Stand the Storm

by Breena Clarke

  And what of the so-called contrabands—those slaves following the Union soldiers into town? Every artery in and out of town was choked with them. Their faces showed profound relief when their feet touched the town. They considered it done and well done when they reached Washington, the capital and Father Abraham Lincoln’s home. They hoped—their eyes were full of it!—they had reached a home for themselves.

  Annie’s eyes got moist for them with knowing how long their travail. Who blames a drowning man who grabs at anything floating? She snorted ruefully that grasping would cause a piece of floating debris to sink and take the one who grasps with it. The city of Washington was, for these ones leaving slavery, a precarious log in an agitated sea.

  Destitute was how most of them arrived—trudging, slogging, and dragging. Descriptions in the papers of slaves fleeing at the advance of the Union army sounded like an account of dandies on parade. They were said to be preening themselves and promenading down the thoroughfares of Washington decked out in frothy skirts, scarlet frock coats, and gray hats festooned with feathers.

  But the true picture was something else. The women trudged with their arms tugging at stumbling children, and children taller than a hickory stump were carrying babes on their backs. A common sight was a man who had made himself into a mule by putting a strap on his forehead so that he could carry his old grandpa or granmam on his back. Step upon step he would lug the old one, who was yet mere bones sparsely covered with skin. If they had worn a fine coat when they left, it had been stripped away long before reaching the banks of the Potomac or the Eastern Branch. Even if they came from lands nearby, they had likely crisscrossed these places again and again—hiding and running from combatants and hostile irregulars. Most that Annie saw arrive were barely clothed and a long time away from their vittles.

  Annie was ashamed to think that she had feelings of longing for the Ridley place. But the most joyful times she and Gabriel had known were the brief forays in the clear air to the upland knolls at Ridley to collect plants for their dyes. Then, if mother and son had managed to reach an open stretch with no one watching, Annie would release the boy to run and explore and fill his mouth with laughter. The two would dare to plunge their faces into beds of plants and smell and look aplenty and satisfy themselves with the beauty of the places. Their strong bond was nurtured on the collecting trips that were few and far between the long days Gabriel spent holding and dyeing yarn and spinning it to balls alongside his mother.

  Going back in her mind she recollected when, as a child on the place, there was much production of wool yarn. Sheep were raised at Ridley Prospect, an inland hilly farm that Master kept for the purpose. The beasts were coddled in their own meadow. Their yearly shearing was a fearful excitement that all the hands watched. Some festivity was attached to shearing and much liquor got passed around. Luxe wool from the back and shoulders of the sheep was separated from the dirty wool on the animal’s undersides and was spun to ultrafine balls by the needlewomen. Stomach wool was combed free of whatever clung to it by the needlewomen and wound to balls, too. Wisps of detritus clogged the nostrils of Annie and the other small girl combers. They were stuffed with holiday vittles and they became nauseated and dizzy. They were also festive, happy children at sheep-shearing. A clutch of stomach wool would make Annie recall it in deep detail and long for it.

  Gabriel sat with pen and paper but couldn’t keep his seat. He would not sit in the chair. He cared not to sleep. He sprang up and paced about his kitchen workshop in the dark. He allowed himself only one short candle’s worth of illumination as he struggled to compose his letter. Unlike some who fought to find adequate expression, Gabriel Coats struggled with an excess of words for his plight.

  Above all Gabriel wanted a calm, quiescent freedom—to work at his trade. Many thought it unseemly for a colored to embrace a calling. He had persevered against that tide. In his workroom—his sanctuary—a piece of paper had stolen the calm.

  Gabriel cringed at recollection of his own loud voice sending dear Mary off to bed—shouting at her tender attempts at ministration. His sharp words and tone had frightened the babes and set off a brief tizzy. Ellen and Delia scattered like chickens as well and he felt compunction.

  But he could not have them before his eyes when he studied this document.

  KNOW ALL MEN BY THEIR PRESENTS THAT I, William A. Eberly, am working on behalf of Jonathan Ridley in the matter of compensation for former slaves.

