The Wedding Gift

by Marlen Suyapa Bodden

  Whenever we docked at a landing, I expected slave catchers to board and question me, but they did not until we arrived at Prairie Bluff. There the captain told all Negro passengers who were not traveling with their masters to disembark and present their papers to officials. We walked up a long staircase to the landing, where I saw that these were not officials but slave catchers with bloodhounds, one of whom instructed us to separate into two groups by gender. One man had one of my maid’s dresses from the Cromwell plantation and another had one of Isaac’s jackets. A dog smelled my dress and then tried to find me among the women, while the other smelled Isaac’s jacket and searched for him in my group. When the hounds identified no one, the catchers released us and we returned to the boat.

  The captain asked me before we arrived at Claiborne whether I wanted to stay on until Mobile.

  “Sir, thank you, but my master say he want me to find work on the Tombigbee.”

  “I certainly want you to obey your master, but do you think that it matters to him where you find work?”

  “Yes, sir. Well, he say I can earn more money on the Tombigbee because it got one hundred more landings there.”

  “So that’s what this is about, you want more money. I can’t pay you more than one dollar a day. All right, I wish you well. Mr. Pratt will bring you your pay and refund your fare before we get to Claiborne.”

  The landing in the town of Claiborne had the longest slide and staircase of all. Viewed from the bluff, the river and the town, with its shops and houses, were magnificent. No one disturbed me, and I saw no slave catchers or even notices for runaway slaves. A man working by a warehouse on the landing told me where I could get a boat to take me across the river. For twenty-five cents, a ferryman, a Negro who asked me no questions, took me to the western bank of the Alabama, where I took a stagecoach to Clarke County. I boarded another ferry, also piloted by a Negro, to take me across the Tombigbee and made my way from there by coach to a desolate settlement on the northern edge of Mobile called Prichard. I was the only passenger who asked to stop there, which prompted the coachman to ask me if I meant to do so.

  “Yes, sir. My master say to try to earn some money at one of the plantations around here. He say they going to need extra hands come harvest time to take the cotton to the river.”

  “Well, you do what you want to do, but I don’t know why you just don’t stay on ‘til we get to Mobile proper. That’s where they really need men to work on the docks.”

  Prichard did not have any merchants or shops where I could buy food, and I went directly to the woods, where I foraged and had my supper, fruits and wild greens, and went to sleep. The next morning, I searched until I found a coffee tree, from which I picked berries to use as soap. I washed my clothes and put them to dry on a bush. I stayed there until eleven at night, and then I packed my knapsack and resumed walking.

  My hunger returned. From the road the second night, I smelled meat being smoked. I entered the woods next to a farm, where I slept until dawn. Crouched behind a bush, I observed the inhabitants, about fifteen slaves and a master and mistress, performing their tasks. I found a stone and set it aside for the evening. It appeared that the man who worked in the smokehouse did not lock the door at the end of the day. Having had only fruit for breakfast and dinner, I was glad when darkness arrived and the slaves went to their quarters and the masters to their house. I left my knapsack under a bush by a clearing, took the stone, and went to the smokehouse. The door creaked when I opened it. I propped it with the stone to let in the moonlight and entered. It was smaller than the smokehouse at the Cromwell plantation but similar in other respects.

  I took a ham off a hook and was about to cut a large piece off with the knife that Henry and Oliver gave me when I heard a dog bark. I took the entire ham and ran, but the hound was so swift that it closed the distance between us quickly, until it was only about twenty yards behind me. The dog’s barking woke the owner, who went outside and yelled to the animal to get me. When it was about ten yards from me, I dropped the ham. The dog stopped and I ran into the woods. I heard a shot fired, which confused me and I forgot the location of the bush under which I had left my knapsack and the jacket with my papers and money.

