by Melody Ash
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. John.” Caitlin pulled her hand back, surprised to find her heart fluttering in a way she’d never experienced before. Must be the jet lag, she thought with a short smile.
“Please, not Mr. John. M’lady is most welcome to call me by my given name. Dare I ask how you injured your ankle?”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t watching where I was going. The sprain isn’t too bad.” There seemed no reason to reveal she’d been trying to hide in the woods. Everyone appeared to trust him, but that didn’t mean he needed to know every detail.
John’s cherry wood eyes studied her, drank her in. “I am pleased to hear as much. I’m sure Miltida is able to help you heal quickly. I’m sorry, I don’t recall seeing you before. I most certainly would remember if I had. Where did you say you’re from?”
“Up north.”
“And what brings you here?”
Her mind raced, searched for a story that would fit. “My father recently became a professor at the University of South Carolina.”
“I hear that’s a growing educational institution.”
“Indeed, it is.”
“Yes. Is your mother in the area as well?”
“Yes. In a home near the university.”
John nodded, eyes still locked hard on hers. Friendly eyes, but also wise enough to recognize the lie. He studied her silently, but instead of testing her further, he only smiled.
“Welcome to Shady Oak. May I send someone for your father? Surely he would like to hear of your injury.”
“No, no,” Caitlin’s mind raced for an explanation. “He returned north to retrieve the rest of our belongings. I’m sure one night will make a big difference, and I’ll be able to leave in the morning.”
John nodded. “You are most welcome to stay in the main house.”
She shook her head and smiled. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m sure your family would prefer that I not.”
John cocked his head to one side, clearly surprised. And why wouldn’t he be? In his time, this time, women were trained to be demure, quiet, obedient. Caitlin suppressed a grin. She wouldn’t fit in well at all, and not just because of the color of her skin.
“Is there anything I can get for you then, to make your stay more comfortable?” he asked.
“No, I’m fine, thank you.”
“Very well.” He turned his attention back to the family. “Perhaps we should postpone our lessons for another night, Mitilda?”
“As you would like, Mr. John.”
“Please,” Caitlin said. Their lessons. The intrigue was eating away at her. “Don’t let me stop you. I don’t want to be in anyone’s way.”
He considered her once again, his eyes wavering between amusement and confusion.
Finally, he nodded. “Well, I think that settles it, then. Shall we, James?”
“Yes, sir.”
The two men settled at the table with the little boy comfortable on James’ lap. Etta sat next to Caitlin on the floor. “Mr. John teaches James and Henry to read. Momma and me are even picking up a little.”
The heir to the plantation, teaching slaves to read and write. That was something she didn’t expect. John was breaking the law by doing so, and the family breaking the law for learning. His punishment would be minor, theirs, likely death. “Does his father know?”
“The masta? Mr. John says he does.”
“That’s very strange.”
“Oh, Mr. John a good man, Miss Caitlin. We are lucky to have him to help us.”
John turned around in the makeshift chair, met Caitlin’s eyes once more. “With a father as a professor, I assume you know how to read?”
Caitlin bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. “Yes. I do. And arithmetic.”
John raised a brow and grinned. “That’s more than most women know.”
“He felt it important, believes times are changing.”
“That they are,” John agreed. “And they’re going to change more if that Republican Lincoln wins the Presidential run. My father says if he does, South Carolina will leave the Union.”
James eased Henry off his knee and gently tapped the boy’s bottom, sent him to play with his sister on the other side of the room. “Does you thinks it will?”
John smiled and patted the man’s arm, something Caitlin guessed typically didn’t happen between the white and black of the time. But neither seemed uncomfortable nor surprised by the gesture. Her mind reeled.
“Do you think it will, James. But you’re getting there.” The man nodded, and John continued. “I don’t rightly know. Men are in my father’s office arguing it out as we speak. I think Lincoln has a good chance, and if South Carolina does secede, I’ll be heading north.” He turned to Caitlin. “Your father might have moved his family at a bad time.”
