Trouble the Water_A Novel

by Jacqueline Friedland

  His decision to attend the Montrose ball was a definitive departure from his earlier approach toward Abby, but he was growing weary of the waiting game he had begun with her. The ball presented a perfect opportunity for Douglas to spend another evening in her company and provide her with a new Charleston experience. The honest truth was that he just liked being near her, that the air felt sharper to him when he was in her presence. He worried his invitation might overwhelm her, but he would offer to escort her as though it was his duty, his responsibility as her caretaker, to parade her about and showcase a bit of the city life. These outings could further her position with Charleston society, he’d remind her, in case she might extend her stay.

  He approached the market on Adgers Wharf, where shoppers crowded the aisles and shouted requests as they strove to be heard above the din. The shoppers at Adgers included foreign sailors hungry for a meal, frazzled merchants, and slaves out on passes to do the masters’ marketing. With the growing number of free blacks living in Charleston, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ascertain who was free and who was owned, and Douglas was glad of it. As more Negroes roamed freely, it would be easier for fugitive slaves to blend in and disappear, one way or another. Douglas maneuvered through the crowds toward a pastry seller. He thought to purchase fresh bread and then venture farther into the market for whey butter from the Irishman at the dairy cart.

  As he approached the baker’s table and perused the various cakes and sweet rolls laid out before him, he concluded that he must speak with Abby forthwith about the invitation, not least of all so she could purchase a dress. His marriage to Sarah had been sufficient to teach him that securing a ball gown could take months. Finding something suitable in less than two weeks would be no small feat. Even so, he was sure that sufficient financial incentive could inspire a dressmaker to sew with staggering speed. There was also the possibility that Abby would simply re-fuse him, either because of the odd nature of attending with her benefactor, or because she was still wary of him. He thought again of her reaction to his revitalized appearance a few nights earlier, and smiled. At least he knew that she didn’t find him repugnant. Her stumbling words and flushed cheeks had told a story all their own.

  His eye settled on a thick loaf of rye, and he raised an arm to attract the baker’s attention, but then lowered it when bits of a nearby conversation reached his ear.

  “Even a sloop would do fine. Obviously, Mr. Cunningham would be willing to remit any reasonable payment.”

  He couldn’t place the voice speaking, though he was sure he’d heard it before. Turning about slowly, as if scanning the market for other purchases, Douglas found Marcus Petty, personal assistant to Court Cunningham, standing at the next stall. He was in conversation with James Irwin, one of the smaller dry goods carriers on the harbor.

  “Anything seafaring, really,” Petty seemed to be pleading. Pushing his spectacles higher on his nose in a frenetic motion, the older man was obviously addled.

  Douglas looked back to the breads, stepping aside for a Negro woman who had approached the table with an empty basket. Motioning that she should take her turn and not wait behind him, he tried to listen for more information.

  The only reason Court would arrange a hasty journey in a small sloop would be to pursue Clover. To his delight, he heard Irwin refusing Petty’s proposition.

  “Sorry, but we’ve been having a good run the past few months,” Irwin responded in a booming voice, as if he meant to alert the entire market to his financial success. “I’ve got not a vessel to spare, even for the small fortune you offer. If any voyage returns early, I’ll make sure to let you know.” He turned as if to leave and caught sight of Douglas.

  “Oh, but hey,” he said turning his large frame back toward Petty, “why don’t you ask Elling, there. Maybe he’s got something extra.” Irwin started out of the marketplace, and as he passed Douglas, he added, “That gives you opportunity to prove your allegiances. If you gave them a boat, it would tell everybody something.”

  Douglas knew there were people in Charleston who still could not abide him, those who harbored lingering suspicion about his connection to abolition, an activity tolerated no better by the local exporters than by the planters. Each group was equally committed to the economic structure in the South, with slavery at its core. Despite the current fashion of dismissing all the prior conjecture about Douglas and inviting him back into the Charleston fold, there were clearly still some in town who were unprepared to do that, Irwin included.

