by Jack Ford
Mary was silent for a moment, still staring hard at Kitty. Now no more than ten feet away from the porch as the sheriff reeled in the rope, her face dusty and scored with tear tracks, Kitty stared hard right back at Mary.
Finally, Mary broke off her gaze and turned toward the sheriff. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m capable of tending to the punishment myself,” she said coolly. “But I’ll be forever grateful to you for your help,” she added with a polite smile.
“Y’all need to get back to work now,” Mary demanded, turning toward the handful of gathered slaves. Seeing Young Joshua striding up the path from the fields, she beckoned him and nodded in the direction of the captives. “And, Young Joshua, take Kitty and the children to the barn. Shackle her,” she ordered, still glaring at Kitty, “and tie up the children. Stay with them until I get there and decide what to do with them.”
“Yes’m,” he muttered, looking resignedly at Kitty as he removed the nooses, first from her and then from the two girls. Kitty continued to glower at Mary.
“Thank you once again, Sheriff,” Mary offered, with a nod of dismissal, before she turned on her heel and strode back into the farmhouse.
* * *
An hour later, Mary pulled the barn door open and entered the building. Inside, the large open space was cast in shadows, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the shifting rays of muted light and the darkness. Along the wall opposite the horse stalls sat Kitty and the three children. An iron chain snaked across the barn floor, one end wrapped securely around a thick wooden support post, the other end attached to a single iron shackle clamped tightly around one of Kitty’s ankles. The three children were huddled next to their mother, their hands tied together, a rope looped around their waists and secured to a support beam. Young Joshua stood nearby, shuffling his feet and looking completely uncomfortable in his guard role, steadfastly avoiding Kitty’s eyes.
Mary nodded at Young Joshua. “You may leave us now,” she said firmly.
“Yes’m,” he answered, then rushed out the door, happy to be relieved of his jailer’s duty.
Mary walked toward the bound slaves and stopped a few feet in front of Kitty. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” she asked harshly.
Kitty sat sullenly silent, refusing to even look up at Mary.
“How could you do this to me?” Mary asked angrily. “How could you run off like that? After all Samuel and I have done for you?” Her voice cracked at the mention of Samuel.
Kitty remained silent.
“We treated you like you were family,” Mary continued, her angry tone now tinged with the sadness of betrayal. “You and your children. We brought you into the house. We taught you to read and write.” She paused and took a deep breath. “How could you do this to me? Embarrass me like this! Now! So soon after Samuel has left us!”
For another moment, Kitty refused to look at Mary. Then she gathered up her torn dress and struggled to her feet, tugging against the restraining shackle and chain. She raised her head boldly and looked directly into Mary’s eyes.
“I was not gonna let you sell me off,” Kitty said softly but defiantly. “I was not gonna let you separate me from my children. I won’t let that happen again.” She paused a moment. “You’ll have to kill me first.”
Mary staggered backward, as if she had been shoved in the chest. She stared at Kitty, a look of complete puzzlement spreading across her face. “Why . . . why would you think I would sell you off?” she asked.
“’Cause that’s exactly what you did to my mama after I was born,” Kitty said, nearly spitting the words out. “Didn’t want her round to remind you of what the master did, so you just up and got rid of her. Like she somehow never existed. And left me to grow up with no mama, cryin’ myself to sleep at night.” Her eyes narrowed, hard and angry. “Master’s sins ain’t my sins. And they certainly ain’t my children’s sins. And I refuse to let you punish us for what he did to you.”
The only sound in the barn was the rhythmic creaking of the open barn door as it swung slowly on its hinges in the breeze. Kitty stood facing Mary, her chest heaving with rage, her bruised and scraped hands clenched into fists. The three children sat huddled together on the ground, wide-eyed, frightened by the confrontation taking place before them.
After a long moment of silence, Mary stepped back again, unsteady on her feet, her composure fleeing as the look on her face changed from puzzlement to dismay. Her gaze darted from Kitty to the children and back to Kitty. Then she swung around and bolted from the barn.
