Freedom Stone

by Jeffrey Kluger

  Now, as the Young Mistress sat at the breakfast table, glowering down at her disappointing plate and looking glumly ahead to the day that faced her, she began to feel cross—just as she had the day she saw Lillie sneaking to see Bett. She’d done Lillie a favor by playing with her for so many years. It had been a mark of her kindness—even of her pity for the girl. Now that kindness was not being repaid. Lillie would be going to a party tonight, perhaps dancing with boys, perhaps even kissing one. She was obviously a spoiled slave, and the more Sarabeth thought about it, the more she decided that Lillie was a bit peculiar too—spending so much time with that baker woman, who only encouraged her to put on airs. Now the old baker had Lillie’s loyalty, Sarabeth had lost it, and tonight Lillie would be having fun, while Sarabeth—the daughter of the planter who owned all the acreage around them for as far as anyone living on Greenfog could see—would be staying home. The world had turned upside down, and Sarabeth all at once decided that tonight she’d set it right.

  “Papa,” she said, folding her napkin, pushing away from the table and rising to her feet, “I would like to accompany you to Bingham Woods tonight. Other planters’ children will be there, and I think I’m old enough.”

  She smoothed her dress and lifted her head in a way that made her feel both stern and ladylike and her father looked at her, trying to contain a smile. He cast his eyes to the Missus, who smiled the same way.

  “You’re certain you want to come?” he asked Sarabeth. “It might not be a very exciting evening for a child.”

  “For a child, no,” Sarabeth said. “But for a lady it will be fine.”

  Her father smiled again. “Yes, that’s true,” he said. “A lady is mature enough to enjoy such things.” He glanced at the Missus, who nodded. “All right, then,” the Master said formally. “You may be my escort for the evening.”

  Sarabeth nodded her thanks, and her father broke into a laugh, pulled her toward him and kissed her on the forehead. She turned, left the room and went upstairs to begin considering what she should wear. Tonight would indeed be a stuffy affair, with all the white folks closed up in the Big House while somewhere outside the slaves would be singing and celebrating. But Sarabeth’s long-ago playmate, Lillie, would be there too, and that held a dark sort of appeal. Sarabeth did not know what she would say or do if she saw her disloyal friend tonight—but something, she was certain, would occur to her.

  Lillie had an even worse start to her day than Sarabeth did, having passed a frightful night. Her mind had been filled with thoughts of the dangers she would face at the slave dance this evening—dangers that left her fretting and tossing and barely able to close her eyes. The little sleep she did get was filled with images of hounds and whips and the darkened woods. Lillie was at the center of it all, with the Bingham Woods plantation off to the west, Orchard Hill to the east and the safety of her cabin at Greenfog far, far behind her. When Mama finally tried to roust her from bed shortly before dawn, Lillie waved her off and buried her face in her thin, scratchy mattress.

  “Up, child, up,” Mama said.

  “Later, Mama.”

  “Later is too late, ’less you want to explain to the overseer why you didn’t show up to tend the babies.”

  The party tonight did not free the slaves from their Saturday morning responsibilities, and that meant that Lillie had to be in the nursery cabin by the time the work horn sounded, just as if it were any other day. Mama got the family out of bed especially early so that the children could try on their fancy clothes for the evening to make sure they still fit. As it turned out, Lillie’s dress did crowd her too much on top. Mama opened up some seams in the sides of the dress and sewed them out rounder, allowing the girl to breathe and her shape to show itself. Lillie felt pleased by that at first and then embarrassed, especially after Plato noticed what was happening, covered his mouth and snickered.

  “You quit that laughin’, Plato,” Mama said, “’ less you want me to take that suit offa you and send you to that dinner in nothin’ but your skin.” Now it was Lillie’s turn to snicker and Plato’s to turn away grumpily.