  Douglas forced himself to ignore the challenge in Irwin’s voice, to instead focus on Petty, on remaining casual. As Irwin dissolved into the crowd of shoppers, Douglas looked over at Petty, who was nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Clearly, he was uncomfortable with Irwin’s suggestion and too socially inept to know how to handle himself.

  Douglas stepped closer to the man and spoke with a forced smile. “Don’t worry, Petty, you’re saved from even having to ask. The two sloops I’ve got now are in no shape for travel. I’ve just this morning finished arranging to have those vessels repaired. Their wear and tear is rather extensive, and it will take a couple of months before they can be restored to an acceptable condition,” Douglas lied with ease. It would be easy enough for Petty to find a sloop from someone else, but Douglas wouldn’t be the one to provide it. Even better would be if he could figure a way to convince them to search for Clover inland.

  Marcus Petty nodded, and Douglas imagined the man was both relieved and frustrated, as he had still failed to satisfy Court Cunningham’s needs. Petty cocked his head to the side and seemed to be contemplating where to search next for the rental he sought. The pier would not be a usual destination for a man like Petty, so despite the straightforward nature of his errand, he seemed somewhat befuddled. Douglas decided against squandering this opportunity for information.

  Stepping closer to the little man, he told him, “I would of course like to assist Mr. Cunningham however I can. Perhaps if you told me why the boats were needed precisely, I might be able to hazard an alternate suggestion.”

  “Oh, well.” Petty looked Douglas up and down, as if confirming his identity. He glanced down at a ledger he held and then back at Douglas, his discomfort palpable.

  “Well, actually, Mr. Cunningham is looking to take a posse north, in search of a slave girl that ran a couple days back.”

  “I see,” Douglas nodded slowly, surprised by Petty’s forthrightness. “They know where she’s gone, then?”

  “Oh, absolutely. The girl’s been spotted moving up the coast of North Carolina, big with child, claiming herself to be a free black. The stupidity of these niggers astounds me. They think they can outsmart us, outrun us, and this one carrying a near fully cooked nigger baby.”

  Douglas turned his gaze out beyond the market stalls toward the harbor, willing himself to withhold his response, clenching his jaw to keep the words inside. He shoved his fists in his pockets and waited, wondering if his silence would lead Petty to say more.

  “Mr. Cunningham thought the sloop would be the quickest way to pick up her trail, rather than traveling inland. He’s sending Polk Dawson along.” Petty blinked, as though he’d mentioned that last piece by accident.

  Douglas nodded in recognition at the name of the renowned slave catcher. People said the reason Dawson was so effective at his profession was because he understood the mind of the Negroes. Douglas was fairly certain that the only reason Dawson managed to continue catching slaves was because he paid off law enforcement and clergymen at every town along the freedom road. It was also common knowledge that after Dawson apprehended a runaway, he tortured the poor soul for the entire journey south, just never in such a way that would leave lasting physical damage sufficient to depress the master’s investment. He might urinate in the prisoner’s food or pull out a fingernail from the little finger. He also liked to use the women in bizarre and profane ways. Well, let Dawson be tied up chasing the phony, imaginary Clover in Nort
h Carolina while the real escapee was heading farther north on the Atlantic.

  “Well, anyhoo,” Petty seemed anxious to conclude their conversation, “don’t suppose it’ll be that difficult to find the trail of this twit either way, but I best be making the arrangements.”

  “Right,” Douglas tried to force a sympathetic sigh. “I’m sorry I’m unable to help. If I hear of any unoccupied sloops, I’ll send word.”

  Petty cast a defeated glance around the market and then made a quick mark on the ledger in his hand. He thanked Douglas and departed, melting back into the market crowds as Irwin had before him.

  Douglas turned back to the bread stall in an effort to seem impassive, even though his pulse raced. He was suddenly gladder than ever that he had agreed to help Clover, astonished that he ever could have faltered in his fight against slaveholding. By now, Clover was probably off the coast of Virginia, or maybe even Delaware, several hundred miles ahead of where the Cunninghams’ gang would be searching, and traveling farther north all the time. To think that in less than a month, she might make it all the way to Vermont, where she would be able to hold a paying job and birth her baby in freedom. Although he resisted the urge to congratulate himself too early, his heart swelled at the thought that Clover might live the remainder of her life as a free woman.