CHAPTER 11
BACK INSIDE THE HOUSE, MARY PACED AGITATEDLY FROM ROOM TO room like a captive animal, lost in the turmoil of her thoughts. Spying the family Bible lying on top of the desk, she snatched it up, deposited herself in a horsehair-stuffed armchair, and flipped the book open, seeking some respite from Kitty’s accusations in the wisdom of the ancient passages. Thumbing randomly through the worn and dog-eared pages, she tried desperately to find some message that would soothe the commotion in her heart and mind.
Each time she tried to focus on a page, Kitty’s words echoed in her mind, causing the writing to swirl and blur as she struggled to maintain her composure. Was she, in fact, the cruel, uncaring monster that Kitty claimed? she wondered. Had she really considered selling Kitty and her children solely for the financial benefit, to help ease her through hard times, as she had discussed with Fanny? Or was her real motive to erase any vestige of Samuel’s infidelity? To again rid herself of the constant reminder of his straying from her bed, as Samuel had tried to do when he sold off Kitty’s mother as penance for his sins. Even though Samuel had denied being unfaithful, she had welcomed the woman’s departure. She could still remember the stabbing pain of watching the slave woman’s stomach swell with the child she believed had been fathered by her own husband, aching constantly with the knowledge that she would never be able to bring a young life into the world. And tormented relentlessly by the fact that Samuel had so casually found another vessel to carry his offspring. It seemed like the right thing to do then, she thought, struggling to convince herself. But what about now?
Angry and confused, she slammed the Bible closed in disgust and tossed it, the pages fluttering as it skittered across the floor. After standing, she walked to the window and gazed across the front yard toward the distant Blue Ridge Mountains, where the sun was beginning to creep below the blue-gray haze of the far-off crest.
She was not sure how long she had remained in front of the window, lost in the churning conflict of her thoughts and memories. It was now dark outside, and she realized that the drama of the day had left her thoroughly exhausted. She turned, found a candle on the desk, lit it with a flaring taper from the nearby fireplace, and walked slowly out of the room and down the hallway.
Inside their bedroom—now just her bedroom, she reminded herself—Mary placed the candle on the bedside table and flung herself onto the bed that she and Samuel had shared for decades. She lay facedown, spread out on the coverlet, her arms wrapped around the pillow that had belonged to Samuel for so many years, his scent still vaguely present. And she began to weep.
CHAPTER 12
SAM MADDOX DISMOUNTED AND FLUNG THE REINS OF HIS HORSE TO A small black boy who was on his knees, picking weeds from the garden near the front porch of the Maddox farmhouse.
“Get her watered and brushed down,” he ordered gruffly.
The boy nodded quickly, dropped his handful of weeds, grabbed the reins, and led the large, sweating stallion toward the barn, holding on desperately as the horse jerked and tossed its sleek head.
Maddox mounted the porch steps two at a time and knocked briskly on the heavy oak door. After a moment, one of the kitchen slaves answered the door and invited him in.
“Where’s your mistress?” he asked brusquely.
“She be in the kitchen,” the slave mumbled.
“Go tell her I’m here,” he demanded.
The slave girl scurried off, and a few minutes l
ater, Mary entered the main room, drying her hands on her apron.
“Sam,” she said rather coolly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you out here.”
“Aunt Mary,” he said smoothly, taking his slouch hat off and nodding at her, an unctuous smile creasing his handsome, weathered face. “Nice to see you again. Hope all’s been goin’ well for you since Uncle Samuel’s passin’.”
“Things have been fine, thank you,” Mary said.
Maddox looked around, as if he was expecting to be invited to come in and take a seat, but Mary simply remained standing in the same spot, her hands still wrapped in her apron.
“Well,” Maddox said, his smile disappearing, shifting from one booted foot to the other, twisting his sweat-stained hat in his hand. “I was ridin’ out this way and figured I’d stop by to check on you.”
“That was kind of you,” Mary answered dryly.
After an awkward pause, Maddox looked around the house and then turned back toward her. “Heard you had a problem. That some slaves ran off,” he said.
