by Jerri Hines
He avenged his wife’s death. In the end, Louis, Sarah, Peggy, and Sarah’s two small children died torturous deaths, along with twelve faithful slaves. So senseless. So tragic. For what? It gained nothing. Willy and the four other slaves had, too, lost their lives.
“I’m sorry you had to see this.” Mr. Whitney walked through the rubble to Jo’s side. “I knew there was nothing that was salvageable. I hadn’t the heart to break it to Grace Ann.”
“It needed to be done. There is no need for her to see any of this.” Jo spoke abstractedly in a low voice, looking out over the ruins. Silence followed.
Grief gripped her soul, encased in an overwhelming sadness. She had no more tears. Her tears had long dried, replaced with an endless void of her yesteryears.
“Spawn of Satan!” Mr. Whitney suddenly uttered under his breath, his face blank with consternation. “To lash out in such a rage! To kill innocents! It is this damn war!”
Jo made no response. She had known him as a kind and wise man. Strong in his silent manner. She had never seen this side of him. His rage scared her.
The fire’s haze still covered his heart. Mr. Whitney saw only insolent slaves: unfaithful, unreliable, and vicious. Though, she could not deny that even the slaves at Magnolia Bluff were acting differently, as if they sensed freedom on the horizon, but she could never imagine them taking such a violent act.
Common sense dictated that she couldn’t ignore that times had changed. Had not the massive defection of slaves in Beaufort shown that slaves were not as content with their situation as white plantation owners had proclaimed? The slaves had not only refused to join their owners and flee into the woods when the Yankees arrived—why, the Yanks themselves had to stop the looting and burning of their masters’ mansions! Then the question became would open defiance become commonplace or Heaven forbid, as it had here at Whitney Hall, insurrection?
Andrew assured her that would never happen at Magnolia Bluff, but she had begun to wonder whether the South hadn’t, in its own disregard of human life, brought down the wrath of God himself upon them.
“At times there is no reason, only the aftermath we have to find a way to survive,” Jo offered, emotionally exhausted herself. “When Wade died, I had no choice but to focus upon Percival and the new baby. Their welfare and future is now mine alone to ensure. I don’t have time for any other sentiment, especially one I have no control over. Perhaps, yours now should focus upon Grace Ann and her convalescing.”
Mr. Whitney scowled. “Are you questioning the care of my wife?”
“I believe you are hurting. So is she,” Jo asserted. “Grace Ann needs to heal and she can’t do so here. She spoke to me once about your plantation in North Carolina. Small. Quaint. A wonderful place to raise children.”
“Truth is, it has been a thought. At least, for a time until Whitney Hall can be rebuilt.” His hand rubbed across his mouth as he sighed. “Peter telegrammed he’s taking a leave and has already arranged for Peggy’s sister to take his children. Grace Ann wants to take Louis’s children as our own.”
“I know it is her wish. I’m sure she will make a wonderful mother. Percival adores her,” Jo said, fully aware that Grace Ann needed the children as much as the children needed her. “She hasn’t said so, but I believe she is hurt that Aunt Sybil hasn’t come.”
“And well Mrs. Haynes won’t,” Mr. Whitney said in a strangled voice. “Her father has seen to that. I’m not sure you’re aware that he disowned Grace Ann after I sided with the Montgomerys after you married Wade.”
“No…Grace Ann never mentioned it.” In silence, her eyes met his. There was an immediate understanding that Grace Ann, too, had paid a price. It was an upsetting thought.
“I’m certain it is not Mrs. Haynes’s doing,” Mr. Whitney said flatly. “Though, she sent a note. In it, she also informed Grace Ann that Buck had returned to the Groves.”
“Buck—home? I had not heard...” Her voice trailed off. An old fear sharpened. She had not thought of her cousins in such a long time. “Harry Lee?”
“I heard a rumor that Harry Lee is in a Yankee prison camp, as I heard that Buck deserted.”
Alarmed, Jo couldn’t ignore the unbridled fear that filled her. Stumbling over her words, she asked, “When…when did he return? Do…you…?”
