“You can keep it as a pet or you can make a delicious soup out of it.”
I named my new companion Mariner.
Our next stop was Kingston, a large town located on the southeastern coast of Jamaica. Captain told me when he spoke with me that second night on board that I would disembark there and that he and the other officers would accompany me off the gangway in order that the local officials would be less likely to ask for my papers. No one stopped me. The officers went into town, and I joined the deckhands unloading goods from Massachusetts, Connecticut, and New York that the ship had taken on in Key West. When that labor was completed, we loaded sugar and spices.
Captain assigned James and Anthony to show me around Kingston while on shore leave, but he told them to have me back in time to make supper, and he gave me money so that I could buy groceries for the ship. We went to the lovely and crowded Harbor Street. James was pointing out a fruit vendor when I stopped walking because my knees almost buckled.
“What’s wrong?”
“It just occurred to me. This is the first time I’ve ever been on free soil. It’s true, isn’t it? Every person I see is free.”
“Yes, every single one, since 1838,” James said.
Tears came to my eyes. “And no one has the right to ask me for my papers?”
“No. No one,” he said.
I must have embarrassed them because I stared at people, marveling that they were free. I also noticed that there were no public notices on posts or walls advertising runaways.
“William, by the way, do we still have to call you William?”
I laughed. “When did you know?”
“I thought so from the beginning,” Anthony said.
“Why?”
He lowered his voice. “You’re too pretty to be a man. And I knew it was true when the captain didn’t let you sleep below decks.”
“And, yes, you do have to keep calling me William. After all, he’s the one employed by the British West Indies Trading Company.”
We wandered around the main roads and on side paths. There were brick buildings wherever I looked. James bought us dinner at the home of a family that sold meals to sailors, and we sat underneath a tall tree in the yard in the back of their house to eat. For dessert, I tasted, for the first time, the mango.
“This is the tastiest fruit I have ever had. Do they grow all over the Caribbean?”
“Yes. And not just in the Caribbean, but in Central and South America too. If you like mango, wait until you try the other fruits that grow on our island, like guava, soursop, papaya, pineapple, and of course bananas and coconuts. The best part is that we all have these fruits on our yards. All you have to do is pick them.”
“Does your island look like here?”
“In many ways, except that ours is much more beautiful and much less crowded.”
We walked around town after we ate. It was quite hot, and they asked me if I wanted to go to the beach.
“Sure. I’ve never been.”
“Not even in Mobile?”
“We went with Mr. and Mrs.…our…masters to Orange Beach, but we weren’t allowed to actually go on the sand or in the water.”
When we got to the beach, James and Anthony rolled up the legs of their trousers and took off their shoes and socks. They told me to do the same. I jumped because the sand was scalding and they laughed at me. We ran to the water’s edge, but at first I was afraid to put my feet in the water.
“When we get home, you can ask Grandmother Ebanks to make you a bathing costume and we’ll teach you how to swim,” Anthony said.
“Me? I’d be afraid of drowning.”
“That’s why you have to learn first,” he said.
After an hour, we went back to Harbor Street, where we bought supplies that I needed for cooking. The venders delivered the goods to the dock by wagon, and we met them there to load them on the ship. James and Anthony returned to town to visit taverns.
When everyone was on board that night, we sailed to the next destination, my new home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THEODORA ALLEN
THE WEEK AFTER MR. HARRIS TOLD US THE TERMS of the will, I began planning where I was going to spend the rest of my life. My sons did not figure in my arrangements. They were angry that Cornelius left them relatively small portions of the estate and because the scandal had ended their nascent professions. I would have helped them, but they treated me not as their mother but as someone who did not merit their respect. Cornelius had blamed me for Clarissa’s transgressions, and I blame him for my sons’. He took them from me when they were small, claiming that I was not qualified to teach them and that they needed to be taught by men. Thereafter, I saw the boys only at holidays and summertime, when we went to the lake house in Madison County. When they completed university, my husband decided that they should work in commerce. He gave them substantial sums of money and introduced them to bankers in Georgia and South Carolina. Had Cornelius not died when he did, the older men would not so easily have pushed them out of their businesses. When Paul received a letter telling him that his services were no longer needed, he waved it in my face.
