William Henry is a Fine Name

by Cathy Gohlke

  “Fever’s not got you down.” Jed Slocum stepped from trees lining the road, trailing the reins of his horse. I’d been lost in my thoughts and molasses cookies and hadn’t seen or heard him come near.

  “No, sir. I steer clear of sick folks.” The lie came easily. I hoped it sounded smooth, and that I didn’t look as scared as I felt. I tried to sidestep him, but Slocum was faster and blocked my path. I smelled his sweat.

  “You know stealing slaves and hiding runaways will land you in jail, or worse.”

  “I didn’t do anything!” My voice came out too high.

  Slocum smiled. “But you know something, don’t you, Boy?” He circled me, and though he wasn’t much taller than me, he was lean and muscled and hard built. He swaggered with a confidence I did not own. “Did your mama tell you who I am? I expect she’d be grateful if you help me. Two of those runaways belong to her daddy.”

  Now I was in over my head. I’d meant to ask Ma if she knew Jed Slocum and if it was the same Ashland—her Ashland. “I don’t know what you mean.” I stepped around Slocum, never looking back.

  “I’ll bet your daddy knows!” I picked up my pace, but he called after me, “I’ll be watching you, Boy! I’ve got time. All the time there is.”

  When the door slammed behind me Ma looked up from snapping beans. “Robert? What is it? You look ill.”

  “Jed Slocum. I met him on the road. He’s still looking for runaways. He’s watching us.”

  Ma bit her lip. Pa stepped in from the front room. “You stay away from Jed Slocum. He’s white trash looking for trouble.” I’d never heard my pa call anyone “white trash.”

  “He said that he works for your pa,” I challenged Ma.

  Ma stood and set down the pan of beans. She stole a glance at Pa. “Mr. Slocum is the overseer on Ashland Plantation, my father’s home—your Grandfather Ashton. One of his jobs is to track down runaway slaves.”

  Pa stepped closer. Ma continued. “He’s not a gentleman, Robert, and I want you to stay away from him.”

  “What did he say?” Pa asked.

  “Nothing that matters. I didn’t tell him anything. I don’t know anything.” My heat was rising, and all they cared about was Slocum.

  Pa turned away. “It’s best that way,” he said.

  “Best! Best? Why won’t you tell me what’s going on around here? The sheriff, the Tulleys with their devil hounds, and now this Jed Slocum’s running over the place. They all know more than I do! What about those people in the Heaths’ attic?” I heard my voice rise and the panic crawl over my anger, but I couldn’t stop. “Slocum said I could go to jail for helping runaways!”

  “Nobody is going to jail,” Pa said. “You have no part in this, and you don’t know anything about it.”

  “Nor will you ever!” Ma cut in.

  “Your job is to stay home and mind your mother. Stay away from the Heaths’, and away from Slocum. Do you understand?” Pa’s tone brooked no backtalk. Why was he treating me like a toddle baby?

  “Yes, sir.” I looked away, shamed and angry.

  “Caroline, I think we’d best have supper early.” It was the first time I’d heard Pa speak directly to Ma since Slocum came to Laurelea. Ma nodded.

  Through the rest of my chores and supper I nursed my anger, but dared not cross Pa. Nobody spoke. Ma cooked real food. That was a blessing. After supper I sat on the porch, no longer expecting an evening read. But Pa called me in and lifted down his heavy black Bible. Despite my anger, I felt glad. It was the most normal thing I’d seen in our house in three days.

  He pulled a chair next to the western window. The light caught the first traces of gray streaking the hair along his temples, a thing I’d never noticed. He opened to the book of Matthew and read the parable of the talents. When he finished with the sheep and goats, his voice slowed. “Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me. Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee? And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

  Pa closed the Book and rubbed his forehead. He’d read without his usual emotion. Still, the words stood up in my mind. I wondered if the “least of these my brethren” were the two hiding in the Heaths’ attic. If Pa believed that, what did Ma believe? Pa raised his face to Ma’s. His eyes pleaded and her eyes filled, but her mouth stayed grim. After a time Pa stood, placed his Bible on the mantel, and turned in.

