by Bush, Holly
Reed chose not to embarrass his bride. He noticed Beulah’s face around the corner of the door as she caught Belle’s eyes.
“Excuse me,” Belle said.
* * *
“What is it, Beulah?” Belle asked and studied the worried face of her friend.
“Problems at the church.” Beulah said. “Amos Black can’t be found.”
“Wasn’t he the tall fellow with the little boy? What do you mean he can’t be found?”
“He didn’t come for services, and Brother Freeman went to check on him. Found his boy hiding in the fruit cellar.” Beulah lowered her voice. “Nathan said some white men took his father.”
Belle shivered. How far did the reach of men like Buford Jackson extend, she wondered. “Where’s the boy?”
“He’s in my room.”
Belle’s eyes widened. “You can’t keep him there, Beulah.”
“Lower your voice, girl. I know, but the people who could take him away from here are worried to try right now. The same people who would’ve taken you.”
“What can we do?” Belle asked.
“Not much, but the boy needs to be hidden somewhere other than here until it’s safe to move him.”
Belle’s eyes widened. “You want me to …”
Beulah stared.
“I don’t know. I’d have to tell Reed. His parents are here.”
“Come with me,” Beulah commanded.
Belle followed Beulah to her room, and she called the boy’s name softly. Belle saw two dark eyes peer out of the closet.
“You don’t have to stay in the closet when you’re in my room, Nathan,” Beulah said.
The boy crept out looking right and left, eyes wide and fearful. “I heard white talk.”
Belle listened to Beulah reassure the boy and would have swept the shaking leaf into her arms if she hadn’t thought she’d scare him to death. He studied her warily. Dried tears made tracks on his face, and he swiped his nose when Beulah told him they had not found his father. The cool chill of Belle’s own desolation, before her marriage, swept down her back. The lingering trembling fear, ever present, tainting every thought, every hope, coloring every decision, knotted inside her. And this poor soul, merely a child. “Hello, Nathan. Do you remember me from church?”
The boy nodded and his lip trembled.
Belle quietly asked Beulah where his mother was.
“Died of disease on the way here.”
“No other family?”
Beulah whispered. “He thinks an aunt on his mother’s side. In Georgia. But he’s not sure.”
“What’s going to happen to me? When’s Pa coming home?” The boy pleaded with his eyes to explain, to make right all the things that he was powerless over.
“There’s a family in Chicago that would gladly take you if your father doesn’t come home soon,” Beulah explained gently.
Nathan’s eyes darted. “Where’s Chicago? What if Pa comes back, and I’m already gone. Will he be able to find me?”
Belle’s heart was breaking with the unanswerable questions. “Would you like to stay with me for awhile, Nathan?” Beulah turned to her. Belle met her eyes. “Miss Beulah doesn’t have the space in this small room for such a growing boy.” He stood silently. “I have a cat named Millie.” The small shoulders shrugged. “I’ll be back later to get you,” Belle said.
Nathan backed up as the women went to the door. He eased himself into the closet.
“What will your husband say?”
Belle wondered that herself. What would Reed say having grown up with Buford as a father? But what could she do? She could not bear the thought of the child hiding in a closet while Beulah worked or worse yet, being found. Would Reed beat her? Belle saw dark eyes looking around the corner of the cupboard door. Would it matter? She knew she would do or take what she had to, to shelter this boy. “I don’t know.”
Belle sat back down and Reed stared at her. “I was visiting with Mary Ellen. I’m sorry I was gone so long.”
Buford and Lily soon excused themselves, and Reed and Belle began the walk home.
“My father’s a fool. The slaves will never go back, not willingly. He’ll lose Bristolwood,” Reed said.
“He’s going to try to take the slaves back by force, isn’t he?”
“It certainly sounds that way.”
Belle hesitated. “That’s not right.”
“Right has little to do with it. It’s the law. The slaves are free. The world will change.”
“But it’s not right,” Belle said hesitantly.
“Right as in moral? Right as in mortals deciding who lives and who dies? No, I suppose it’s not. I never concerned myself much with the right or the wrong. Just the what is. And the war is over.”
