by Al Lacy
“So we can see each other then.”
“Yes. And when the Lord brings His chosen young man into your life, you will marry him and be very happy. Of course, that young man will have to be a slave here on our plantation, and you will live in one of the cabins.”
“As long as it is on this plantation, I will be happy,” Dorena said. “Even if your brother does hate me.”
“Forget him, honey. Just think about the future and the happy life the Lord has planned for you with the man He has picked for you.”
Dorena smiled. “Isn’t it wonderful to know that as God’s children, He does plan our lives?”
“It sure is,” said Priscilla with a soft sigh.
Both girls grew quiet, and a faraway look captured their eyes as they thought about their futures. After a few minutes, Priscilla took hold of Dorena’s hand.
“Even though we both know that we will be separated by our cultures, and maybe by miles … let us both vow in our hearts that we will always have our special friendship.”
“Oh yes,” Dorena said. “Always.”
“Always,” Priscilla echoed. “Because we are true friends, time and circumstance cannot change our love for each other.”
“Never,” Dorena said softly.
Priscilla squeezed her best friend’s hand. “Never.”
There was silence between them for another brief moment, then Priscilla said, “I’ve thought about it a lot. The Lord will probably bring His chosen young man to me by putting him in our church.”
“I would think so,” said Dorena. “And the only way I can see the Lord bring His chosen young man for me into my life is for your father to purchase him as a slave.”
Priscilla smiled. “Unless he’s already here.”
Dorena shook her head. “Not from what I have to choose from at the moment. As you know, there are some boys my age, but only a few are Christians, and even then, they don’t interest me. They’re nice boys, but …”
“But not husband material?”
“For sure.”
“Well, then, the Lord will have to guide my father in his slave purchases and put that right young man on his heart. And He can certainly do that.”
“I know He can,” said Dorena, her eyes shining.
“Oh, honey! It will be wonderful to watch the Lord work in His marvelous way to accomplish His will in both of our lives.”
“Yes, it will. Dear Priscilla, I’m so glad you brought me to Jesus!”
“I’m glad I had that privilege,” Priscilla said. She rose from her chair and Dorena stood up too.
As the girls embraced, Priscilla said, “We’ll make every minute count before we grow up and get married.”
It was a bright, sunny Sunday in Charleston as the church services let out and the people emerged from the white frame building. They were rejoicing in the good number of people who walked the aisles to open their hearts to Jesus.
Charles Moore and Zack Johnson stood together talking, squinting against the harsh rays of the sun. Both Evelyn and Catherine held their lacy parasols to block the sun from their faces.
Zack Johnson noticed a middle-aged couple come out the door. He waved to them. To the Moores, he said, “Charles and Evelyn … have you met Darrell and Roberta Brown? They’re new in town.”
“We were in the line that greeted them when they joined the church a couple of weeks ago,” Charles said, “but other than that, we haven’t gotten to know them.”
Zack motioned to the Browns. When they stepped up, he formally introduced them to the Moores, explaining to Charles and Evelyn that the Browns had moved to Charleston from way up in Maine and were New Englanders by birth. They now owned and operated the Main Street Clothiers in downtown Charleston.
After a few comments about the contrast between Maine and South Carolina, the Moores excused themselves and headed for their carriage.
“Nice folks,” said Darrell Brown, watching Charles and Evelyn walk away.
“The best,” Zack said.
Catherine ran her gaze over their faces and said, “Darrell, Roberta, our cook has plenty of food on the stove at home. Would you honor us by having Sunday dinner with us?”
“We’d be delighted!” Darrell said. “We’ve never been on a plantation before. They don’t have them in Maine.”
The Johnsons laughed.
“We would love to see your plantation,” said Roberta.
“Tell you what,” Catherine said. “After dinner we can sit out on our shaded back porch and maybe catch a stray breeze.”
Roberta chuckled. “That will be better than being cooped up in our living quarters above the store!”