  Ma sat in her chair, no longer rocking. It was like being in church, waiting for the preacher to take the pulpit, only he didn’t come. Shadows crossed the parlor floor. “Do you want me to light the lamp, Ma?”

  She looked up, as though she hadn’t seen me before. “No. You go on to bed, Robert. I just want to sit awhile.”

  I stepped into the half light of my own room and undressed. The sun took longer to sink into the poplars and the wood thrushes stayed up later these early summer nights. The perfume of Ma’s June roses, the scent of honeysuckle and Pa’s last plowing drifted through my open window. It was my favorite time of year in nature, but I couldn’t take joy in it. Something at Laurelea had changed, like the coming of hard frost while peaches still hang on the trees.

  I woke when the night was full to the sounds of my parents’ voices, heated, rising and falling in harsh whispers on the other side of the wall. I’d heard things through the wall before that weren’t meant for my ears, but I’d never heard Ma so angry. I couldn’t remember Pa sounding so bone weary or short on patience. My name came in snatches. “It was too close this time, Charles! That man was shot! Killed! It could have been you!”

  “But it wasn’t me, Caroline. I wasn’t hurt. Next time we’ll take another route. They won’t expect—”

  “Next time? How can you throw your life in jeopardy this way, Charles? What about Robert? What about me? What if you are shot, or caught and hanged? Have you forgotten you have a son, a family?”

  “Caroline, be fair.”

  “Fair? You talk to me about being fair? I can’t take any more, Charles. I will not have Robert drawn into this. He’s almost thirteen. He spends so much time with that colored boy, he’s bound to find out. We won’t be able to keep it from him forever. He’s not a child anymore.”

  “That ‘colored boy,’ Caroline? William Henry has been Robert’s best friend since the day he was born. After all these years and all we’ve been through with the Henrys I can’t understand why the color of their skin matters to you. And no, Robert isn’t a child. He’s old enough to make his own judgments about a good many things. It’s time he knows from us, before he finds out from someone else. Then he can decide for himself.”

  “How dare you suggest such a thing! You promised! You promised that Robert would never be dragged into this. Of all things you must keep your word in this, or I will never forgive you! Color does matter. It matters everywhere but here in this fanciful world that you and Isaac Heath have created. It is high time Robert kept company with his own people.”

  “If you talk any louder you’ll wake him, and then we won’t need to tell him. I’m sick to death of fighting you, Caroline. I want peace in our home. I need peace. God knows you mean more to me than my own life, but I’m bound to a God of mercy. You’re asking me to be less of a man.”

  “Mercy? Manhood?” Ma’s laugh cut a bitter edge. “No, I simply do not believe God wants you to risk your life breaking the law! You had the audacity to quote Scripture to me this evening! You want Scripture? Paul said we are to be
content in whatever state we find ourselves, to know how to be abased and how to abound, to be full and to be hungry, to abound and to suffer need. Do you think there is one Scripture for whites and another for coloreds? Charles, you turn the gospel to meet your own ends. You are breaking the law, and sooner or later you’ll be caught or shot!”

  I rolled over on my stomach and covered my head with my pillow, trying to shut out their words and the fear growing inside me. I’d heard of people being dragged from their houses and tarred and feathered, of people being whipped or hanged for helping slaves escape, even though they were supposed to be given a fair trial. I remembered hearing Pa read from the newspaper of a man whose barn was burned to the ground for taking up for a colored man. I’d heard whispers at church of families being disfellowshipped and shunned. But those things were far from my world and I’d even doubted they were true—like stories parents make up to keep you from stepping out of bounds. But now I wondered if some of those stories I’d heard neighbors tell were veiled threats for Pa or Mr. Heath. I understood Pa’s nighttime rambling and the need to call quarantine. Little things, quirks of Pa’s and secrets I’d thought odd from times past, fit together.