  The following persons formerly held as slaves in the District of Columbia and having been manumitted by edict of the Congress of the United States shall report to the offices of Eberly and Co. for inspection and valuation.

  Gabriel yearned for a cup of drink, but the fire in the hearth was too low to boil water. During the time of his apprenticeship, his most important evening duty had been to keep water at boil for Abraham Pearl. The man was fond of a hot drink at night.

  Gabriel Coats’s solemnity was exacerbated by the darkness of the room on this evening. He had lit a single taper and had this near his elbow. It brightened only the page he wrote on and a small circle outward from his hand. The rest of the room disappeared into a netherworld beyond the candle flame. Gabriel was superstitious that full illumination would give the pernicious, official paper the more power. He removed it from his breast pocket and pushed it nearly to the edge of the table—far away from the light. His own writing seemed weak—powerless beside it. It was a commanding document. It was a document for taking away from himself and his women—his family—their souls, their lives in freedom, their dignity. They had had none—he had purchased it or a semblance of it and now this document would take it back.

  Gabriel’s stomach burned to think that his former master, Jonathan Ridley, believed he could perpetrate this fraud. Did he mean to take the government’s reimbursement money for freeing slaves he had already manumitted by written agreement? Tales of fraud in connection with the new decree were circulating the town. Others had enriched themselves by this method. Folk who were long ago legally freed through purchase were being called up and claimed by their former masters. It was a circle of viciousness!

  Gabriel exhausted a portion of his anger in writing a letter to Reverend Higgins. He had some influence in the town that he exercised on behalf of colored. He was the only white man liable to help them. The agitation threatened to unhinge Gabriel as he tried to keep the situation from the others.

  Of course, this evil news would soon be known as any vinegar that is spilled from an overturned jar is known for what it is. It pained Gabriel to imagine how the others would receive the news. And the children! What of them? They were compelled to report for examination! Compelled! If they did not submit themselves, the authorities had leave to come and bring them. From this Gabriel worriedly sought to protect them. Just that! He had pledged to Mary that being free they both would bring free children and keep them free through earnest toil. And now this had come!

  His chickens were to be taken up! If not lost or damaged then handled and bandied about, and it hurt him to consider it. He imagined the look in their mother’s eyes—a look that would strike him mortally if it were a bullet. What would Mary think? Gabriel had seen the expression of deep devotion and possession on his wife’s face. This feeling that gives way to fear when the child gains her feet and begins walking away from the nurturing arms. Often he’d seen it in Mary and had felt the same and wondered whether it was so clearly read in his face. Jonathan Ridley would steal the profit of these children when they had never been his bondpersons! They were capriciously in his thrall! No law or edict or promise came out to benefit the colored man.

  Disquietude was the enemy of Gabriel Coats’s stomach. He went to the yard and heaved his misery onto the ground yet again.

  It had been decreed that slaves residing within the bound-aries of the District of Columbia were free. But this was a stingy and ugly decree, for as a consequence a slave owner was eligible to receive monetary compensation. Eager to beat the six-mon
th deadline for filing a claim, Jonathan Ridley had hired a representative to secure his compensation.

  The lie! Aye, there it is! Jonathan Ridley is not entitled to this compensation. Because these people mentioned are free people. These are the people whose freedom had been purchased by Gabriel Coats and his mother. They had worked to pay Jonathan Ridley!

  “These daughters—my daughters—are free girls from a free purchased woman, my wife!” Gabriel slammed his fist on the top of his mam’s laundry barrel. It thudded like a sour drum. “Mary’s freedom was secured after purchase at an auction. He has no right to claim that she or her daughters are his bondpeople! They are free-born children!” he exploded.

  Still they were mentioned and would be considered and valued for his money! The freedom meant nothing then, for the white masters would make the freedom into slavery just as sweet milk would turn to clabber in the sun.

