“Doesn’t he have any family or friends to help him?”
Aunt Patricia shook her head. “He had a wife, a woman he jumped the broom with, but she died shortly after they were freed. There’s no one else.” She slid the wicker handle of her basket toward her elbow and reached out with the other hand to knock on the door.
“Who’s there?” Alexandra could hear hacking coughs coming from the little house.
“It’s Mrs. Patricia and my niece Alexandra. We’ve come with some stew for you and medication to ease that cough.”
The door swung open slowly, creaking on its hinges. A small man with the darkest face Alexandra had ever seen looked out at them.
Aunt Patricia performed quick introductions, and they went inside, placing their baskets on the hearth in front of a roaring fire.
The interior of the small home was much cozier than the exterior indicated. A quilt covered the mattress of a narrow bed, its bright colors giving a cheerful feel to the room. A rocking chair stood next to the fireplace, obviously the seat the old man used. A small table was nestled in the corner of the large open space, two chairs pulled up to it.
Tobias pointed to the chairs. “Why don’t you turn those around and have a seat next to the fire.” He moved slowly toward the table and held up a knife over a loaf of dark bread. “Would you care for a slice? I made this two days ago.”
Aunt Patricia shook her head as she settled into one of the chairs. “We ate before we came, Tobias.”
He began coughing as he put the knife back on the table.
The hacking sounded awful to Alexandra’s ears. She stood and helped the man walk across the room and sit down in his rocker. “Can I fetch some water for you?”
Tobias shook his head. It took a few moments, but he finally got the coughing back under control. “You’re a kind young lady.” His face had lost some of its color, taking on the hue of river mud. “It seems to come natural in your family.”
His words stung her conscience like tiny barbs. “I haven’t been very much interested in helping until now.”
“It doesn’t matter when you start.” Aunt Patricia smiled at her. “Only that you do.” She turned to Tobias. “How have you been doing?”
He shrugged, wiping his mouth with a white handkerchief. “Not too bad.”
“I worry about whether or not you’re eating regularly.”
“It doesn’t take much to feed a lazy old man.” He grinned at them, showing both of the teeth he had. “Now come spring, when I get to planting my garden, it may take something more to keep up my energy, but I’ve saved a little money. I’ll be able to barter with the merchants in Natchez to buy what I need.”
Aunt Patricia rolled her eyes. “Don’t try to fool me. You haven’t been able to work since last winter. I doubt you have more than fifty cents to your name.”
Alexandra watched as her aunt, the daughter of a wealthy landowner, bantered with the friendly man. The woman she’d thought of as starchy and uninteresting was showing a completely different side of herself. She was smiling and laughing and looked a decade younger than she had as they rode over to the cabin. It was as though she was gaining as much from this visit as Tobias was.
“I suppose we had best get on our way, Alexandra.” Aunt Patricia stood and picked up the cloak she had laid across the back of her chair. “We have several stops to make before dinner.”
Even though the cold air nipped at her nose as Alexandra followed her aunt back out to the carriage, contentment warmed her through and through. Maybe she would actually enjoy dispensing goods to the needy.
After several similar stops, her aunt instructed the coachman to take them home. “We need to get back. A lot of work is waiting for us there.”
Alexandra settled into a corner of the coach opposite her aunt. “What kind of things do you have in mind?”
“Your uncle and I were down at Natchez Under-the-Hill last week, and we saw many poor, tired immigrants passing through on their way to who knows where. You should have seen them. Exhausted and scared, ragged and hungry. The children were so thin their little arms looked like knobby sticks, and their parents were not in much better shape. They need everything from warm meals to cloaks and blankets. Most of them sold all their belongings just to get to America.”
Her memory dredged up a dreary picture of the waterfront, and Alexandra’s heart melted. “What a wonderful idea. It sounds as if they need our help.”
“Yes, they do. I found a whole stack of blankets we no longer use because they have holes in them. So we are going to mend them and take them to the waterfront for those poor souls.”
Anticipation made her toes curl. Alexandra could hardly wait to get started. “I hope you know you have changed my outlook. I mean…” She paused, searching for the right words to express her thoughts.
Aunt Patricia reached across the carriage and patted her hand. “I know what you mean, dear. There’s nothing like ministering to others to remind us of the many blessings we have.”
Chapter 17
I have an idea.” Jeremiah’s statement elicited a groan from his friend. He looked out of the carriage as it traveled the road to town. He and Judah had been planning this trip for several days. A piece of property was being offered for sale that should make an excellent shipping office, and Jeremiah wanted to purchase it if the building was in good shape and the price was fair.
“The last time you said that to me, we ended up spending the whole day across the river at that tent meeting.”
“You have to admit the minister was a great speaker. The Spirit was using him to deliver a message we needed to hear.”
Judah laughed. “He was good, but it’s a wonder we didn’t catch colds after all that time out in the open. Ferriday Plantation may not be that far away, but crossing the river at this time of year exposed us to some raw weather.”