  Suddenly memories washed over him. He remembered all the reasons why he had been so committed to fighting slavery in the first place. It was the substance of what he was able to achieve. It was the fact that fighting slavery was right. He had been idle and self-indulgent for long enough. He thought of Abby and worried that he would endanger another innocent, and just as she was coming to mean something to him. Larissa, Jasper, Demett, and all the others in his employ, they all stood to lose, if Douglas was reckless. But he had gained wisdom from his past mistakes, and this time would be different.

  Douglas noticed the bread seller looking at him expectantly, so he pointed toward the rye loaf. As he watched the man slice the loaf down the middle and wrap it in paper, a feeling of heat spread throughout Douglas’s body, embers of satisfaction flowing from his center to his every extremity. He felt charged with determination, like he might once again become someone he was proud of, someone Sarah and Cherish would have been proud of, too.

  “PRETTY PLEASE, PAPA,” WINI BEGGED. “ALL THE OTHER girls will be there, and if I miss the garden party, I’m sure I won’t find an escort to the county dance at the end of the month. Really, Pa, Sally Ann Werther, Lucy Adams, and Daphne Dupree, they’ll all be there. Surely you don’t want them all being asked before your own daughter. Pleeease,” she whined.

  Court continued pacing the foyer. He had been marching to and fro like this since he returned home and found Wini sitting on the steps of the center staircase, waiting for him.

  “Winifred,” Court stopped and looked down at his daughter, “I don’t give a horse’s hair what you stand to lose by missing this particular affair. You should have thought about it before you went boring your nose into the business of slaves. You should have thought . . . about anything at all, for heaven’s sake. I still can’t fathom what possessed you to go riding off like a wild cowboy to look for Clover on your own. Did you give even a second’s thought to what people would say?”

  “But Papa,” Wini looked up through her eyelashes, “I was just trying to help.”

  “That may be,” Court waved his hand in the air and resumed pacing, “but the last thing I needed was to have my own child run off after we discovered a slave gone missing. I should have been focusing on locating my property, but instead your mama and I were busy worrying after you. What’d you think, that you’d drag her back here all by your little lonesome?” He demanded, rehashing the same reprimands he’d spouted at her when she’d finally come home the evening before.

  “I told you, Pa,” she whined again, “I just wanted to get Clover back here before you punished her something awful.”

  “Well, now instead it’s you being punished!” he snapped. “I don’t care why you went after her. It’s just the mere fact that you were messing in business where you had no place. If I hadn’t been so focused on you and your childish antics, Clover never would have gotten so far. But now that Negress has gotten all the head start she needed to make finding her such a damn headache.” Court stilled and rubbed his hands over his face.

  “But, Pa, she hasn’t even been gone three days. I’m sure the men will find her,” Wini tried to reassure her father, “just like they did when old Isaiah ran from the Duprees.”

  “Wini,” Court sighed and sat down beside her on the third step, “always an idealist. For all we know, the wench could have gotten as far as the Appalachians by now. I wouldn’t have imagined she had the brains to get as far as South Battery. Even if my slave catchers bring her back, we’ve still got wreckage to deal with. I’ll have to punish her insubordination severely, lest the other slaves consider following her example. Probably the whipping will be strong enough to kill that brat she’s carrying. So there goes four hundred dollars I could have gotten selling the child. Not to mention money wasted on extra food she’s had these past several months.” Court rubbed his eyes again, looking weary. “Destroying that baby will squash any remaining goodwill between us, so it’ll be best if we get rid of Clover, too. She won’t fetch the same price once she’s got scarring across her back. Nobody wants to spend good money on a troublemaker, even a young, fertile one. It really is a predicament.”