  Now the dog was growling and coming closer. My sight darkened but did not become completely obscured. I was out of breath, and my heart was beating so hard that I had to sit. After I said a prayer, I regained my strength and searched for a clearing in the treetops. The dog was quiet, but I was certain that the owner had led it into the woods to look for me. I located a break in the canopy and crawled to search for the area where I had left my knapsack. By its labored panting, I could tell that the dog was near. Standing underneath the clearing, I flung a stone as far as I could, and the dog, barking, went to the area where the stone broke a few tree limbs before landing. I found my knapsack and put on my jacket, resolving never again to leave them anywhere, and walked, even though the path I took led away from the road.

  The following morning, I found a brook, and as I was about to wash my face, I saw a Negro man and young boy, both holding rifles, walking toward me. I grabbed my jacket and knapsack.

  “You don’t need to run from us. You look like you need help, or at least a meal. We was just going hunting, but why don’t we take you to our home? The missus will fix you something to eat.”

  “No, thank you, sir. I need to get going.”

  “Come on, we won’t hurt you. I’m Josiah Green, and this is my son, Matthew.”

  I introduced myself.

  “Where you going, William?”

  “South, to Mobile.”

  “Well, you’re in Mobile. What part you want to go to?”

  “I think I’ll keep that to myself, sir.”

  “I understand. Listen, you’re away from the road, east of it. I’m a carpenter, and my boy and me, we’re building a house for some people south of here. Come Monday, we’re going back there to work. If you want to come with us in the wagon, we’ll take you.”

  “That’s all right, sir. I think I’ll continue walking, just the same.”

  “All right then. We’ll go on with our hunting, but if you change your mind, just go on that way. When you go out the woods, you’ll see our house. Tell the missus I sent you.”

  When they were gone, I decided that, if they had wanted to harm me, they would have done so. I washed myself and went to their home, a pretty house, standing by a small farm. Mrs. Green was working outside with her four older children, and when I told her what her husband said, she welcomed me. She took me to her kitchen and fed me and did not ask where I was coming from or where I was going. She said that she and her family, as well as thirty other Negro families in that area, were freedmen.

  “William, we have a cabin that nobody is using and you can stay there, if you want to. On Monday, my husband can take you where you want to go.”

  “Ma’am, thank you, but I need to get going.”

  “I understand, but it looks like you could use some rest and need to wash your clothes and take a proper bath.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I should do that. Mrs. Green, if your husband takes me to Mobile, won’t somebody ask questions, like about who I am?” It had taken some effort to work up the courage, or perhaps the trust, to ask the question; but the woman’s manner had put me at ease.

  “We’ve done this before, William. We and the other freedmen get people coming through here on the way to Mobile proper. He’ll find a place for you in the back of the wagon. The back is covered and you can hide under a canvas cloth. It won’t be comfortable, but it’ll get you where you going.”

  “Do you have your own church by here, ma’am?”

  “Yes, all the families got the money together and my husband built it. But you shouldn’t go with us tomorrow because the sheriff keeps a close eye on us. He knows freedmen take care of others seeking the same thing. So if you decide to go with my husband on Monday, you shouldn’t go off our property until then.”

  CHAPTER NINETEE
N

  THEODORA ALLEN

  IT OCCURRED TO ME THAT I HAD NOT SEEN Emmeline since Cornelius’s passing because my sister-in-law had offered to assume my household management duties while I was in mourning. Martha said that, with all the family, the lawyer, and the accountant in residence, Emmeline did not have to clean the house and should devote her time to cooking. I summoned Emmeline to my apartment. Since Sarah ran away, she was thinner and the skin beneath her eyes was sunken.

  “Emmeline, I want to tell you how sorry I am that Sarah is gone. I know it’s not quite the same, but I know how you must feel. Neither of us will ever again see our girls.”

  “Ma’am, I do thank you for saying that. Ma’am, do you know if they’re still looking for her?”

  “Yes, they are, but we both know how intelligent she is. I don’t think that they will ever catch her.”