“I still think it was worth the trouble.” Jeremiah remembered the hours spent hanging on every word the minister delivered. A part of him wished he had the talent to teach the Word, but he had not been gifted in that way. He was able to share the Gospel with people one-on-one and even sometimes in a group of five or so, but he was not an orator. “But back to my idea. What would you think of ordering slate tablets and pencils?”
“Whatever for? Who are you planning to teach?”
Jeremiah turned his attention away from the landscape. “I was thinking about showing your slaves the rudiments of reading and writing.”
Judah crossed his arms over his chest and grunted. “You can forget your revolutionary ideas. I know things were different where you grew up, but here slaves are the labor force that makes our crops profitable. If we teach the slaves to read, they will clamor for freedom. How do you think things would go at home if I freed all the slaves?”
“I believe you could hire them to work for you instead of forcing them to do so. Can’t you see enslavement is wrong? The men and women you ‘own’ are precious in the Lord’s sight.”
“They are precious to me, too…precious to the smooth operation of the plantation.” Judah frowned at him. “You’d better keep your ideas to yourself. Many people in this county would lynch you for the ideas you’ve espoused to me.”
“Do I need to fear a vicious mob attack?”
“No, but you may get a very chilly reception if you start ordering school supplies for slaves. It’s not legal. If word got out, you would go to jail. The people around here don’t take kindly to newcomers messing with the system that’s been in use for decades.”
Jeremiah considered the advice. His friend had grown up here and knew the people. But that didn’t mean Jeremiah’s plan was doomed to failure. It would simply be placed on a back shelf for now. As soon as he got the shipping business up and running, he could use his uncle’s contacts. It shouldn’t be a problem to have a few dozen tablets and pencils ordered.
“It’s a nice day.” Judah leaned forward to look out of the window. “Spring will be upon us soon.”
“Indeed.” As Jeremiah watched the passing scenery, his mind wandered back to the idea for a school. He could have a new building raised on the plantation grounds. That way, few of the planters would realize his plans until they were underway. It could be about the same size as the sewing house, unpretentious and simple, with several desks and a tablet for each person in attendance. He could start with the children who were too young to be put to work. Then they could go home every day and show their parents and older siblings what they had learned.
The coach passed a wide road leading west into a dense forest. “Is that the drive to a plantation home?” Jeremiah asked.
Judah glanced past him and shook his head. “That’s Liberty Road.”
“Good name.” He encouraged his friend to elaborate with a nod.
“Several hunting lodges down that road are owned by some of the most prosperous planters around here. They don’t get down there very often, but they have slaves on duty all the time. As long as the masters are not in residence and the lodges are cared for, the slaves are free to do what they will with their time. They have much more liberty than you would expect.”
“Why don’t they run away?”
A shrug answered him. “I guess they are comfortable.”
Jeremiah couldn’t imagine living in a half-world of slavery. “Until the master comes. Then they have to give up their freedom again. It seems to me that would be a painful process.”
“Not as painful as being whipped or branded if they are caught without papers. Since our neighbors up north have been threatening to shackle the Southland by outlawing slavery, things have gotten much more tense. Catching a runaway slave has always been serious business, but it’s even more so since slaves who make it to certain states or territories in the North are considered free.”
“I wonder where it will end.”
“From what we’ve learned since returning to Natchez, the price of cotton is rising daily. Our economy strengthens with each shipment.” Judah shifted his position on the cushioned bench. “The system works because our slaves work.”
Jeremiah couldn’t agree with Judah. “There must be a way to make plantations successful without the enslavement of human beings.”
“Maybe so.” Judah’s expression had drawn into a frown. “I’ve never purchased a slave myself.”
“But you’ve not considered freeing the ones you inherited.”
“I’m not as wealthy as you, Jeremiah. If I freed the slaves, Susannah and I would lose everything.”
Jeremiah recognized the fear in his friend’s voice. “It wouldn’t be easy, but you and your wife should consider other ways to make the plantation profitable. Perhaps you could free a few at a time to make it easier on you.”
“I’ll think about it.”
They arrived in town and found the property Jeremiah wished to inspect. It was a brick building clinging to the edge of the bluff overlooking Natchez Under-the-Hill. They went inside and found a pair of small rooms in the front of the building that could be used as office space and a set of rooms upstairs that could be updated for a living space.
“I can see a large desk in that room, and you with your feet up on it while you count all the money you earn.” Judah’s teasing words made Jeremiah laugh.
“I’m much more likely to be down at the waterfront making sure the shipments find their way to the correct boats.”
“Once you get this place fixed up, I cannot imagine wanting to leave it. I can almost hear the deals being made between your business and the local farmers.” Judah hobbled across the room and looked out a dirt-streaked window. “They’ll be lining up outside to sell you their cotton.”
Jeremiah watched his friend, glad to see the liveliness in his expression. It was good to see Judah animated. He seemed to have forgotten his infirmity for a few moments. If only Judah could stay here and run things…It would give Jeremiah more time to do what he wanted to do—work the land and make meaningful changes.
Inspiration struck as suddenly as a summer storm. “What would you think of managing the business for me?”
