vegetables and produce. In between the rows, several slaves used their hoes to loosen the soil. Heather plunged into one of the rows to speak to a slave.

  “What are you growing here?”

  The female slave registered surprise at the visitor in the garden, but she answered the question. “Green beans, peas, tomatoes, potatoes, turnips, corn, herbs — things dat are used by the kitchen staff to feed us all.”

  “So this is a kitchen garden? It’s huge!”

  “We need a lot of food. Slaves don’t work so well if they have empty bellies.”

  “What else do you grow?” Heather was awestuck by the enormity of the task of feeding the slaves and the family.

  “Orchards
for both peaches and apples. Cows for milk and meat. Chickens, both layers and fryers.” The woman wiped her brow and went back to her hoeing.

  “It’s truly like running a small village, isn’t it?”

  “Dat’s what every plantation is, ma’am. A small village.”

  “What is your name?” Heather inquired.

  “I’ze be Phoebe, ma’am.” The woman executed a small curtsey while keeping hold of her hoe. “And you are Master David’s new lady from up north.”

  Heather smiled. “That’s right. I’m Heather. It’s nice to meet you, Phoebe. I hope we’ll become friends.”

  Phoebe’s eyes widened as she looked at the young lady in front of her. “Oh, no, ma’am. You mustn’t come out here to the garden. You has to stay indoors to keep your complexion pale. It ain’t right for you to be outside in dis hot sun.”

  “It may not have been done in the past, but, fortunately, I’m not from the south, and I don’t know what behavior is considered right and what is wrong. I’d love to help you in the garden, and to learn how to grow these vegetables. You never know when the knowledge might come in handy.”

  Phoebe’s eyes dropped from Heather’s earnest face. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Please, don’t call me ma’am. That’s what you call Mrs. Whitman, I’m sure. I’m Heather, or Miss Heather, if you must.”

  “Yes, ma’am, er, Miss Heather.”

  “Tell me, Phoebe, where is your house?”

  Phoebe motioned over her shoulder. “Over der, on the other side of the hill.”

  Heather followed her motion and spied the roofs of the shanties, which comprised the slave quarters. She tried to control her shudder.

  “Thank you, Phoebe. We won’t keep you from your task any longer. Come, Colleen, let’s continue our walk.”

  Colleen stood up from where she had been weeding a row of beans. “Ahh, it does my heart good to feel my hands in the earth again, even if it is red as the devil.” She moved to Heather’s side, rubbing her hands together to clean off the earth that clung to them.