“This is your fault. You always coddled her. What am I supposed to do now?”
“Darling, I…”
“Don’t speak to me as if I were a child.”
“What is it that you want from me?”
“You should share the bequest that you got from father with Robert and me.”
“Why should I? Your father gave you large amounts of money to establish yourselves.”
“That money is gone. Don’t you know anything about business? Some investments have significant risk.” He stood close and pointed at me.
“Paul, do not do that. How dare you treat me this way?”
He walked out of the room without answering me. A few days later, Robert received a similar letter from his bank. They found me in the library.
“Now neither of us can return to our professions. Since you won’t share your bequest with us, we want you to join us in filing a petition in court that Clarissa’s grant will go to us instead of to her bastard.”
“Don’t call him that. And did you not hear what Mr. Harris said? If you do that, you will lose your share.”
“No, we won’t, because we have information about your Mr. Harris that will show his inappropriate interest in father’s estate.”
“That’s absurd. The court has reviewed all the documents and found they are all legally sound. As head of this household, I order you to abandon this scheme.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. A woman can’t take a man’s place. As the eldest son, I have assumed head of the estate.”
When they left, I alerted Charles and Mr. Harris, who said that there was nothing to be done to prevent them from filing a lawsuit. Later that week, Mr. Harris informed Charles and me that the Talladega Court had rendered a decision on Mr. Cromwell’s petition and gave us a summary of the proceeding.
“The judge indicated that, if Mr. Cromwell publicly acknowledged that the child was his, the court would conclude that he could inherit Mrs. Cromwell’s share of her father’s estate. Mr. Cromwell refused to do so. Therefore the court, in its final decision, agreed with our argument that Mr. Cromwell could not say that the marriage was valid for the purpose of inheriting Mrs. Cromwell’s property but not valid in his assertion that the child was illegitimate.”
Charles and I told my sons and Martha about the outcome of the case. The next day, Paul and Robert and their families departed for Talladega, and my mother-in-law returned to Montgomery. Dear Martha stayed with me. Without her I do not think that I would have been able to say good-bye to Bessie and Dottie. The Reverend Townsend took all the freed servants and their families to Ohio, quietly, in the middle of the night, so that the other slaves would not learn of their freedom. Mr. Harris had written their manumission documents, which the judge signed and the clerk sealed. Emmeline and Belle could not permit themselves to be happy.
> “Mrs. Allen, if you hear anything about Sarah, can you get word to us? And if they bring her back, can you please look out for her and send her to where we’re going to be?”
“Emmeline, yes, of course. I want you to be reunited with her.”
Early the next week, Mr. Harris shocked Charles and me with the news that Paul and Robert had not only retained a lawyer in Talladega to file a petition in the Benton County Court to annul Cornelius’s will but had done so jointly with Mr. Cromwell.
“But does not that mean that they forfeit their grants?”
“Not yet. They have been quite clever. They claim that, when Mr. Allen amended his will to free Emmeline, Belle, Bessie, Dottie, and Eddie, he was not of sound mind and body and therefore did not intend to make changes to the will. The issue is that the clause stating that challenges to any term of the will results in forfeiture of the challenger’s share is in the same amendment to the will as the one freeing the slaves. Further, they allege that Mrs. Allen and I exerted undue influence upon Mr. Allen and forced him to make that final amendment,” Mr. Harris said.
“Why would they say that about you, Mr. Harris?”
“Some of the planters have accused my church of helping slaves to escape, and they maintain that the church has ties to Northern abolitionists.”
“Do you?” Charles asked.
“I was educated in the North and perhaps that is why they think so.”
