Picking up his paper, he slapped the folds open with exuberance. “Oh, and speaking of idle gossip, I almost forgot to show you this. Our neighbor found this and asked me about it.” He rested his paper on the table and withdrew something from his inside coat pocket. “He is hoping to gather more information as to how his slave acquired it. Do you know anything about this?”
Maggie’s thinly clad body immediately felt the chill of the banister. Ignoring the discomfort, her eyes stared at the object. Father had withdrawn a writing tablet from his coat and handed it to her mother, then picked up the paper and began reading.
Maggie bit down on her lower lip. Father was watching her mother discretely over the top of his newspaper, but her mother was completely unaware of it. The item looked like Susie’s tablet, with her blue paint mark on the wood.
Her mother kept her eyes shielded with her long sooty lashes. She took it, inspected it, and then laid it down on the table, tracing its edges. Her fingers shook ever so slightly. “It’s a writing tablet.”
Father threw down the paper and with hands behind his back began to pace again. “If any of our respectable neighbors, or our zealous overseer, thought there was someone teaching their slaves to read and write… why… they wouldn’t hesitate to hang us from the nearest tree, or at the least, tar and feather the whole family and… and make an example of us to fellow slave owners!” Her father’s face grew redder with every syllable.
The woman beating the rugs stopped in mid swing, looked at her father, then resumed.
“Do you understand me, Mrs. Gatlan?” His eyes pinched closed, as if he was feeling hot tar wash over his body. “Always remember your station in life. Do not converse with the help. You have women of the other plantations to spend your time with.”
“I will choose my own company and, as my husband has provided such an admirable example, not to bend a knee to anyone but my Lord and Savior.”
The thumping noise stopped.
Father stomped over to the dining room entryway, then glanced toward the servant cleaning the rugs. “What are you staring at? Resume your work.”
The thumping resumed. The heels of Father’s boots clicked on the stone patio, he halted before her mother and stared down at her. “I take the risks for this family, Maria. I trust you will remember this.”
Then before Maggie’s startled eyes, he knelt and laid his head in her mother’s lap. “You would look terrible in tar black… please, let me deal with this.” He arose as quickly as he had knelt, offering her his hand. “My love, are you coming?”
“Always.” Her mother accepted the proffered arm and gave it a pat. “So, where is the book I asked you to buy on your trip up north?”
Father drew a package out of his coat pocket. “You are my better half. I will never be mad with you for long, my love, nor deny you anything.”
Her mother tore at the brown paper with a relish equal to a mother bear defending her offspring. “Mr. Gatlan, we should not remain ignorant as to the outcry regarding this book.”
Maggie looked down, Uncle… ?
Her mother patted the cover. “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” She gave Father one of her sweeping smiles. “Good, now I shall see for myself why this book has upset so many northerner households.” Raising herself on tiptoes, she kissed his lips. “Don’t worry, husband, Maggie and I will not let you down. You have nothing to fear whatsoever. After all, God is on our side. Now, come and see my roses before we go in for breakfast.”
Maggie let out a sigh of relief. “I wish I could find a man who loved me that much.” She hurried and dressed in her newest riding outfit. The soft velvet folds, the color of a crystal blue sky, fell gently over her petite waist and swished to the floor. Mother said it brought out her eyes and complexion beautifully. This would be a good day to spend with her friend Irene as well. Her little boy, Will Jr., was growing up so fast. And she could always ride by the swampland and see how Ben was doing, too. Her riding boots tapped a merry rhythm on the spiral stairway, and she slid into her seat at the table without Father noticing her tardiness moments after he and Mother entered from the rose garden.
She had much to tell Irene about Ben. Maggie stared at her hands as she toyed with her silverware. After all, she should be concerned about the Irishmen’s and… Ben’s well-being. Recalling their walk in the moonlight, there was something about him she could not ignore. Another idealist like that Lincoln fellow, not very practical, especially for these times. Still, there was something exciting about him, she had never met someone so—
“So, where might your mind be this morning?” Her father tapped her shoulder. “Reliving your night’s excursion?”
