William Henry is a Fine Name

by Cathy Gohlke

  “I won’t hear another word against Jed, Caroline,” Grandfather boomed. “I told you I’d look into it, but as I said, we all owe him a good deal. He’s stayed on through everything. Jed knows how to—handle things.”

  “I believe Mr. Slocum has been paid handsomely.” Ma bristled. “Have you seen the number of mulatto children running around here? Mr. Slocum seems to want for nothing.”

  Grandfather wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Things are the way they are, Caroline.”

  Cousin Albert stepped between them. “Slocum’s last letter said he’d be at least another month following his lead. Let Caroline and me work on a plan, Uncle Marcus—just until Slocum returns. Improving the conditions of the quarters can’t hurt him. If the slaves are healthier and the quarters cleaner, that can only help. I’ll even loan you Noah, my own driver, until Slocum returns.”

  “But Slocum hired someone to oversee in his absence.”

  “Yes, I’ve met Troy Jacobs.” Cousin Albert said the name like he was sucking lemons. “His greatest accomplishment is raising a liquor bottle. Uncle, the fields are full of grass, and the tobacco needs more water. Jacobs works the slaves all afternoon in the heat with no rest, no water. Let me send him packing and see what we can do to save your tobacco. It would do Robert good to see firsthand a well-run plantation.”

  “Slocum won’t like it.” The crease deepened between his eyebrows. He stared out the window. “But I’m not strong enough to fight you both.” He sighed. “Just until Jed returns. I know you’ve always advocated black drivers rather than overseers, Albert, but I just don’t see it. Slaves don’t have that much sense.”

  “Mitchell House is doing very well without an overseer. Noah is the best driver I’ve ever had,” replied Cousin Albert.

  “Until Slocum returns.” Grandfather glared at me beneath bushy white eyebrows. “Did your father teach my daughter this high-handed insolence, or should I be giving the man more sympathy?” For the first time I grinned. I couldn’t help it. Grandfather almost grinned back.

  Ma and Cousin Albert were as excited as William Henry and me the day we pulled one over on Jake Tulley. They threw themselves into cleaning Ashland, inside out. Cousin Albert brought his driver, Noah, to take charge of the field slaves, as well as six more hands just to help with the hauling of crop water and weeding. He ordered the separation of hogs meant to be slaughtered and salted.

  Ma took Rebecca, as soon as she was able, and trained her to help in the house with cleaning and kitchen work and serving. Ma took charge of the storehouse of provisions, wearing the full set of keys on a sash around her waist. It wasn’t long before she realized Jed Slocum hadn’t ordered the setting by of enough food for winter, either for the big house or the quarters. Ma was fit to be tied. “We’ll see about this!”

  I didn’t tell her about the loose boards at the back of the storehouse and didn’t fix them. If Ashland’s slaves were pilfering Grandfather’s stores it served him right. They looked half starved.

  Ma worked me as hard as any of the slaves, but I was used to that. Since Grandfather no longer needed someone in his room at night, she set Old George to working the kitchen garden again and ordered some of the children to weed for him. She pulled two field slaves to prune the Cherokee rose canes and clear the family plot I never got around to clearing, then to get her mother’s flower beds in order. “It will take weeks, but we’ll make Ashland shine again,” she vowed. I never knew Ma could take over and manage like she did. She was a sight to see.

  The second week in September a letter came from Slocum saying he’d been delayed. He’d picked up a new trail and hoped to close in north of Philadelphia. He expected to bring home both slaves by the end of September.

  We all felt the press for time, fearful our steps forward would end once Jed Slocum returned. It seemed a silly notion, as Grandfather was Slocum’s employer and not the other way around.

  By dinner of the fourth day I was nearly too tired to eat, but not quite. “Ma, maybe we could take a breather this afternoon.”

  “We’re on a schedule, Robert. Aren’t you proud of the work you’re doing? Look how those banisters shine! The entire house is smelling better every day, like lemon oil. Nanny Sara and I are going over the silver this afternoon. Can you believe it? It hasn’t been polished in two years!”

  “No, ma’am. I can hardly believe such a thing.”

  Ma peered at me to see if I intended disrespect. But I grinned. It was good to see her so perky and pleased. And I admit I was proud.

  “The house is nearly in order, the garden is beginning to look like one, and Albert is getting the fields in hand. It’s time we took on the quarters.”

