CHAPTER• 27
WITH SPENCER AND MOSES at her side, Jasmine read from the Brothers Grimm volume of fairy tales while the three of them enjoyed the warm springtime weather. ‘‘Grappa!’’ Spencer shouted, pointing toward the horse-drawn buggy that had turned toward the house and now drew near.
Jasmine shaded her eyes against the bright sun and looked toward the carriage. Surely Spencer was mistaken. ‘‘It’s Grandmother I’m expecting,’’ she murmured, but it was her father who was now stepping down from the buggy. Shifting forward, Jasmine returned his wave before rising. Grasping the boys’ hands, she walked to meet him.
Her father’s steps grew hesitant as they neared one another. ‘‘Father,’’ she said, opening her arms to embrace him.
‘‘Jasmine—how I’ve longed to visit with you.’’
She heard the tremble in his voice. ‘‘No need to be nervous, Father. I’m surprised by your visit but pleased beyond belief that you have come. I must admit it was Grandmother I was expecting, but Spencer spied you in the carriage as you came up the driveway.’’
He winked at his grandson. ‘‘I’m pleased to see you’re happy to see Grandpa.’’ He stooped down and pulled the boy into the crook of his arm. ‘‘And you come here for a hug too.’’ He extended his other arm toward Moses, and the child rushed forward giving a delightful giggle.
‘‘Thank you,’’ she whispered.
‘‘No need for thanks, my dear. Come along, boys. Let’s see if we can find some cake and lemonade in the house.’’
‘‘You’ll spoil their dinner,’’ Jasmine cautioned.
‘‘That’s what childhood is for—special treats to spoil our dinners as well as the pleasure of enjoying each day,’’ he said with a chuckle.
‘‘I don’t believe that was your attitude when your children were growing up,’’ she said, giving him a broad smile as they walked arm in arm toward the house.
He nodded. ‘‘But that is the special pleasure of being a grandparent. Besides, if the boys are busy with their cake, we can have some time to ourselves for a visit.’’
For the first time since his arrival, Jasmine became uneasy. ‘‘I hope that doesn’t mean we are going to argue. I want this rift between us to heal.’’
‘‘As do I. However, my hope is that we will arrive at a solution that will heal our family while doing what is best for Moses—not necessarily what is most agreeable to you, but what will best serve the child. Do you have someone helping with the boys since Naomi’s . . .’’ He hesitated, obviously unsure how to broach the topic of Naomi’s disappearance.
‘‘We are rather short on help. We had a young girl who helped in the kitchen and another who helped with the upstairs. Both have quit to move to Boston. Kiara comes each day, but as her baby grows older, I’m certain she’ll be unable to help as much as she has in the past. With Rogan working here at the farm and also assisting Liam with his business, they have become self-sufficient. And Kiara continues to receive more orders for her lace than she can fill. I know she would never refuse to assist me, but my hope has always been they would become independent. She’s here today, however, so perhaps she wouldn’t mind caring for the boys while we work on your solution.’’
‘‘Oh and fer sure here are a couple of hungry boys,’’ Kiara said as she looked up from peeling potatoes. She smiled at Jasmine and then gave a brief nod toward her father.
‘‘We thought perhaps some treat would occupy them so that I might have a talk with my father.’’
‘‘But of course. Just be sittin’ ’em down. I’ll fetch some milk and a wee bit of cake.’’
After settling Spencer and Moses at the small kitchen table, Jasmine smoothed the folds from her skirt. ‘‘You’re certain they won’t disturb you?’’ she asked Kiara.
A bright smile curved Kiara’s lips as she sliced pieces of cake for the boys. ‘‘O’ course na’. Nevan’s sleepin’ sound as can be,’’ she said, nodding toward the baby’s cradle in one corner of the kitchen. ‘‘Besides, Cook will be back shortly. She had Paddy take her to town for a few supplies. I’m expectin’ her any time.’’
‘‘You boys be good while I visit with Grandpa, and we’ll go back outdoors this afternoon,’’ she promised as she turned to leave the room.