Belle weighed her argument even if she didn’t realize that was the train of her thoughts. What could she say to make Reed see the law had nothing to do with it?
“Would he try to take Miss Beulah or Brother Freeman?”
Reed opened the front door of their house. “Don’t put anything past him.”
Belle sat down at the kitchen table across from Reed. “Would you let him?”
* * *
Reed stared out the window. He could not look at the worried face of his wife. “Don’t know if there’s anything I could do.”
“But you would try, Reed.”
Her voice, her eyes pleaded with him. Beulah had saved her life. Brother Freeman treated her as a fine gem. Hell, he was indebted as well. Who meant the most in the small world encompassing he and his new bride? Henry and Mary Ellen. His mother certainly. Belle. Reed scoffed and stabbed the rough wooden table with the knife still there from their breakfast. Beulah. May as well admit it to himself.
The black woman had charmed, challenged and forced a long overdue inner rage against himself and what he held to be true. She killed a man, her owner, escaped and recovered to force her frosty notions on any who would listen. He admired her. Against all odds Beulah focused on teaching an admirable goal to those with no resources other than their own sweat. She worked for Henry, stubbornly proper, if for no other reason than to set an example. Ah, hell, he liked her. “I will do anything I can.”
Reed spent most of the day in his office.
“I left my bag at the hotel. I’m going to fetch it,” Belle said after supper.
Reed lifted his head from his paperwork. “Get it tomorrow, Belle. It’s dark, and I don’t want you out alone.”
“The hotel’s only a few blocks. I’ve walked by myself many times. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“No.” Reed made his decree and turned his head to his papers. Belle dropped her scarf from her head and went to the kitchen.
When the back door slammed, Reed cursed.
“Get back in this house, Belle,” he called into the night air. No reply. Stubborn woman. What could possibly be so important in that bag for Belle to venture into this weather, let alone against his wishes? Millie jumped into his lap, and he unconsciously rubbed her ears. “What is the matter with your mistress?”
Reed checked the clock and calculated how long it would take Belle to get to the hotel and back. He was pulling on a coat, angry and afraid when the door blew open. “Damn it to hell, Belle. You had me worried sick. What in God’s name was so important …” His words trailed off when he saw huge, terrified eyes peeking out from behind Belle’s backside. Frightened brown eyes surrounded by brown skin. “Who’s that?”
The boy clung to Belle as she peeled the blanket from his back. “Don’t shout, Reed. He’s already scared.”
“Who is that?”
“Amos Black’s son.”
Belle would make a good attorney, he realized. She would divulge no more than forced. “Who is Amos Black, and why is his son here?”
“Amos is one of Brother Freeman’s congregation.”
Reed’s eyes closed. “Tell me, Belle. Now.”
Belle poured the boy a glass of milk, handed him a cookie and
led him into the sitting room. She spoke to Reed’s back when she entered the kitchen. “Some men took his father. He has no mother. Beulah was keeping him until he could be moved somewhere safe. But it’s too dangerous.”
“And what does this have to do with us?” Reed knew the answer to the question. He prayed he was wrong. He turned his chair to face her.
She stood silently. Hands clenched at her waist.
“Well?”
“He’s just a boy, Reed. A terrified boy.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
Belle fell to her knees before Reed. “No one will know. I’ll take care of him. You won’t even know he’s here.”
“I do not harbor criminals. Nor their sons. I am an officer of the court …”
“What could he have done, Reed? He’s a boy. Not a criminal.”
“I will not harbor runaways,” Reed shouted.
Belle whispered. “Runaway from who, Reed. Who has he run from? His father’s a free man.”
Reed scowled. The before world of slavery and the now world ante bellum overlapped in his head. A lifetime of certainties and habits warred with reality. “It’s not our place to interfere. Not our problem.”
Tears pooled in Belle’s eyes. “Was I Beulah or Brother Freeman’s or your problem?”
“Not the same, Belle.” Reed turned his chair. “Take him back.”
“What’s not the same? Because I’m not a Negro?” Belle whispered.