“There’s never a good time when you have a family like mine.”
John smiled and nodded again. “Yes, I suppose that is true.” He stood, hands clapped together. “I better return to the main house before my father begins looking for me. Mitilda, James, Etta, I’ll be down again later this week when my parents leave for a couple days. Caitlin, it was an honor to meet you. I hope to see you again before you leave.”
“I would like that,” she replied, surprised to find it true.
“Very well. Good night.”
John stepped out of the cabin and Caitlin turned to the family harboring her. “Isn’t it dangerous for him to be coming here like that?”
“Dangerous? His father will surely be mad, but the masta not like to harm his son.”
“Not for him, for you. The law is clear.”
“Yes, ‘spose it is. But Mr. John has a special feelin’s ‘bout James.”
“Why is that?”
“Child’n, go lie down, go to sleep,” Etta ordered. Henry and Rosie scampered to the pile of rags in the corner and quickly turned their backs to the adults. Though Caitlin guessed they hadn’t fallen asleep that quickly, they were careful not to make a sound.
Etta continued. “Mr. John was in the field one night with a lady friend. James just finished working. Sumthing caught his eye and James stood up, sees sumthing moving right for Mr. John.
He ran to warn Mr. John but was a’most too late. A large tiger was creep’n. Mr. John would be dead now if James hadn’t acted so fast.”
Tiger? Caitlin’s brows furrowed. There were never tigers in North America, so the orange and black striped cats didn’t complete the picture correctly. Shifting through history, she realized Etta was referring to the Eastern Cougar whose territory stretched across the entire expanse of Eastern North America. Early settlers first referred to the animal as the tiger, a term that stuck for years. If one had been stalking John, the attack could have been deadly.
The relationship with the family made more sense now. “Is that why he comes here a couple times a week?”
Etta nodded. “He say the masta knows. He don’t like it but long as we do what we told and don’t cause no trouble, the masta doesn’t say nothin’. That’s why Momma hasn’t been sold off, why my chil’n are still here and not sold to ‘nother masta.”
Mitilda bent down and examined Caitlin’s ankle. “The masta not a terrible man. I owned by men worse’n him. But we still slaves, and we have to mind our place ‘til them changes Mr. John keeps talkin’ ‘bout happen. The overseer wors’n the masta.”
Caitlin glanced at the ankle, which was much less swollen than earlier that afternoon.
“Either way, I’m putting you all in danger by being here.”
Mitilda shook her head. “Mr. John not sayin’ nothing, and you be with your father soon.”
“My father isn’t anywhere near here. Or my mother.”
“I know,” Mitilda rewrapped the ankle.
“You know?”
“Of course. If your daddy was near, you wouldn’ be with us. And you wouldn’ be half-dressed in man’s clothes.
“I never see a man dressed like that,” James s
aid as he whittled a piece of wood.
Caitlin reached for the backpack. “You’re right. I was wondering if you could help me with that.” She pulled the stone from the bag. “I found this, and it’s how I came here. Do you know anything about it?”
Mitilda took the stone, showed it to both Etta and James, who exchanged looks before turning away. Mitilda shook her head. “Nothin’. We don’t know nothin’.”
Caitlin took the rock, glanced at the symbols. She hadn’t missed the exchange between the family. They knew more than they were willing to share. “Are you sure? I think this can help me get back home.”
“It ain’t none of our business. And what will get you back to your father is healing that ankle, not an old rock.”
Caitlin nodded. “Well, it was worth asking.” She tucked the stone away. She’d have to tread lightly. There’d be another chance, she’d make sure of it.
“It be best we all go to sleep.” Mitilda stood with a groan and James hurried to her side, taking hold of one of her arms. She nodded and smiled at him, then turned back to Caitlin. A cloud fell over her features now, her voice slightly hardened. “We wake early.”