Her father appeared weary—or was age to blame for the new lines creasing his face and the additional gray hair fringing his balding pate? With each visit to Lowell, he appeared more fatigued and a little older. His mortality entered her thoughts more frequently than she would like nowadays. ‘‘Have you been resting well, Father?’’
His smile was warm and familiar as he patted the seat cushion next to him. ‘‘As well as one can expect when away from home. Come sit beside me.’’
She leaned close and embraced his arm. ‘‘You’re anxious to return home?’’
‘‘Only because I’m weary of the many trials and tribulations that have occurred during my visit. The difficulty with the cotton shipment has been extremely distressing, coupled with the rift that’s occurred within our family.’’
Jasmine sighed. ‘‘In some measure, that portion of your concern was brought about by my quick temper, and I apologize for the part I’ve played in causing strife. I know your visit has been fraught with turmoil. However, I must add that I believe Samuel, McKinley, and Violet overstepped the boundaries of suitable behavior. Their condemnation of me and lack of sympathy for Moses and his plight are quite distressing—and you didn’t come to my defense either. I want resolution for our family’s disagreement, but my primary concern is Moses. I made a promise to rear him as if he were my own. I won’t go back on my word.’’
‘‘Not even if it’s in the boy’s best interests?’’
Jasmine scooted on the cushion, quickly distancing herself from her father. ‘‘I know what you’re thinking! You believe I should send him to The Willows. Are you so attuned to Southern ways that you can’t see the harm he would suffer? Not only would he be living in an unfamiliar home, he would also be surrounded by strangers. I won’t send him to become a slave on the family plantation. Out of the question!’’
‘‘Do settle yourself, Jasmine. You’ve rushed to incorrect conclusions. Taking Moses to the plantation never entered my mind.
I agree such a decision would be harmful to the child.’’
Her rigid shoulders relaxed at his words. ‘‘Then you’re on my side in this matter?’’
‘‘I’m on the boy’s side,’’ Malcolm hastened to reply.
Her forehead crinkled and she tilted her head to the side. ‘‘What does that mean? I’m also on his side.’’
Patting her hand, her father leaned toward her with a judicious look in his eyes. ‘‘Let’s see if that’s true. I have a proposal to make. And I believe the plan I’ve developed is best for Moses. Will you listen?’’
Jasmine gave him a begrudging nod.
‘‘First, let me tell you what I see for Moses if he remains a member of your household,’’ he began.
She leaned farther into the deep cushions of the settee, not wanting to hear his predictions for Moses’ life. She had her own thoughts about the boy’s future should Obadiah and Naomi not return. However, she had agreed to hear her father out. ‘‘I’m listening,’’ she said.
‘‘Your compassion is admirable, Jasmine. I know you want only the best for Moses, but think about what you will do if you raise him to know only what it is to live as a white child. You’re denying the boy his own roots. What if Obadiah and Naomi return in two or three years? I know you doubt they will ever be able to come back. But what if they should? Their son will believe he is white and that you and Nolan are his parents. How would you correct that damage? And it’s not as though people in this area don’t know the boy is colored. One day someone will take great pleasure in telling him the truth. He’ll be devastated and possibly turn against you for withholding that information.’’
‘‘I do plan to tell him about Obadiah and Naomi—when he’s o
ld enough to understand,’’ she defended.
‘‘Don’t you see, Jasmine? You’ll put off telling him for one reason or another until you’ve buried the past deep inside and begin to believe he is your child. You’ll cause him great pain if you continue down this path.’’
She wilted, nodding her head. ‘‘Late at night, I’m plagued with these thoughts. I don’t want to do anything to hurt Moses, yet I cannot send him away from here.’’
‘‘I have a young slave couple at the plantation. . . .’’
Immediately Jasmine came upright, her eyes flashing. ‘‘I’ve already told you, I will not send Moses to The Willows or anyplace else, for that matter.’’
‘‘Please! Let me finish.’’
‘‘I’m sorry. Continue.’’
‘‘I have a young slave couple I would be willing to set free and send to you. Nolan could make arrangements for them to sail into Boston on one of your ships. They could remain here on the farm and raise Moses. The boy would return to the house where he lived with his mother and father, and you would be keeping your promise.’’