  But I felt trapped, caught between the things Ma said and the things Pa seemed so sure of, and most confounding of all, my love for them both. Sides were being drawn in the bed on the other side of my wall, and I didn’t know where I belonged.

  Near dawn I fell into a half sleep. I dreamed that I floated on a flimsy raft in the middle of the swollen run. Ma and Pa stood on opposite banks, both calling my name, hollering for me to paddle toward them. William Henry swam out beside me, grabbed hold of my raft, and tipped it over. Somehow, I’d forgotten how to swim. William Henry smiled with his mouth as though he was my best friend, but laughed at me with his eyes. He chanted the words Preacher Crane quoted every Sunday at the end of his sermon, “Mark 3:25. And if a house be divided against itself, that house cannot stand.”

  BY THE TIME the month-long quarantine lifted from Laurelea, we’d missed the Independence Day celebration with all its festivities in town and my yearly birthday trip to pick whatever I wanted from Eberly’s General Merchandise. To compensate, Ma gave me the joy of beating every rug we owned in the July sunshine. Then for good measure she had Joseph cart over every one Miz Laura owned. I worked fields with Pa most mornings, then weeded and hauled water and chopped kindling for Ma till I was stooped. I scraped and painted woodwork, washed windows, and did whatever else Ma or Miz Laura dreamed up to keep me busy and away from William Henry. I was thirteen at last, and all it meant was more work.

  The one day I snuck off, William Henry claimed he didn’t have time for fishing anymore. My world swung off its hinges. Fishing, skunking, skinny-dipping—all the things that made life worth living didn’t mean much without William Henry. It was a relief to go to church on Sunday, and that’s telling.

  Preacher Crane railed all morning about our present miserable journey through this veil of tears, how every decision every day leads us closer to eternity among the blessed or the damned, and how we must stand strong and live law-abiding lives in this world so that the God of justice will crack open the gate to the next. Pa shifted in his seat. I knew he was not comfortable with the pitch of Preacher Crane’s ranting or the strain of his doctrine. My stomach rumbled as the noon hour drew near. I stuck my finger between my neck and starched collar, hoping to catch a breeze or at least let my sweat roll down me instead of forming a puddle at my neck. But the air never stirred.

  We’d shaken Preacher’s hand and stepped full into the sunshine before Jed Slocum rounded the corner of the church. “May I have a word with you, Miz Caroline?” Slocum tipped his hat to Ma. Ma’s face flushed and Pa’s jaw set. “It’s about your father, ma’am. I have a letter for you from Mr. Mitchell.”

  “Cousin Albert?” Ma looked from Slocum to Pa. Pa stared hard at Slocum.

  “I’ll bring the carriage around,” Pa said. “Robert, come with me.” I wanted to stay, but Pa’s hand rested on my shoulder, guiding me along. We waited at the edge of the churchyard. When Pa finally helped Ma into the buggy I saw her gloved hand tremble. Pa drove. We held our tongues until she finished reading her letter.

  “Cousin Albert says Papa is not well. He urges me to come home, if I hope to see him again in this life.” Ma’s eyes filled. Pa covered her hand with his own.

  “Why did Slocum wait so long to give you the letter? He’s been in town a month.” Pa couldn’t keep the edge from his voice.

  “He just received it. Mr. Slocum said it came in his own letter from my cousin. You remember Albert, Charles, from West Point. He writes that things are not going well at Ashland. He thinks Mr. Slocum should return home even if he can’t find Papa’s slaves. He even suggested that Mr. Slocum offer his services to me as escort.” Pa’s jaw clenched.

  “I would have thought better of Albert.” Pa kept his eyes on the road. “Do you mean to go?” Ma stole him a glance.

  “I think I must. It may be my last chance—my only chance to see Papa.” Ma broke down then, weeping on Pa’s chest. We drove home, Pa’s free arm wrapped around her.

  That afternoon Pa, Joseph, and William Henry disappeared into the barn. I knew I would not be included in their business. Ma combed her hair and announced that she intended taking tea with Miz Laura. I knew if Ma shared her troubles with anybody it was most apt to be Miz Laura.