  Court turned to look at Wini and then added, “But why am I unloading all this on a young thing like you?” He reached over and tried to tousle her red hair.

  “Pa, my curls,” Wini leaned away and readjusted the jeweled comb in her hair.

  “Before we know it, you’ll have a husband and slaves of your own. He’ll deal with this business, and you’ll never have to worry your little head, or the curls on it either.”

  Wini seized on Court’s comment, “But if you want me to get a husband, Pa, keeping me from the Westons’ party isn’t going to help.”

  “Oh fiddlesticks!” Cora Rae scoffed as she arrived on the landing at the top of the stairs. “We are the Cunninghams of Charleston, for land sakes. There is no gentleman in his right mind who wouldn’t want to join our family. Even Gracie has an eligible gentleman interested in her.” Cora Rae looked from her father to Wini as she began floating down the stairs toward them. “Now what were you two arguing about?”

  “Pa won’t let me go to the Westons’ garden party,” Wini informed her oldest sister with an exaggerated pout.

  Both Wini and her father stood up from the steps in order to clear Cora Rae’s path.

  “Well I reckon you should have thought about that before you started poking into slave business, right, Pa?” She linked her arm through her father’s, resting her gloved hand on his arm and looking up at him before turning back to Wini.

  “Women in our family don’t give chase after niggers, Wini. You mightn’t give a hoot about your reputation, but I do care about mine. I can’t have your antics interfering with my own chances.”

  Wini rolled her eyes. “Cora Rae, you’re nearly twenty years old. Don’t you think it’s time you hopped down from that high horse of yours? Nobody cares about your reputation anymore.”

  Cora Rae gasped in outrage and looked at her father. “Pa! You’re going to let her speak to me like that?”

  Court sighed again and removed Cora Rae’s hand from his arm, giving it a conciliatory squeeze before stepping back from her.

  “Truthfully, ladies, I can’t get involved in this bickering. Rae, you’re long overdue in finding a husband. If only you’d stop wasting time thinking about Douglas Elling. Not that he’s much of a match anyway. Even if those old allegations were false, you belong with a landowner, someone who could add to our empire through acreage, slaves, indigo.”

  Cora Rae opened her mouth to speak, and Court help up his hand, silencing her.

  “It’s the same conversation every time. Let me save us
the trouble, as talk of your relationship with Douglas Elling is, as always, utterly moot.” He looked at Cora Rae, his wintry eyes exploring her as if assessing her for the first time. “Between your face and my holdings, I suppose you might squeeze out another year before your suitability totally expires. It seems a real shame to waste the time you have left pining for a man who has never indicated an iota of interest in you, forgive me for saying.” Court stopped, perhaps worried he might set Cora Rae off on one of her rages.

  “I’ll have you know, Pa,” she smiled serenely as she adjusted one of the gloves on her hand, “that I have a plan. It seems that Douglas Elling is rising from the dead. You told me yourself about the invitation he accepted to the Montroses’.”

  “Attending a ball does not mean he is searching for a wife, and even if he were, you have no reason to expect it will be you!” Court’s rising voice echoed against the marbled floor of the foyer. “When will you face reality? When will you finally move on?” Softening his tone, he added, “Of course the man is a fool for failing to notice you, but all the more reason to focus on another. What about Whitney Hawke? His card is still resting on the console in the drawing room.”

  “Could we not?” Cora Rae retorted. “He’s older than you, Pa,” she shot back.

  “But he has thirty-five acres in Georgetown and more than three hundred slaves. You would want for nothing. You’d have babies, and dresses, and our family would be part of a budding empire.”

  “She’ll never go for it, Pa,” Wini offered from where she was leaning against the banister. “She’s in looooovve.” She drew out the last word, taunting her sister.

  “I’ll have you both know,” Cora Rae spat, “things are happening. Things you know nothing about. There’s only so long a person can grieve, even the most devoted mourner. He is going to notice me this time around, I am making sure of it. I will not settle for some haggard artifact of a man, someone for whom I feel nothing, just because you two are getting impatient.”