She was silent for several minutes, allowing the idea to take hold in her mind. ‘‘Such a plan would likely return our lives to a semblance of what they had once been. But what if this couple doesn’t want to come—or if Naomi and Obadiah should return?’’
‘‘Why wouldn’t they want to come, Jasmine? I’d be offering them their freedom, an opportunity to live in the North with a place to live and receive wages—a new life. If Obadiah and Naomi return, they would be reunited with Moses. Simon and Maisie could stay on if you had sufficient work for them, or they could seek employment somewhere else. I’ll explain the possibility that Obadiah and Naomi might return, if that makes you feel easier.’’
‘‘It’s only fair they know the complete circumstances under which they’d be coming. Do they have children of their own— Maisie and Simon?’’ she asked.
‘‘No—not yet. If memory serves me right, she lost a baby in childbirth a year ago.’’
‘‘But she likes children?’’
Malcolm shrugged and gave his daughter a grin. ‘‘I have no idea—I thought all women loved children. I think you’d find her very acceptable, and Simon puts me in mind of Obadiah. Strong, hardworking, big smile. I know this isn’t what you planned, but I believe it truly is the best for Moses. He’ll still have your family close at hand, and you can aid him financially in the future, if you desire. Send him to school, do whatever you like in that regard, but don’t raise him believing he’s your son or Spencer’s brother. In the end, you’ll harm Moses as well as your own son.’’
As tears began to trickle down Jasmine’s face, her father quickly retrieved a folded cotton square from his pocket and wiped her cheeks. With a gentle motion, he pulled her into a warm embrace.
‘‘No need for tears, my dear. I know that together we’re going to do what is truly best for Moses.’’
Taking a deep breath, Jasmine attempted to contain her sobbing. ‘‘In my heart, I know this is the right thing to do, but I truly don’t want to give him up.’’
‘‘But you’re not giving him up. You’re merely returning him to his own home. He’ll still be here playing with Spencer, enjoying the very life he would have had with his own parents. Don’t you see how attached you’ve already become?’’
‘‘Yes, and it seems inequitable that things cannot continue as they were.’’
‘‘But God has a plan even in this, is that not right, daughter?’’
She nodded. ‘‘I’m afraid I’ve not been speaking regularly with the Lord. I . . . well . . . I suppose without the fellowship of other people, it’s been easy to let myself slide away.’’
‘‘And you’ve not been going to church because of Moses?’’
‘‘I’ve been afraid of how they might receive him.’’
Her father rubbed his chin. ‘‘That hardly seems like something the Lord would approve of, now does it?’’
She sighed. ‘‘No. Even Nolan said as much.’’
‘‘We want to do right by the boy. He deserves that much.’’
Jasmine looked at her father. ‘‘Please do not think me harsh, but why do you care what happens to him? Why do you care when you own slaves and treat them as property?’’
Malcolm lowered his gaze. ‘‘Mammy.’’ He blew out a heavy sigh and looked up. ‘‘I care because he’s Mammy’s grandson.’’
Jasmine realized then that someone had told her father the entire story. She reached out to pat his hand. Tears poured down her cheeks.
Kiara walked into the parlor with Nevan in her arms. ‘‘The lads are near done with their cake and are wantin’ ta go outdoors. I’m going to take Nevan and join . . . Forevermore, why are ya cryin’? Yar eyes are puffed as big as hen’s eggs.’’
The comment brought a tiny smile to Jasmine’s lips. ‘‘We’ve been discussing Moses,’’ she whispered.
Lifting Nevan to her shoulder, Kiara turned to glare at the older man. ‘‘I see ya’ve been a success in causin’ her more heartache.’’
‘‘No, not at all, Kiara. I believe Father has helped me to resolve Moses’ future,’’ Jasmine said.
Kiara bobbed her head up and down. ‘‘And I see his plan has made ya mighty happy too.’’
‘‘Sit down and let me explain. The boys will be fine in the kitchen for a few moments.’’
Kiara sat down with the baby cradled on her lap and appeared to listen attentively while Jasmine explained her father’s plan. ‘‘Well, what do you think?’’