Chapter Four
As it turned out, early meant long before the sun came up. After a breakfast consisting of only a small ration of cornmeal mush, Mitilda, Henry, and Caitlin stayed behind while everyone else left for the fields. Caitlin’s stomach still growled in protest, the meager offerings not near enough. She laid an arm over it, ignored the hunger pain. The rations were more than the family could afford to share—she doubted they had enough for themselves, much less enough to feed a stranger.
Caitlin scrambled to her feet, helped Mitilda wipe down the dishes in a bucket of rainwater as the two women swatted away mosquitos and flies. Silently at Mitilda’s side, Caitlin struggled to clear the images of breakfast from her mind. How anyone spent twelve to fifteen hours without passing out from malnutrition under a beating sun surpassed her understanding.
Mitilda took the last bowl from Caitlin, wiped it against a dirty apron, and rested it on the table. With a contented sigh, Mitilda faced Caitlin. “Sit.”
With a nod, she sat at the table. Mitilda settled at Caitlin’s feet, unwrapped the ankle. “It be bruised, but the swelling is better. You might right to bear some weight on it by tomorrow or day afta.”
Caitlin watched the woman’s hands wrap the rags with more skill than she’d ever been able to wrap an elastic bandage. As Mitilda backed away and asked for Caitlin to try out the ankle, she grinned. “I’m impressed. Whenever I wrap a sprain, the bandage slips right off.”
“Bandage?”
“A brown elastic … It’s something made to make sprains feel better.”
Mitilda stopped, looked up at Caitlin with strange eyes. She glanced over the shorts and t-shirt now filthy from the forest and cabin floor, then focused again on the ankle.
“Thank you,” Caitlin said.
She shook her head. “No one says that very much.” Mitilda stood and wiped her hands in the apron, her smile shallow. “I best see to my chores for the day. Rest. You’ll be able to go home soon. C’me on here, boy.” Henry hurried to her side and together they left the cabin.
Caitlin moved around the cabin once more. This time, she ignored the living conditions, searched instead for items tied to the Hoodoo culture. In the northeast corner of the house, she discovered a small bundle of cloth. Though it looked like a discarded ball of scrap material, she carefully retrieved it and unrolled the torn fabric. Inside, a small treasure of Hoodoo-reminiscent items rested in the palm of her hand: brass pins, rock crystal, a small brass bell, and a tiny bone.
Bingo. Exactly the proof she was looking for that the family practiced the religion tied to the stone that brought her to this time.
A gentle knock on the door made Caitlin jump, and she folded the items back into the material, returned them to the corner, then hobbled across toward the center of the cabin in time for the door to open.
John walked in, a single tulip and a book in hand. Caitlin began to limp toward him, but he shook his head and held up a hand. “Please. You must rest your foot.” He hurried to the table and picked up a chair, set it in the middle of the room. “Sit.”
She obliged, as much to get off the foot as to satisfy him. “James and Mitilda are … in the fields. But surely, you must know that.”
He nodded. “I do. I came to see you.” He glanced at the closed door behind him. “I know it is not considered appropriate for us to be alone, but I mean you no harm.”
Caitlin smiled, recalling what was considered appropriate etiquette of the nineteenth century.
A woman and a man who were not married being alone was considered far from proper decorum. But while rape was common occurrence between slaves and their owners, she didn’t feel threatened by John. There was something peaceful about him, something comforting. She didn’t get it, but it didn’t scare her. “I’m not worried.”
“I did not think you would be. You are different from other women I have held the acquaintance of. Why is that?”
If I told you, you’d never believe me, she thought. “Maybe because I’m not from around here, or from South Carolina at all.”
John took a careful step forward and stooped, handed her the flower and book. Caitlin took them, laid the tulip to one side and examined the cloth cover stamped with gold letters. A book considered to be an antique in her time. Odd for it to look and smell so new. She opened the front cover to the fresh pages then closed it. Charles Dickens’ David Copperfield.