“Right, Mama,” Darrell said. Then to the Johnsons he said, “We’ll follow in our carriage.”
When they reached the parking lot, the Browns saw Dan, Angeline, and Alexander waiting in the Johnson carriage. Dan was already in the driver’s seat.
The Browns invited Angeline and Alexander to ride with them, then both vehicles pulled out of the parking lot with the Johnson carriage in the lead.
WHEN THE TWO CARRIAGES ROLLED TO A HALT on the back side of the Johnson mansion, the slave church had just let out. The slaves, in small groups, passed by from the enclosed pavilion where they held their services. When Zack Johnson saw the last group, he smiled and waved at them, calling out, “Zebulun! Come over here and bring the others.”
As the older man led the rest of the group toward the two carriages, Zack got out and said to the Browns, “Zebulun is the preacher of our slave people. I want you to meet him and the others with him.”
The Johnsons and the Browns were out of the carriages as the group of black people drew up. “Yassuh, Massa Zack?” said the silver-haired man who was in his late seventies.
“Zebulun, I want our new friends to meet you. They are Christians and new members of our church.”
While the introductions were being made, Zebulun noticed a quizzical look on the Browns’ faces.
Smiling at them, Zebulun said, “Mr. and Mrs. Brown, you look amazed that Massa Zack would care to have you meet some of his slaves. Am I right?”
Darrell’s features crimsoned. “Well … ah … yes, Zebulun. We’ve always heard that slave owners treat their slaves as exactly that … slaves. But I can assure you that both Mrs. Brown and I are delighted to see the Johnsons care enough for you to introduce you to their friends. We expected that as Christians they would be kind to you, but this goes beyond that.”
Tears filled Zebulun’s eyes as he said, “Mr. Brown, Massa Zack and his family are fine Christians and always deal with us slaves in a Christlike spirit. One thing we appreciate so much is that Massa Zack uses the Task System with us.”
“That’s right, Zeb,” spoke up one of the slave men in the group. “Lots of the plantation owners don’t use it, but we are so glad he does.” He turned to Zack and said, “Thank you, Massa Zack, fo’ bein’ so kind to us.”
Zack grinned. “Oswald, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I want all of you to have some time to rest and to have as much happiness as possible in your lives.”
Speaking for the rest of the group, Zebulun told the Browns it was a pleasure to meet them; then he led the other slaves away.
Darrell turned to Zack. “What is the Task System?”
“I’ll explain it to you while we eat dinner.”
Upon entering the mansion, Catherine and Angeline left the men in the sitting room and showed Roberta to a small powder room on the ground floor where she could remove her hat and freshen up.
While Roberta used the water to wash road dust from her face, Catherine left Angeline with her, saying she would let Samantha and the servants know they needed two more places set at the dining room table.
When Catherine returned to the powder room, and both she and Angeline had freshened up, the three women returned to the sitting room.
“All right, everybody,” Catherine said. “The cook tells me she will have the meal on the table by the time we get there.”
&
nbsp; Catherine led her family and guests down the hall and into the lovely, well-appointed dining room. The long windows were open, and a cool draft floated through the room, fluttering the lace curtains. A white damask cloth covered the spacious table set with blue willow china and a large bouquet of fragrant roses in the center.
Mouthwatering aromas drifted from the sideboard as the servants stood ready to serve the meal.
Roberta Brown’s eyes grew wide as she took in the loveliness of the room. In her heart, she was not at all envious. She was thankful for the way the Lord had blessed Darrell and herself in the clothing business, but she did stand amazed at the opulence that surrounded her in the Johnson home. She smiled in appreciation and said, “Catherine, you have a beautiful home.”
“Thank you, dear,” Catherine said, placing an arm around her shoulder. “The Lord has blessed us beyond our fondest dreams.”
When everyone was seated, Zack asked Dan to give their prayer of thanks for the food. When the prayer had been offered, the servants were quick to see that the Browns were served first.
