Ransom of Love

by Al Lacy

  “Who is Saul of Tarsus?” Martha asked.

  “He’s the man who became the apostle Paul. You see, Saul of Tarsus had a burning hatred toward the Lord Jesus Christ and against Christians. He led others who felt as he did in putting Christians to death. He is quoted in the book of Acts as saying that he was a killer of God’s people. But when he became a Christian, he did a complete turnaround and became one of the mightiest preachers this world has ever seen. It took the hand of the Lord to give him a new heart and a new outlook, just as it does for all of us sinners.”

  “That’s right,” Earline said. “If your husband and your sons would let the Lord save them, He would also change them like He did Saul of Tarsus.”

  “And the rest of us, too,” said Catherine. “All of us are not like Finn and your sons, but we are guilty sinners before a holy God, and we need our wicked hearts cleansed and made new through the blood of Christ. This can only come when we are willing to admit we’re depraved hell-deserving sinners in need of salvation, and we ask the Lord Jesus to save us.”

  Martha nodded. “You’ve talked to me about this several times before.”

  “Have you given it more thought, honey?” Evelyn asked.

  “Yes, I have. But there is a problem. I … I just can’t do it.”

  “Don’t you want to be saved?”

  Martha took a deep, shuddering breath. “Evelyn, I’m afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of Finn. I’m afraid of what he would do if I became a Christian.”

  “I understand your fear, honey,” said Evelyn, “but if you die lost, you will spend eternity in hell. You mustn’t let your fear of Finn’s reaction keep you from being saved.”

  “That’s right,” said Catherine, “Proverbs 29:25 says, ‘The fear of man bringeth a snare.’ Martha, please don’t let the devil snare you into hell by using your fear of Finn to keep you from the Lord.”

  Martha passed a shaky hand over her face. “I … I’ll seriously consider what you two are telling me.”

  “You do that, honey,” said Evelyn. “And don’t put it off.”

  “Martha,” Catherine said, “I know my family will want to attend the burial service. We met both Nathaniel and Matilda when you had them working around the house serving guests.”

  “Yes,” said Evelyn. “Will you let us know when the service will be held, so we can come too?”

  “I certainly will. And I appreciate your willingness to come.”

  “I’m sure other neighbors who knew Nathaniel will want to attend too,” said Catherine.

  “I’ll see that all the neighbors are advised,” Martha said, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I feel so terrible about this. I’m so ashamed of the way Finn and my sons treat our slaves. Not only are they overworked and underfed, but they have to live in broken-down huts.”

  “I don’t want to be overbearing about this, honey,” said Catherine, “but one reason there’s a difference in the way we treat our slaves is because we’re Christians. We give them Sundays off to attend church services morning and evening on the plantation grounds, and they’re only worked ten hours a day the rest of the week.”

  Martha nodded. “Finn allows our slaves to hold their church services only because all the plantation owners do it, but they pay for it during the rest of the week by working twelve hours a day to make up for not working on Sunday.”

  Silence followed Martha’s words, and Catherine said, “Well, ladies, let’s call the girls down from Angeline’s room and have some coffee together.”

  When everyone was seated around the beautiful marble-topped table in the center of the sitting room, Daisy carried in an ornate silver coffee server. She placed it on the table along with a silver tray of sweet delicacies.

  Catherine poured the steaming, pungent brew and handed the cups and saucers around, inviting her guests to help themselves to the sweets. The women settled back into their comfortable chairs and talked of happier things.

  Angeline and Priscilla listened quietly as they had been taught to do. Dorena sat next to her mistress and listened to the ladies talk. From time to time, she found Priscilla’s eye and gave her a smile.

  Martha spoke periodically, but most of the time, what the other ladies were saying seemed to be coming from a distance. Her thoughts were on Nathaniel’s death. A deep horror filled her heart. She knew there had been times when one of the overseers had beaten a slave to death, but most of the time, it was Finn, George, or Edward.

  She prayed it was one of the overseers this time.

  When Martha Colvin returned home late that afternoon, Mammy was at the door to meet her. “Did you have a nice day, ma’am?”