  Lillie did make it to the nursery cabin on time—just barely—and the morning, as she’d feared, passed slowly. After the terrible thing that happened to the hummingbird a week before, Lillie had lingered in Bett’s cabin, while Bett explained what the two of them would have to do to make tonight’s charm work properly. The most important thing, Bett had said, was that Lillie should come to her cabin as soon as she could today, and that she should bring Plato with her. Bett assured her that the boy would face no danger if the charm went wrong, and Lillie believed her, but that did not free her of worry entirely. When the quitting horn finally sounded about midday today, Lillie sprinted out of the nursery cabin and sped to the tobacco field, where Mama would be finishing up the morning’s weeding and Plato would be busy with his bird chasing. When she arrived, Mama was surprised to see her, especially as out of breath as she was.

  “What are you about, girl?” she asked suspiciously. “You in some kind o’ trouble?”

  “No, Mama, no trouble. I just come to fetch Plato.”

  “On what business?”

  “No business, just playin’. We got the afternoon free. Ain’t it all right for me to play with my little brother?”

  Plato brightened and bounded to Lillie. “Hen fox!” he said. “We can play hen fox!”

  Lillie grinned. “That’s just what I was thinkin’.”

  Hen fox was a game their papa used to play with them that involved not much more than hiding in the tobacco plants and leaping out to scare each other—the one doing the scaring being the fox, the one who got scared being the hen. For a time after Papa died, Lillie had tried to continue the game so that Plato wouldn’t miss it too much. He always enjoyed it, but it usually made Lillie want to cry and she soon had to give it up.

  “You ain’t played hen fox in months,” Mama said. “What are you up to, child?”

  Lillie looked at Mama and worked to make her face appear as honest as she could. “The boy’s gonna be all alone tonight,” she said in a half whisper, as if she were a mama herself. “I don’t want him to miss us too much.”

  Mama looked at her skeptically, but finally nodded her agreement. Plato leapt up and began bounding through the fields. Lillie chased after him, feeling both relieved and a bit ashamed for fooling Mama so.

  “I’m the fox!” Plato shouted when he’d run barely twenty yards. He dove into the sod around the tobacco plants.

  Lillie dove after him, wrestling with him and tickling him as the boy laughed delightedly. Then she whispered into his ear. “I’ve got somethin’ better to do!”

  “What?” Plato asked, still giggling and squirming.

  “It’s a surprise,” Lillie answered, “but if you come with me, you may get some cake!”

  Plato brightened. “Cake? Now?”

  “Soon. But we got to bake it first. And for that, we gotta go see Bett!” Lillie tickled Plato again, saying, “Get up, get up!” The boy wriggled to his feet and the two of them ran ahead.

  It seemed like barely a minute before they arrived at Bett’s cabin and as they were approaching, Lillie could smell the fragrance of baking. She scanned ahead to see if the slowbees were about, but this baking seemed to be ordinary baking; any charm connected to it was too weak to show itself. That was good, since while Plato had never asked why things behaved so peculiarly around Bett’s cabin, the time was surely approaching when he would. Bett must have heard them coming, because she appeared in her doorway and waved them toward her. They raced the rest of the way to the cabin and came to a skidding stop at the door.

  “All that runnin’,” Bett said. “You’ll get yourselves hungry. I expect I can take care o’ that, though.”

  Bett stepped aside and Lillie and Plato entered the cabin, where the rich smell from the oven was everywhere. Both children looked around to see what Bett was preparing, but when Plato looked toward the table and saw a fresh, warm tray
of biscuits, his face fell.

  “That ain’t cake,” he sulked. “You said we’d have cake.”

  “Plato!” Lillie scolded. “That ain’t polite!” She glanced at Bett, who laughed it off.

  “Cake is comin’,” she said. “You’ll have biscuits and milk first.” Bett selected two big biscuits and poured two cups of milk for Lillie and Plato, and the children sat down and ate hungrily. Before Lillie was finished, Bett waved her over to the worktable near the oven. “You and I have business,” she said quietly. “Finish your food later.”

  While Plato ate—gobbling down his biscuit and starting on Lillie’s—Bett laid out the ingredients for a cake batter and told Lillie exactly how much of each one she’d need to scoop and pour. Lillie set to work, with Bett watching closely. When the girl needed help, Bett would explain what she had to do, but would step away with her hands clasped behind her back as she did, resisting the temptation to do the work for her. When Lillie looked like her mind was wandering, Bett cautioned her, “Think hard about the baking, child. And think hard about what you want it to do. That’s the only way to make it work.” Even before Lillie was done with the mixing, Bett looked in the bowl and smiled in approval at what she was seeing. Then she turned to Plato.