“Not really. There was no problem. Just a misunderstanding,” Mary said.
“That ain’t the way the sheriff told it,” Maddox said, cocking his head to one side, his tone somewhat accusing.
“Is that so?” Mary said. “Just how did the sheriff tell it?”
“Sheriff said he was told some niggra slaves ran off and you needed help catchin’ ’em. Said he and a posse rode all night, lookin’ for ’em, before they tracked ’em down hidin’ off the Warrenton Pike.”
“Is that so?” Mary repeated.
“Yup, that’s sure how he told it,” Maddox said.
“Well, I’m afraid the sheriff made it sound a bit more dramatic than it really was,” Mary said, offering a tight, polite smile. “Anyway, the slaves are all back, and no harm’s been done. But I do thank you for your concern. And now, if there’s nothing else, I really need to get back—”
“Actually,” Maddox interrupted, “there is something else I need to talk to y’all about.” Maddox looked pointedly at a chair in the sitting room, but Mary ignored the hint and refused to budge from her spot in the doorway.
“And what might that be?” Mary asked.
“So,” he began haltingly, “you know how close me an’ Uncle Samuel were all these years.” He paused, apparently looking for some affirmation from Mary, but none was forthcoming, as her face remained impassive. “Well,” he continued, “we often talked about what he wanted to do with the farm and all else once he passed on.”
“Did you, now?” Mary said.
“Yes’m, we did. And the one thing he was always sayin’ was he wanted to be sure you was fine and not havin’ to work real hard once he left us.”
“That was very considerate of him,” Mary said, the irony in her tone lost on Sam.
“Yes’m, it was. Uncle Samuel was like that. But then, you know that better’n most,” Maddox added.
Mary simply nodded.
“So then, that’s why I’m here. I been lookin’ at Uncle Samuel’s will.” He paused a moment, drawing himself up to his full height before he continued. “And I think you an’ me need to talk.”
“Talk about what?” Mary demanded, any vestige of hospitality now drained from her voice.
“Well, it seems to me and my lawyer—” he began.
“Your . . . lawyer?” Mary interrupted.
“Yes’m,” Maddox continued, his tone hardening. “My lawyer and me think that since Uncle Samuel’s will makes mention of me as someone who would be a beneficiary, you and I need to discuss how his estate should be divided up.”
Mary glared at him for a moment. “Well,” she said icily, “I’m afraid that you—and your lawyer—are sadly mistaken.”
Maddox began to speak, but Mary silenced him with a wave of her hand.
“Sadly mistaken,” she repeated. “The will is very clear that the entire estate passes to me, and me alone. You are only mentioned as a beneficiary in the event that something of his estate remains when I die. Nothing more.”
“I’m afraid that ain’t the way we see it,” he answered, shaking his head. “The way we see it is, since I have a stake in the estate when you die, you and me need to be discussin’ any decisions about the property, and we need to be agreein’ about everythin’. Land. Crops. Slaves. Everythin’.”
Mary said nothing.
“So,” Maddox continued, his tone now steely, any pretense of familial care now abandoned, “I thought we should be talkin’ about those runaway slaves and what we should be doin’ about ’em. Seems to me we should be sellin’ ’em off right away. Can probably get a pretty good price for ’em. Lord knows you could use the cash. And we’d be makin’ it clear to the rest of the darkies that there’s a steep price to be paid if anyone else is thinkin’ of runnin’ off.”
Mary remained silent, her jaw clenched, her eyes narrowed.
“Well, then,” Maddox said, taking her silence for agreement, “once the woman, Kitty, is recovered from her whippin’, we should be lookin’ to sell the lot of ’em. Should all bring a pretty good price.”
Mary spoke, her voice low and calm. “First of all, there have been no whippings. Second, I have absolutely no intention of selling anybody off. And third,” she continued, a hard, defiant edge to her voice now, “I don’t care what you or your lawyer thinks. You do not—and will not—have any interest in this property. Not while I’m still alive. And I have no intention of seeking your opinions about how I run this farm. Now—or ever.”