“I’m unsure, but would imagine it has been a couple of months. I have already alerted Andrew to the situation and he assures me that he is keeping a close eye on Buck. I would not be overly worried. I doubt Buck would make a move without Harry Lee. Moreover, despite that Wade is no longer with us, the arrangements he made are still in place.”
She felt a chill up her spine, but also a sudden resolve that she would not be ruled by the fear her cousins inflicted by the mere mention of their names. She was a different person than she was before the war…unimaginable loss changes a person.
“You are not alone.” Mr. Whitney reached over and squeezed her hand. “Go now and please tell Mrs. Whitney I will return by dark.”
* * * *
The drive back to Camden weaved the carriage along a path of devastation. The row of whitewashed slave cabins was gone. The only evidence was the blackened spots on the ground.
As she looked out the window, she fought back melancholy as she studied the landscape. The sky darkened with the promise of rain. In her view, she noticed the split-rail fence broken and splintered; the slaves’ garden patches seemed to have been trampled. The livestock pens were emptied. Odd for five slaves to have caused such damage.
At the end of the lane, a temporary shelter had been built for the homeless slaves…the ones who had stayed. Most seemed to have taken flight.
Near the creek’s edge, the threatening clouds began to sputter raindrops. Suddenly, out of the woods, dogs ran wild on the trail of a scent. Barking madly, the pack swiftly crossed the water to the other side, followed closely by Johnnie Syms, Mr. Whitney’s overseer, on horseback.
The carriage slowed to allow the overseer to cross. He turned and tipped his hat in a polite manner. Then an abrupt screech erupted: a cry for help. At first, Jo thought she imagined it, but another shriek, a gut-wrenching scream…from a child.
“Stop! Stop!” Jo pounded her hand frantically on top of the carriage over and over until the carriage halted.
Swinging back the door, she stepped out. Her eyes caught movement in the woods. Looking back over her shoulder, she called to the driver, “Don’t sit there. There is a child out there!”
The old black man shook his head. “No, ma’am. Master says to getca back to town. Ya best get back in.”
In front of her, Syms turned back to her. “Malcolm’s right, Mrs. Montgomery. It’s not safe for ya to go into these woods. Still rounding up the niggers who helped ole Willy.”
Her heart pounded, but another cry pulled her out of the cloud of fear for herself. “Mr. Whitney would not allow me to go back alone if he was concerned about my safety…that is a child!”
Not waiting for an answer, she rushed by Syms and through the shallow water across the creek. The dogs’ bark heightened as if they had trapped their prey. Climbing up the muddy bank, she tripped, but it served only to deter her momentarily. Ignoring her scratched, stinging hands, she made her way through the briars and bushes.
Abruptly, she halted. “Oh, my God!”
Riding up beside her, Syms said, “Mrs. Montgomery, I tole ya it would be best if ya returned to the carriage. I’ll take care of this.”
Shaking her head in disbelief, she steadfastly refused. “Call them off! Call them off now!”
“Mrs. Montgomery…”
Breathing hard, she shouted, “Now! This is atrocious! If you are a Christian man, call the dogs off the boy!”
His color was high; his face contorted. With the greatest reluctance, he whistled. The dogs’ barking ceased. Behind him, four blacks ran up and grabbed the hounds.
Deeply disturbed, Jo ran forward toward the frightened child. The small, light-skinned child looked up
at her. Good Gracious! He couldn’t be any more than five or six! His terror-filled eyes widened as he recoiled from her touch. He wore only tattered pants and no shoes. Despite being covered in dirt and mud, she saw clearly his chest and arms were covered in bruises and wounds.
Jo wanted to wrap her arms about him and comfort him, but he had soiled himself badly. Instead, she offered him her hand. “Come with me. Trust me. No one is going to hurt you.”
He said nothing, but the whole of his body trembled.
Turning, she shooed the dogs and men back with her hand. “Be gone. Obviously, he’s not the one you are looking for…” As she looked into their faces, her words faded. “Surely not.”
Syms dismounted and walked toward the boy. “I told ya, ma’am. It’s best you go back to town and leave him to us.”