Reed wheeled around with a vengeance and shouted. “Of course, that’s why. He’s a Negro boy, Belle. In my house. Hiding. His father a slave ‘til two years ago.”
A trembling voice turned their heads. “My sons will be born freemen. My Pa said so.”
“True enough,” Reed began.
“His name’s Nathan.”
“True enough, Nathan.” Reed muttered. “But it still doesn’t solve this problem. You can’t stay here.”
The boy nodded. His eyes lit on Belle. “You tried, ma’am. Miss Beulah didn’t hold out much hope.”
Belle gripped his shoulders and spoke softly. “I’ll wrap us a bundle, Nathan. I know a place we can hide till … till your Pa comes or you go to Chicago.”
Reed grabbed Belle’s arm and yanked. “You’ll do no such thing.”
A brown blazing fury flew onto Reed. “Don’t you hurt her none. Miss Beulah says she’s fine lady …”
Reed held the boy, still kicking and trying to hit him, with tears pouring down his face. For Belle or maybe for all this small boy had seen. Reed didn’t know. Nor did he know how the spindly ragtag urchin, maybe an orphan, landed in his lap curled into a ball, heaving with sobs. Or why his hand came unbidden to the boy’s head. “I won’t hurt her. I’m angry, but I’ll never hurt her.”
Belle’s calm voice broke through the weeping. “He won’t hurt me, Nathan.” She met Reed’s eyes. “I’ll get some blankets, and we’ll go.”
A knock at the door and Buford’s booming voice from outside halted Reed and Belle.
“Into this room, Nathan. Keep quiet.” Reed wheeled to his office door and sent the boy in and pulled the door closed. “Calm, Belle. Calm.”
Belle ran her hands through her hair and went to the front door. “Lily, Buford. What brings you out this way tonight?”
“Had dinner with Henry and Mary Ellen. Just stopped by for a nightcap,” Buford said.
“Come in,” Belle said as she opened the door wide. “Would you like tea, Lily?”
Reed wheeled to the sink and reached low for the bottle of whiskey. Belle sat two glasses on the counter with two teacups. Their eyes caught. Opposing forces, yes, but allies in front of his father. Buford rattled on about getting home soon to Bristolwood. Reed wanted to repeat his advice to listen to Winston but held his tongue. A thump from the office brought all four heads around.
“Must be Millie, my cat,” Belle said.
“Cats are for the barnyard, Belle,” Buford intoned. “Never allowed one in my home.”
Reed shrugged, unwillingly to challenge his father. Finally after being subject to an hour of Buford’s advice, notions and will, Lily stood to leave. When the door closed behind them, Belle’s head fell forward.
Reed lifted her chin in his hands. “Don’t you see, Belle? This will be impossible.”
Belle hurried to Reed’s office. Nathan was asleep on the floor with his head resting on one of Reed’s open books. She felt Reed beside her. “He has no one. I know what that feels like.” She replaced the book with a pillow and covered him with a blanket. Belle turned to Reed and challenged. “He’s sound asleep.”
Reed levered himself in bed after another two fingers of whiskey. He reached for Belle. Her eyes flashed mutinously.
“Don’t.”
Reed lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. Belle didn’t want to make love to him, Miss Beulah didn’t hold out much hope for him and he had cradled and comforted a Negro boy. His serene married life had changed in the blink of an eye to a tempest brewing. Belle stood her ground and the boy defended her. I will not back down, Reed thought to himself. I’ve backed down all my life, bent to other’s will. Reed recalled his father’s words the night of the dinner party. You’ll never have the strength. And the shame those words brought him. Reed shook his head. How strong does a man have to be to defeat a woman defending a ten-year-old boy? Even from a wheel chair. His eyes closed at dawn.
The next morning Reed awoke to the smell of cinnamon. He had forgotten his houseguest until he went into the kitchen. There sat Nathan and Belle eating oatmeal covered with a thick crust of brown sugar and spices. She silently served Reed, cleared her and the boy’s dishes and opened a book. The two of them sat in silence, copying. He ate and watched as Belle corrected Nathan in a whisper, and the boy’s stern face wrinkled and inched closer to the paper, concentrating harder still.