  “Yes, I did.” Martha removed her hat and handed it and her parasol to Mammy. “Is Master Finn in the house?”

  “Yes’m. He’s in the library.”

  Martha thanked her and made her way down the long, broad hallway to the library. She found the door closed but tapped on it, saying, “Finn, are you in there?”

  “Yes,” came the response.

  When Martha stepped inside, she saw her husband sitting at his large Mediterranean-style desk. She closed the door behind her and crossed the room to stand before him.

  Finn looked up from the paperwork spread before him and gave her a tight smile. “Have an enjoyable day?”

  “I did until I found out that Nathaniel died this morning.”

  “Oh. Mammy tell you?”

  “No. Catherine did. She heard from a couple of our slaves who were working on the fence by the gate.”

  Finn’s face hardened. “Who were they? Did they give her any details?”

  “No. Only that Nathaniel had died. It was Henry and Trevor. Apparently Catherine and Dan stopped to talk to them because they saw them weeping.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Martha’s delicate features paled slightly and her throat tightened as she said, “What happened?”

  Finn eased back in his chair and squared his jaw. “Nathaniel became very insubordinate this morning. Instead of showing up at the field where he and Matilda were to work, he stayed at the shack. When George went to see him, he was doing the wash. George told him to get to the field, but he refused, saying he had a stomachache.”

  “Well, if he said he had a stomachache, he most certainly did,” said Martha. “Nathaniel wouldn’t lie about it.”

  “Well, he did lie! If he could do the wash, he could work in the field!”

  “So he was beaten for it, I assume?” said Martha.

  “He was. I administered the punishment myself, inside one of the barns. None of the slaves saw it.”

  Martha’s eyes misted and her lower lip trembled. “Did you have to beat him to death?”

  Finn bristled and stood up. “He tried to resist me while I was lashing him, Martha! He had it coming! No more questions.”

  Martha turned silently and left the room. She wiped tears as she climbed the broad, curving staircase. Mammy was at the top of the stairs, waiting for her. Frowning, she said, “Are you all right, Miz Martha?”

  “I just want to be alone,” Martha said, choking on her tears. “Thank you.”

  Martha was sniffling as she entered her room that she had not shared with Finn for over ten years. Her head was pounding, and her heart was sore as she stepped to a small table near the dresser.

  With shaking hand, she poured water from the pitcher into the wash bowl. Using a soft cloth, she began washing her face, wishing she could wash the filth of her fragmented world away as easily.

  After dabbing at her face with a towel, she went to the comfortable lounge by the window and looked down into the yard. She saw a trio of sad-faced male slaves working in one of the flower gardens. All of the slaves loved Nathaniel, and they would mourn his death for a long time to come.

  Martha lowered herself slowly onto the lounge and leaned her head back, closing her troubled eyes. Her mind immediately returned to the conversation that afternoon when her friends had spoken about sal
vation and Catherine had quoted the Scripture from Proverbs about the fear of man. As she mulled it over in her mind, the picture of Finn’s angry face flashed before her. She shuddered and turned her thoughts to other things.

  IT WAS MIDMORNING ON the second day after Nathaniel’s death. At the Charles Moore mansion, lovely Dorena left her small room on the second floor and tapped on the door next to hers.

  “That you, Dorena?” came Priscilla Moore’s soft voice.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Come in.”

  Priscilla was seated on her bed, clad in a black dress. She was bent over, tying the laces of her black shoes. She looked up to see Dorena in her Sunday-best checked gingham dress.

  “You look very nice, Dorena.”

  “Thank you, Miss Priscilla.”

  “You look more than very nice.”

  Priscilla pulled the bowknot tight on her shoe and left the bed, taking hold of Dorena’s shoulders. Keeping her voice low, she said, “I’ve told you … when we’re alone you don’t have to put the ‘Miss’ in front of my name. We’re best friends, aren’t we?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Dorena, her eyes shining.

  Priscilla embraced her and whispered into her ear, “Then best friends call each other by their first names. I call you Dorena, and when no one else is around, you just call me Priscilla.”