  Ah, sweet milk—sweet girls! Would they turn their innocent eyes on their father as they were led away? Would he stand impotent to help them? What would become of the father protector who could not save a daughter from this humiliation? If he rushed against the man who put a hand on them, would he not risk his own death? And if he resisted physically and put down his life, could he rise from the dead to care for these daughters? Could he then coddle them and train them and give them over to some good and strong husband? Would they not fall into poverty and a life of drudgery without their father? He could not relinquish his daughters’ freedom to support the lie. He would resist this on their behalf and for the other women.

  If this lie lived and flourished, then all along the freedom had meant nothing. Ridley could have come at any time and told these lies and taken them away? This was a cold thought that Gabriel had not entertained till now. Had Mary considered this possibility? Oh, what would become of this woman who had placed so much assurance upon the fact that these girls belonged to none but their parents?

  Gabriel knew that Mary waited for him upstairs. His brusqueness would put off her questions. He needed to mull before he could explain this tangle to her. He wanted her comfort though. He wanted her to ply his face with kisses but not know what wounds her kisses salved. He would not tell her yet.

  Annie returned to her bed and was comforted by the familiar—as always the familiar familiar—the same old same old things. She pulled a quilt to her chin. She lay beneath it and considered her children. Listening to Gabriel and Mary rustling about in their bed, she finally rested.

  Twenty-two

  GABRIEL KEPT THE brutal document next to his chest. It irritated, yet he was afraid to put it away.

  . . . shall report to the offices of Eberly and Co. for inspection and valuation.

  When the day was hard upon them and Gabriel was no longer able to bear solitary torment of the decision, he lay out the matter to Mary, Annie, and Ellen.

  It was egregious—the deceitfulness of Jonathan Ridley! It proved his worth that he would violate a document to which he had put his hand. Could the Coatses prevail if they challenged him in the court? And if they did so—or even tried to redress—what effect upon the business agreement? This babe, too, they must protect and nurture. Could they all survive if they did not have his leg to stand on?

  As Gabriel feared, the impact upon Mary proved the most severe. She clapped her hands against her eyes and wept into her palms as he laid out the travail.

  “Husband! Husband! No!” she exclaimed.

  Ellen listened and said nothing. Her face was immobile, though dripping water.

  Annie became impatient of the crying and begged Mary and Ellen to gain control of their feelings.

  “Hush and listen!” she commanded, though her own voice wavered.

  “There is the examination to determine a value . . . ,” Gabriel said, his voice trailing off to quiet. Mary’s sniffling continued.

  “They have . . . ?” she asked.

  “Yes, they have mentioned the babies—the children—as if they were not born free. It is the reason I have kept the news in my chest. Mary, I am sorry for this.” He grasped her shoulders in a steadying gesture and swept her against himself. Mary sobbed with renewed vigor and stood close by the simmering fireplace with her face pressed to Gabriel’s body.

  Annie’s face remained dry. She was not indifferent to sorrowing, but she feared to have them all buffeted by these fears and be unable to forge a strategy. Aye! They were in the tow and how would they proceed—how to go forth?

  “All he wants is the money.” Annie hit upon the chestnut hard and flat and the nut came—from considering and from knowing Ridley so well. “When he longs for money, he thinks about us. We are his money in the bank. Let us give him money—match what he is liable to get from the government and settle with him.” This was no woman who wasted time with crying. Mary was taken aback at her mother-in-law’s stern practicality.

  “Nanny, we cannot match it. We do not have enough for all mentioned,” Gabriel replied.

  “Ransom the children then. We will argue Mary because she is no slave of Jonathan Ridley. We will stand upon the paper that says we bought her freedom. You will argue with him. Brother, you and Ellen and I will stand the test,” Annie said, and tossed the pledge as a laurel and looked at him evenly.

  “Nanny . . . can we?” he asked haltingly. His mother had said they could if they must. But he further questioned her as if testing the pain of a sore. He pressed her. Could they stand if they must go without Ridley—or against him? She was stalwart in her opinion. She said yes.