  “You want to help your sister and me, child?” she asked. Plato looked up from his plate, his mouth covered with biscuit crumbs, and nodded. “Good, then run to my stream and fetch us some water. Not just any water; it’s got to be extra cold and extra clear. You understand?”

  “Yes’m,” Plato said, jumping up. Bett pointed to a bucket near the hearth, Plato snatched it up, and vanished out the door. When he was gone, Lillie looked toward Bett questioningly.

  “Don’t need no water,” Bett said. “But he’s a boy. He gets to playing with a stream full o’ fish, and he won’t be back till we’re ready for him.” Her face then turned serious and she took Lillie by the shoulders. “You think hard while you was workin’ like I told you to?”

  “Yes’m,” Lillie answered.

  Bett nodded. “Listen good, then. I’ll light my oven fires before the wagons load tonight and set this batter to bake as soon as I hear you all goin’ off to Bingham Woods. It don’t take long to short-bake a cake, but it ought to be enough for you to reach the fork in the road that’ll take you to Orchard Hill instead. Soon as I pull the batter out o’ the oven, you jump outta that wagon.”

  “How will I know you pulled it out?” Lillie asked.

  “You’ll smell the bakin’, child. You and no one else. You smell it, you jump. You understand?”

  Lillie nodded. “How will I know the charm’s workin’ after that? How will I know it’s quickenin’ me up?”

  Bett smiled a smile Lillie couldn’t quite read. “You’ll know. Don’t worry ’bout that. But remember, the charm will carry you, but it don’t last long. Once you get to Orchard Hill, it’ll be done. You got to do your work there quick, ’cause you’ll have nothin’ but your own legs to carry you back to Bingham Woods. That’s a lot o’ hard runnin’ for a grown person—more for a child.” Lillie nodded her understanding and Bett pointed to the bowl. “Now,” she said, “finish up that mixing and spit in it.” Lillie mixed hurriedly, then leaned over the bowl and spat.

  “We need the boy’s spit too,” Bett said. “A powerful charm calls for powerful sugar, and he’s young enough his spit oughta be sweet as plums. Later tonight, I’ll bake him a proper cake what ain’t short-cooked or spat in, so’s we don’t lie to him.”

  Bett stuck her head out the door and called to Plato, who ran back inside. As Bett had suspected, the bucket was empty and his clothes were soaked from playing in the stream. She steered him to the worktable, crouched down in front of him and held the batter bowl out to him.

  “Boy,” she said, “you got to spit in the cake.”

  “Why?” Plato asked.

  “It’s your cake, ain’t it?” Bett asked.

  Plato nodded.

  “Then we gotta make sure you’re the only one what eats it,” Bett said. “Ain’t nobody gonna touch it if you tells ’em it’s got your spit.”

  Plato beamed, spat messily into the bowl and laughed delightedly at what he’d just done. Lillie looked at him with mingled feelings. In one afternoon, she’d lied first to her mama and then to her brother. She reckoned she felt low about that, but she reckoned too that she had no choice.

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE WAGONS LOADED for the Saturday party at what would normally have been the dinner hour at Greenfog. Some of the slaves, particularly the ones Lillie’s age, ate a light supper in their cabins first so that they wouldn’t get too hungry on the ride to Bingham Woods. Most of the adults ate nothing at all—the women not wanting to grow too full for the dancing, the men wanting to save room both for the roasted hog they knew they would eat and the whiskey they hoped they would drink. Lillie, like the adults, ate nothing—though for her it was worry that claimed her appetite. Even if she did try to force down some food, her jumping stomach would probably not let her hold on to it.