  “We’re going to clean the quarters, too?”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll direct some of the field hands to repair and whitewash those cabins as soon as Albert says they can be spared. When the weather gets cold and all the tobacco is in, we’ll set some of the men to building furniture.”

  “Looks to me like they need food first, and clothes and blankets.”

  Ma studied me. “A good observation, Robert.” Then she reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “I’m glad you’re catching Albert’s vision. I know he’s right about taking care of slaves. They can’t care for themselves, and where would plantations be without them? Happy, healthy slaves make far better workers and a peaceful home. It really can be a wonderful way of life for everyone.”

  I was glad Ma was pleased with me, but I wondered if the slaves shared her notions. I knew Pa didn’t. And then, as if she could read my mind, Ma said, “I wish your father could see all we’re doing here. He might feel differently—about a great many things.” I kept my peace.

  Cousin Albert taught me how to respect and care for a gun before he let me fire my first shot. My first target lesson I missed the marker and exploded the hay bale it sat on. Cousin Albert said things worth doing take time and practice. Alex laughed at me but did no better. In fact, I thought Cousin Albert a brave but foolish man to put a gun in Alex’s hands.

  “I still don’t like you handling guns, Robert, even if it is Albert’s idea. Accidents happen so easily,” Ma fussed at the dinner table.

  “Caroline,” Grandfather admonished. “You can’t coddle the boy all his life. Learning to shoot is part of his training as a Southern gentleman. You’d have him in sausage curls and petticoats if given a free hand. Let him grow up!” Ma sighed, picked up her silver spoon, and dipped it into her cream soup. The discussion was over. I thanked Grandfather with a grin. He winked. As much as I didn’t like the old man, there were times I liked him plenty.

  Late the next afternoon, I crept out to the kitchen, hoping for a glass of lemonade. Nanny Sara sat at the table, peeling late summer peaches. She shook her head at Rebecca. “It’s nice what they’re doing, but Mr. Jed’ll put a stop to it. No, no. There will be the devil to pay when he comes back, and that be any day now.”

  “Jed Slocum doesn’t own Ashland, Nanny Sara. Grandfather does.”

  Nanny Sara started. “You ought not be creepin’ up on a body, Masta Robert, and you ought not be in this old kitchen. White folks stays in the big house. Don’t you be bearin’ tales to Masta Marcus or Miz Caroline what you hear me say.”

  “I don’t bear tales.” I plunked myself at the table. I was tired of the suspicious way Nanny Sara kept at me all the time. “All I want is lemonade. I’m dry as those peach leaves.”

  “Well, say so then.” And she poured me a tall tumbler of lemonade. “Hold on, now. Rebecca, get on down to the ice house an’ fetch me some shavings.”

  “No, thanks,” I said. “It’s not worth the trouble.”

  “You sure are a funny white boy, telling me it’s not worth the trouble.” Nanny Sara frowned, the pitcher in midair.

  I downed the glass in two long swallows, set it back on the table, and headed for the door. “You sure are a funny Nanny Sara, always giving me trouble about not giving you trouble.” Their surprised laughter followed
me outside. I missed the easygoing way between Aunt Sassy and William Henry and me. At home the colored workers and I were friends, working together to make Laurelea run and turn a profit. Mr. Heath shared that profit by paying all his workers. Here the coloreds slaved day after day. But they had no hope of owning anything, least of all themselves.

  Still, as I walked the path through the quarters and saw the first cabin being whitewashed and two men repairing the roof of the next, I felt glad. I hid myself behind Slocum’s cabin when the quitting bell sounded. The slaves ambled in from the fields, singing their end-of-day songs. “I’ll meet you in the mornin’, I’m boun’ for de promised land, on de oder side of Jordan, boun’ for de promised land.” But the singing slowed as they neared the quarters and went to humming. Then the humming stopped. A little barefoot girl ran up to the cabin and ran her hand over the rough, whitened boards. “Like the big house!”

  Her mother slapped her hand away. “Never like that!” And then she rubbed her own hand over the doorsill in wonder. “But it’s white and clean, just the same. And that be nice, real nice.”

  I smiled. It was good to be part of something that brought pleasure. I even wondered if Cousin Albert might be right, if Pa could be wrong about slavery—if it could all be run like Cousin Albert ran Mitchell House.