  She bowed her head. “But if they do, ma’am, please, is there anything you can do so they won’t beat her when they bring her back?”

  “I can try, but I doubt they would listen to me about that. Emmeline, I should not tell you this, but the slave catchers said that if they do not capture a slave soon after he runs away, it is not likely he will be caught. That must offer you a bit of comfort.”

  “Yes, ma’am, it do. I don’t think I could stand watching them hurt my baby girl.”

  “Emmeline, there is something else I want to say to you that I was not able to tell you when Cornelius was alive. When I learned that Belle was sold, I confronted my husband and asked him to buy her back. His response was…well, we do not need to repeat those things because you know what he did to me when he was angry. He accused me of telling you to stop…going to him, and he said that if I continued to interfere that he would…sell you and Sarah. That is why I did not say anything to you about Belle at the time. But I want you to know how sorry I was for you, and how happy I was when Belle returned.”

  “Ma’am, I’m thankful that you told me this. Thank you, Mrs. Allen.”

  I did not tell her that simply speaking about Cornelius made me want to cry and that whenever he was in my dreams he was beating me or forcing himself upon me. When I had those dreams, I made myself wake to escape the distressing scenes. The relief that I felt each time I remembered that he was dead was incomparable, knowing that he would never again be able to hurt me.

  I made my decision to tell the lawyer that I had found the documents concerning my grandson.

  “Mr. Harris, I have good news to report. First, I need to know that you will not reveal what I tell you to anyone else until the estate is settled.”

  “Yes, I will keep in confidence whatever you tell me.”

  “I remembered that my husband maintained a second coffer, and in it I found documents showing my grandson’s location. How much longer do you think it will be until the assessment of the estate is completed?”

  “Mrs. Allen, that is indeed good news, and I have something favorable to report. I believe we will have finalized our work in less than two weeks. Now, may I please have the documents?”

  I showed them to him.

  “Well done. Was this everything in the coffer?”

  “In terms of documents, yes, but I left the paper currency and gold coins that were in there. Here is the key to the coffer.”

  “Do you know how much currency?”

  “Yes, it was $70,000.”

  “Mrs. Allen, I know I asked you this before, but you are sure your daughter did not have a will?”

  “I am certain. I believe she would have mentioned it to me. I have her letters that she sent to us when she moved to Talladega. She was afraid of her husband, and I doubt that she would have written a will and not told us.”

  “These documents concerning her son resolve the final piece of the puzzle with regard to the bequests. However, since your daughter died without a will, we will have to appoint someone as administrator of her estate. We should do that as quickly as possible, before her husband thinks of doing so. Would you like to serve in that capacity?”

  “Yes, certainly.”

  “Good. I will draft the papers, and after you sign them, I will take them to the judge for his signature. I should take them tomorrow morning.”

  “What does the will say about Clarissa’s share of the estate?”

  “Again, Mrs. Allen, I cannot say. But you will know soon.”

  My grandchildren were making progress in their learning, and they reminded me of Clarissa when she was having her lessons. We were painting in the garden several days after my conversation with the lawyer regarding the whereabouts of Clarissa’s son when a servant said that Mr. Harris asked to see me in the office. I told the servant to take the children inside to their mothers. My brother-in-law was already there, but he and the lawyer had waited for me to discuss the developments.

  “First, the judge signed the papers appointing Mrs. Allen as administrator of Mrs. Cromwell’s estate. Secondly, I have received Mr. Cromwell’s response to my letter. He has by now probably filed a petition in the Chancery Court for the Fourth District in Talladega.”

  “Did he say what he will allege in the petition?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Allen. I will show it to you, but in summary, he says that the petition will be filed against the executor of Mr. Allen’s estate, that it seeks Mrs. Cromwell’s share of her father’s bequests, the return of Sarah and Isaac, and the twenty field hands that Mr. Allen promised him.”

  “But that is absurd. He ended the marriage and did not acknowledge the child as his,” I said.