They stood glaring at each other. Finally, Maddox spoke, barely restraining his wrath.
“I’m real sorry you see it that way. And real sorry that y’all want to turn this into a fight. That surely ain’t the way Uncle Samuel would’ve wanted this all playin’ out.” He paused, leaned in toward her, and added menacingly, “But if you’re lookin’ for a fight, you damn sure’ll get one.”
Mary stepped around him and headed toward the big oak door.
“I’m afraid your trip out here was a complete waste of your time,” Mary said curtly. “And of mine. By the way, I’m quite sure that your uncle Samuel had no interest at all in you havin’ any say in the runnin’ of this farm. And I’m quite sure that I don’t, either.”
Mary swung the big door open and stepped aside.
“I don’t believe we have anything more to talk about,” she said tersely, her face a rigid mask of anger.
Sam Maddox shook his head, furious, and then stormed out the door.
CHAPTER 13
“THE NERVE OF THAT MAN!” FANNY EXCLAIMED BETWEEN SIPS FROM a delicate hand-painted teacup.
Fanny and Mary were seated on the veranda of Fanny’s home, a sprawling, two-story mansion in the center of the Withers plantation. Built in a curious marriage of the Southern Colonial and Greek Revival styles, with a large, graceful center structure flanked by two slightly smaller wings, and a sweeping veranda guarded by an array of fluted columns, it was acknowledged to be the most grand and impressive home in all of Rappahannock County.
Fanny’s father, the late James Withers, fought in the American Revolution when he was a young man. After inheriting a substantial amount of money from his father, who had built a shipping business in Charleston, he decided to abandon the family enterprise and become a gentleman farmer. By settling at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains, not only did he achieve his goal of becoming a gentleman farmer, but he actually became quite a successful one, too, regularly expanding his crops and his acreage until he became the largest and most prosperous landowner in two counties, with more than four hundred acres and dozens of slaves.
Since her father’s death five years earlier, Fanny had assumed the role of managing the family fields and fortunes. Although the entire estate had been left to both Fanny and her younger sister, Katie had shown no interest in the details of running the farm and was content to simply enjoy the lifestyle that the thriving operation provided her. And that was fine with Fanny.
“I ca
n’t believe that he would come out to the farm and talk to you that way,” Fanny continued. “And for him to threaten you right there in your own home. And so soon after Samuel’s passing.” She shook her head. “Just never cared for that man. And never trusted him, either. I cringe every time he comes here callin’ on my sister.”
“I keep tellin’ myself that he’s my Samuel’s kin and I need to be civil with him, even if he was always takin’ advantage of Samuel’s good nature. Never paid him back any of the money he was always borrowin’. Never even said thank you. Just could never warm up to him. But this is the last straw. I won’t have him tellin’ me how to run our farm—my farm now,” Mary added wistfully.
“What about him claiming that Samuel’s will gives him some say in how the farm’s run?” Fanny asked.
Mary shook her head. “The will says no such thing. It simply says that when I die, he’s entitled to anything that’s left. And I don’t intend to have anything left for that man to inherit, not if I can help it,” Mary said angrily.
“Maybe you should talk to a lawyer, too. Just to be certain,” Fanny said.
“I will, if I have to. For now, I think I’ll just wait on him to see what he’s plannin’ on doin’.”
Fanny lifted an ornately engraved silver teapot from the center of the table and filled their cups. They sat quietly, as Mary seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.
“So, what have you decided to do?” Fanny asked. “About Kitty?”
It seemed for a moment that somehow Mary had not heard her, since she simply sat quietly, sipping her tea. Finally, Mary placed her cup down gently on the saucer and looked up.
“You know I’ve never been fond of the idea of ownin’ slaves. Wasn’t brought up like that. I don’t mean to be judgin’ you or anyone else. Just never felt right to me. So I’ve been prayin’ on all this for some time now. Especially since she and her children were caught and brought back.” She lifted her head and looked directly at Fanny. “I’ve decided to set her free. Her children, too.”