As the Johnsons and their guests began eating, Darrell Brown said, “I want that Task System explained, Zack; but first let me say that I am so pleased to learn that all slave owners do not mistreat their slaves. Up North, that’s the impression everybody has. I couldn’t picture Christian plantation owners being that way, but what you’ve shown me is better than anything I could even imagine. I commend you for it.”
Zack set his fork down. “Darrell, I can’t understand how any plantation owner could be mean and brutal to his slaves, but many of them are. I could tell you and Roberta some awful stories about slave mistreatment in this Charleston area, but it would ruin your dinner.”
“That’s for sure, Daddy,” Angeline said.
Darrell smiled at the girl, then looked at Zack and said, “Now … tell me about this Task System.”
“It’s fairly new, Darrell. About five years ago, a slave owner in Mississippi named Stephen Walsh became concerned about the way slaves all over the South were being worked so hard that great numbers of them were dying from exhaustion. Many of the plantation owners work their slaves fifteen, sixteen hours a day.”
“Mercy!” Roberta said, her eyes wide.
“That’s especially bad in the heat of the summer,” put in Dan.
Zack nodded. “Stephen Walsh had seen enough of this horror, and it stirred him to do something about it. He was also upset that slaves were being robbed of their dignity, and like all human beings, needed something in life other than hard labor.”
“Well, God bless him,” Roberta said.
Zack smiled at her. “Amen. Of course Walsh couldn’t force the Task System upon the plantation owners, but when he came up with it, he asked all slave owners to give it serious consideration and to subscribe to the system for the sake of their slaves. The system provides a decent life for them. It regulates the amount of labor each slave is assigned. A task is a specific measure of work that can be reasonably completed in a ten-hour day. And this means reasonable according to their age and whether they are male or female.”
He took a sip of hot coffee, then went on. “After the ‘task’ is finished, the slave has the rest of the day off. If he or she chooses to do additional work that day, he or she is paid for it.”
“I’ve never heard of this!” Darrell said
“Like I said, it’s only been around for five years. But this income, no matter how small, provides a way for the slaves to have some dignity and to have a bit of comfort in their lives.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Darrell.
“You should point out, darling,” Catherine said, “that you were almost using the principles of the Task System before Stephen Walsh came up with it.”
Zack nodded. “Almost. I was working my slaves only eight hours a day, six days a week, which I still do. But I had never thought of paying them wages when the unavoidable times came that I had to work them more than eight hours. Of course, I do that now.”
“Well, I’m glad you use the system,” Darrell said.
Alexander spoke up for the first time. “So are all our slaves, sir.”
“I can see why, now that I understand it,” Roberta said. “I really do commend you for it.”
“Me, too,” said Darrell. “Now, could you explain something else? Up North they say that in the South there are two kinds of slaves. One is the ‘chattel’ slave, and I can’t remember what they said the other kind is called. Neither do I know the difference.”
“The other kind is the ‘freehold’ slave,” Zack said. “The difference is that the freehold slave is bound to a piece of land and cannot be transferred or sold away from the estate. The master of a freehold slave owns the slave’s labor but not his or her person. The chattel slave is the equivalent of movable property and can be sold away, even as horses and cattle are sold.
“Our slaves are all the chattel kind, but as you and Roberta can see, they are not treated like animals. I feel that the chattel system is far better for the slaves. If we should sell this plantation, go elsewhere and buy another one, all of my slaves could go with me.”
“So who establishes whether the slaves are freehold or chattel?” Darrell asked.
“The plantation owner has that choice when he has his property licensed to own slaves. Many owners like the freehold system better, so if they sell out, they are paid a good price for their slaves, who have to stay with the plantation. As I said, I like the chattel system better.”
“Thanks for explaining it,” Darrell said.
Dan chuckled. “Now, you take me, for instance. I’m the ‘chattel’ kind. It looks like I may be leaving the land here and going to Texas. I can do it, since as a chattel slave I am movable property.”