  Dorena kissed her mistress’s cheek and said, “I love you, Priscilla.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Should I take my Bible to the burial service?”

  “No, honey. Ol’ Mose will have his Bible when he preaches, but this isn’t like church services.”

  Doreria nodded. “I just didn’t want to—”

  Her words were cut off by the booming voice of Lewis Moore thundering down the hall. They couldn’t tell for sure what he was saying, but his tone was sharp and filled with anger.

  Priscilla crossed the room and opened the door. Dorena eased up beside her. They saw Charles and Evelyn Moore standing at their son’s door. Lewis was partially visible as he said, “I’m amazed that you would even ask me! No! I am not going to that stupid burial service! I hate those black beasts, and I wouldn’t waste my time watching one of them buried!”

  Priscilla felt Dorena stiffen. She put an arm around her and whispered, “Don’t pay any attention to Lewis, honey. You know how the rest of this family feels about Negroes.”

  Dorena nodded as they heard Charles say, “Son, it is more for the Colvins’ sake that we’d like to have our whole family there. We’ve been trying to win their confidence so we can get them to come to church and—”

  “So why should I be there, Dad? If you ever get the Colvins to church—which I seriously doubt—they won’t see me taking up space on a pew!”

  Evelyn broke the silence by saying, “Lewis, you’re a part of this family. You know how it hurts us that you won’t go to church with us. But couldn’t you at least give in a little and come with us to the burial service? Is that asking too much?”

  “Yes, it is, Mother. This conversation has become a bore. You two go on and watch them drop that slave’s corpse in the ground if you want to, but I’ve got better things to do.”

  Charles’s voice was tight as he said, “You watch your mouth, young man. You have no right to talk to your mother like that. You apologize to her right now!”

  There was a brief pause, then Lewis said, “I’m sorry, Mother. Can I go back in my room now?”

  Charles said something the girls couldn’t make out, then they heard Lewis’s door close.

  “Come on, Dorena,” Priscilla said. “I’m sure Mother and Daddy are ready to go.”

  When the girls stepped into the hall, they saw Charles and Evelyn heading toward the winding staircase. Dorena’s mother, Liza, met them at the top of the stairs, and Evelyn said to her, “Will you go tell Priscilla and Dorena we’re ready to go, please, Liza?”

  “Yes’m.” She took only a couple of steps, then said, “They’s comin’, now, Miz Evelyn.”

  Both Charles and Evelyn turned to watch the girls. When they drew up, Charles said, “Liza, did you hear Lewis’s comment about Negroes?”

  “No, suh.”

  “Good.”

  “Dorena did, Daddy.” Priscilla touched the blond curls that dangled over her ear.

  Charles’s brow furrowed as he looked at Dorena and said, “I’m sorry, dear. Lewis sometimes uses his mouth before he engages his brain. You know he doesn’t speak for the rest of this family.”

  “Yes, sir. I do know that.” As she spoke, Dorena put an arm around her mother. “My parents know that, too, Master Charles.”

  Liza set soft eyes on Charles and Evelyn. “You have been so good to us. My Caleb says almos’ every day how good Massa Charles and Miz Evelyn have been to us. We’s sorry that Massa Lewis feels toward us black folks like he does.”

  “Maybe someday he will see how wrong he is,” Priscilla said.

  Charles gusted a sigh. “We’d best be going, ladies, or we’ll be late for the burial service.”

  Dan Johnson guided the family carriage into the lane of the Addington plantation and headed for the large brick mansion nestled in a grove of pines. Douglas and Jane Addington were the newest plantation owners in the area and had expressed to the Johnsons and the Moores that they would like to attend the burial service for Nathaniel.

  Alexander, who rode in the front seat between his father and his big brother, said, “Pa, do Mr. and Mrs. Addington know that Nathaniel was beaten to death by Finn Colvin?”

  “I don’t know, son. Probably,” Zack said. “Most everyone has learned of it like we did.”

  “You mean when George Colvin told it yesterday in town when he was drunk?”