“What?” Maggie glanced at her mother.
Her mother rolled her large expressive brown eyes toward Father. “We saw Mr. Reynolds in the rose garden and—”
“Maria, please. This matter must be settled promptly.” Her father sat down in his customary seat at the head of the table. “I’ve asked you a question.”
Maggie felt as if a peach seed had found residence in her throat. She coughed. “Would you please repeat the—”
“Just where are you planning to go this morning? And where were you last evening?”
“To Irene’s. I thought I would bring over some of Cook’s biscuits and scones. Irene and Will Jr. love Cook’s biscuits.”
“Oh?” Her father’s blue eyes focused on her like a hawk on a chicken. “Is that your only reason for leaving my watchful eye? You are not planning to divert your ride toward the swamp by chance?”
“I… why do you ask?”
“Because I’ve been told by Mr. Reynolds that you were walking with a young Irishman in the moonlight last evening.”
Maggie looked down at her plate. Had Reynolds been following her? She felt like a prisoner and Reynolds her warden. She glanced at her mother and sucked in her breath. If Mr. Reynolds had watched her beneath the cover of night, what was to prevent him from watching her go to the Glenn?
Father threw his napkin on the table and stood, his chair falling back in his haste to rise. “I will not have this! You understand? He is beneath us, and I will not have you being seen with an Irishman.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” Mr. Reynolds said.
Maggie gasped. She hadn’t noticed when he came in. He strutted like a peacock to the dining table, pulled out a chair next to her, and then motioned for her father to sit back down. Reynolds reached over her, looked right into her face, smiled, and grabbed a scone. His enormous mouth bit into it slowly, consuming it in one bite… not taking his eyes off her.
I hope he chokes.
“Those ragged men have got to go into the swamp waters. There is no way around it. And I’m certain a few of them will meet their Maker when a cottonwood snake gets a hold of them.”
Chapter 5
B en removed his shoes and socks; they were his only pair and he wouldn’t want to waste them in that water again. It took him a full day to dry them out when he’d fetch Maggie out of the bog. He wiped his forehead and the back of his neck with his worn-out bandana.
Now came the part he and the others dreaded. Since Matthew’s death, no one had ventured into the swamp. They had accomplished all they could on dry land. Their irrigation ditch lay before the mouth of the swamp like a gaping grave awaiting its victim. Only the victim would be the marshes and snakes of the swampland.
Ben took a deep breath. He would have to wade in waist deep and see what he could do with wedging out the vegetation that prevented the flow of the water from escaping into their ditch.
“Ben my boy, let your dad do this. What with that spot of rain we had last night, the snakes will be crawling to be sure.”
“Not to worry, Dad, I’ve got this.” Ben removed his tattered shirt, draped a rope over his shoulder, and waded into the water. The slimy mud oozed between his toes.
“You’ll need more help doing this; you can’t do it alone, my boy.”
Ben watched a snake slither across the swa
mp and avoided him. Carefully he moved his legs toward the big tree, its limbs now tentacles of mossy green vegetation, slippery and slimy like the back of a reptile. He shuddered. Still, he’d not let another man do what he was afraid to do.
Removing the rope from his shoulder, he fastened it to the trunk of the tree, then ran it across the bog and heaved it toward land. He hoped the rope was long enough to reach the men on the shore and hitch to the two mules.
His eyes looked toward the one patch of sunlight that filtered through the darkness of the swampy brown-black waters. He waded farther inwards, now up to his waist. He was almost there, just a few more feet. At the end of his rope, he glanced back over his shoulder. The tree had stop moving. What was hindering it?
A snake, its little beady eyes staring into his, perched on the tree as if daring Ben to move it any farther. “Oh, I see, this be your house. Sorry, fellow, but your house must be moved. Now, you don’t give me any trouble and I won’t bother ya.”
A strange noise, like the sound of a dozen insects, erupted. Was it coming from the snake? Or was it the blasted mosquitoes?