  “He says that he did not end the marriage and that, this will be difficult for you to hear, he will state in the petition that, at the time of their marriage, Mrs. Cromwell was pregnant and that she fraudulently concealed that fact from him.”

  “That is not true. We told him and his parents that she was expecting and that is why my husband promised him the twenty field hands.”

  “Well, he will allege that the child was the result of illicit intercourse, and Mr. Cromwell will name the putative father. He says that, by her fraud, she forfeited all obligations on his part.”

  I closed my eyes and said a brief prayer. “What can we do, Mr. Harris? Is there a possibility that the petition would succeed?”

  “In sending her back here, Mr. Cromwell did not legally annul the marriage, and the law holds that a husband has absolute title to property brought to the marriage by his wife. But with your permission, this is what I recommend. We should send someone to Talladega immediately with a letter from me asking Mr. Cromwell not to file the petition or, if he already has, to withdraw it on the following grounds: he will get the twenty field hands, Sarah, or her monetary value, and Isaac, and Mrs. Cromwell’s share of her father’s estate if he publicly acknowledges that he is the father of the child.

  “If he does not accept your offer, we will argue that the court should not rule in his favor on his petition on the grounds that the marriage cannot be valid for the purpose of inheriting her estate and yet not valid as regards the child’s legitimacy.”

  We followed Mr. Harris’s proposed course of action, but Julius had already filed the petition, which he refused to withdraw. The lawyer told Charles and me that, because of Julius’s actions, it was wise to accelerate entry of the will into probate.

  “If the bequests are distributed before the Chancery Court rules on Mr. Cromwell’s petition, it will be difficult for him to obtain the grant that would go to Mrs. Cromwell’s son. By the way, I have already spoken with the judge here in Benton County. As you know, Mr. Allen appointed Judge Atkins to the bench, and he has agreed that, as soon as the assessment of the value of the estate is complete, he will sign the necessary documents to probate the will.”

  I anxiously awaited the conclusion of Mr. Harris’s task, but there was nothing I could do to make him work faster. The following week, my sons, holding newspapers, interrupted a lesson on geography that I was conducting in the lesson room and asked to speak with me privately. Their faces were red
. We took the children to my daughters-in-law, and my sons and I went to the library.

  “Mother, do you not know what they’re reporting in the newspapers?”

  “No, I haven’t read today’s edition.”

  “Mother, these newspapers are from last week, from Mobile and Atlanta. We received them with the mail.”

  “Well, what do they say that is so disturbing?”

  “Everything about this sordid, filthy scandal concerning Clarissa. The Atlanta newspaper reports that Mr. Cromwell was planning to file a petition against Papa’s estate and alleged that… well, the paper revealed what Clarissa did.”

  “This is what your father feared, that it would affect you. Have you heard anything from the banks?”

  “Not yet, but, Mother, you know how people are. They are unlikely to trust us with their money if they think we come from an immoral family. What are we to do?”

  “Let’s discuss this with your uncle. And we do not yet know that this news will have any impact on your business partnerships.”

  “Mother, really, you can’t be such an innocent. We are certain to be outcasts after everyone learns about this.”

  “You exaggerate. Remember that men who engage in commerce are worldly. It’s possible that they will see Mr. Cromwell’s petition for what it is: mere allegations.”

  “Mother, Clarissa did what only common women do, and conduct that those gentlemen associate with the lower orders is not what they tolerate in a lady.”

  We spoke with Charles and with Mr. Harris. Neither believed that there was anything to be done. Shortly after Mr. Cromwell filed the case in court, we learned that all the details with regard to the petition had spread throughout Alabama and Georgia. We retained Mr. Harris’s partner to represent the estate’s interests, and he agreed with Mr. Harris’s opinion that Mr. Cromwell had mounted a challenge that was difficult for him to win because he could not argue that the marriage was valid and at the same time deny paternity of the child.