I continued my preparations to move, knowing that, even if I obtained only one-quarter of the estate, I could accomplish what I wanted for my grandson and myself with $300,000. Charles retained a real property agent for me in New Orleans, who was also responsible for hiring household servants on my behalf. I chose the furniture that I wanted to take and gave the rest to Martha and Charles. The contents of the library and the lesson room I shared with no one, as I would expand my collection in my new home and give the children’s books to my grandson. My only regret about leaving Alabama was that my dear girl was buried there.
The judge of the court in Benton County decided my sons’ and Mr. Cromwell’s case in two weeks. Mr. Harris brought Charles, Martha, and me a copy of the decision, which was short. Mr. Harris explained the legal jargon.
“The judge said that the petitioners, Paul, Robert, and Mr. Cromwell, were too late in bringing their lawsuit because the will had already been entered into probate and distributions had been made. He also ordered that Paul and Robert have forfeited their bequests. Thus Mrs. Allen maintains her one-half share of the estate, one-quarter of the estate goes to Mrs. Cromwell’s son, and the remaining one-quarter goes to Mr. Charles Allen and Mrs. Laurence, in equal shares.”
We thanked Mr. Harris for his work. He promised to continue to assist us until the property was liquidated. When he left us to return to his business office, I told Charles and Martha that I had no desire to see my sons.
“I did not tell you how they behaved toward me. I feared that, at one point, they were going to strike me. I never again want to be afraid in my own home. Now that they will receive nothing from the estate, they must be even angrier. I want them barred from here.”
“I’m so sorry, Theodora, and I wish you had told me earlier. I’ll speak with Davis right now. They won’t be permitted to enter the property.”
The servants were packing my china, crystal, silver, books, and paintings, but they needed my assistance in numbering the crates and trunks. While I was engaged in this mindless labor, I realized that I had not heard from Mrs. Tutwiler in a while, nor had I received social calls from the neighboring planters’ wives. I wrote Mrs. Tutwiler a letter, which I sent the following morning, asking her when would be a convenient time to visit, and I instructed the coachman to wait for a reply. When he returned, Davis told me that Mrs. Tutwiler declined to respond.
“That’s peculiar. Do you trust that the coachman accurately conveyed what she said?”
“Ma’am, I think so. He’s usually reliable.”
“I cannot imagine why she would say such a thing. I am going to pay her a visit tomorrow morning. Please tell the coachman to have the carriage, my husband’s, ready at eleven o’clock.”
“Ma’am, your sons took that carriage to Talladega.”
“Who gave them permission to do so?”
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
“All right. I will go in mine.”
When Charles arrived from the fields that evening, I told him what my sons had done. He said that he had assumed they would return the carriage on their way back to their homes.
“I suppose now we will have to permit them on the property,” I said.
When I arrived at the main gate of the Tutwiler plantation, a guard told the coachman that Mrs. Tutwiler was not receiving visitors.
“Proceed to the house,” I told the coachman.
A servant opened the carriage door and escorted me to the parlor. About thirty minutes later, Mr. Tutwiler appeared holding several envelopes.
“Mrs. Allen, how are you?”
“Greetings, Mr. Tutwiler. Is Mrs. Tutwiler not well?”
“Mrs. Allen, I believe I owe it to you to be frank. I cannot permit my wife to be associated with you. Your daughter’s conduct was reprehensible, and my own daughters’ reputations would be sullied should my wife continue to have social intercourse with you. I am sure that you understand. And, Mrs. Allen, here are your letters. Please inform your paramour to stop writing you here.”
“Mr. Tutwiler, I bid you good-bye.”