Belle boiled water to wash dishes, Nathan stoked the stove and swept the floor without a word directed Reed’s way. Nathan ran the broom around Reed’s chair and looked up from the corner of his eye. Reed wheeled back from the table and the boy leaned down and brushed the dirt from where he had sat. The two of them cleaned harmoniously until Belle told Nathan to kneel on a chair while rolled out piecrusts. She handed Nathan a lump of dough and the boy stretched, pulled and shaped stick figures, his head tilting, quietly talking to himself. Belle shushed him and Nathan looked at Reed from under his brows.
“The boy can speak, Belle. You can as well. I’m not going to bite your heads off,” Reed said finally.
The room remained silent.
“This is silly, Belle. Speak. Someone,” Reed said.
Belle edged the piecrust with a thumb and forefinger.
Reed tapped the edge of the table and saw Nathan staring at him. “Cat got your tongue, too, or are you just following orders?”
Nathan’s eyes shifted from Belle to Reed. “Is that how you lost your legs, suh? Were you following orders?”
Belle laid her hand on Nathan’s shoulders. A quick shake of her head took Nathan’s attention to the now gray greasy dough ball.
“I fought for the Confederacy. What do you know about the war?” Reed asked.
The boy’s eyes lit up. “I know that Mr. Abraham Lincoln freed us colored folk. That he wrote a long paper about it.” Nathan glanced at Belle but could not be stopped. “That he loves all people the same like and that he got called from God to fight and free us.”
Reed harrumphed. Nathan dropped his head. Belle pulled the chair he knelt on to the sink and washed his hands and hers.
Nathan looked over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, suh.”
“What?” Reed asked.
Belle wiped Nathan’s mouth with the rag. “I’m sorry I brought it up. With you on the side apart from Mr. Lincoln.” Belle tried to shush him. “You’all thinks different from him.”
Reed drummed the table. “The war was about money, boy. And states’ rights versus federalism. Nothing else.”
Belle and Nathan exchanged glances.
Reed wheeled to his office. He stared out the long window. If he didn’t insist the boy leave now, Belle would have her way. Best get to it right now, he thought. Reed felt eyes upon him and turned.
“Come in here, boy.” Nathan inched in. Reed drummed his hands on his desk, trying to come up with a solution that did not involve him or his wife. Already involved, Reed harrumphed. I have a Negro boy standing in my office waiting for his future. Belle drew us into this mess with Beulah’s help certainly. Damn her. Damn Beulah. Damn the responsibility. Reed turned, anger now propelling him to coldness. But Nathan wasn’t facing him. Reed watched the boy trace a finger over the map of the U.S. hanging on the wall.
“What are states’ rights?”
Reed answered curtly. “The sovereign right of each state to govern as it and its representatives sees fit. Without interference or edicts from the federal government.”
“And that’s what caused the war?”
Reed blew a breath. “Yes, that and economics.”
Nathan’s finger outlined state after state. “Like not wanting nobody to tell you what to do. Little countries all to themselves.”
“Who taught you? Brother Freeman? Beulah?” Reed asked.
The slim shoulders shrugged. “Some. I listened to the grownups talking on the way here when they thought I was sleeping.”
Reed remembered himself and his brothers as they spied on the adults through the spindles of the staircase at Bristolwood as children. Nathan turned to him excitedly.
“This one lady, she had books everywhere. Her house was grand. I snuck in the book room after dark. It smelled good.”
“What books did she have?” Reed asked.
“Dunno. Couldn’t read then.”
“Miss Beulah and Brother Freeman taught you.”
The dark eyes turned suspicious. Nathan shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Where’s your mother, boy?”
“She died from coughing. Somewhere in Texas.” Nathan threw a glance over his shoulder to the map.
Reed wheeled over to him. “Do you remember the name of the town?”
“Liston.”
Reed pulled close and found the town on the map. “Here. Here’s Texas and here’s Liston.”
Nathan traced the state and settled his hand beside Reed’s. “We had to leave her.”