“That be a pygmy rattlesnake, son. Don’t you be fighting him! Get out of there and wait to do any more until he slithers away.”
Why, that snake’s barely twenty inches long. Has Dad gotten senile? “Listen, small fry, let’s carry on this conversation another day. I’ve got to get this here tree out of our way, you see? You just sit there and enjoy the ride.”
Ben turned and pulled with all his strength. Come on just a few more feet and he’d be done. Big Jim extended his arm for the rope. Sweat poured down Ben’s face. He wiped his eyes with his arm and mosquitoes flew about his head and shoulders. He blinked, the salt of his sweat burning his eyes. He’d sure be a pretty sight if Maggie happened along today, and yesterday she hinted she planned on doing that very thing.
He heard that insect noise again. Big Jim yelled, rushing toward him. Like a bullet, the snake’s bite shot through Ben’s back. The snake bit again.
“There’s a cottonmouth swimming toward ya!” his dad yelled.
“Ahhh…” The cottonmouth bit him in the leg. His left side felt like it had gone to sleep. He lost his balance, his head swimming. He gasped for air but only the muddy swamp filled his lungs. Someone grabbed his arms. Someone else wrapped something around his middle.
“Dad, I can’t feel my legs.”
“Lay him down here. Good. That’s good.”
“Ah…” The sharp steel blade of his dad’s knife gleamed in the beams of sunlight. “I’d like a bit of warnin’ before you be cuttin’ into my back.”
Someone stuck a sliver of wood between his teeth, but he could not hear what he was telling him. His ears were pounding along with the bell ringing in his head. He bit down, stifling his cry when the blade cut through his flesh. Once done, he spit the wood from his mouth.
“Don’t have to take all my…”
A woman’s voice?
“Maggie? Sorry I can’t get up. Something’s wrong with my legs.” Ben was dizzy again, he was falling. How could that be, he was lying on the soft grass—velvet it was to his exhausted body, velvety as Maggie’s riding habit. “Maggie… Give me your hand.” Fingers as soft as a dove’s underbelly they were. He looked up at her. Her face turned dark. Dark as pitch. The ebony waters pulled him down, down… he couldn’t breathe. Coming up for air, he gasped… “Hold on to me, Maggie. I’ll not get out without your help.”
Chapter 6
M aggie bit back her sobs, setting her face like the granite tombstones gracing the family plot. Ben turned to her, his face muddy, his eyes unblinking. Was he seeing her, or the black waters? She looked away. Ben’s only hope for survival was if she could hide her feeling for him.
“Get him out of here.” Mr. Reynolds swept the air with his arm. “I don’t care where he goes, he’s useless to me now.”
Ben’s dad’s hat looked like a corkscrew in his hands. Maggie doubted it would ever regain its shape. Iron wheels scraped the dirt and pebbles of the worn farm lane, and their buckboard came into view. Maggie let out a pent-up breath of air as a bright blue jay flew past her to her mother.
Eli yanked on the reins of their team of white horses, crossing his arms like a large black Roman centurion ready to do battle for his queen.
“Just what is going on here?” Reynolds asked her mother, his confusion at her presence obvious.
“We are here for Ben McConnell.” Her mother motioned for Eli to carry Ben’s body to the buckboard. Maggie wished she could jump up and down with glee as she had done as a child when Mother appeared like an avenging angel to her rescue. Eli jumped out of the wagon and bent over Ben’s prostrate form.
“We can take care of our own, Mr. Eli, if you please.” Big Jim knelt, scooping Ben into his hands gently. But Ben’s lifeless legs were too much for one man to handle.
Eli grabbed the bottom half of Ben and together they lifted him onto the wagon where Maggie’s mother sat near a mattress and quilts. Carefully she laid a pillow beneath his head. Ben’s teeth chattered like a woodpecker and she watched him hug his arms across his chest. Chills. The day was humid enough to wring water out of her muslin dress.
“But, but,” Reynolds stammered. His goatee bobbed up and down with every quiver of his pointed chin. “I want this Irishman taken to the poor man’s ward in that hospital in Knoxville, Eli. Do you hear me? I order you to take this, this cripple there.”