  Perhaps, she thought, this was a fool idea after all. Perhaps there were other ways. Hadn’t Bett said that her oven and its black stone could work more magic than just the kind she’d told her about? Maybe that magic was too dangerous, but could it be more dangerous than a slave girl running alone on a dark road at night? With effort, Lillie pushed those thoughts from her head. She and Bett had come up with a plan for tonight, and that plan had seemed like a good one. It was no surprise that it wouldn’t seem as good now, when the time was coming close that it would be more than just planning. But that, Lillie reckoned, was fear talking. “The charm will carry you,” Bett had said, and Lillie would have to trust that it would.

  The three wagons that would be carrying the thirty or so slaves to Bingham Woods lined up on the dirt path not far from the cabins. The overseer and the slave drivers were there too and would be traveling to the party as well. Louis was given the first wagon to mind—the one that carried the mamas and the oldest girls. Slave women on the way to a slave party liked to use the ride to laugh and gossip in private, usually about the men. The overseer never imagined they’d cause any trouble and thus set only one whip man to watch them. The second wagon carried the men, and both Mr. Willis and Bull were seated with them. Give a wagonful of slave men a smell of the world, the overseer feared, and there was no telling what thoughts of running it would give them. Best to have two whips handy just to be safe.

  The last wagon—as always—would carry the slave children, and nobody believed they needed to be guarded. No child on any plantation had tried to escape in as long as anyone in Beaufort County could remember. Most were spooked enough on a country road late at night that they’d huddle together for the entire ride, no likelier to jump from the wagon than from the roof of the Big House itself.

  Lillie, Plato and Mama dressed in their party finery shortly before it was time to board the wagons, and they made a handsome group. The last time they’d all dressed so prettily, Papa had been with them. When Lillie thought of that, she felt a wave of sadness come over her, but she pushed it away. Mama was surely feeling the same thing, but Mama wasn’t showing it, lest she spoil the family’s fun. Lillie guessed she could contain her feelings just the same.

  The three of them left the cabin and stepped out into the late-summer crispness, hand in hand. Mama enjoyed promenading with her smart and well turned-out family and couldn’t resist looking this way and that to see if any other slaves were noticing them. They’d all gone no more than a few yards, however, before their good spirits froze up hard. Coming toward them through the lowering shadows was Mr. Willis. The family stopped where they were, and as the overseer drew near, he looked them up and down with the appraising eye of a slave buyer at auction.

  “Awful pretty family, Franny,” he said to Mama. Then, with a leer that made Lillie feel ill, he looked Mama up and down an extra time and added, “And an awful fine-lookin’ mama too.”

  “Thank you,
sir,” Mama said. “Just tryin’ not to be late for the wagons.”

  “Wagons ain’t goin’ nowhere without me,” Mr. Willis answered. His gaze stayed on Mama, then it shifted to Lillie. The hungry, smirking expression he wore didn’t change. “I expect I’ll see you ladies doin’ some fine dancin’ tonight.”

  Lillie started to say something, but Mama answered for her. “Child’s too young for dancin’,” she said. “She might take a turn with the other girls, but that’s all.”

  Willis laughed unpleasantly. “A girl growin’ up as ripe as this one don’t look too young for dancin’ to me,” he said. “Course, she ain’t never gonna be as much of a picture as her mama. Looks more like the papa—taller, bonier.”

  Lillie, despite her fear of the man, looked up at him with a glare she could barely control. Willis didn’t notice. Instead, he turned his attention to Plato.

  “You best protect these ladies tonight, boy,” he directed. “Keep ’em from forgettin’ how to behave themselves with so much dancin’ and liquor around.”

  Plato shrank against Mama, and Mama held him by the shoulder. “The boy ain’t comin’ tonight. I’m takin’ him to the Big House kitchen now.”

  “Too bad, son,” the overseer said. “No dances for you this year, and by next year ...” He allowed his words to trail off, leaving only their meaning behind. By next year, those unsaid words were saying, Plato would be gone.

  Willis turned and walked off and Mama stood staring at him, her face rock-still but a twitch playing about her mouth. Lillie watched the little man striding away and felt nothing but a cold, clear loathing. It was a frightening feeling, if only because it was so big and so sudden—a feeling that seemed like it could get away from her if she wasn’t careful.