  There was space under the front porch of the Heaths’ house, high enough for a boy to sit upright and as long as the porch itself. Yews and hydrangeas shielded the white latticework all around. A few of the slats on one end hung loose—a fact that William Henry and I never mentioned to anybody and never repaired. Under that porch we’d heard many things not meant for our ears. That day I went alone, knowing I was too old for such deceit and nonsense. But I’d been left out of everything by both parents, and I needed to know if Ma really meant to leave us.

  I scooted under as Miz Laura’s chair rolled above me. Wicker sighed when Ma eased herself into the rocker opposite. Aunt Sassy’s soft shoes padded across the porch floor. I could hear her setting out china. “These be my lemon nut cookies you so fond of, Miz Laura.” Aunt Sassy’s voice came smiling and prideful.

  “Sassy, you spoil me so!” Miz Laura’s voice reminded me of church bells.

  “You ladies enjoy your tea. Miz Caroline, you make sure she eats her fill. She be wastin’ away to nothin’.”

  “Of course, Sassy.” Ma’s voice came tight and polite.

  “Will you pour for us, Caroline?” Miz Laura asked. “I’m so glad you came today. What a lovely afternoon!”

  “You’re feeling better, then, Miss Laura? We missed you in church. It’s not the same without you.”

  “I’m not up to the ride anymore, Caroline, but I do miss the hymns and the fellowship.”

  “I’m afraid the fellowship is a bit strained these days, with all the talk of abolitionists and bounty hunters running up and down the countryside.” I heard Ma pour the tea. “One lump or two?”

  “One, please. Let’s not speak of conflict today, dear.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Laura.”

  Neither of them spoke for several minutes and I was getting tired of sitting in the dirt. It crossed my mind to give it up and sneak out the back when my eye caught a slight movement near my foot. Even in the dim light I made out the long diamond pattern as it slid through the dust. I could have kicked myself for not keeping better watch. Panic pricked my spine. The two on the porch above me began to speak.

  “Miss Laura, I do cherish your company.”

  “And I yours, Caroline. I’ve missed you these few weeks. But I know you’ve been keeping Robert busy.” I heard the smile in her voice.

  Ma sighed. Her cup clinked in its saucer. “I have been. He’s like a caged animal. But he’s done well and needs a rest. I need a rest.” Ma spoke softly and I strained my ears to catch her words, not daring to move. I watched helplessly as the snake slithered over my k
nee. “How are your—guests? Have they gone?”

  Sweat beaded my forehead and trickled down the back of my neck. Visions of Pa finding me stone-cold beneath the Heaths’ porch made me wince. The shame of Pa knowing I’d died crouched in the dirt, eavesdropping, was even more horrible than the idea of them dragging my lifeless, rotting body from behind the latticework.

  “I didn’t think you wanted to know.”

  “I don’t, really. I don’t. Miss Laura, I don’t know what I want. I’m frightened. It could have been Charles or Isaac shot out there!”

  “Or Joseph.”

  “Yes, or Joseph. But at least he’d be risking his life for his own people! Charles has a family and Isaac has you! Shouldn’t that be enough?”

  “I know you don’t expect me to answer that, Caroline. Here, take my handkerchief, dear. You are upset and I’m sorry. I worry, too. But you know as well as I that they each make their own choices. Were I stronger, I would have done the same.”

  I closed my eyes, prepared to die.

  “I’m just so afraid. I’ve never been convinced this is right. Not like you, Miss Laura. Perhaps I’m a coward. But even if I believed in—in this cause, I cannot abide the thought of breaking the law. It flies in the face of everything I was raised to believe and practice.”

  Miz Laura didn’t respond.

  “There is something else.” Ma sniffed, taking time to compose herself. “Mr. Slocum spoke to me outside church today.”

  “Jed Slocum? I thought he’d returned south!”

  “No. He’s the overseer on my father’s plantation, you know.”

  “So he said. I wondered if you remembered him.”