She looked at him, and then back at the child. “I’m not going anywhere, not until you tell me what in Heaven’s name is going on.”
“His momma is the one who caused the whole revolt. Killed herself and babies. Got ole Willy all worked up. Can’t have the likes of ’em around.”
Aghast, she whispered, “He’s a child.”
“His daddy was sick in the soul. Ain’t no cure for that. Ya look at the youngin’ ’em eyes. He’ll grow up and slit your throat...”
Interrupting him, she declared, “Don’t you take that tone with me! I will tell Mr. Whitney what I have seen and he will deal with the likes of you.”
He laughed, a coarse, hard laugh. “Ma’am, who do ya think gave me my orders?”
Her face fell; she felt nauseated. Oh, God in Heaven! That despicable man was lying. He had to be, but he would not shut up.
“The master retaliated against these niggers for the deaths they caused. Went on a rampage. Don’t think ’em burnt down ’em own homes and trampled their own gardens. Wants anyone associated with ole Willy execu…punished. They hid that one…until ’em stupid niggers figured out that Tome boy would be the death of ’em. That he was a spawn of that she-devil. Began throwing rocks at the boy to keep him away. Ain’t even wanted by his own kind.”
As she looked down at the boy, he raised his head. His frightened eyes shone back at her. Oh, good Lord, she saw Gillie reflecting in them.
She straightened her shoulders back and held out her hand for the boy, giving him no choice but to take it. She whirled around and stared at the sadistic face of the white man. “I don’t believe a word of what you said and if you think I’m leaving this child with you, you are sadly mistaken. If it is as you said, you can tell Mr. Whitney I have the boy. But I can assure you of one thing—nothing…nothing is happening to this child.”
She made her way through the men and dogs, holding tight to the boy’s hand, almost dragging him along. They did not stop until they reached the carriage and rode back to town.
* * * *
The morning after the incident, Jo had not left her suite at the Camden Inn, where she had sought refuge to think. She realized she could not leave things as they were, but Andrew had urged caution. After breakfast…after breakfast, I will go see Grace Ann and explain myself.
She had only eaten two bites of her eggs when she sensed an intrusion to her peace. When she looked up, she found Mr. Whitney in the center of the room. He barely glanced at her and appeared annoyed.
Pulling out a chair from the table, he sat and placed his hat down in front of him. She need not be told she was about to be admonished for her behavior the previous day. Suddenly, she felt like a young girl who had ripped and dirtied her good dress before church.
“Would you like for me to send for another plate?”
“No, it is not necessary. Are you finished? I would like to take a small stroll in the garden with you.”
Something in his expression told her that she had no choice. Something she had never seen before in him, something ruthless.
“I have only to inform Rosa to care for Madeline.”
Mr. Whitney waited impatiently, twisting his hat in his hand. When she returned, he accompanied her to a bench in the inn’s dormant garden. A chill wind blew, but he made no effort to see to her comfort.
“I understand that you witnessed an unfortunate occurrence.”
“I would say more of a disturbing sight, Mr. Whitney…one that I could not ignore.”
Acknowledgment of that fact registered in his face, but his expression did not soften. “It would have been for the best if you had. You had no right to take the boy.”
Her soulful eyes widened with shock. She wasn’t certain she heard him correctly. “I did what I thought right, Mr. Whitney. You were not there and did not see what occurred. I’m not certain that Mr. Syms has been truthful with you. He…was chasing…the boy with dogs! The poor thing was covered in filth. Battered and…”
“That’s enough, Josephine. I will deal with the matter. Now please turn the boy back over to me and we will forget this nasty business ever occurred.”
“He is ill,” Jo began.
“Let me remind you, he is not your concern. Don’t believe because of our connection, I will turn my back on your actions. This matter needs to be dealt with promptly.”
She looked at him and saw his severe countenance. His dark eyes narrowed. Slowly, she comprehended he did not care about her explanation, only a twisted revenge.
“Explain it to me then, Mr. Whitney, because for the life of me you have me at a loss. This is a five-year-old boy…”
“A slave…that nigger’s boy…she destroyed my family. Killed my boy…my grandchildren.”