  Late the next afternoon Cousin Albert praised me. “You’re getting pretty good with that gun. We’ll be ready for some fine waterfowl hunting this winter.”

  “I don’t know if we’ll still be here then,” I said, already feeling the regret.

  Cousin Albert rested his hand on my shoulder and smiled. “I’m not in any hurry for you to leave, Robert.”

  I smiled back. I wasn’t in any hurry either. And I didn’t know if Ma would ever want to leave. A month before, such an idea would have set me in a panic. I missed Pa and William Henry and the Heaths and Laurelea. But it felt good to be wanted and needed, to be treated by men like I was nearly grown. I believe I carried my head a little higher, until the night Jed Slocum came back.

  JED SLOCUM HAD BEEN GONE so long that I sometimes pretended he wasn’t coming back at all.

  Ma and I sat on the verandah, watching the mid-October sun set, and the slice of new moon climb over the long needle pines. We breathed in the last of Grandmother Ashton’s favorite magnolias and the first bite of autumn chill. Frost could not be far off. Ma wrapped her shawl tight around her, then linked her arm through mine. “Robert, I’m so proud of how you’ve taken hold here. All the—” But she stopped and stood, facing the drive. “What is that light?”

  A ghostly flame danced through the trees to the beat of horse hooves. The raised torch bobbed closer, growing until its flickering light fell on a man’s face. I made out a figure on the ground—no, two figures—hobbling behind. Both were shackled—their wrists and ankles chained together. My neck prickled as the face of the man on the horse came into view. He rode directly to the heavy bell in the front yard and rang it wildly. It was the emergency signal for all of Ashland, slave and free, to run to the front drive. Ma raised her voice. “Mr. Slocum, what is the meaning of this?”

  Still astride his horse Slocum held his torch higher and the pool of light grew. “Well, Miz Caroline.” He squinted toward us, then rode to the verandah, dragging his prisoners behind him. “I see you made it to Ashland.”

  By this time lamps shone through the windows behind us. Lanterns sprang from the quarters. Grandfather opened the front door and a stream of light fell before him. “Slocum!”

  “Mr. Ashton. Good to see you on your feet again.” But Slocum didn’t look glad, didn’t sound glad. “Brought back our runaways.”

  “You were gone long enough.” Grandfather’s confidence didn’t match his words.

  “Chased them clean up the Tioga Valley. It’s a long walk home.”

  “You made them walk all the way home?” I couldn’t believe it.

  Slocum stared me up and down. “Best way to teach a man not to run is to make him remember there’s no pleasure in walking home, and then to make sure he can’t never run again.” Slocum swung down from his horse and thrust his torch in the ground. “You, Boy!” He called to a slave I didn’t know by name. “Get me four more torches.” Then he called to a boy not yet ten, “Henry, get my axe. Now!”

  Grandfather watched as Slocum unchained the prisoners. For the first time I realized that one was dark and older, maybe my pa’s age. The other one, farther from the light, couldn’t have been much older than me. Unless the night and the crazy torchlight did something to my eyes he was white, or nearly. Something pulled at my brain. Slocum chained the boy to a post and dragged the older man to the center of the ring of slaves. That was when I realized I’d seen them before—the same man who’d been pulled, unconscious, from the bottom of Mr. Heath’s wagon, and the boy that had followed him, the one who’d watched me from the Heaths’ attic window.

  “Jacob!” A woman cried out, pushing through the ring. But Slocum cracked his whip, making her fall to her knees.

  “Keep back! Let this be a lesson to every one of you thinking about running. You will never get free. I will track you down and find you, no matter what rock you hide under, no matter who helps you, no matter how far I have to go. You will always come back to me.” And then he turned. “Where is that fool boy with my axe?”

  “Ma?” I whispered. “What’s he going to do?” And for the first time I realized that Ma was gripping my arm. The black woman who had called to Jacob cried and begged, “Please Mr. Slocum. Please, don’t do it. I promise he won’t never run again. I promise.”

  “Hold her back. You’re sure right he won’t. Not without a foot.”

  The young boy stepped through the parting crowd slowly, frightened, bearing the axe. “No, Ma. Please,” I whispered. Please stop him!”