Caitlin grinned. More appropriate than he could know.
“I hope the tokens are acceptable. While James and Mitilda only read simple words, I suspected you know how to read as well as I.”
“It’s perfect.”
“You are most welcome. May I?” John motioned to the other chair. Caitlin nodded, and he pulled it over to sit in front of her. “I thought perhaps the book would help pass the time while you wait for the healing of your ankle.”
“It will. Thank you.”
John’s eyes dropped to Caitlin’s legs, following them down to the ankle. “How is the sprain?”
Caitlin shifted in the chair, absently wondered if the man had ever seen a woman’s legs from beneath all the petticoats, crinolines, and gowns. “Tender, but the swelling is down, so I’m hoping to be able to go home soon.”
“I am happy for your quick healing, though sorry to hear you will be leaving so quickly.”
“Oh?”
“As I said, you are different from other women I have come to know. I would have liked to spend more time becoming better acquainted with you.”
Caitlin turned her attention back to the book, opened to the first page of a story she remembered from her days in college. Second year, maybe?
John’s head tilted to one side; eyes trained on her. Caitlin didn’t mind the way he studied her.
She did enough of that on her own. But the way the look went through her…
She carefully held the gaze as he asked, “Have you read it already?”
“A few years ago. It’s a story I really enjoyed.”
“Good, I am pleased to hear that.”
They sat for a minute in silence, and Caitlin smiled as John shifted uncomfortably. The man looked to be in his early twenties with angular features, a cleft chin, and gentle eyes. Though she imagined the families who lived in the cabins did most of the work on the plantation, John looked like he knew his way around manual labor with the thick muscles that defined his shoulders, biceps, and chest.
“Tell me, Caitlin, about where you come from.”
She nearly choked, cleared her throat. Of all the questions he could ask…
“You have never been to the north?” she asked carefully.
“No. I haven’t the opportunity to travel. Father’s work on the plantation keeps my family here. As I stated the other night, I intend to head north should the changes Lincoln brings come to pass.”
&
nbsp; “Even though this is all you’ve ever known?”
“It may be all I’ve known, but don’t suppose I agree with the way of life.”
Caitlin raised a brow, dropped her eyes to the book on her lap. Easy for him to say now, while he still had his Daddy’s money and favor.
“You don’t agree.” It wasn’t a question. He must have seen the doubt all over her face, and Caitlin learned something more about him. John was observant. “You think I can’t leave my father’s wealth.”
“I think you are used to a certain way of life, and if you were to leave it, you’d have a hard time adjusting to less.”
He tilted his head in consideration, and Caitlin readied for an argument. Instead, he only said, “You make many assumptions of my character for one I just met.”
“I guess I do, but that doesn’t change the facts. Losing wealth and social position is a challenge most can’t get past.”
“And how is it you know so much on the subject?”
She bent, rubbed the ankle to buy time for her head to think. The answer came quicker than she’s expected. “My father is a professor of socioeconomics.”
“I have never heard of such a study.”
“He examines how economics plays a role to shape the social classes.”
John guffawed. “You don’t need a professor for that. All you have to do is take a look around Shady Oak Plantation.”
Caitlin grinned. To his mind, he had a point. The plantation was the perfect study of the great divide between the rich and poor, the socially ranked and the socially discarded. “His studies go deeper than plantation owners and slaves.” She pulled in a deep breath. Careful, she thought. She had to be careful. “You don’t agree with slavery?”
With a heavy sigh, John glanced around the cabin. “James and his family are good people.
He saved my life once.”
Despite hearing James’ version, Caitlin thought it best to allow John to tell his own. He might be hurt, or worse, angry if he knew Etta had said something. “Did he?”
“Yes, about five years ago. A tiger came out of the grass, didn’t even know he was there.
The cat could have killed me, easily, but James saw it. I don’t know how. Maybe he’s just used to watching for them in the fields. But he threw the sickle and hit the animal. His precision baffles me to this day.”