The Browns laughed, then Darrell said, “Are you really going to Texas, Dan?”
“It’s in the ‘praying about it’ stage right now, sir, but every day I feel more confident that it’s what the Lord wants me to do.”
“What will you do there?” Roberta asked.
“Become a cattle rancher.”
“That sounds interesting. Tell us about it.”
Dan told the Browns about Bill Wickburg and what he had learned from him, and of Bill’s desire to have him come to the Austin area.
“Well, this kind of move does warrant a great deal of prayer,” Darrell said. “Roberta and I prayed hard for quite some time before we left Maine to come to South Carolina. We are superbly happy with our decision because we know we’re in God’s will. We have perfect peace about it.”
“That’s right,” Roberta said. “We love it here.”
“Just as much as you’ll love it in Texas, Dan,” Darrell said, “if it’s God’s will for you to go there.”
It was late in the afternoon the next day when Angeline Johnson left her room and headed toward the winding staircase. As she drew near Dan’s room, she noticed that his door was standing open. He was sitting on his bed engrossed in a newspaper spread before him.
Angeline leaned against the doorjamb and studied him silently. Tears filmed her eyes. It was when she sniffed that Dan looked up and realized she had been there for a while. Smiling, he said, “Hello, favorite sister.”
She palmed away the moisture on her cheeks. “I’m your only sister, silly,” she replied, walking toward him.
“True, but you’re still my favorite.” When she came closer he frowned at her countenance. “What are you crying about? What’s wrong?”
“I was just thinking about how much I’m going to miss you when you go to Texas. You are going to Texas, aren’t you?”
“I really believe I am, sis.”
Angeline nodded. “Mm-hmm. I really believe you are, too.” As she spoke, her eyes fell to the open newspaper on the bed. She saw that it was that day’s edition of the Columbia Daily Sentinel. “Are you reading something about the West?”
“Yes,” he said, leaning over to pick up the paper. Folding it so she could see
the article he had been reading, he moved beside her and pointed with his forefinger. “Right here, little sis. This article tells about how the gold rush that started in California in 1849 is beginning to wane, but not the migration of people to all parts of the West. It says here that cattle ranching is now big business in Texas and is swiftly becoming so in all of the western territories.”
Angeline laid her head against her big brother’s shoulder and stared at the paper in his hand. “Dan, I know you aren’t going to be happy until you’re ranching in Texas. I want you to be happy … but I sure am going to miss you.”
He pressed her tighter against his shoulder. “I’m going to miss you, too, baby sister. But a man has to do what he has to do. When I get my ranch established, you can come and visit me.”
Angeline chuckled. “I’ll be there with bells on.”
“I’m sure the whole family will come. They’ll want to see my ranch.”
“We sure will.” Angeline let a few seconds pass, then said, “Dan, what about Sophie Lanham and Edna Hamilton? They both have romantic ideas about you.”
“Well, sweetie, Sophie and Edna are nice Christian girls, and I’ve enjoyed taking them to some of the church functions. But I’m not interested in either of them for a wife. I’m in no rush to get married yet. I’ll no doubt wait till I get to Texas to find the right young woman and marry her. Since the Lord is leading me that direction, I’m sure the one He has picked out is waiting there for me.”
Angeline turned so she could hug him, and as she squeezed hard, she said, “It sure won’t be the same around here without you. I really am going to miss you terribly.”
On Thursday, March 22, Dan Johnson came to the supper table with a newspaper folded under his arm. He laid the paper on his lap, but not before his father noted that it was that day’s edition of the South Carolina Gazette.
Zack gave him a curious glance. “Are you going to read today’s Gazette to us while we eat, son?”
“Not exactly, Pa. Have you seen it?”
“No. Haven’t had time. What is it you want to show us?”
“Let’s go ahead and get started, then I’ll tell you.”