A bilious sensation churned in her stomach. The words she had conjured to salve his anger suddenly struck her as useless. He was blinded by a merciless rage against anything and everything connected to the rebellion.
“Sir, I can’t believe my ears. Surely, you are not suggesting holding the actions of others against a young lad.” She took a deep breath in before her fragile courage wavered. “A lad who is obviously your grandson. You know this as well as I. Grace Ann told me herself on my prior visit. One look and it is obvious. Isn’t it the reason why Willy…”
Abruptly, she realized her mistake.
Rigid in his seat, he said, “Watch your mouth, young lady. After all I have done for you, show me the respect I deserve.”
“Mr. Whitney, I have always admired and respected you...why, I love you for all you have done for me...but this...this I can’t accept. I won’t.”
“It is not for you to decide. Despite those damn Yankees’ proclamation, my slaves aren’t free. Don’t make me go to the authorities.”
“Would you? Is that why you are here? I know it couldn’t possibly be the boy. He is only a means to expel the anger and frustration you are feeling at the moment.” Confidence in her voice contrasted her trembling hands. She gripped them tightly, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “You are lashing out your frustration…when your family needs you the most…”
Mr. Whitney seethed. “You have no right to assume you know me. Moreover, you have no right to talk of my family.”
“Why, because I am only your bastard granddaughter?”
“My mistake was to have informed you of that fact,” he said coolly, rising to his feet. “I will be back this evening. I will expect you to hand over the boy then.”
A chill swept through Jo as she watched him walk away. Burning with indignation, she waited only until he was out of sight. Racing back up the stairs, she burst back into her suite.
“Rosa, send for Dr. Andrew.”
* * * *
Josephine found her cousin in the nursery, rocking Peggy’s youngest. No more than a few weeks old, the baby slept soundly in the afternoon’s repose. Grace Ann glanced over at Jo, and then returned her gaze to the sleeping child.
“Dearest, whatever have you gone and done to cause Mr. Whitney’s terrible mood?”
“I fear I have unintentionally offended him,” Jo said, overcome with an overwhelming sadness. A silent tear streamed down her cheek.
“You wil
l apologize, won’t you? I know he has been a brute as of late, but it is quite understandable. Such a tragedy. I worry so about him.”
“And I worry about you.”
“There is no need,” Grace Ann assured her in a soft voice, as if not to wake the baby.
Staring at Grace Ann, memories assaulted Jo, old ones…good and bad. Pushing back the emotions that threatened to overpower her, she leaned down and kissed her cousin’s cheek. Grace Ann reached up and squeezed her hand.
Jo eased out of the room, descended the stairs and out of the house. Hurrying down the steps into the waiting carriage, she reached over and took her daughter from Rosa. Across from her, Andrew sat with the little boy lying across his lap.
“You said your good-byes?” Andrew asked.
Nodding, Jo could find no words. She wanted only to get back to Magnolia Bluff as quickly as possible. She would not be returning.
Chapter Four
Josephine walked onto the porch of the old cabin and paused before she entered. The sun waned, giving way to a still darkness. Lantern light shone under the crack of the door and smoke climbed the chimney. Miss Hazel had kept her word. She had come.
Not bothering to knock, she eased open the door. A slight smile formed on her lips at the sight before her—the small scared boy snuggled into the crouch of the old black woman’s arms in the creaky rocking chair. Her dry, wrinkled hand caressed the small face.
His faint smile whisked her back to the day she had first seen Tome on the Whitneys’ lawn, an innocent young boy loyally waiting by his friend until her mother came for her. She wondered whether his innocence was lost forever.
“Come in, child. Don’t dawdle.”
“You are quite right. We don’t have much time.” Jo shut the door behind her. “Andrew is giving Mr. Syms a tour of the grounds as we speak. We tried to hold him back until morning, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”
The Montgomerys’ offer to pay for the boy had been refused. Instead, Mr. Whitney had sent his overseer to Magnolia Bluff to ensure the boy’s return.