  “Papa?” Ma whispered. Then louder, “Papa, stop him! This isn’t necessary. It’s cruel!”

  But Grandfather didn’t blink. He stared at Slocum, his eyes bright with fascination and something else I couldn’t take hold of—something eager and greedy. “This is not your business, Caroline. Let Slocum do his work.”

  “But Papa! Ashland is your business! You are master here, not Slocum! This is not how you treat slaves, even if they do run!”

  And then Grandfather turned on her. “I told you Slocum is in charge of the slaves, Caroline. This is a man’s world. Do what you want with the house slaves, but Slocum handles the rest. Go inside if you’ve no stomach for discipline.”

  Ma started to speak again, but Grandfather’s glare cut her off. He looked down on her like a child he was ashamed of, and she lowered her eyes. I’m sure Slocum heard, but he didn’t give Ma time to go inside if she’d wanted. He raised his axe to the night sky. The man on the ground trembled. He begged Ma for mercy, but Ma did not look up. His eyes caught mine. The axe fell in one awful plunge and the voice of pain tore the night wide open. The leg jerked as the foot fell away, and blood spurted across the ground. I screamed. But mine was lost in the screams and cries of the circle of slaves reaching toward their fallen Jacob. Slocum wiped his axe on the grass. “Get him out of here.” A smaller ring of slaves swarmed the bleeding Jacob and lifted him, trying to bind the wound and stop the flow of blood and life. They were not yet gone when Slocum pulled the younger one, the nearly white boy, to the center.

  “No!” screamed Nanny Sara. I hadn’t seen her until now, but she shadowed the boy Slocum dragged. She didn’t beg Slocum, but ran to Grandfather and fell at his feet, tears streaming from her face and anger in her voice. “You promised, Masta Marcus! You promised! Not my Jeremiah! Not my Ruby’s son!”

  “He shouldn’t have run!” Grandfather spat back.

  “You promised! On my Ruby’s selling you promised!”

  “Ruby’s son? What do you mean, Nanny Sara?” Ma tried to lift Nanny Sara from the step, but she would not be moved.

  “You ast him, you ast your own papa what I mean!”

  Ma looked to Grandfather but he w
ouldn’t meet her eyes. “That’s enough, Sara.” Then to Slocum, “Fifty lashes. And take it to the quarters.”

  Slocum, his axe ready, challenged Grandfather. “Lashes won’t teach this uppity buck not to run. You’d best let me do as I intend.” But something in his challenge woke the sleeping dragon in Grandfather.

  “You heard me. Fifty lashes.” And he turned, and walked into the house.

  “Fifty lashes kill my boy!” Nanny Sara cried. But the door shut and Ma tried to lift the old woman to her feet.

  “Ma! Can’t you stop this?”

  “Obviously I cannot, Robert. Help me get Nanny Sara inside.” But Nanny Sara pushed us away.

  “I won’t go inside! I’m going to the whipping post with my grandson, my own Ruby’s boy. I will not leave him. You go ast Masta Marcus. You ast him!”

  “Nanny Sara!” Ma called, but the old woman was already stumbling away, following the ring of slaves as Slocum led them to the whipping post in the quarters, dragging Jeremiah with him.

  “Ma!” I pleaded. But Ma turned on me.

  “Robert! Grow up! This is the way things are here! If a slave runs he must be punished. I don’t agree with the severity, but there must be some accountability. It’s Papa’s decision. If he lets Mr. Slocum do this, we can’t stop him. It is better than cutting off his foot or hanging the boy.”

  “You mean you won’t stop him!”

  “Robert.” She sounded weary and reached for me. But I didn’t want her to touch me. A person that weak couldn’t be my mother.

  “If you won’t help I’ll get someone who will, someone who’s not afraid of Grandfather, someone who can stand up to Slocum! Nobody does this!” I stumbled down the steps and ran.

  “Robert! Robert!” she cried. I shut her out.

  Run, run, run! My heart beat out the rhythm as I pounded down the drive and out onto the road through the darkness. I ran hard the mile to Mitchell House, gasping for breath, letting the air rush past me, cooling the sweat of fear and revulsion that poured from inside, only to pour it all again. The house was already dark. A single lamp burned in the window of Cousin Albert’s study. I pounded on the door with both fists, but couldn’t wait, so pushed it open, nearly falling into Cousin Albert’s arms.