Eli stood in front of the kneeling Mrs. Gatlan. His solid, six-foot height resembled a brick wall, whereas, Reynolds, a thin willow. As unmovable as cement, all Eli was missing was his Roman sword. He looked down at Reynolds off the tip of his nose. “I only obey Mrs. Gatlan.”
Maggie stood in awe, recalling the bleeding back of Eli when he was beneath Reynolds’ iron hand. Evidently, Reynolds remembered, too. His body vibrated with sustained wrath. “How dare you disobey my orders.”
“Mr. Reynolds, might I ask your services?” Mrs. Gatlan pulled out her slender leg and stretched her foot forward. He hurried to her aid, eyeing Eli who ignored him.
Her mother walked about the hillside, her lavender barred muslin skirt spread twelve yards of fabric on her swaying hoops. Her small, white-gloved hands clutched one another in exaggerated exuberance. What is Mother up to?
“Mr. Reynolds, you are so intelligent. Your idea to hire the Irish was a splendid one. And with your… careful supervision, they have done a marvelous job. I can hardly believe they have accomplished what for years Mr. Gatlan and I thought an impossible task. And to think, not even these mules have been damaged. Now, just how much longer until this is completed and when will you begin the cotton crop?”
Reynolds placed his thumbs in the corners of his vest and cleared his voice like the pompous blue jay that just flew by. One would think he was the one that directed the efforts to drain the swamp, making it into a farmable piece of real estate, not Ben’s brains and the Irishmen’s hard labor. Maggie’s mother continued.
“Mr. Reynolds, I am in need of their aid.” She placed a hand on Mr. Reynolds’ arm and smiled sweetly into the overseer’s startled expression. “Dear Mr. Reynolds, Mr. Gatlan will explain my desires to you upon his return from Washington.”
Mr. Reynolds’ face became vivid red in the glow of stark sunlight. “I think you have fabricated this—”
“Don’t you go callin’ Mrs. Gatlan a liar.”
“Why you upstart blackie. I’ll put you back in chains, give you the whipping you deserve, and send you to the fields.” Reynolds slapped his whip against his riding boots. “I am in control here when Mr. Gatlan’s away.”
Her mother, head erect, stepped forward. “No longer.” Her voice echoed above Reynolds’ whip thumping his leather boots. Her eyes gleamed into Reynolds’ steel glance, daring him to question her authority.
Maggie scurried into the wagon bed like a mouse caught in the cupboard, shaking from head to toe. This was definitely not part of her plans. She was well aware of h
ow much influence Reynolds had on her father. Maggie prayed silently for God to intervene.
“No one interferes with my authority.” Reynolds pointed the whip in her mother’s face. “You will pay dearly for this offense, Mrs. Gatlan.” He grabbed his horse’s reins, and in one fluid motion, mounted and was off in a fury of hooves and flapping gray coat.
Relieved to see him go, Maggie hurried to her mother’s side.
“I have roused the demons in him.” Her mother watched him leave.
“Mother, he meant what he said about getting even with you.” Maggie leaned against her mother, drawing strength from her. Mother circled her with her arm.
“The only way to fight evil is to ‘Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil… the shield of faith wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the spirit, which is the word of God.’”
Mother thought God and the Bible could rectify any conflict. “We have not heard the end of this, Mother. We may have gained a foothold, but I fear we might lose a stride or two before this feud with Reynolds has ended.”
“Feud? He is bent on destroying everything I love, and that is an act of war.” Her mother patted her hand. “Eli, help me into the wagon, please. We need to be off. Are the cabins ready for occupancy?”
“Yes, ma’am. My wife had them cleaned and fresh linen placed on the beds.”
Maggie’s mother looked down at the Irishmen, her kind eyes not missing a one. “Clean water and plenty of soap for baths?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Gentlemen, please follow our wagon to your new accommodations. Cabins, water to bathe with, and food awaits you. You will begin on the northern swampland tomorrow.”
Swept into Destiny Page 4