  “Pup, what makes you doubt me?” she shot at him.

  Gabriel wore his good-quality brown frock coat.

  “Sir,” Gabriel called out without demur as he entered Ridley’s sitting room. Startled, Jonathan Ridley turned and faced him. It was an affront to be called to by a monkey—though it was his beloved monkey, Gabriel.

  That Ridley appeared braced for a challenge was, in itself, an advantage to Gabriel.

  “My babes are . . . not yours to claim. We are all put down as your property. This cannot be, sir! You cannot let this proceed!” Gabriel spoke directly to Ridley’s full face, daring to meet the man eye for eye.

  Ridley raised his hand and struck Gabriel soundly. He took back his hand quickly as a parent does who chastises more harshly than intended. Ridley was momentarily frightened of his own actions, though Gabriel was not. He stood with his hands clasped at his back and offered his chest and face to Ridley.

  Ridley wondered whether he was to be forfeit of his life at Gabriel’s hand. A downtrodden being who once raises his head is liable to chance anything—any bold move. Would Gabriel raise his fist in retaliation—in defense of his pickaninnies? Ridley twitched a bit and controlled himself with great effort.

  Gabriel stood his ground and waited until the air in the room became quiet again.

  “What you want is money. That is it. What you want is money.” Gabriel’s calm was plainly impudent and aggressive. “Sir, this reimbursement—is to put a brick upon the heads of my children. For my own value I would not flinch to suffer the humiliating examination and valuation. What do I care that a fraud is perpetrated?” At this remark, Jonathan Ridley drew up indignantly and moved as if he meant to flog Gabriel, though he had no whip. “My mother would not flinch either if that were all of it. But by your false testimony, you cause my daughters, who were born as free people, to be examined by a slave trader. These beloved of their parents have had no part in your commerce. My wife! She is not bound to you. They have never been your property. To strip them naked and expose them to the perusal and calculation of a slave trader is abominable, and yet you would make it a feature of their lives for a small sum of money!”

  “Ah, you have hit upon it, dear Gabriel!” Jonathan Ridley clapped loudly. “I want the money they are paying.”

  “Twice you want to be paid?” Gabriel spoke defiantly but very quietly. The exact measure of Ridley and his wants came clear. “We have money,” he continued. “We will pay to keep the childre
n unspoiled.”

  Ridley laughed. “I will accept your offer and more. There is a trader who has made an offer to purchase the girl, Delia, and go south. It is still legal to make this contract, for she will be held in deep south. There is money to be made.”

  “Do you traffic in women, sir?” Gabriel controlled himself, but bile rose into his mouth. He swallowed and felt ill, yet remained standing, faced toward Jonathan Ridley.

  “Take care!”

  “Sir, you must take care,” Gabriel countered. “There is your name to consider,” he said, and took a second blow to his cheek.

  “Impudent scoundrel!” Ridley yelled.

  “As you say, sir,” Gabriel pronounced, and was poised to receive more blows.

  “I traffic in niggers. The trade is lucrative. I will take cash for your mother, your sister, yourself, and the pickaninnies. I will sell off the girl, Delia. Thus, I will relieve you of the trouble of her. It is a simple bargain.”

  “Can you not allow one such to raise her head from shame? You propose a moneymaking scheme on the head of this girl?” The words pinched.

  “You are above your station,” Ridley replied.

  “Do you imperil yours, sir?” Gabriel came back. “Please consider this.” He then turned to go without taking leave from Jonathan Ridley.

  “You are an arrogant!” Ridley shouted, and his tone halted Gabriel, who struggled to regain the picture of his beloved chickens and their mother and the others. His wind of confidence and resolve was tested. He fought to put all of their faces back into the forefront of his mind. Delia’s visage, too, appeared before him, and Gabriel rebuked himself for the ease with which he would bargain with her fate. Had he betrayed the girl? Had he been uncaring to an innocent? But he must ransom his own chickens at all cost.