I held my tears until I was inside the carriage, and I waited until I was home to read Kenneth’s three letters. He said that he was worried about me and could not understand why I had not replied to his correspondence. He had sent me a poem in each one. I wrote him immediately, telling him almost everything that had occurred and that I was moving to New Orleans. My sons and their families returned that night, after I had retired for the evening. They asked to speak with Charles and me early the following morning. When we met them in the library, gone were their swaggers. They were now contrite and spoke softly. They asked me whether they could move with me to New Orleans, as there was no possibility of going back to Georgia and South Carolina.
“What would you do in New Orleans?”
“Perhaps we could search for positions in banking.”
“I will think about this and speak with your uncle before I make a decision. I will be guided by what is best for your children, as they, like Clarissa’s son, are innocents.”
They thanked me and left in order that Charles and I could discuss the matter. I then called my sons back to the room.
“This is my proposal: Your uncle will assist you in extricating your money from the banks. In the meantime, you will both begin to learn how to manage a plantation. Your uncle will stay here through the beginning of harvest, and you will responsible for its completion until the last cotton shipment is sent. You will send your wives to pack and move to your uncle’s plantation. I will pay to build you homes there. I will invest $100,000 in Charles’ plantation, and you will invest whatever money you recover. Do you accept these terms?”
They agreed to my offer and began working with Charles in the fields. Their wives departed the following day, leaving their children with Martha and me. Later that week, Charles found buyers for most of the estate, which had to be divided into small parts to be sold. I carved out a section of the land that had the burial plots and retained its ownership. An agent bought Allen Hall on behalf of an anonymous buyer. One of the planters who knew Charles well revealed that the house had been purchased at a low price by Mr. Tutwiler for his son, who was about to be married.
I left Alabama a week before the beginning of harvest, after almost all my belongings had been shipped. Martha and Charles promised to visit me often, and they and my grandchildren took me to our landing, where I boarded a boat to Mobile. From there, I took a ship to New Orleans. I had rented a house outside the city while my homes were being built in the French Quarter and St. Tammany Parish
.
Three days after I arrived in Louisiana, I went to New Orleans to see my grandson. Cornelius had sent him to the orphanage at the convent of the Sisters of Ursula on Chartres Street. He had agreed to send them $700 annually until the child was seventeen years of age. When I had discovered the documents in the coffer at Allen Hall, I wrote the Mother Superior to confirm that Clarissa’s son was there and to inform her that I was moving to New Orleans. Cornelius had named the child Francis Parker, in honor of Clarissa’s middle and my maiden name. I told Mother Superior that I wanted his full name to be Theodore Francis Parker.
The nuns’ lovely building was clean and tidy, and the children I saw wore crisp clothing. A nun brought Theodore to the office where I was meeting with Mother Superior and gave him to me. When they saw that he was content with me, they left us alone and I was glad because they could not see my tears. He had Clarissa’s eyes. I told him about his mother and how she loved him so much that she took him to safety before she died. After an hour, he began to cry, and I took him to a nun, who prepared a feeding utensil so that I could give him milk. They showed me the orderly nursery where the infants lived. When it was time to leave, I told Mother Superior that I would visit Theodore once a month for the time being, and then weekly when my house in New Orleans was built. She asked me whether I had any interest in helping them give the children lessons. I was delighted with her request.
When I moved into my home in the French Quarter, I knew that I had made the correct decision to go to Louisiana. I was not lonely because Charles had written letters of introduction to families who were distant relatives of the Allens. There was much to do, and when I was not writing in my journal, gardening, reading, or seeing my grandson and teaching the children at the orphanage, I attended concerts and the opera.
Kenneth and I wrote each other once a week. He tried to get me to move to New York, but I told him the reason I was living in New Orleans and asked him whether he would consider moving here, but he declined, stating that he had become used to living in the North, where the “odious” institution of slavery had been formally abolished. I told him that all my servants were freedmen, but I admitted that I had invested in my brother-in-law’s plantation. Kenneth visited me when the university was on holiday, but he stayed at a hotel. We went to the theater, and he read his poetry at literary salons. The second week he was in New Orleans, he asked if I would accompany him to a slave auction.
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