‘‘Is it the truth ya’re wantin’ ta hear?’’
‘‘Of course,’’ she replied.
Kiara glanced back and forth between the Wainwrights and gave a brief nod of her head. ‘‘Then I’ll tell ya. No offense, but under the same set of circumstances, I’d be wantin’ Nevan raised by someone that was Irish. I’d want him growin’ up knowin’ about Ireland and who we were. Even though Nevan is white, I’d still want ’im raised by his own people. Have I insulted ya?’’
‘‘No. You’ve been honest, and your answer affirms what Father has been attempting to tell me. I’d like to believe that one day people will be more accepting and issues of race and color won’t need to be the determining factor in matters such as this. But for now we can only continue to work toward that end.’’
McKinley looked up from his desk as Matthew Cheever rushed into the office at the Appleton and excitedly grasped McKinley by the arm. ‘‘Put the ledgers aside and come with me, McKinley.’’
‘‘Has there been an accident in the mill?’’ he asked, immediately jumping up from his desk and hurrying to keep pace with Mr. Cheever.
‘‘No accident—this is good news. Come see what’s in the mill yard,’’ he hollered over his shoulder, by now nearly running.
McKinley increased his speed as a group of boxcars entered his line of vision. Men had already unloaded several bales of cotton. ‘‘What’s this?’’ McKinley panted, doubling over from the waist until his breathing slowed.
‘‘Cotton—the excellent grade we’ve come to expect from Samuel,’’ Matthew said.
‘‘How can that be?’’
‘‘I don’t know—I sent word for your father and Samuel to meet us here before I fetched you. They should be arriving soon.’’
McKinley watched in amazement as the cotton was unloaded. ‘‘Have you spot-checked it to assure yourself it’s of good quality?’’
‘‘Yes. That’s the first thing we did. I’ve told the men to hold up before unloading any more of the shipment until I talk to Samuel. I must make certain this cotton was destined for Lowell. He didn’t tell me he was expecting another shipment. Did he mention anything to you?’’
‘‘No, of course not. I would have promptly told you—as would Samuel. I know Samuel apprised you of his plan to return to New Orleans on the next Houston ship leaving Boston. He is determined to further investigate what occurred there,’’ McKinley said before moving
closer to check a few bales of cotton. ‘‘These bales appear to carry the proper stamp.’’
‘‘As did the others,’’ the older man mentioned.
Mr. Cheever pointed toward the front gate of the mill. ‘‘That may be your grandmother’s carriage arriving now.’’
McKinley shaded his eyes against the sun and stared toward the front gates. He waited until the men disembarked the carriage.
‘‘Yes, it is Samuel—and Father has accompanied him. Shall I go and escort them?’’
‘‘Why don’t we both go?’’ There was obvious excitement in Mr. Cheever’s voice and a noticeable spring in his step as he accompanied McKinley up the sloping grade toward the carriage.
McKinley waved them onward. When they drew near, he clasped his father’s hand as Samuel shook hands with Mr. Cheever. ‘‘Come down to the mill yard.’’
‘‘I realize it has taken longer than expected to remove the unusable bales, but I have now made final arrangements for their return to New Orleans,’’ Samuel said.
‘‘That’s fine, but this is another matter entirely,’’ Matthew told him as they made their way to the boxcars.
Samuel stopped and stared, obviously overwhelmed by the sight. Hurrying forward, he checked one of the opened bales and then rushed forward to inspect the stamps. ‘‘These bales also contain the special stamp we developed for the Lowell shipments. I don’t understand what has occurred. Both the last shipment as well as this one bear our stamp.’’
‘‘The overseer brought this letter,’’ Matthew said. ‘‘He said it accompanied the shipment and is addressed to you.’’
Samuel tore open the missive and began to scan the contents of the letter. McKinley and the others stood silently waiting, all of them obviously anxious to know what information the letter contained. After several restless minutes, Samuel folded the letter and tucked it into his jacket. ‘‘It seems our mysterious shipment has been explained,’’ he told them.
‘‘Is this cotton ours? May I let the men continue unloading?’’ Matthew inquired jubilantly.
A Love Woven True Page 33