Judah turned so quickly he almost fell over. “I…I don’t know the least thing about the shipping business.”
“I can teach you what you’ll need to know.” Jeremiah’s voice grew more certain as the details fell into place in his mind. “You can start by making inquiries in town for the furniture we’ll need.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m a farmer. If it wasn’t for this leg…” He waved a hand downward as his voice faded.
Jeremiah dropped his chin and raised an eyebrow. “Instead of focusing on your problems, you should consider my suggestion. You would be a natural.” Certainty flooded him. He knew this was right. All he had to do was convince his friend.
Judah’s serious gaze wandered around the room. “I don’t know….”
Silence invaded the room as Jeremiah waited for his hesitant friend to think about his idea. A prayer filled his heart. Would this be the right path for Judah? And what about Susannah?
Judah turned back to him, excitement animating his face. “Hickman O’Grady made a couple of the pieces we have at home. He has a shop a few blocks away. We can go see what he might have to offer in the way of furnishings.”
“I’ll leave that up to you. I need to go by the bank and make a few other stops.” Jeremiah withdrew his pocket watch. “I’ll meet you back here in a couple of hours.”
Judah nodded and made his way to the door.
Jeremiah could hear his friend’s excited voice directing the coachman. He glanced toward the ceiling, the grateful outpouring of David’s Psalm 103 filling his heart. “ ‘Bless the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless his holy name.’ Thank You, Lord. You are so faithful to Judah and to me.”
The future opened up in front of him, stunning him with its possibilities. God had blessed him beyond his greatest imaginings.
Chapter 18
Alexandra gazed at the dresses comprising her wardrobe. Should she choose the black silk with gray rosettes? Or the black bombazine with its gray fichu? Or maybe the black taffeta skirt unrelieved by any hint of color. She looked toward Jemma. “You pick one of them.”
Jemma shook her head. “Now, Miss Alexandra, you’re too partic’lar for that.”
She raised her gaze to the ceiling and blew out a breath of disgust. “They’re all black, so what does it matter?”
The way her slave stared at her made Alexandra’s cheeks flush. She looked at the faded brown homespun dress Jemma always wore. She knew she ought to be grateful for what she had. Things could be worse—she and Mama could be homeless, working their fingers to the bone washing clothes or making soap. Then she wouldn’t have to worry what to wear because, like Jemma, she would own only one dress.
She finally pointed to the dress with the nice fichu. “I want to look my best in church without overdoing it.”
Jemma picked up the dress and helped her get it over her petticoat, tugging and fussing until each fold of material was hanging just so. Then she tweaked a few strands of hair that had been mussed. “Will you be wearing your hat, or did you want the lace scarf?”
Alexandra considered a moment before choosing the gray scarf and sitting down in front of her dressing table. Jemma fastened the delicate material over her hair with several pins. When it was secure, Alexandra rose and picked up her fan and the black reticule that would hold her handkerchief and a few hairpins. “I believe I am ready.”
“Yes, ma’am. You look real nice.”
“Thank you, Jemma.” Alexandra went downstairs to meet the other members of her family.
“Put on your cloak so we can get started.” Grand-mère rose slowly and looked her over with a discerning gaze. “And remember to hold your head high. The way to deal with burgeoning scandal is to face it head on.”
Alexandra wanted to run back upstairs and refuse to come out, but she knew her grandmother would never allow such behavior. She didn’t want to face anyone, not wi
th the memory of Lowell’s frozen features so clear in her mind. What if he cut her? She glanced at her grandmother and decided with a lift of her chin that she would never let them see her discomfiture.
“That’s the spirit, girl.” Her grandmother allowed a cloak to be settled across her bent shoulders. “Don’t ever forget you’re as good as any of them. Your grandfather and I settled in this area long before most of the upstarts we’ll see this morning. You have nothing to hang your head about.”
The carriage ride was bumpy. And crowded. Squeezed between Aunt Patricia’s generous curves and her mother’s angular bones, Alexandra wished she could have sat outside with the driver. At least then she could see the ruts ahead and brace herself. She was certain she would be black and blue before evening.
Their arrival caused a bit of a stir, probably because the service had already begun by the time they entered the church. Alexandra could feel the weight of curious gazes as they walked down the central aisle in search of available seats. She knew her grandmother had wanted them to arrive late as if in defiance of anyone’s disapprobation.
The pastor halted in the middle of leading a congregational hymn. “Welcome, Mrs. Tanner. I’m glad you and your family could join us.”
Grand-mère inclined her head before waving her hand. “You may continue, Preacher.”
A wave of giggles swept the congregation. The pastor’s cheeks reddened. He cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles, and resumed the hymn. When he had finished leading the congregation in singing, he began his sermon by reading the Sermon on the Mount from Matthew’s Gospel. “ ‘Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.’ ”
Alexandra wanted to get up and walk out. Jesus’ promises were empty. When Papa died, no one was there to comfort her or Mama. She reached for her mother’s hand and squeezed. Never mind, she wanted to tell her mother. I am here for you even if God is not.
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