  “Yes. But now that George has sobered up, he would just say he was drunk and didn’t know what he was saying. There’s no proof that Finn did it.”

  “And even if somebody had proof,” put in Dan, “everybody around here knows it wouldn’t do any good to go to the law about it. Finn has the sheriff and the constables in his hip pocket.”

  “Sad, but true,” Catherine said.

  Angeline spoke up. “Daddy, do you know what the Colvins are telling people about the cause of Nathaniel’s death?”

  “Well, honey, Martha is totally mum about it, as she was to us and the Moores when she let us know when the burial service would be held. But from what I’ve picked up, Finn and his sons are telling people that Nathaniel had sudden pains in his stomach. After a few minutes of agony, he died.”

  “That’s awful,” said Angeline. “And, of course, the slaves are afraid to tell anybody.”

  “That’s right. If they did, they would suffer severely for it.”

  Dan shook his head. “Something’s got to be done, Pa.”

  “I don’t know what that would be, son.”

  “But Finn and his no-good sons shouldn’t be able to get away with this kind of thing!”

  “I agree. But I don’t know what we can do about it.”

  “All we can do is let God handle it,” Catherine said.

  As the carriage drew near the mansion, the Addingtons were waiting on the porch. Douglas was in conversation with two of his male slaves. Jane Addington smiled at the Johnsons and gave a tiny wave.

  Moments later, when the Addingtons were settled in the carriage, Dan put the horses to a trot as they headed back to the road. Douglas and Jane rode in the back, facing Catherine and Angeline.

  Douglas spoke up so all could hear. “We’ve been told by some folks at church about this dear old preacher on the Colvin plantation called Ol’ Mose. They say he’ll be doing the service today.”

  “He sure will,” Zack said.

  “They say that in spite of his age, he can still put out a good sermon.”

  “That he can,” said Dan, guiding the carriage up the winding lane. “We’ve heard him preach burial services on several occasions. If he does that well in the slaves’ church services, I know they’re hearing good preaching.�
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  “Do you know how old he is?” Jane asked.

  “He turned ninety-one last December,” said Catherine. “Ol’ Mose’s birthday is on Christmas Day.”

  Douglas gasped in surprise. “Ninety-one! Bless his heart.”

  “He’s getting somewhat feeble,” Zack said, “but he will preach till he simply can’t stand up.”

  “And then he will probably try to do it sitting down, Daddy,” said Angeline.

  Zack chuckled. “That wouldn’t surprise me, honey.”

  “I assume his name is actually Moses?” Douglas said.

  Catherine nodded. “Mm-hmm. But I guess he’s been called ‘Mose’ since he was a child. And, of course, the last forty years or so, it’s been Ol’ Mose.”

  “With a Bible name like Moses,” Jane said, “he must have been born here in the South.”

  “You would think so, but he was born in West Africa.”

  “Well, there must have been some kind of Christian influence that would cause his parents to give him a Bible name.”

  “There was,” Catherine replied. “British missionaries went into that part of West Africa about 110 years ago. From what Ol’ Mose has told us, the chief of his tribe was led to the Lord by the missionaries, and hundreds in the tribe eventually were saved, including Mose’s parents. Because of the British influence in the tribe, they were taught about the calendar, and this is why Mose’s parents knew he was born on Christmas day.

  “Mose was saved as a child and educated by the British missionaries. He can read and write English as well as anybody. When he grew up, he married a young lady in the tribe named Jasmine. Mose and Jasmine were captured by white slave traders in 1834 and brought here. They were sold to Finn Colvin, who had his plantation running well by that time and was adding slaves. Jasmine died, I believe, about fifteen years ago. That dear old man has been the preacher on the plantation ever since he first arrived and he has led a great number of the Colvin slaves to the Lord over the years.”

  When the few local plantation neighbors had gathered with the Colvin family on one side of the open grave, all the Colvin slaves gathered on the opposite side. Two elderly slave women stood beside the young widow, Matilda, whose features showed the anguish of mind and heart she had suffered since her husband’s death.